‘Fine!’ I say, hurtling after him down the stairs. ‘But you can’t go out, you’ve got homework to do or you’ll end up in yet another detention.’
There is a pleading note in my voice now, but it’s too late. ‘Look, we can talk about the vaping. I can help you give those up – I’ll get you an app. But please. Your exams . . . this is yourwhole future. You need these grades if you’re going to get into sixth form and—’
‘I’m not going to sixth form. You’d know that if you bothered asking me.’ He reaches the door and turns around.
‘What? What are you going to do then?’
‘I’m going to apply to a rugby academy instead.’
I let out a laugh before I can stop myself, but when I realise he’s serious, manage to turn it into a cough.
‘But . . . what about your A levels?’
‘I’d get a BTEC in Rugby Union Studies instead. I don’t need anything else. I’m going to be a full-time player.’
‘But . . . but . . . Leo, only a tiny proportion of people are able to become professional sports people.’
‘Oh, thanks for your support. That’s justgreat,that is.’
I resist pointing out the irony of this particular delusion when he’s just been caught sucking that rubbish into his lungs. Instead, I say: ‘Leo. Listen to me. You’re areallyclever kid. I will support you in whatever you want to do. And I’m not saying give up on your sporting dreams but—’
‘Then don’t. Don’t say anything.’
‘I’m your mother! It’s my job to say something!’
‘Whatever,’ he replies, before striding out of the door – in his one shoe – and slamming it behind him. I look in the hall mirror. My face is the colour of a beetroot.
Chapter 25
In a bid to avoid Zach, I move about the office the following morning like a shifty double agent. The only thing missing is a brown mac, a trilby and a pair of dark glasses, possibly with a fake beard for good measure. I am on edge the entire time, refusing to walk around corners without first checking the coast is clear. I manage to make it through the morning without encountering him, but realise that this charade cannot be maintained when Calvin thrusts a Tupperware box in front of me and I nearly jump out of my seat.
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. They’re just vegan brownies,’ he smiles. ‘I baked them at the weekend.’
‘They’resodelicious,’ gushes Daisy, as I take one. ‘What did you put in them, Calvin?’
As I take a bite, the first ingredients that spring to mind are treacle, turnips and Castrol GTX.
‘Sweet potato, prunes, avocado oil . . .’
I resist the temptation to say something about the wholesale demonisation of carbohydrates having a lot to answer for, but realise Calvin’s big, puppyish eyes are looking at me expectantly.
‘Abmoludeygorggus,’ I mumble enthusiastically, suspecting it will take most of the day to unstick this small morsel from the roof of my mouth. ‘Well done you.’
Fortunately, neither he nor Daisy notice as I fold the rest into a napkin as they’re now too busy discussing the highlights of last night’sAntiques Roadshow. Most of today is tied up with presentations, but I have a few minutes to send a coupleof emails, including to the production company ofMy Teenage Bombsite.
I’m still not entirely sure about this project. While it showed so much promise when we held a recent brainstorm with them, they’re digging their heels in about us wanting another, more experienced firm to get involved to hold their hand. They clearly resent the implication that they’re not capable of running the show, although, as I pointed out to Andrea, they’ll soon get over themselves if we end up with a hit on our hands.
After I’ve hit send on the last one, I pick up my bag and check the coast is clear before I cross the office to head for the stairs. There’s one hairy moment when I spot someone Ithinkcould be Zach chatting near the gents’ toilets, but I manage to conceal myself behind a large potted fig until they’ve gone. I dart towards the lifts and hit the button as Brendan phones.
‘I’m about to lose reception,’ I tell him, ‘but have you managed to speak to Leo?’
As a sign of how desperate I was, I phoned my ex-husband immediately after Leo had disappeared last night and told him what had happened. He’s his father, after all. Leo might live with me but I think my mum is right on this one: his father needs to know. In fact, ideally he needs toDo Something.
There was a short pause when I said those two words.
Then, after a long inhalation, he declared bullishly: ‘Leave this with me.’
Now, he tells me he phoned Leo at lunchtime and ‘had a good chat’. He soundsverypositive.
