‘HAVE WE LOST all sense of proportion? What parent hasn’t left a child asleep in their car while they’ve dashed into the shops?’
We are listening to Paddy O’Connell’s Sunday-morning programme on the way to the coast and one of the celebrity guests has picked this particular case as their news item.
‘The problem is where to draw the line.’
‘Surely you must agree there’s a wealth of difference between leaving a child locked in his bedroom while you go clubbing and picking up a bottle of milk from the corner shop.’
I reach to turn the radio off, but Tom stops me, pushing my hand away from the knob.
‘Leave it on. I’m interested in this.’
I fold my hands on my lap. What is Tom thinking? Is he connecting what they’re saying to Josh? To me? I twist round and glance at the children. Josh is asleep, Emily is staring out of the window and Polly is eating the remains of the toast and Marmite I couldn’t get her to finish at breakfast.
‘You know that most accidents happen at home or close to home? It only takes a second.’
‘So what are you saying? We never leave a child even for one moment, in case lightning strikes?’
‘The point is small children are extremely vulnerable. Animals don’t leave their young in case a predator comes along. It’s survival instinct.’
‘Did the baby die?’
‘What?’ I shake myself, rattled.
‘Did the baby die?’ Emily repeats.
Tom switches off the radio. ‘No, the baby did not die. The baby was fine. Nothing happened.’
‘Then why are they talking about it?’
‘I don’t know, sweetie.’
‘You won’t leave me alone, will you, Mummy?’
‘No, of course I won’t.’
I bend down and reach for the box of CDs at my feet. ‘Why don’t we put on some music?’
By eleven, after a stopover at Mum’s to soothe our mild hangovers with a full English breakfast washed down with strong tea, we are on the beach, accompanied by an over-excited Schnauzer. The sun is shining, wind gusting off the sea, and it’s nippy, but we make a happy troupe in our padded coats, hats, scarves and walking boots. Jenny, in a ski jacket, a fur hat with flaps and sheepskin boots, looks as though she’s come prepared for a trek across the Arctic. I’m used to the seaside and the way the sun can shine while the wind replaces its heat with chill. I feel the cold, but it doesn’t bother me here like it does in London. It’s part of the package and has a quality that reminds me of childhood; of feet smacking on seawater, of seagulls and the impenetrable mists that regularly enveloped our house in swirling clouds of grey so that we felt as though we were in the clouds.
The tide is as far out as it can go and the girls rush down to the shore in their brightly coloured fleeces and crouch in the shimmering sand, water pooling round the dips made by the weight of their booted feet. Max scampers after them, sniffing at the hole they are digging, occasionally looking back at us and barking. Rose picks up a worm on the end of her spade and she and Emily charge across the beach screaming, Polly in hot pursuit, her fine blonde hair flying out behind her, Max at her heels. They spread their arms and move in formation, like a flock of starlings turning in flight, and veer towards the shore, shrieking as they splash through the shallows.
‘Oh, look at Emily!’ Jenny cries. ‘Isn’t she fabulous?’
My daughter has thrown herself into a series of cartwheels, her legs flying, her landings perfect. Rose emulates her and Polly tries, flinging down her arms and doing a little skip with her legs.
Tom and Simon, who have Josh and Spike in child carriers on their backs, walk ahead, occasionally turning to check on the girls. I’m glad they’re getting on so well. And I like Jenny. I feel relaxed in her company the way I used to with Amber. The thought pulls me up. Am I really not relaxed with her any more? How odd and sad that it should be so. Is it about money or is it about what I did? I’m not sure, but I’m beginning to think the two things are connected. I shocked her when I left Josh on his own and hurt her when I failed to tell her about David. I was wrong on both counts, but it’s too late now. I just have to hope she forgives me.
Jenny takes a big breath and lets it go slowly. ‘This is so much fun. Thanks for inviting us.’
She digs in her capacious shoulder bag for a bottle of water as the girls run over, unscrews the top and hands it to Rose, who tips her head back and glugs, squeezing the bottle until it cracks, earning a reprimand from her mother. Tom and Simon wait for us to catch up. They are wearing similar coats, oilskin in a muddy shade of green, but that’s where the resemblance ends. Tom is in black skinny trousers and Simon is wearing mustard-coloured corduroys. Simon is short and stout, Tom tall, lean and apt to stoop when he’s with a smaller companion.
‘This is fantastic,’ Tom says. ‘It’s so great to be out of town. Whose brilliant idea was it?’
‘Yours, darling.’ I plant a kiss on his cheek.
We find a reasonably dry patch and sit down on our coats so that the boys can crawl around. Josh is in a good mood, having slept for the best part of two hours. He pushes himself forward by concertinaing his legs, like a frog sitting on its bottom, and tries to scoop up the sand. I cover his cast with the protective sleeve and he tugs it down. I tweak it into place and he shouts at me, pushing his fingers into the plastic, his frustration with it rapidly turning into anger.
‘He doesn’t like it,’ Polly says.
‘Sorry, Joshie. But you have to wear it. I haven’t really thought this through,’ I say to Jenny. ‘He’s not allowed to get the plaster wet.’
‘When does it come off?’
‘Next week. Can’t wait. It’s ridiculous how hard it makes life. And it’s really held up his crawling.’
Jenny lets Josh wrap his fingers round hers. ‘You’re a brave boy, aren’t you?’ She earns a winning smile.
‘Amber looked amazing at the party,’ she says a few minutes later. ‘Really gorgeous.’
‘Yes, she did look lovely.’
I mean it sincerely, but I can feel the conversation leading somewhere. Maybe it’s to do with the fact that Jenny’s a lawyer; she picks up on nuances others might miss.
‘I know this is none of my business, but have you two had a row?’
‘No. Why do you ask?’
She brushes sand off her fingertips. ‘Well, you seem on edge with each other, that’s all. Sorry, maybe I’m imagining it. Forget I said anything.’ She holds her hair away from her face and squints into the winter sun. Twenty yards away Simon and Tom take turns with the three girls, holding them by their wrists and whirling them around above the breaking waves. Max is going mad.
I smile and look back at Jenny. ‘There’s nothing wrong.’