Spence is going out on a date.
12
ALICE
‘Does this look OK?’ Spence asks, pulling at the collar of his blue shirt and sitting down at the table. It’s new. Pale wood, grey chairs slotting in neatly around it. Spence’s house has changed over the years. When he first moved in, with a three-month old newborn, this place was every bit the ex-council house that he’d got at auction with the help of his parents. Loud carpets, chipped skirting boards, electric fires and not a hint of a central heating system. Every room had the lingering smell of damp and old furniture. But now, each room has been battered and bent into the house that he always knew it could be.
‘Lose the tie. You’re going to dinner, not parents’ evening,’ I say, slamming a pizza in his double oven. He’s being cagey about who this mystery woman is, but I’m guessing it’s one of the swim mums.
‘Oh God, Dad, you’re not actually wearing those shoes, are you?’ Georgia asks from beneath the rim of her grey baseball cap, as she reaches into the cupboard for a packet of crisps.
‘What’s wrong with them? And put those back, your dinner is in the oven.’ She rolls her eyes but returns the packet. ‘Shoesanda tie? You look like Grandpa.’
He catches my eye and I grimace. ‘She has a point. What about your Sambas?’ He unlaces his shoes, leaves the room, and returns carrying his trainers.
‘Tomato sauce?’ I ask, opening and closing various doors. There was a time where I knew the contents and whereabouts of everything in this house. Georgia opens a cupboard and passes it over while he ties his shoes in place then stands.
I put the sauce on the table and step towards him.
‘Maybe undo the top button?’ He frowns but then does as I say. ‘Your collar is…’ I go to correct it, but he moves back a fraction, his hands already working. ‘Much better.’ I smile, giving an exaggerated sniff. ‘You smell nice too.’
‘Don’t I usually smell nice?’ He quirks an eyebrow.
‘Well, yeah, but… Is that new aftershave?’
‘No.’
‘No?’ I ask raising an eyebrow.
‘Notthatnew.’
‘Come on, spill the beans. Who is she?’
He glances at Georgia and gives me a minute shake of his head. Right. So itisone of the other mums.
He fidgets with the cuffs of his shirt. ‘Up or down?’ he deflects, rolling up his sleeves, revealing the tattoo of six swallows flying towards the crook of his elbow. I think back to Michael and wonder if this could have been a derivative of one of his designs. I’ll ask him in my next letter.
‘Up.’ I bite back a smile. ‘Much better. No grandad vibes at all.’
He looks around the room and scratches his temple.
The beeper on the oven interrupts and I go over, open the door and avoid the blast of the heat.
‘Hadn’t you better be making a move?’ I ask, placing the pizza onto the chopping board and searching the drawers for the pizza cutter.
He gets up, opens the correct drawer and hands it to me. ‘I’ll be early.’
‘You’ll be on time. Go!’ I say, wafting him away with my hands. ‘Me and George are going to gorge ourselves on this and a tub of cookie dough while we watch the new Timmy Challet film.’
‘Right.’ He grabs his car keys from the hook by the door. ‘I won’t be late.’
He bends down and kisses Georgia on the head. ‘Make sure she behaves!’ he adds from the hall on his way out.
‘She’ll be as good as gold!’ I shout back.
‘I wasn’t talking to you!’ is his reply before the door closes behind him.
* * *
