Vicky wraps her pashmina around her neck and pulls it close, hiding inside its soft folds. ‘You know we can’t.’
The weather has turned bitter again. Amber shouts at the girls to wait at the crossing and they stand obediently, Polly with her finger poised near the button. They catch up and wait for the green man and then Vicky steps off the kerb and is nearly knocked down by a cyclist. Amber grabs her in time and yanks her back.
‘It’s not like I haven’t put myself out for you recently,’ she says.
‘Amber! I don’t know what you think, but Tom and I haven’t got pots of money floating around. What we have is invested in our house. We can’t just go to the bank and ask for it; we’d have to remortgage to get anything like what you need. Surely it’s better to do that through a proper loan, rather than involve us?’
‘You’re right. Sorry.’ Amber’s smile is thin. ‘Let’s talk about it another time.’
13
THE BOLOGNESE SAUCE is bubbling merrily on the hob when Sophie comes downstairs. She’s dressed in Emily’s precious Belle costume, the yellow gauze billowing out from her rotund little body, the poppers at the back left open so that her vest shows. She stands in the doorway, holding an old evening bag of mine, and contemplates me. Even though she looks like Robert, she has the same steady, sometimes disconcerting, gaze as her mother.
‘What’s for dinner?’ she asks.
I grab a handful of spaghetti and push it down into a pan of boiling water. ‘Spag bol. Are you hungry?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, it’ll be ten minutes, so why don’t you go upstairs and tell Emily you have to get changed.’
‘Can I wear this?’
‘No, Sophie. Not with spaghetti. It’s too messy. Go and put your clothes back on.’
She goes up, her little feet heavy on the stairs. Thumper, I think, giving the Bolognese a stir. I’m still bothered by the conversation with Amber. Should we be helping them? Could we, if we really wanted to? Am I being mean? God, I don’t know. I hate being put in this position, made to examine my conscience and my personality.
Minutes later there are more feet, Emily’s this time. She’s dressed as a ballet dancer and Sophie is still in costume, so clearly this is an attempt at a coup. I concede defeat with dignity.
‘You look beautiful,’ I say. ‘Very elegant.’
‘Can I wear it at Emily’s birthday party?’
‘You’ll have to ask her, but I’m sure she’ll say yes if she doesn’t want it herself. And in that case you’d better keep it clean, hadn’t you?’
The girls skate around the floor in their socks and Polly pootles in and starts telling her imaginary friend which cakes she likes best. Fondant Fancies. And which she thinks is disgusting. Jamaican Ginger.
I pour a glass of wine and drink it leaning against the counter while the children eat. I’ve begun leaving Josh to his own devices with food, on the basis that he’s more likely to get on with it that way. Mum’s suggestion. I cover his plaster cast with a special plastic sleeve and hope for the best, but it is getting revolting. His latest trick is to tip his plastic bowl on to his head. Our previous battles have been entirely fruitless and it is such a relief to let him do things his own way. He grins at me, his face smeared with food, and I make a face at him.
At six thirty when Amber still hasn’t arrived, I begin to get twitchy. I need to get Josh cleaned up and the girls into their bath. I check my phone to see if she’s texted, but there are no messages. At six forty-five Tom’s motorbike roars on to the forecourt and the girls rush to the door to greet him, Emily clacking in her heels. He picks her up and plants a kiss on her nose, does the same for Polly and chucks Sophie under her chin. I glance meaningfully at my watch.
‘Amber should have been here three-quarters of an hour ago.’
‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘It isn’t as if we haven’t taken advantage of her plenty of times.’
He deposits Polly on the floor, wraps his arms around me and nuzzles my neck. I turn into him and press my head against his shoulder.
‘Hey, what is it?’
‘Nothing.’ I lift my face and kiss him.
‘Umm,’ he says, kissing me back then pulling away and raising his eyebrows. ‘The sea air obviously agrees with you.’
His face makes me smile, and if I’m so used to it that I barely notice any more, I only have to remind myself of the first time we met; how, despite the other very good-looking students with him, it was Tom Seagrave I noticed. I am so glad I came to my senses about David. I know what I want my life to be and who I want to spend it with.
The doorbell rings. I let Amber in and she breezes past me, spots Tom’s leather jacket hanging over the banister and calls out a greeting.
‘Hi, Amber,’ he calls back.
She takes that as an invitation and goes through. ‘Sorry I’m late. Someone jumped in front of a train. We were stuck between stations for half a ruddy hour. Honestly! If they’re going to do it, I wish they’d pick a better time.’
‘Yes,’ Tom says. ‘I can’t think why they failed to consider your convenience. So selfish.’
She laughs. ‘Get you.’
‘Drink?’ he asks.
‘Please.’
She wanders over to the window, turning to take the glass from his hand, and he remains standing at her side, looking out, away from me. Amber is shorter than I am, and narrower in build, and she’s dwarfed by Tom. The light from the window creates a kind of halo around them. She is part of the furniture here, always has been.
‘It’ll soon be warm enough to play outside,’ she says, turning to me with a happy smile and catching me staring at her. ‘I can’t wait. I really hope we’ve completed on Browning Street by then.’
‘You will, won’t you?’ Tom says. ‘There’s no chain?’
‘No. Thank God. But the money situation is a tad complicated.’ She shrugs and looks at me. ‘But I won’t bore you with all that.’
‘So, have you thought about Spain?’ Tom says. ‘The offer’s still open, you know. Unless, of course, Suffolk is a more tempting prospect.’
Amber rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, right. I love listening to Angie carping about Sophie’s weight and Philip hinting about us moving up there.’ Her voice lowers as she imitates her father-in-law. ‘“Because the dear boy will be more comfortable.” God forbid. But I shouldn’t complain. They’re generous. It’s just not my idea of a holiday.’
I reach for the wine bottle and refill our glasses. ‘You have to come with us, Amber. The girls will be much happier if they have a friend with them.’
‘You are sweet. But Robert …’ She shrugs eloquently.
‘Robert what?’ Tom says.
‘Robert thinks he’ll feel like the poor relation.’
‘Ah.’
‘So you see my problem.’
‘Why don’t I talk to him?’