Strictly Love, page 17
Molly giggled and gurgled in her buggy. How lovely to be a baby and not to have any cares, apart from where your next meal was coming from, or when your nappy needed changing. She smiled weakly at her daughter through watery eyes.
‘Mummy! Look at us!’ She shielded her eyes as she squinted up towards the top of the castle to see her sons and husband framed against the castellations, bathed in bright spring sunshine, looking down on her.
She waved.
‘Look, Molly,’ Katie said, 'see Daddy and the boys.’
‘Dadda,’ burbled Molly with her cute smile. ‘Dadda.’
Katie looked up again. Charlie was waving down too. She and Charlie splitting up wasn't inevitable. It couldn't be. However bad things got between them, she couldn't deprive the kids of their father. She wouldn't. All marriages had rocky patches. She and Charlie could work through this one. There was no way she was going to give in the way her parents had. She would find a way through it. She had to.
* * *
‘Are you up for some ritual humiliation tonight?’ Mark laughed as he led Emily onto the dance floor. Rob was already strutting his stuff with a sleek svelte brunette, showing off a new Cuban salsa he'd been practising in the mirror, but there was no sign of Katie. Emily had tried to ring her earlier but had got the answerphone.
‘Oh go on,’ said Emily. ‘I can't believe we're no better at this yet.’
‘What you need, chicos, is more practice,’ said Isabella, today wearing a pale turquoise dress with sequins that danced and shone in the reflected lights of the studio, as she came and put her arms around them both. ‘And now you can. You see, here I have details of a dancing weekend in June which Anton arranges at his hotel in the New Forest. You get a three-course dinner every night and can take master classes in all your favourite dances. The hotel is magnifico, with beautiful grounds, a spa, a gym. You will have a fabulous time.’
‘Don't look at me,’ said Mark. ‘I can just about cope with a dancing lesson once a week, but I think a weekend might be a bit much.’
‘What, not even for me?’ Emily asked.
‘Not even for you,’ said Mark.
Isabella had left them with a leaflet each, and Mark started to lead Emily round the floor in his rather shuffling and ungainly style. Emily tried to remember to count in her head, but got muddled after their second turn.
‘Honestly,’ she said, ‘I wish I could get my head round this one, two, three, square step. I feel like I'm worse than when we started.’
‘Perhaps you should go on that weekend after all,’ teased Mark. ‘Then you might stop stepping on my toes?’
‘And it might do something about your grip – it's so tight I feel like I'm being held in a vice.’
‘Sorry,’ said Mark.
‘I do think a weekend away would be good,’ said Emily. ‘Even if I don't learn to dance, the hotel looks nice. And if you won't come I can always ask Katie.’
‘Who says I won't come?’ said Mark petulantly. ‘Oh bugger, I don't believe I meant to walk you into that wall.’
‘I don't believe you did,’ said Emily, ‘and from that performance, I think you need the practice more than I do.’
They broke away from each other laughing as the dance came to an end. Rob was still transporting his brunette across the floor as the music for the next dance started up, but Mark waved away Emily's offer of another spin.
‘I need a pint,’ he said. ‘That was torture.’
‘Thanks a lot!’ said Emily. ‘I think I'll have to go on that weekend alone after all.’
‘Then you can come back and teach me all about it,’ said Mark with mock solemnity.
‘Who says I'll want to dance with you any more if I learn to dance properly?’ was her rejoinder. ‘You never know, I might meet a gorgeous Latin dancer who'll teach me more than the tango.’
‘Oh sod it,’ said Mark. ‘Then I'll have to come. Maybe I can persuade Rob to join me.’
‘If there are lots of women involved, I'm sure that won't be too hard,’ said Emily, watching Rob flirting outrageously with his brunette. ‘Come on, let's get that drink.’
‘Is this a good moment?’
Emily had turned up at Katie's on her way back from work, to find Katie standing in her porch over Aidan, who was covered in wet, slimy mud. He was stripping off his clothes and Katie was sluicing him down.
‘Aidan's been pond-dipping with cubs,’ said Katie, by way of explanation. ‘Except he decided to dip himself.’
