The Girl I Used to Be(7)

“Go upstairs with Mum, Rory,” said Joe. “Come on, be nice!”

My face smarted. My own child shouldn’t have to be persuaded to spend time with me!

“But . . .” said Rory, and then he looked at my face and I knew he’d seen the hurt there. “Okay, but will you be a lion? Growl just like Dad does.”

“I’ll have a go,” I said, but when I did, it clearly wasn’t up to scratch.

He gave me a pitying glance. “Don’t worry, Mum,” he said. “Dad can do it when we get back downstairs.”

So I ran a bath for Rory, and sat next to him as he played and sang and splashed. Hopefully he’d forgotten he was with his second choice. I started to think about the work I still had to do that day. I tried to get home as soon as the office shut at five so that I could spend time with Rory before he went to bed—though often I couldn’t manage that because of evening viewings—but the cost of that was that I had to work late. As soon as he was in bed, I’d be on to my e-mails, making calls, trying to match clients to properties they’d love, keeping track of the finances, and preparing for the meeting we had first thing every morning. The legal work had to be up to date, too, and often I did that at home, as it was easier to concentrate outside the office. Often I’d look up from my laptop late at night to find Joe asleep on the sofa, with something neither of us had been watching muted on the television.

Now that Rory was three, I knew Joe was anxious for us to have another child, so that the children could grow up together. He loved being at home with Rory, but I was worried that if he would struggle to find work now, he’d find it impossible in another few years’ time. And if the property market was still in a slump, what would we do? I tried to forget these problems in the time I had with Rory each evening, but they were always there at the back of my mind.



* * *



*

I TOOK RORY up to bed after he’d had his supper and lay on his bed to read him some stories.

“Do the voices,” he urged. “Make them scary!”

I tried to do it, but he sighed. “No, do them like Dad does. Make me shiver!”

I tried again more forcefully and he laughed, but said firmly, “Tell Dad to come up and do it.”

Shamefaced, I called to Joe and he came into Rory’s bedroom on all fours, growling and snarling so that Rory screamed with excitement. I stood and watched, and though I loved it, I was hurt, too, that he’d wanted Joe instead of me.

Later, when Rory was asleep, I sat at my laptop, typing up notes for the property valuation I’d seen after I’d dropped David off. I was just about to start to e-mail clients who’d sent me messages that afternoon, when Joe came back from the gym.

“You don’t mind if I watch this, do you?” he asked, and flicked the television on. A football match was about to start. Wonderful.

There was no way I could concentrate while there was background noise, so I took my laptop into the kitchen and sat at the dining table. Joe came into the room and took a bottle of wine from the fridge. He raised a glass to offer me some, but I shook my head violently.

“Come on, Gem,” he said. “It’s Friday night. Start of the weekend.”

I was so tempted to say, What weekend? I’m working! and I think Joe must have recognized the expression on my face, because he put the wine back into the fridge and sat down beside me.

“Give me a job to do,” he said. “Any job. Come on, I can handle it.”

I laughed and he nudged against me, his legs tanned and hard against mine. I nudged him back, feeling a frisson of desire as his body touched mine. “I’ve got all the bank statements here,” I said. “And here’s a list of all the fee payments that have come in from solicitors. I need to marry them up and check for outstanding debts. You wouldn’t do that for me, would you?”

He moved an inch closer to me. “Maybe. What’s it worth?”

I leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“Pass me that file and my laptop,” he said, “and give me half an hour, and then I’m going to hold you to that.”





THREE


Monday, June 19

“SO YOU’LL DEFINITELY be able to work on Friday afternoon?” I asked Rachel the following Monday.

She nodded. “The course is on Saturday, then?”

“Yes, in a hotel in London. Covent Garden. I’ll go down late Friday afternoon and come back Saturday night.”

She looked at the rota in front of us. “And you’re at work on Sunday? Are you sure you won’t want a day at home?”

“I can’t. Brian’s off on Sunday. You’ll have Wednesday off in exchange for Friday?”

This happened every week. We were short-staffed, but unless the housing situation changed soon I couldn’t afford to take on anyone new. I had to juggle around the rota to keep everyone happy and the place staffed. That was the problem with having a business that had to be open every day of the week. I tended to work most days, taking half days off where I could, but it was hard and I seemed to be permanently exhausted.

I was happy to work long hours, but I did miss Rory and loved nothing more than to just be on my own with him. I loved those times we’d spend at the park or having a milkshake in our local café or at the swimming pool. Joe usually came along, too, and I liked that, I really did, but sometimes . . . well, when Joe was there Rory would often turn to him if he was upset and I’d stand there feeling useless, whereas on our own he was totally reliant on me. It sounds selfish but it can be hard for a mum to watch her child run to someone else for help, even if that person is his dad.