“Yeah, right,” I want to say.
“I believe her,” Theo adds.
I force out a “Brill.”
I strip down to my underwear and stuff my clothes into the already full laundry bag. I must remember to buy some kind of basket—and a couple more for the kids’ rooms.
“We’ve agreed she’s going to email the driver of the car andapologize properly,” Theo continues. “And as a punishment, she’s going to give our car a bloody good clean. I mean, it’ll be covered in dust again the next day but it’s the principle.”
“Absolutely,” I state, without much conviction.
We’re in our bedroom, on the upper floor of the cottage. I can only assume Wilf didn’t come in here, as it’s the shabbiest part of the property. The white walls are browning in places, yellowing in others, with clumps of plaster flaking off. The radiators are rusty, the window frames are rotten, and there’s a wardrobe that’s made of some kind of fake, reconstituted wood, looks about forty years old and sways like a drunk whenever you open the doors. But the thick chestnut beams running along the ceiling give the room character. Once the builders have given it a good going-over—and I’ve replaced the furniture—I’m sure it’ll look fab.
I move into the bathroom, which has a floor covered in tiles with an ugly brown swirl pattern and a suite that, when I sent a picture to my sisters, Gloria called gonorrhea green. I cleanse my face—using cold water that splutters out of the taps so aggressively I have to step back—then apply my moisturizer. I pause to look in the mirror. With all the suncream I’ve been slathering onto my skin, my face is becoming a bit greasy. I probably need to change my products but don’t have the time to do any research. At least my hair is looking good: it’s already been lightened by the sun and is now the color of golden syrup.
I floss my teeth as I walk back into the bedroom. Theo has taken off his clothes and is in his briefs. I admire his toned body, which has bulges in all the right places. He’s been going for a run in the early evening—while we let the kids have some quiet time and I make the meal—coming back to do press-ups, squats and sit-ups. I, on the other hand, haven’t done any exercise at all—and bulge in all the wrong places. Conscious of my expanding gut, I step back into the bathroom. I really don’t feel attractive.
“And what about Kate?” I ask through the open door.
“What about her?” says Theo.
“Well, it was obvious she was winding Mabel up.”
Theo steps into the bathroom and I pull in my stomach.
“I don’t want to think about that,” he says.
I feel a prickle of irritation. I understand Theo feels guiltyabout breaking up the family—and I understand it will have been hard for Kate—but I’m sick of letting her walk all over us.
I drop my floss into the bin. “Yeah, well, you might have to soon.”
“What do you mean?”
I squeeze toothpaste onto my brush. “Theo, she’s not going to stop at this.”
“She’ll calm down.” He gives my shoulders a little massage. “Come on, let’s brush our teeth and go to bed.”
Once we’re lying on our pillows—on top of the sheets because of the heat—Theo moves in to kiss me.
I open my mouth and respond, but I feel stiff. I tell myself to relax but it’s no use.
Theo pulls back and gives me a wolfish grin. “You know, I bought some lube when I was in the supermarket the other day.”
I sit up. “You don’t seriously want to have sex, do you?”
“Yeah, we haven’t all week.” He shrugs. “Why not? Is there a problem?”
I grimace. “Well, for a start, I’m fat.”
“You’re not fat. You’re gorgeous, every little bit of you.” Theo kisses me on the shoulder and starts stroking my nipple.
I pull away. “It’s not just that. I don’t want to mess up the mosquito nets. I stink of spray and I’ve been sweating all day.”
“So what?” he says. “I’ve been sweating, too.”
“This old mattress squeaks,” I go on. “And the kids are in the other room.”
He smirks. “Ads, they’re on the other side of the house.”
