Page 68 of The Last Train Home
I’m trying to have a conversation with the only other dad, Andy, who picks up from nursery. We spotted each other and bonded in that forced way that only two men in a sea of women at the nursery gate can. Andy’s all right. He’s a children’s book illustrator, but harbours dreams of creating a cartoon to rival Peppa Pig, ‘Although a bit less annoying, you know?’ He’s a single dad and said my arrival took the pressure off him. He’s been struggling to fight off ‘the hot European nannies’.
‘Really?’
‘Nah, not really,’ he says, pulling his hoody over his head like some thirty-year-old middle-class gangster. ‘I wouldn’t date one of the women at the gate. Too risky. What if it doesn’t work out? Then I’ve got to see them every day, at the kids’ birthday parties and that sort of thing. Not worth it. I’ve got to stay strong, though. Some of them are really hot.’
‘Some of themarereally hot,’ I concur.
‘So how long have you got until you callously abandon me at pick-up time and start your swanky new job?’ he asks.
‘One week to go,’ I say. ‘I’ll miss this. I love picking up Teddy. We have so much fun together. I’ll miss pushing him on the swings and standing in the park and chatting shit with you.’
‘Yeah,’ Andy says. ‘It’s all right. Bloody cold. But all right.’
‘We’ll get the kids together for some weekend playdates perhaps?’ I offer.
Andy nods. ‘Or we could sack that idea off and go to the pub instead.’
‘That’ll work.’
I watch our sons toddling around together, exchanging stones. I really am incredibly lucky. I think I’m starting to feel it now. I’m settling into the hand that I got dealt. It’s a good hand, I think. I got dealt a bloody good hand.
Our sons run towards us, their coats flapping as they gather pace, each carrying an armload of rocks, ready to be shoved into our jeans.
‘No!’ Andy and I holler and we back away at the same time.
Chapter 46
Abbie
May 2008
It is so hot I think I am actually melting. My sunscreen is running sweat lines down my face. This hotel in Dubai is meant to be glamorous and I am not fitting in very well. Why are other women walking around the edge of the pool in heels and wedges? And what’s with all the jewellery?
I’ve been swimming almost every day for the past year since we moved to Singapore, so I’m fairly comfortable in my varying selection of bikinis, but the jewellery-and-heels thing is ridiculous. Also, no one seems to be reading a book. They’re all just drinking cocktails. It’s 11 a.m. This I might be able to get on board with.
‘Do you want a drink?’ I ask Sean. He’s asleep on the sun lounger next to me. Although how he can sleep when the poolside speakers are blasting out Ibiza beach-club tunes is beyond me.
‘Mmm? Yeah.’ He falls asleep again. He’s been working so hard, and by day three of our holiday he’s slept pretty much every day, which means that every night he’s raring to go. It’s like we’re in completely different time zones. The heat andthe daytime drinking are zonking me out by 10 p.m., but Sean wants to hit the bars and stay out as late as possible.
Today I’m going to get with it. I grab myself a juice at the bar and some waters for both of us, along with Sean’s beer. I won’t have anything alcoholic today and I will be able to stay out all night and enjoy being with my boyfriend. At the moment I feel I’m almost on holiday by myself. Just me and a few books.
Sean rolls over and looks at me as I return, shuffles himself into an upright position. My sunglasses slide down my nose with the heat. I think my hair’s gone a bit frizzy, so I pull it back into a tighter ponytail and hope for the best.
‘I’ve booked us somewhere amazing for dinner,’ he says.
‘Have you?’ So far we’ve been heading to various hotel bars and restaurants that I’ve found us on Tripadvisor.
‘Mmm,’ he says and gives me a knowing look. ‘Wear somethingverynice.’
‘I always wear somethingverynice,’ I say in mock-defence. ‘I’ve only bought nice things with me.’ And then I think. ‘Do I own clothes that you don’t think are nice, then?’
He laughs. ‘Some.’
Sean’s actually booked a restaurant. He used to do this all the time in England when we were dating. The old Sean has been resuscitated, and I like it.
‘What are you reading?’ he asks me.
‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It’s the final one.’ It came out last year and I’ve been saving it for a holiday read.
