‘If you’re sure? It’s true that I’ve been working super-hard and I can nearly spell my whole name now.’
‘I simply don’t know why they bother making you do the exams, love.’ Adam is talking in his camp-uncle voice now. ‘It’s so depressing for the other children.’
‘Children ought to be depressed,’ counters Maisie, switching into her eco-hippie mode. ‘Your generation has fried this planet, man.’
‘We didn’t know! Nobody knew! We thought ozone layer was very bad layer! We tried make hole in him!’
They continue in this fashion for another minute. Becky is happy just to eat a cupcake and play audience, which is what they want from her. Eventually, when she can get a word in, she asks: ‘How was the sleepover?’
‘Absolutely fine, thanks.’ And when Maisie proffers nothing further, Becky finds herself sunk with disappointment, wanting her to talk about Jules in the way she knows Maisie spoke to Adam.
‘No gossip?’
‘Everything was supervised and very safe.’ I’m a nag, thinks Becky. I’m the not-fun parent with conditions and rules attached to everything. Of course she doesn’t want to talk to me about fun stuff.
They sit down and cut the white iced celebration cake.
‘Tell me,’ says Maisie, ‘was it that flamenco top I lent you that got your deal done? Was it the nice little ruffle over a highlighted, sparkling décolletage that reeled in that actress and director? Were they like, that woman has got serious taste?’ She laughs, picks up her fork and stabs the cake. ‘Seriously though, massively pleased for you, Mum.’
‘Thanks, my darling.’
Becky reminds herself that this is one of life’s joyful moments. She takes her phone out of her pocket and puts it face-down on the sideboard, vowing not to look at it again while she is with her family. One day soon she will delete her Instagram app. Delete him.
‘We’ve been talking about what to do for Dad’s birthday. We’ve been making lists. You’ll be proud.’
‘So what are you thinking?’ says Becky.
‘I don’t know.’ Adam takes a seat next to her. ‘Something low key in the evening. At a pub, maybe? The room on top of The Three Bells?’
‘It’s quite small.’
‘I dunno, I went to take a look at it with Kate the Sunday before last. I think it’ll be fine. Kate’s mate had her thirtieth there.’
‘Kate’s mate,’ says Maisie. ‘I’m a fren of Ben. I’m a pal of Hal.’
Becky had seen their friend Kate for lunch since then, and Kate hadn’t said anything about it. Becky has no right to information from either of her friends, and more than that, any information proffered shouldn’t cause a dent beyond casual curiosity – and yet, something shifts and slips inside her, jarringly making space for new, as yet, unnamed possibilities.
‘This is your big 3-2,’ she says quickly. ‘Why don’t you get some of your friends together for a dinner party at your flat?’
‘He doesn’t want to cook on his own birthday, Mum,’ says Maisie.
‘Of course he does. He loves cooking.’
‘I might have the builders in doing some stuff, I don’t know, not sure yet,’ says Adam.
‘We’ll throw you a party, Dad,’ says Maisie, and gets up to leave.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Sorry, Mum. Gotta message Lily about some stuff,’ she says, loping out the door.
Becky pours coffee, pressing her hand tight over its lid. She finds herself absorbed in the tiny bubbles sliding over the black water.
‘So, have you got any Danish blood?’ asks Adam.
‘What?’
‘Some boy’s been teasing Maisie about her height. I think he may have been trying to compliment her, but she’s still annoyed.’
‘Dad was tall. You’d have to ask him. Oh no you can’t: he fucked off to Malaga.’
Adam laughs. There is an awkward pause, something charged in the air. ‘Maisie asked me to move in,’ he says.
‘Of course she did. She loves you.’
‘She likes it when we’re all together.’
‘You know it’s not that simple. Remember what happened at Christmas?’
‘It was a great Christmas.’
‘It really was,’ says Becky. ‘But the look on her face when the time came for you to go home.’
‘I don’t really understand. We could avoid all that if I moved in. I could sell my place and buy a townhouse. Two floors for living, one floor each for messing up our private lives. Maisie would love that. I could keep her company when you go on dates. You can criticize my pancakes. And anyway, I hate my flat.’
‘Your flat is great. People would die for that flat.’
‘I’ve grown out of it. Exposed brick just looks like someone couldn’t be arsed to plaster, and however high the central heating goes, it’s still too cold.’
‘You need to brighten it up a bit, is all. You need a few plants.’
‘Or some human beings.’
‘It would be really confusing for her.’
‘Why?’
Becky cannot believe he is being so bold. He is suggesting something practical, as if that would be the sum total of it, and yet, what he’s talking about … If it went wrong, it would shatter them all.
‘Maisie needs stability,’ she says.
‘Maisie needs Nike volt trainers.’
‘Seriously, two people bringing home dates?’
‘You never have dates,’ he says.
‘That’s a whole other issue.’
‘It’d be simpler. She already grew up with us like this.’
‘Yes, but living apart.’
‘We already spend so much time together.’
‘Nobody’s taking that away from her. I just think we shouldn’t … get her hopes up.’
‘Hopes?’
‘Adam. Come on.’
‘What?’
Becky turns away and begins to clear crumbs and stack plates.
‘So are you going to talk to me about last night?’ he says. ‘You sounded terrible.’
‘Same old shit. It’s worse when I get tired.’
‘Well …’
‘That’s all. I’m a bit shattered. That’s all it is.’
She can’t look at him. He knows her better than anyone else and for a moment she thinks about telling him everything that is inside her head, all the clashes and conflict and suspicions. But what exactly would she be saying? That she thinks something might be wrong? Something has always been wrong. She always thinks that. Where is the news?
‘I
