‘You wear glasses, Mum.’
‘Not always,’ I point out. ‘Sometimes I put my contacts in.’ Although I can’t remember the last time I did. Wearing glasses has never bothered me, and I quite like my current pair, with their thick black frames that make me look far more studious than I ever was at school.
‘Maybe it’s someone playing a joke,’ Simon says. ‘Find the one dot com – do you think someone’s signed you up to a dating agency as a joke?’
‘Who would do something like that?’ I look at the kids, wondering if I’ll catch a glance passing between them, but Katie looks as confused as I am, and Justin has gone back to his chips.
‘Have you called the number?’ Simon says.
‘At ￡1.50 a minute? You must be joking.’
‘Is it you?’ Katie says. Her eyes are mischievous. ‘You know, for a bit of pocket money? Go on, Mum, you can tell us.’
The uneasy feeling I’ve had since I first saw the advert starts to subside, and I laugh. ‘I’m not sure who would pay ￡1.50 a minute for me, love. It really does look like me, though, doesn’t it? It gave me quite a start.’
Simon fishes his mobile out of his pocket and shrugs. ‘It’ll be someone doing something for your birthday, I bet.’ He puts his phone on speaker and taps in the number. It feels ridiculous: all of us crowded round the London Gazette, calling a sex line. ‘The number you have dialled has not been recognised.’
I realise I’ve been holding my breath.
‘That’s that, then,’ Simon says, handing me the newspaper.
‘But what’s my photo doing there?’ I say. My birthday isn’t for ages, and I can’t think who would find it funny to sign me up for dating services. It crosses my mind that it’s someone who doesn’t like Simon; someone wanting to cause problems between us. Matt? I dismiss the thought as quickly as it arrives.
Instinctively I squeeze Simon’s shoulder, even though he shows no sign of being bothered by the advert.
‘Mum, it looks nothing like you. It’s some old bird with bad roots,’ Justin says.
There’s a compliment in there somewhere, I think.
‘Jus is right, Mum.’ Katie looks at the advert again. ‘It does look like you, but lots of people look like someone else. There’s a girl at work who’s the spitting image of Adele.’
‘I guess so.’ I take one last look at the advert. The woman in the photograph isn’t looking directly at the camera, and the resolution on the image is so poor I’m surprised it’s being used as an advert at all. I hand it to Katie. ‘Stick it in the recycling for me, love, when you go and dish up for the rest of us.’
‘My nails!’ she cries.
‘My feet,’ I counter.
‘I’ll do it,’ Justin says. He dumps his own plate on the coffee table and stands up. Simon and I exchange surprised glances and Justin rolls his eyes. ‘What? You’d think I never helped out around here.’
Simon gives a short laugh. ‘And your point is?’
‘Oh fuck off, Simon. Get your own tea, then.’
‘Stop it, the pair of you,’ I snap. ‘God, it’s hard to know who’s the child and who’s the parent, sometimes.’
‘But that’s my point, he’s not the …’ Justin starts, but stops when he sees the look on my face. We eat on our laps, watching TV and bickering about the remote, and I catch Simon’s eye. He winks at me: a private moment amid the chaos of life with two grown-up kids.
When the plates are empty of all but a sheen of grease, Katie puts on her coat.
‘You’re not going out now?’ I say. ‘It’s gone nine o’clock.’
She looks at me witheringly. ‘It’s Friday night, Mum.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Town.’ She sees my face. ‘I’ll share a cab with Sophia. It’s no different from coming home after a late shift at work.’
I want to say that it is. That the black skirt and white top Katie wears for waitressing is far less provocative than the skin-tight dress she is currently sporting. That wearing her hair scraped into a ponytail makes her look fresh-faced and innocent, while tonight’s do is tousled and sexy. I want to say that she’s wearing too much make-up; that her heels are too high and her nails too red.
I don’t, of course. Because I was nineteen myself once, and because I’ve been a mum long enough to know when to keep my thoughts to myself.
‘Have a good time.’ But I can’t help myself. ‘Be careful. Stay together. Keep your hand over your drink.’
Katie kisses me on the forehead, then turns to Simon. ‘Have a word, will you?’ she says, jerking her head towards me. But she’s smiling, and she gives me a wink before she sashays out of the door. ‘Be good, you two,’ she calls. ‘And if you can’t be good – be careful!’
‘I can’t help it,’ I say, when she’s gone. ‘I worry about her.’