‘It was Tarak's idea,’ protested Aidan.
‘Hmm, and if Tarak said go and jump off a cliff I expect you'd do it, wouldn't you? Now hop it, run upstairs and get straight in the bath.’
Aidan hopped it, while Katie gingerly put his reeking clothes in a plastic bag.
‘God, they smell rank,’ she said. ‘I am only grateful that it was Tarak's mum's turn to pick them up tonight. Her car must smell foul. Make sure you never ever have boys.’
Emily laughed and followed her into the house.
‘Molly in bed?’
‘Yup. But only just. I had to unpick the banana she had smeared all over her head out of her hair first. Thankfully, George hasn't got mucky yet, but as he's painting Warhammer models in his bedroom, it is probably only a matter of time.’
Katie looked tired, Emily noticed. And, unusually, the house was looking quite untidy. The kitchen was grubby and in the corner the floor was covered in some glutinous mass. Katie had obviously been attacking it because a large bucket and sponge were propped up there.
‘Excuse me while I just finish mopping the floor,’ said Katie. ‘Anthea always says you should do it at least once a week, with vinegar diluted in warm water.’
‘Anthea doesn't have three kids,’ Emily pointed out. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘Excellent idea,’ said Katie, getting to work on the floor with a vigour Emily admired but couldn't hope to emulate. Nor even wanted to.
‘You look knackered. Is everything okay?’ Emily asked as they sipped their tea a while later, Katie not being prepared to sit till the floor was scrubbed, lunch boxes were emptied, Aidan was chased from the bath and George was persuaded to put his precious Warhammer away.
‘I am a bit,’ admitted Katie. ‘Molly doesn't do lying in bed in the mornings, and with Charlie being away so much I end up sitting up really late sorting stuff out.’
‘Sounds like you could do with a break,’ suggested Emily.
‘Well that's not going to happen,’ Katie replied. ‘Charlie's never here to go away with, and who would look after the kids?’
‘Couldn't your mum?’
Katie pulled a face. ‘you've met her. She's hardly the maternal type. Anyway, where would I go? What would I do?’
‘You could come away with me and Mark and Rob on a dancing weekend,’ said Emily, waving the leaflet in Katie's face. ‘Come on, it looks fun, and I'm sure you'd enjoy the dancing. Can't you persuade that husband of yours to come home for once and let you off the hook?’
Katie looked through the leaflet. There were master classes in rumba and street jazz, plus guest performances from a couple of the previous year's stars of Strictly Come Dancing. There was a Jacuzzi and a spa. She could almost feel the soft luxury of the cotton sheets on the impressive-looking four-poster beds in the brochure.
‘It looks bliss,’ she said, ‘but I don't see how I can possibly do it.’
‘Never say never,’ said Emily. ‘I'm sure we can find a way.’
‘I wish I shared your optimism,’ Katie answered wistfully. She looked at the leaflet again. It did sound wonderful, but somehow she couldn't see Charlie letting her go. Besides, she'd never left the children before. How would they cope without her?
‘Oh go on,’ said Emily. ‘Of all the people I know you deserve to treat yourself a little.’
‘I'll think about it,’ said Katie, putting the leaflet down on the table. ‘I'll have a chat with Charlie when he gets back.’
But she knew what the answer was going to be. Let's face it, when you were a mum you were worse than Cinderella. And there really was no chance of going to the ball.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Oh bugger.’ Mark had just finished for the day and was going through his mail and emails. He'd had a really hectic day which seemed to involve fitting an inordinate number of dentures. It seemed that Granny O'Leary had been down to the Day Centre singing his praises as he'd been inundated with patients over the age of seventy. On the plus side, one of them had taken a shine to him and left him a bottle of whiskey.
As usual, most of Mark's mail was junk. But sitting in his email box was a very unwelcome message.
‘What's the matter?’ asked Diana, who was sitting at reception tidying it up.
‘This court case,’ said Mark. ‘Seems it's not going away. I've just had an email from my lawyer to say they've confirmed they're going to sue.’
