The Family Next Door(15)
“Where have you been, I am about to wet my pants!”
“Sorry. I was just—”
“It doesn’t matter. Just … switch places with me, would you?”
But before Ange could get up, the waving woman appeared behind Lucas, the toddler in her arms. The child was dressed in blue but had shoulder-length white-blond hair. The mother was probably one of those hippies who wanted to raise her children as “genderless.”
“Lucas,” the woman said, frowning. “Is that you?”
Lucas turned. For a moment he didn’t speak. And then.… “Erin. How are you?”
She gestured to the child’s foot, which was wrapped in a green bandage, and made a face that said she’d been better.
“What happened?” Lucas asked.
“Charlie burned her foot in the bath. She turned on the hot tap when Mummy wasn’t looking.”
“Ouch,” Ange murmured. So she was a girl. With a boy’s name. How very hip.
Lucas half turned back to Ange, perhaps just remembering she was there. She remained half under Ollie, supporting the weight of his (surprisingly heavy) head in two hands while he snoozed on, oblivious. Ange wanted to say to Erin that while she was very sorry to hear about her genderless child’s foot, in fact they were having their own family emergency right so it might be best if they saved their catch-up for another time. But, of course, that would have been impolite.
“Ange,” Lucas said, “this is Erin, a client of mine. I took some photos of Charlie a little while back. Erin, this is my wife, Ange.”
Erin gave Ange the once-over and Ange did her best to smile. She knew a lot of people were disappointed to learn of her existence. Lucas had a way of making people fall in love with him, with his genuine interest in them, not to mention his aching good looks. How could she blame Erin for hating her?
Ange glanced at the sleepy toddler starting to drift off in Erin’s arms. She was a pretty little thing. Had the most beautiful jade-green eyes, she noticed. Ange had a weird sense of deja vu.
“Charlie looks tired,” she said.
“Yes,” Erin said. “I’d better get her home.”
Good, Ange thought. Ollie’s head was getting heavy and her bladder was now dangerously full.
“Do you need a hand out to the car?” Lucas said.
Ange held in a curse.
Erin readjusted the child in her arms. Say no, Ange willed her. Just fucking say no.
“Actually, that would be great.”
Erin had a handbag and a child—what on earth did she need help with? Or did she think that given the privilege of holding her bag, Lucas would forget about his wife’s existence and fall in love with her?
Ange was used to people lusting after her husband, but that didn’t mean she liked it. For one thing, it was an insult to Lucas, who was so much more than his looks. Lucas was kind. Adventurous. Calm. When the boys asked for the hundred and fifty-seventh time for ice cream for breakfast and she was ready to throttle them, Lucas would sit down with them and ask them to break down the activities for the day ahead and then ponder whether sugar and fat would be sufficient fuel to help them achieve their goals. (It sounded ridiculous, but bizarrely the kids always went for it. It may have been the fact that he was genuinely engaged with them, rather than giving them a lecture.) He was also a much-needed injection of creativity in their family. If it were up to Ange, most weekends would be spent driving the kids from activity to activity, then sitting on the couch. But Lucas wouldn’t stand for it. Every weekend they had a family adventure. To the beach, to the country. Even to the local park. (One of Ange’s favorite adventures was when the kids were toddlers and they went to the park with no toys, no technology and they avoided the playground area. They spent hours following the kids around as they picked up sticks, scratched bark off trees, and collected stones. Ange never would have done that in a million years if Lucas didn’t force it.)
And yes, he was stunning. Tall and broad and golden-skinned, at forty-three, he still turned heads. He was buff (he worked out regularly with Ben Walker at T he Shed) and he wore V-neck T-shirts and jeans rather than the short-sleeved button-down shirts and chinos most men his age sported. His sandy hair was just starting to be streaked with gray, which only made him more handsome.
Of course, Ange wasn’t bad herself—she made sure of that. With regular Pilates, hair appointments, and facials, she wasn’t going to be the frumpy wife of the gorgeous man. Recently she’d also started getting “Baby Botox,” which involved receiving smaller than average dosages of Botox to soften wrinkles but still allow natural facial movement. Ange figured if she kept things looking good on the home front, Lucas would have no need to stray.
She watched him now, walking this strange woman toward the sliding doors. Lucas had the handbag (which actually seemed to be more of a diaper bag, now that she looked at it) flung over his shoulder, and Erin held the child. As they reached the doors, a gurney came rushing through, surrounded by four paramedics and Lucas touched Erin’s forearm. They both stood back out of the way. His hand remained there for several seconds until the doorway cleared and they continued through the double doors to the parking lot.
“Oliver Fenway?’
Ange glanced around. A woman in green scrubs and matching green booties pulled over her shoes glanced at her clipboard and then back around the room. “Oliver Fenway?’