Justin comes downstairs. He nods to Isaac. ‘All right, mate? Mum, I’m heading out. I might stop out tonight.’
‘No you’re not. We’re going to see Katie’s play.’
‘I’m not.’ He turns to Katie and Isaac. ‘No offence, guys, but it’s really not my sort of thing.’
Katie laughs. ‘It’s fine.’
‘No it isn’t,’ I say firmly. ‘We are going as a family to watch Katie perform in her first professional play. End of discussion.’
‘Look, there’s really no need to cause an argument,’ Isaac says. ‘If Justin doesn’t want to come, we’re cool with that, aren’t we, Kate?’ He slides a hand round her waist as he speaks, and she looks up at him and nods.
Kate?
I’m standing just a few feet away from my daughter, yet it feels as though there’s a great chasm between us. A few weeks ago it would have been Katie and me against the world; now it’s Katie and Isaac. Kate and Isaac.
‘It’s only a dress rehearsal,’ she says.
‘All the more reason why we should be cheering you on, so you’re ready for opening night.’
Even Justin knows when I won’t be moved.
‘Fine.’
Isaac coughs. ‘We’d better—’
‘We’ll see you there, Mum. You know how to find the theatre?’
‘Yes, yes. Break a leg!’ My smile is making my cheeks ache. I stand at the open door and watch them walk away, waving when Katie turns round. I close the door, the hallway cold from the outside air.
‘She doesn’t care if I’m there or not, you know.’
‘I care.’
Justin leans against the banister. He eyes me thoughtfully. ‘Do you? Or do you just want Katie to think you’re taking her acting seriously?’
I flush. ‘I am taking it seriously.’
Justin puts a foot on the bottom step, bored with the conversation. ‘And the rest of us have to sit through some Shakespeare shite just so you can prove it. Cheers, Mum.’
I’ve arranged for Matt to pick us all up at three. He rings the bell but when I open the door he’s next door, ringing Melissa’s doorbell.
‘I’ll wait in the cab,’ he says.
By the time I’ve chivvied Justin and Simon, and put on my coat, Melissa and Neil are already in the cab. Neil’s sitting in the front, and Melissa’s on the back seat. I slide in next to her, leaving room for Justin. Simon sits on the folding seat behind Matt.
‘Well, isn’t this nice?’ Melissa says. ‘I don’t know when I last went to the theatre.’
‘Lovely.’ I give her a grateful smile. Simon is staring out of the window. I move my foot so it’s nudging his, but he ignores it, shifting his legs away from me.
He didn’t want Matt to pick us up.
‘We can take the Tube,’ he said, when I told him Matt had offered.
‘Don’t be absurd. It’s really kind of him. You’ve got to get over this, Simon.’
‘How would you like it, if the situation were reversed? My ex, driving us around …’
‘I wouldn’t give two hoots.’
‘You can go in the cab, then. I’ll meet you there.’
‘So that everyone else can see how ridiculous you’re being? And know we’ve had a row?’
If there’s one thing Simon hates, it’s people talking about him.
*
Matt calls over his shoulder to me. ‘Rupert Street, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right. Apparently it’s next to a pub.’
Simon twists round in his seat, the screen on his mobile phone lighting up his face. ‘Waterloo Bridge, past Somerset House and left on to Drury Lane,’ he says.
Matt laughs. ‘On a Saturday? No chance, mate. Vauxhall Bridge, Millbank all the way to Whitehall, and we can take a gamble on the finish when we get to Charing Cross.’
‘It’s ten minutes quicker via Waterloo, according to the satnav.’
‘I don’t need a satnav, mate. It’s all up here.’ He taps the side of his head. Simon’s shoulders tense. When Matt was doing the Knowledge he used to ride around the city on a bike, learning every backstreet, every one-way system. There isn’t a satnav on the market that could get you across the capital more reliably than my ex-husband.
But that isn’t the issue, right now. I glance at Simon, who is looking out of the window; the only sign of his irritation his fingers, drumming on his thigh. ‘I do think Waterloo might be quicker, Matt,’ I say. He looks at me in the rear-view mirror and I hold his gaze, silently asking him to just do this one thing for me; knowing that however much he’d like to score points over Simon, he’d never do anything to upset me.
‘Waterloo it is, then. Then Drury Lane, you say?’
Simon checks his phone again. ‘That’s right. Shout if you need directions.’ His face shows no triumph, or relief, but his fingers cease their drumming, and I see him relax into his seat.