‘I'm sure it will be all right,’ said Diana.
Mark smiled with a conviction he didn't feel. He hoped Diana was right, but every time he thought about it a lead weight settled on his chest and he found it hard to breathe. The thought of having to give evidence brought him out in a cold sweat. He knew he'd done nothing wrong, but somehow information about one of his patients had entered the public domain, and even though he was innocent, at the same time he felt absurdly guilty.
‘Doing anything nice tonight?’ Diana was putting her coat on, ready to go. She asked this question every night and normally Mark had nothing terribly exciting to say.
‘I'm going out with Emily,’ he said. ‘It's one of her client gigs. It's some music awards thing I've never heard of.’
‘Sounds fun,’ said Diana.
‘I think it sounds awful,’ said Mark. ‘We're going to some swanky – or should I say wanky? – bar, and seeing some crap boy band get an award. I only said I'd go because there's free drink.’
‘It might not be so bad,’ said Diana.
‘It will be,’ Mark replied gloomily. He stared once more at the computer screen.
Jasmine Symonds v Mark Davies.
It sounded so legal. So final. So bloody scary.
Katie was putting the boys to bed when she heard the key in the door. Charlie was home early for once. Her heart was pounding and she felt stupidly nervous. He was her husband, and all she was going to do was ask him if she could go away for the weekend. She'd spent the whole day working out what to say. Luckily, the dates coincided with George and Aidan being away on a cub/scout camp, which meant that Katie felt she could ask her mum to have Molly if necessary. She felt a rush of guilt. From the moment Emily had mentioned the weekend, Katie had not just wanted to go, but had felt a sense of desperation about the thought of not going that she didn't think was entirely normal. Her house, her home, her family were all suddenly hemming her in. It was such a long time since she'd had any time for Katie, she'd begun to forget who Katie was. A weekend away seemed tempting beyond measure.
‘Hi.’ Charlie had come up the stairs and wandered into Aidan's room, where Katie was folding clothes away while Aidan read a Captain Underpants book. Charlie bent over to kiss Katie lightly on the cheek, and went and ruffled Aidan's hair. A good sign, Katie felt.
‘Good day?’ she asked, getting up and bundling up all the stray socks, pants and other clutter that Aidan had left scattered around his room.
‘Not bad,’ said Charlie. ‘You?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary,’ said Katie. ‘Aidan, lights out in ten minutes.’ She always felt a little like a prison warder when she said that.
She kissed her son on the cheek, and went to check on Molly, while Charlie went into his study to check his emails. Molly was lying entangled in blankets, her thumb stuck firmly in her mouth and her curly hair plastered to the side of her head. She looked so peaceful and still lying there, Katie wanted to cover her in cotton wool and keep her like that forever. Hard work as it was having a baby, they grew up all too soon.
She went downstairs and watched ten minutes of a wildlife programme about snow leopards with George before chasing him off to bed. By the time Charlie had come down an hour later, Katie had put the lounge to rights after the chaos inflicted on it by her sons and was sorting out a chicken alla cacciatore as recommended by Nigella. She had decided to cook the dish because it was only supposed to take half an hour, but unlike Nigella her cupboard wasn't stocked with every kind of bean under the sun, and she'd spent a fruitless ten minutes searching for a replacement for cannellini beans before rereading the recipe and realising that rice was a suitable alternative. She'd also had to improvise and replace pancetta with bacon, but she doubted Charlie would notice.
‘That smells nice,’ said Charlie, coming into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of wine.
‘Shouldn't be too long now,’ Katie told him. She was now used to Charlie not being there in the week, and it was ages since it had been just the two of them in the kitchen without the children distracting them. He seemed suddenly too big and awkward to fit in her cosy space, and, she realised with a jolt, she wasn't at all sure she wanted to share it with him.
They made perfunctory small talk while Katie stirred and seasoned, and Charlie sat flicking through the paper, but she was struck by how little they actually had to say to each other. Beyond asking how work was going – ‘Fine’ – and the merger
– ‘Boring, you wouldn't be interested’ – Katie hadn't a clue what to say to him. Nor he to her. How had they become such strangers?
