‘I love your flat.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Come and see my bedroom, Mum.’
In the end Bertie gave me a tour of the entire flat. Even the bathroom was stylish, one wall covered in lush green plants which trailed down to the Victorian floor tiles. By the time we arrived back in the kitchen Nicola was making a pot of fresh coffee and Rob was propped on a bar stool, wearing a dressing gown, his hair wet from a shower. Despite having no desire to be married to Rob, the strangeness of seeing him so comfortable in another woman’s home left me feeling like I’d stepped into an alternate reality.
‘Have you got time for a coffee, Liv?’ asked Rob.
I looked at my watch.
‘Do you have to?’ asked Bertie. ‘I want to get to Lowen Farm.’
The insecurity I’d been failing to repress ebbed away. Yes, Bertie may love Nicola and her funky flat, but it was a relief to know he hadn’t totally switched allegiance. ‘Bertie’s right,’ I said. ‘We’d better get going. But thank you for the offer.’
‘Any time,’ said Nicola. ‘You know where we are now, so if you’re ever in town, feel free to drop by.’
‘Thank you.’ As much as I liked Nicola and her flat, and it was an enormous relief that Bertie hadn’t acquired a wicked stepmother, I didn’t intend to become bosom buddies with Rob’s mistress. In another life Nicola was exactly the kind of woman I’d have wanted to befriend, but the situation was too strange for any sort of close friendship. ‘Are you still all right to meet Bertie from school on Wednesday?’
‘Of course,’ said Rob. ‘I thought we could have a trip to the park, then we’ll take him out for dinner before dropping him home. Does that work for you?’
‘Perfect. I’ll see you then.’
I packed Bertie and his overnight bag into the tiny amount of space left in the car. Now I knew our move to Lowen Farm would be a permanent one, I’d raided Cass’s loft the night before and packed up pieces of artwork and knick-knacks my mother had left me but which had never fitted into Marion’s minimal design standards. The car was new, too. Well, in as much as an old banger could be counted as new. New to me, paid for by the money I’d saved thanks to the cleaning job I’d been delighted to say goodbye to.
‘Ready for the off?’
‘Go go go,’ shouted Bertie, turning the radio up and beginning to sing.
Chapter Fifty-Four
‘Who’s that?’ asked Bertie, as I turned off the engine.
‘I don’t know.’
Outside the farmhouse, a couple were busy washing all the windows on the front of the house. ‘I’m going to ask them.’
Bertie jumped out of the car and ran over to where the man was busy wiping a rag across one of the windowpanes. I walked over to where Bertie seemed to be spilling our entire life story to the bemused-looking stranger.
‘Hello, I’m Michael,’ the man said, holding out a damp, soapy hand. ‘Sorry,’ he said, wiping his hand on his jeans.
‘I’m Liv. Pleased to meet you.’
‘This is my wife Carly,’ said Michael, as a pretty redhead abandoned her window cleaning apparatus and walked over to us.
‘Are you living here now?’ asked Bertie.
‘Yes, we are for a while,’ said Carly, giving us a shy smile.
‘I’m Liv, and this is my son, Bertie.’
‘We’ve heard all about you,’ said Michael. ‘Harry said you’d be arriving today.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Not long,’ said Carly. Her voice was so soft it came out as a rushed whisper.
‘How are you finding it?’
