Page 10 of The Do-Over

‘I do. Don’t you ever think about it though?’

‘What, a little cottage with roses over the door and a white picket fence? Adorable, rosy-cheeked children running wild in the fields while I bake wholesome goodies? A ruggedly handsome husband who chops down trees with his bare hands but is oh so gentle in the bedroom?’

He laughs. ‘It sounds like you’ve given it quite a lot of thought.’

‘Only because it’s my waking-up-in-hell scenario. The reality is that I’d either have to marry another lawyer, because they’re the only people who understand the pressures of the job, but I’d never see them, so what’s the point? Or I marry someone from outside the profession and we spend two years rowing about why I’m never at home before divorcing messily and expensively.’

‘When did you get so jaded?’

‘I’m not jaded, I’m realistic. What about you? Do you think you’ll get married? Do the whole 2.4 children and a Labrador thing?’

He thinks for a long time before answering and I take the opportunity to top up our glasses. I’m not going to admit it, but his question is one I’ve asked myself several times before, and I’ve never found a completely satisfactory answer. Would I like to meet someone to share my life with? Yes. Would I be prepared to give up the career I love in order to do it? No, I think that would destroy me after all the work I’ve put in to get here. Is Alasdair my person? Definitely not, but I hope we’ll always be friends, whatever happens.

‘Do you know,’ he says eventually, startling me out of my uncomfortable train of thought, ‘I reckon I’d happily give up the law for the right person. I think, deep down, I’ve always known that, and maybe that’s why I’m not that fussed about whether I become a partner or not. Don’t tell them at work, will you?’

‘Don’t worry,’ I reply, trying to hide my surprise. ‘Your secret’s quite safe with me. I never had you pegged as such a romantic though.’

‘How can you say that?’ he demands, mock-affronted. ‘I’ve bought you champagne and dinner today.’

‘That you did,’ I admit. ‘Where are the roses though?’

‘Aw, bollocks. I left them in the shop.’

I lean over and give him a kiss. ‘You’ll make someone a very good husband one day, I’m sure. Now, I hate to admit it, but I’m starting to fade. Do you want to stay the night? The only rule is you shut up about marriage.’

‘Yeah, go on then.’

6

I can’t believe it’s Christmas already. It feels like my feet have hardly touched the ground in the last six months. Although the publishing deal has gone quiet due to some restructuring at Bookisti, I was immediately reassigned onto another deal which has had me flitting back and forth to Paris. The transaction is starting to accelerate, so I’m desperately hoping Bookisti doesn’t resurface just yet, as two transactions running concurrently is every M&A lawyer’s worst nightmare.

I’m in a good mood as I point the Porsche towards Mum and Phil’s home in Maidstone. The traffic is almost non-existent at this time on Christmas morning, so the satnav is predicting I should easily make it in time for the all-important present-opening ceremony before lunch. I glance at the shopping bag full of neatly wrapped presents on the passenger seat next to me; to my amusement, not only did Janice buy all the gifts and wrap them, but she also provided me with a helpful crib sheet so I could talk knowledgeably enough about each one to complete the illusion that I’d bought them myself.

One thing I can be absolutely sure about, as I join the M25 heading for the Dartford crossing and Kent, is that Rollo’s mumwill already have moved her car into the now vacant space outside my house. She seems to be curiously obsessed about it and, although things have calmed down a little lately, she’s made various attempts to stop me parking there over the months. I came home one Saturday to find it blocked off with those yellow cones that councils use to stop people parking when they want to do roadworks. I will admit to being taken in by that one for a moment, until I got suspicious about the fact that only one space was affected. A quick bit of investigation revealed that she’d whipped them from a site round the corner, so I moved them and stacked them neatly outside her front door before parking as usual. Her dirtiest trick, for which I grudgingly admire her ingenuity, was revealed when I came back from a three-week trip to New York to discover that she’d reported my car as abandoned. Obviously, the polite letter from the council informing me that there had been a complaint didn’t mention who had contacted them, but it was pretty obvious.

It sounds petty, but I couldn’t let that one go without a retaliatory strike. Not because I care particularly about the space; I just wanted to let her know that I knew what she’d done and I wouldn’t be pushed around. So, the following weekend, I’d deliberately moved my car round the corner about five minutes before I knew she and Rollo would return from his extra tuition. Sure enough, she swooped eagerly into the space with a look of triumph on her face as she hopped out of the car. Unluckily for her, her typically cavalier parking played straight into my hands, and a quick call to the council to inform them of a car parked on the kerb resulted in a clamp and the highly satisfactory sight of her howling with rage when she came to leave the next morning. I’m not proud, but she hasn’t tried anything since, so I reckon the end justifies the means.

‘Darling! Merry Christmas.’ My mother beams as she throws open the door of the house she and Phil have lived in since theymarried. She envelops me in a bosomy hug that takes me back to my childhood as I return the embrace.

‘Let me look at you,’ she continues after a moment, holding me by the shoulders and scrutinising me closely. ‘You’ve lost weight again, haven’t you? You look tired, are you eating properly?’

‘I’m fine, Mum. Honestly.’

‘Hm. You’re very pale. Are you sure you can’t stay the night? Your room is all made up and you look like you could do with a bit of spoiling. Your uncle Ted’s coming over with Gina and the girls tomorrow. I’m sure they’d love to see you.’

‘Sorry, Mum. Boxing Day is a work day in France, so I’m on the early-morning Eurostar.’

‘Ah, well. If it can’t be helped then we’ll just have to make the most of you while we have you. Come on in. We’ve doled out the presents and it’s been a full-time job persuading Louis to wait for you to arrive before opening them.’

I follow her down the hall to the sitting room, where the rest of my family are gathered. Phil is ensconced in his usual spot, a squishy leather armchair in front of the TV, and my sister Saffy is on the sofa with her husband Tim and a very wriggly Louis.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, everyone,’ I tell them as Mum settles herself into the chair next to Phil’s.

‘No worries. Lovely to see you, Thea, and Merry Christmas. Would you like a glass of fizz?’ Phil heaves himself out of his chair and wanders over to the sideboard that serves as his bar. It’s one of those ones that opens up to reveal an illuminated mirror-lined interior, and is full of bottles of weird liqueurs he and Mum have picked up on various holidays over the years. If you wanted a template for someone solidly middle class, Phil is it. He likes his home, his creature comforts and he loves my mother to bits. He may not be exciting, but we love him like the father Dad never was.

‘Just half a glass, please, Phil,’ I tell him. ‘I need to pace myself.’

‘Is there a present in your bag for me?’ Louis asks hopefully.

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