She could see his eyes glazing over as she mentioned silly little things that Molly had done that day, like clapping Aidan as he was strumming on his guitar, or dropping her favourite teddy in the bath. Although, to be fair, Charlie did show interest in how George's tutoring sessions for grammar school were going, but only, Katie felt, because it would reflect badly on the family somehow if Charlie had produced a dunce. Marilyn still hadn't forgiven them for not sending George to Charlie's alma mater – the one and only time Charlie had ever stood up to her. Katie suspected Marilyn didn't have a clue about how difficult it was to fund private education nowadays.
Katie sighed. She couldn't put the moment off any longer. The dancing weekend was only three weeks away.
‘Charlie –’ she began, hoping her voice wasn't wobbling too much. ‘Would you mind – I mean, would it be a problem if –’ She paused. Why was it so hard to ask? This was pathetic. If she were at work she'd probably be away on business from time to time and Charlie would have to cope. Nicola Horlick managed it, and so should she.
‘Spit it out.’ She could sense Charlie's impatience.
‘I'dliketogoawayonadancingweekendwouldyouhavethekids?’ The words came out in a rush.
‘Okay,’ said Charlie, barely looking up from his paper.
‘Are you sure?’ Katie could barely believe how easy it had been. ‘The boys are going to be away at scout camp for part of the time anyway. And I could get my mum to have Molly if you like.’
‘No, no need,’ said Charlie, putting the paper down. ‘I know I've not been around much lately, and I'm sure the break will do you good.’
‘Thanks,’ said Katie, feeling absurdly uncomfortable. She went to kiss him on the cheek, but he almost flinched, so she patted him awkwardly on the shoulder instead. She went back to the stove feeling a sense of relief that it had been so easy, but it was coloured with disappointment that Charlie seemed so utterly uninterested in her.
The music was blaring out from a corner. Another DJ rapper was pumping out charming lyrics about living on an estate and blowing off the heads of your gangsta rivals. Emily felt old. Was there anyone here who actually liked this stuff? She supposed the young guns all did, but she had actually overheard a Guardian journalist in the loos earnestly telling anyone who would listen that Gangstas 4 Guns was not only in tune with the zeitgeist but was such a telling and heartfelt satire on the state of gun crime in the UK today. And there had been Emily thinking they were just glorifying weaponry. Showed how little she knew.
She wondered whether she'd been right to drag Mark out to these awards. Emily's firm had been invited because they'd just drawn up the contracts for We Five, a new boy band who were taking the pop world by storm. Although the Krank Up the Volume awards had been unable to ignore this latest pop phenomenon, they were in the main aimed at the indie bands and keen on musical icons, which is why she'd asked Mark. But now the thought of him coming into her world was bringing her out in a cold sweat.
Emily glanced over at the door, just at the moment when Mark walked through it. Their relationship was still new enough for her heart to skip a beat when she saw him. She'd forgotten the delicious dizzying sensations of early love – for love she was convinced this was, though she hadn't dared utter the L-word to him yet. Nice and all as Mark was, along with mentioning babies that was guaranteed to send even the most decent of blokes packing. But for the first time in a long while, she felt able to let herself fall hook, line and sinker.
Love like you've never been hurt.
There was no other way to do it.
‘Hi.’ Mark made his way through the crowds and gave her a light peck on the cheek, which was still enough to send a thrill through her.
‘Hi yourself.’ She suddenly felt absurdly shy now that Mark was on her territory. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘I could murder a beer,’ said Mark. ‘I've had a hellish day.’
They pushed their way through the scrum at the bar – the Gangstas 4 Guns having been sufficiently unpopular to send the mass of the crowd out for a desperate drink. After a wait of at least ten minutes, they got served and then fought their way back towards the stage, where the Gangstas had been replaced by a bizarre-looking female who was trying and failing to emulate Amy Winehouse. Amy had also been slated to appear, but was another no show. Rumour had it that she was in rehab again, but then rumour would.
