Page 105 of The Fall-Out

‘Have you got your school bag, Toby? Meredith, go back and brush your hair. Quickly, or you’ll make us all late.’

‘But you’re not going to work today, Mummy. You’ve got the day off,’ my daughter said.

‘Can’t we have the day off, too?’ wheedled Toby.

‘No, you may not. Bag – now. Daddy’s here.’

I hurried to the door and opened it. Patch smiled at me, the special smile I’d noticed him giving me when we saw each other briefly like this. It was warm but distant, friendly but somehow sad. A smile, but also a shield.

‘Groundhog day?’ he asked.

‘You’ve got it.’

I smiled back, appreciative that, at last, he did get it. Having the kids four nights one week and three the next had made him familiar with the morning carnage, the afternoon panic-dash from work to school, the evening spent trying to get two knackered twins fed, bathed, read to and asleep before they got so overtired there was zero chance of any of those things happening.

‘Can you show me again how to do that braid thing in Meredith’s hair? I tried copying a YouTube video but she kept wriggling and it was a mess.’

‘Maybe when you drop them off on Saturday? There isn’t really time now. You’ll be all cack-handed and it’ll take ages.’

‘Daddy, Mummy’s going to sail toy boats and we aren’t allowed,’ Toby pushed past me, thrusting his hand into his father’s.

‘We’ll go and play boats on the pond at the weekend, okay?’ Patch promised. ‘And your fingers are all sticky. Did you have jam for breakfast?’

‘Mummy made me a poached egg,’ Meredith said. ‘They’re my new favourite.’

Patch looked at me, that smile on his face again. ‘Damn. You’re going to have to show me?—’

‘How to poach an egg? It’s trial and error, I’m afraid. At least you’ll get your protein macros in eating all the ones she won’t touch because they’re too hard or too snotty.’

‘YouTube to the rescue again, then.’ He rolled his eyes conspiratorially.

‘You’ll get there. Just like I did with the origami boats.’

‘Should’ve asked me. I make a mean boat.’

‘And you’ll take your mum to St Mungo’s church on Saturday?’

‘Sure thing.’ He grinned. ‘I might even stay for the canasta. There’s cake, you know. Right, you two – let’s get going.’

Automatically, I pulled the sagging bobble out of Meredith’s hair, smoothed it back from her face and retied it more securely. ‘Sure you don’t want to come? You could drop the kids and meet me after?’

He shook his head. ‘Got a meeting. Anyway, this is your thing. I hope it goes well.’

‘Me too. Especially since I’ve got a meeting too, at half eleven. So we’re going to have to make it quick.’

‘Gotcha.’

With one child holding each of his hands, he paused. Like the smile, I’d grown used to this – the moment of hesitation on the doorstep of my flat, as if he wanted to stay but also didn’t. My own hesitation was familiar, too – the moment when I longed to beg him to take care of the children, bring them back to me safe, not allow them to forget about me while they were in his care.

I never did, though. I didn’t need to; he was their father.

I was saved by the cat darting between my legs, making a bid for freedom through the open door as the often did.

‘Come on, you, inside.’ I scooped her up, pressing my face against the silken seal-coloured softness of her head. ‘Have a good day. See you on Saturday evening. Love you.’

‘Love you, Mummy,’ the children chorused. ‘Love you, Bisou.’

The door closed and I turned back into the flat, the silence roaring in my ears as it always did in the few moments after Patch collected the kids and I was left alone, until I got used to it again only to be shocked by how noisy it was when they returned. It was at times like this that I was extra grateful for the company of Bisou, who I’d almost stopped thinking of as Zara’s.

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