Page 60 of Textbook Romance

‘I bet she has, though. With kids, it’s what you do – you have to put them first. Shit, are you going to be a stepdad?’ he jokes.

My eyes widen. ‘Dom, I only slept with her yesterday. I haven’t really thought that far ahead.’

‘Then why did you come to talk to me?’

I pause for a moment. Maybe because this did feel different to the very random women I usually date for a few weeks before it fizzles out. Zoe is real, she has a quality about her that speaks to something in me. I think of times looking at her yesterday and feeling so relaxed yet so charged with an emotion I’d rarely experienced before.

‘She had a bit of drama with her kids, her ex was being a dick and she dropped everything for them. I don’t know. It reminded me of you.’

He punches me in the arm.

‘How complicated is the situation with the ex?’

‘Together for twenty years, he ran off with her mate.’

‘Ouch. Is he huge? Could you take him?’

‘Easily.’

‘I’ll back you up. I’ll bring the boys.’ We both arch our heads into the living room where the twins jump off the sofa in the same way you see pumas jump off rock faces. Yep, bring them.

‘Well, just look after yourself, you know. Protect your heart. It’s a good heart,’ he tells me.

‘I’ll try.’

‘Have you sent her pictures of your ding-dong yet?’ he enquires.

I laugh. ‘No. I had sex with her five times in twelve hours, though.’

He widens his eyes at me, and I can’t tell if that emotion is horror, surprise or happiness.

TWELVE

Zoe

‘I think if I had sex five times in a row, my fanny would just give up on me. It would go into shock,’ Kate tells me, sipping at her tea.

‘It wasn’t in a row, we had breaks in between,’ I tell her.

‘Were there biscuits involved?’ she enquires, giggling. She looks down at her phone at the picture on Jack’s Instagram, still trying to work it all out. She’s confused? How the hell does she think I feel? ‘At the end of the day, I think it’s all karma. Life doled you out something a little shite and then in return, you were sent this Jack boy.’

‘Don’t call him boy,’ I tell her.

‘Hon, I’ve got bras older than him.’

I punch her in the arm, and she laughs, almost falling off her stool. Kate stayed last night as we all nestled into our sofa with spicy chicken and a rather violent vigilante thriller film that I think the kids needed to watch so they could work out some of their frustrations. Kate told me she wanted to stay for the moral support and needed to rest after driving, but I think she stayed for the gossip. As soon as Dylan took himself off to bed, she asked for every last detail. She lay next to me last night, still foraging for details, she woke up with me to keep digging. You slept with someone over ten years younger than you? How many times? He looks like that? At one time, she actually applauded.

And now we sit here, making our way through rounds of toast and tea as we wait for Brian to make an appearance, the autumn sunlight flooding the kitchen, the house silent. Such is the way when you have teenagers. I remember a time when I dreamt of this, when the kids were little and I’d be sitting in the front room watching Peppa Pig at six in the bloody morning. But now, they sleep. They don’t emerge until lunch and the silence is an empty echo, almost preparing you for the moment when they will eventually fly from this nest.

‘You know this will be the absolute best thing to show Brian when he gets here, right? I might get this guy’s image put on a mug that says THIS IS WHO MY EX-WIFE FUCKS NOW.’

‘Don’t do that. That’s not why I slept with him. You know that, right? It wasn’t for revenge.’

‘Oh god, I know that. But don’t you want to brag, just a little bit…?’ she says cheekily. I reach over and rub at toast crumbs that seem to have accumulated on the corner of her lips.

‘No. And when he’s here, don’t say an absolute word. Don’t pop up in a doorway like some strange puppet and announce it.’

She puts jazz hands to the sides of her face. ‘Guess who Zoe’s shagging, Brian?’

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