Page 68 of Sex Ed

‘Are you doing your special grilled cheese?’ I ask.

He smiles. I remember when I had my heart broken once by a dick on a dating site and Ed made one of these for me. It’s basically a fried cheese sandwich but it has special healing powers.

‘So the kids don’t know yet?’ he asks me.

I shake my head. There wasn’t a lot of time to brief Ed on the way here. I think I mostly exuded anger and venom towards her ex and the way Rachel had found out, so it’s good that Ed is here to calm me down. He finds a chopping board and slices through the cheese.

‘It’s all very new. Didn’t your dad leave you when you were quite young?’ I ask him. ‘You can tell me to piss off if you don’t want to talk about it.’

‘I didn’t know him. He left when I was about five. I have hazy memories of a man in the house but not much else. Can I ask the same? Why is your dad not in that picture?’ he asks, pointing to the one by the window.

‘Heart attack. I was nine. Then I lost my mum to cancer when I was at university. I’m like one of those sad orphans in a Dickens novel.’

He smiles but I stand there for a moment and wonder why we’ve never shared this information before. I guess friendships can be at face value like this. Ed is someone I’ve seen nearly every day for years and our chat is mostly about work gossip, sandwiches and my poorly mapped out love life. Maybe something has changed between us, a new level of trust, a feeling like this is someone who’s not just a work husband anymore. I go over and give him a hug and he puts his arms around me. I feel him squeeze me tightly.

‘I am sorry about your mum. That can’t have been easy,’ he mumbles into my ear.

I’m not sure I want to let go. ‘It wasn’t but hell, it made me a survivor… You didn’t have a dad, too. I’m sorry he left you. He’s a twat for doing that. You’re great.’

I feel his body shuddering under mine to hear my astute analysis of his situation.

‘We’re revealing far too much to each other these days,’ he tells me.

‘In more ways than one,’ I retort.

He parts the hug and kisses me on the forehead. I close my eyes for a moment.

‘Come on, let’s feed these kids. Do you know if they have the mods for Minecraft?’ he asks me.

I hand him a spatula, gazing at him in disbelief. ‘I have no fucking clue, you absolute geek.’

ED

Mia has many faces, but she has one that reads absolute panic. If she’s late for school, gets a text from a strange Tinder sort or realises she’s drunk too much of an evening then her blue eyes get big like some strange animé creature and her smiley face drops to deadpan. It was the face she made when that call came in from her sister and it’s what made me realise, in that moment, that she needed my help. Did I also want to meet her sister? Well, that too. Until then she only existed in caricature, like an evil Disney witch, as someone who Mia didn’t really get on with, so it was intriguing that Mia was willing to drop everything to be by her side.

‘So, if you go into creative, you can spawn loads of pigs.’ I do as her nephew, Felix, tells me and fist-bump him for the know-how. Do I play Minecraft? I do. It’s like virtual Lego with a vintage quality to the graphics. You can judge me but, until three weeks ago, I was a virgin of little social prowess and had a lot of time on my hands.

Mia watches me curiously as she bites into her fourth wedge of grilled cheese, using some sriracha from the fridge as a dipping sauce.

‘Aunty Mia, your friend is very cool,’ Florence says, snuggling into her.

‘But is he as cool as me?’ Mia asks.

The kids take their time to answer, and she hits Florence around the head with a cushion who giggles and throws it back at her. I smile to see how adored Mia is by these two. But to be fair, I see it all the time with the teens at school. Mia is a rock star amongst us teachers for the way she dresses and understands their lingo and pop culture references. I am obviously wasted there and should have gone into primary education where I could be cool for understanding Minecraft.

‘Are you married, Ed?’ Florence asks me, looking up at me through her brown curly hair.

‘I am not.’

‘But he has a girlfriend called Caitlin,’ Mia explains to them.

I jolt to hear it explained so plainly to them. ‘Well, she’s not quite a girlfriend. I have a cat.’

Florence squeals at this point. ‘I LOVE CATS! What’s her name? What colour is she?’

‘It’s a boy cat and his name is Nigel. He’s a tabby.’

‘Can I meet Nigel one day?’ she asks.

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