Page 39 of Textbook Romance

I don’t stay for a baked potato. Mainly because they do take a long time to cook but I know Frank’s mum is making her legendary crispy belly pork for us and I am, in these situations, dictated by my stomach. However, I’m grateful that both Mia and Ed were able to sound me out.

As I head out of their flat and locate my bike I replay that scene in my head again. The moment her body relented, and I felt it fit against mine, the softness of her skin against my cheek. I unlock my bike and hear my phone ping in my pocket. I go to retrieve it and see a notification on my home screen. It’s from Zoe. It’s an emoji of a chicken. I laugh.

SEVEN

Zoe

It’ll be fine, Zoe. Here if you want to talk it out this weekend x

I look down at the message and smile, resting my elbow on the countertop of my kitchen.

It’s been over a week since I sent the chicken, since Jack replied with a laughing emoji, and since then all that’s happened is an exchange of messages, a conversation. We don’t mention the kiss, we just continue that line of witty exchange via messages instead. Sure, I have to look up my emojis to ensure I’m not sending anything remotely vulgar, but I like that feeling of hearing my phone pinging, or seeing he’s replying after I message him, and I like those three dots that tell me he’s writing. I like how sometimes he’s the last person I speak to at night, and he tells me to sleep well. I have no idea where it’s going, but there’s a warm buzz that comes with the novelty of our conversations, the idea that there’s no pressure to be anything other but myself with him. And at a time like this, I am grateful to him for the distraction as today starts the first weekend where I will be without my kids.

‘Mum, where are my black trackies?’ Dylan asks me. I smile and point to the laundry room where I washed and dried said trackies in preparation. Even though he has three other pairs, it’s only those ones that will do. He grabs them and gallops up the stairs again. I take a long sip of wine. Manchester is what’s happening. I finally got Lottie in a position where she would agree to go on the trip. Granted, my plan was based on good old-fashioned bribery and blackmail, but I also assured both of them that they could go with my blessing even though I knew it would hurt my heart beyond belief to not have them round like some sort of security blanket. Whether I’m married to their father or not, they are not pawns in this situation and my desire will always be that they remain unscathed in all of this. So, it’s a Friday night, they’re packing and I am readying myself for their departure. I will not cry.

A head pops round the door. ‘You know it’s not too late. I can stay if you want. Or maybe you could come, too?’ Oh, Lottie. She shuffles over in her Ugg boots and wraps her arms around me. I see parents who do this a lot. They go on holidays despite their marital circumstances, all part of some big, blended family. Maybe one day I’ll get there, but not now. If I went now, I’d likely push Brian in front of a bus. I won’t tell her that. I stroke her head and kiss her forehead.

‘Lottie, I’ll be fine. You go. I think that’s part and parcel of how our new situation will work out. We just won’t do things as a four anymore.’

‘And I hate him for it.’ She scowls. All at once, I feel all that sadness and grief in her tones. I hate to admit it, but we were a good foursome.

‘Just try… That’s all we’re asking. Push the hate down because you’re going to be sitting in a car with him for four hours now.’

Her deadpan expression and flared nostrils make me giggle. ‘And like we said, I think if you asked him to buy that North Face coat you’re after, I reckon he’s so desperate to get in your good books he may buy it for you. I’d seriously milk it.’

‘Pandora stuff, too?’

I open my eyes and nod at her, and she smiles. Little Lottie. Even though it’s the biggest cliché you’ll hear, I remember when she’d sit on my knee at this countertop and we’d eat toast together on a Saturday morning and I’d help her drink her milk, holding a beaker to her mouth that was as big as her tiny face. Now she’s all limbs, a mane of hair and this wondrous human I get to unleash on the world. She comes over to embrace me again as I hear a key turn in the door, and I stiffen. That sound feels like an annoyance to me now. He’s here. Lottie doesn’t let go and I feel a lump in my throat already starting to form.

‘Hello?’ his voice thunders through the hallway. ‘You ready, kids?’

‘Lottie,’ I whisper. But her hug gets tighter. ‘We’re in the kitchen, Brian,’ I call out. The front door shuts and I hear him walk through.

‘Evening, all! Ready, Lots?’ he asks her. How is he so sprightly? Lottie is silent and shrugs her shoulders, looking over to me, confused at having to leave me but still wanting to show her allegiance. I get it, little one.

‘Dylan’s just upstairs,’ I tell him. ‘Actually, can I ask a favour? Now that you don’t live here anymore, please could you ring the bell rather than letting yourself in? Just so we respect each other’s boundaries.’ He stares at me for bringing it up, now, but it felt like as good a moment as any to say he can’t just come into my house and treat this like his home when it suits him. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t just walk into yours and Liz’s house without asking.’

He looks mildly confused, like I’m speaking another language. ‘But we’re co-parenting, it’s different,’ he tells me.

‘It isn’t really – you don’t live here anymore,’ Lottie adds. ‘I agree with Mum.’

Brian goes to the doorway of the kitchen, refusing to answer and as he looks away, Lottie winks at me. ‘DYLAN!’ he shouts. ‘Let’s go, bud.’

I look Brian up and down, sipping my glass of wine. It’s strange how the external has hardly changed. His leaving didn’t prompt him to go out and buy a new wardrobe or go for a radical new haircut. I remember finding those brown boots with him in a sale, telling him to buy them, they’d go with everything. What is strange is how internally, everything is different. The value he placed on me, our family, our life. He felt that Liz was worth more than that. It still hurts that I never saw it coming. That in the space of mere months, life changed so very quickly. I quickly swipe away the painful feeling that flashes up and remind myself I’m better off this way. I will be better off. Then I picture Jack and think of the kiss, and my stomach is a riot of butterflies.

‘Plans for the weekend, Zoe?’ he asks me casually, bringing me expertly back down to earth.

I was going to hoover and maybe start a box set, you shitbag.

‘Oh, I’ve got marking to do and then I was going to meet someone for lunch.’ I’m not but I have to pretend I have a life, that there may be the possibility that I might be doing something exciting with my life, like tapas.

‘You’re still letting work seep into your weekends then?’ he says casually.

‘Well, that’s my problem now, eh?’ Is this why you had an affair? Because I’d work at home at the weekends? Are we blaming my career now? Maybe it’s easier to do that than blame your lack of integrity. I look over at Lottie. Civility, civility, civility. I want to throw a mug at his smug head. Dylan appears with a rucksack at the door, and I look down at Lottie’s trolley bag that I know includes two changes of shoes should she need them. Dylan can barely look at me.

‘So…’ I say, trying to control a waver in my voice. ‘Have a truly excellent time. Send me some pics to let me know you’re having fun. I guess I’ll expect you back on Sunday evening at some point.’

‘Depending on the traffic. We’ll get dinner enroute. I thought we could go for a Wagamama.’

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