‘About what?’
She shrugs. ‘School pick-up times. Packed lunches. Homework app passwords. And clubs.’
‘Forthree days?’ Rose asks, incredulous.
‘You don’t know how many clubs Jacob’s in. Plus, Brendan isn’t exactly pin sharp on this stuff, as you know.’
Rose shakes her head. ‘There is a name for the way your ex-husband acts, you know. It’s called “weaponised incompetence”. When someone is deliberately helpless so you’ll just run around doing things for them.’
‘Now you’re being unfair,’ Lisa says. ‘Brendan’s uselessness is completely genuine.’
‘Does it really matter if he drops the ball on some of the less important stuff while you’re away? It’s only a short time,’ I ask.
‘No, you’re right,’ she replies. ‘As long as both kids are alive, I can just pick up the pieces when I get back. Leave it with me. I’ll do my best.’
For Nora, the decision will come down to timing and her husband Iain’s work commitments. As for me, I’m tempted, I can’t deny it. But I don’t know whether it’s wise when my job feels so insecure at the moment. Our company-wide review is in full flow and as a result, everyone at Fable & Punk is on a mission to stress how dazzlingly effective and utterly irreplaceable we are. Booking even a few days off at the moment feels like tempting fate.
‘Jeff’s already said he’s in,’ Rose tells me, clearly hoping this might be the factor I need to sway me.
‘Where is he tonight?’ Nora asks.
‘Chatting to the owner of the Raja Tandoori about a PTA Curry & Quiz night,’ I tell her. ‘He’ll be here soon.’
He arrives nearly an hour later, having been persuaded to sample half the menu, and heads to the bar to get himself a glass.
‘Has Barbara selected the team for next Thursday’s league match yet?’ Lisa asks.
‘She’s going to announce the names on the WhatsApp group tomorrow,’ Nora replies.
Rose sighs. ‘Why am I so pathetically desperate to be picked, even after beingbatteredlast night?’
One of the main topics of conversation has been Lisa and Rose’s debut in a Women’s B team match against another local club. It was the first league fixture of this season. Both insist they loved it, despite being comprehensively beaten in all but a single game.
‘You must have been over the moon when you won that one,’ Jeff says, catching the tail-end of the conversation as he sits down.
‘Lisa threatened to do a cartwheel,’ Rose says.
‘I settled for a fist-pump. I know from bitter experience at one of Rose’s boozy barbecues that gymnastics never ends well for me these days.’
‘Wasn’t it stressful against such a tough team?’ I ask.
‘ObviouslyI’d have enjoyed it more if we’d won,’ Rose confesses. ‘But at least we know where we are now. Next time, if I get anything less than last night’s eight double faults I’ll be happy.’
‘You were probably just nervous,’ Nora says. ‘Next time, take a deep breath and remind yourself how lucky you are to be outside playing a game you love. It doesn’t matter if you win or lose. It’s the showing up that counts.’
‘Oh Nora, you aresolovely,’ Jeff says, patting her on the hand fondly. ‘But that is quite ridiculous.’
‘No, it’s not!’ she laughs.
‘I have to say I feel like a fraud,’ Lisa says, turning to me. ‘Jules, you are a better player than me. If anyone’s playing in a competition it should be you.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ I scoff and after a few more dismissive murmurings, I’m glad when the conversation moves on.
I get home late that night, buzzing less from the wine than the conversation. I lie in bed for a while exchanging messages with Frankie about her journey to Sorrento. They had train trouble apparently and ended up having to take alternative transport. ‘Before you ask, no I didn’t hitchhike. It was on a bus. All above board.’
I might not have asked, but I can’t deny thatwasthe first thing that went through my head. She has never been acutely attuned to danger. When she was small, no tree was too big for her to climb, no roller coaster too scary for her to jump straight on. Part of me envies the fact that she over-thinks nothing, while also being aware that anxiety is not a completely pointless phenomenon in human beings. Being ‘spunky’ isn’t always a good thing, as I discovered when my first attempts to teach her to safely cross a road when she was little proved fruitless – she’d still slip my hand and run off whenever the urge took her, causing traffic to screech to a halt. Still, she got to Sorrento in one piece and has apparently been offered a job.
‘I’m going to be working in a bar,’ she tells me. ‘They didn’t seem to mind that I haven’t got much experience.’
