Maddie was horrified. How could anyone bully and torture a little old woman like that?
She needed to have a word with Jade. This was unacceptable.
As if reading her mind, Peggy said, ‘I don’t want you getting involved though, my dear. She’s a nasty piece of work and you don’t need the aggravation. She gets bored quickly anyway. Like any bully, she’ll find someone else to pester if we ignore her. In fact, she’s left me alone for a bit, so maybe she’s already got bored with me.’
Maddie sat quietly, unease trickling through her.
She had a funny feeling that she was Jade’s new plaything now.
12
Greg heard the doorbell ring. Jemima was perched on his hip, his hair stood up in tufts from where Jemima had been pulling it and he had Little Mermaid stickers all over his cheek. Gemma had gone to a Sunday morning yoga class. She was still annoyed about the other day and his lengthy ‘gym’ outing. She’d been treating him to the silent treatment ever since, so a bit of space from her iciness was welcome. If he thought about how much he had enjoyed being with Maddie that day, compared to Gemma’s attitude last night throughout a frosty dinner before she stormed off to bed, he knew what he would prefer any day of the week. Maddie had made it clear it was a one-off, but he had to admit that didn’t sit right with him.
Let’s see though… who knows what could happen?
He loved these moments when it was just him and Jemima. Gemma had a way of making him feel completely inadequate, criticising him for the way he spoke to Jemima, not cutting up her grapes small enough, not putting the nappy cream on properly. Anything and everything could be like a red rag to the bull and then Gemma would be off on one, like she was the only person in the world who knew how to look after a baby.
But the truth was that Gemma wasn’t all that good at it herself and he was secure in the knowledge that although he may get the logistics wrong, he was nailing the cuddles and playtime. In fact, he was nailing the fatherhood thing full stop.
He opened the door to a woman standing on his front step, who looked vaguely familiar. She was wearing baggy tracksuit bottoms and an oversized hoodie that was pulled up over her head, so he couldn’t quite make out her face. Her eyes were covered by large sunglasses, out of place on such a cloudy day. He immediately went to close the door on her, saying, ‘Nothing today, thanks’ in case she was one of those convicts selling tea towels or a Jehovah’s looking to discuss the end of the world while shoving a copy of The Watchtower in his hand.
‘Greg Lowe? I have a delivery for you.’
He hesitated. ‘Oh?’
Jemima gurgled in his arms, her tiny fists still clamped in his hair.
‘Ah, such a lovely baby.’ The woman leant into the doorway and stroked Jemima’s cheek.
Greg stepped back one pace, so that the woman was just out of reach. ‘Thanks.’
She shoved a small, white box at his stomach. Greg took hold of the box and looked back at the woman, but she was already walking away, her immaculately white trainers crunching across the gravel.
He frowned and closed the door. He gently lowered Jemima to the floor and she took off on all fours. Greg looked at the box in his hand. It was the kind of thing they put your cakes in at the bakery and, lifting the lid, that was exactly what was inside. A selection of four, small, delicious-looking patisserie cakes decorated with edible flowers and delicate icing. His mouth started to water just looking at them. He’d only had Gemma’s green smoothie so far today.
Oh, but the diet. Gemma would be furious with him if he brought these out after dinner. Just that morning, she had made him weigh himself in front of her and had tutted when he had only lost a pound. He hadn’t told her about the sneaky pint he’d had with Mike on his way home from work on Friday – or the bag of pork scratchings that he’d washed down with it.
He scooped Jemima up and tucked her into her highchair, where she continued to destroy the sticker book in front of her. The box had no message with it. It was just a plain white box.
Maybe Maddie had sent them. It certainly wouldn’t have been Gemma and it was far too feminine a gift for it to have been one of his five-a-side mates. There was a bakery down the road. Maddie probably had them sent from there – but why?
Unless it was because of what he’d told her the other day. He thought back to lying next to her again, the sheets wrapped around their legs, her cheeks flushed. She’d looked like the Maddie of old, before the pregnancies and the stress and the heartbreak. She’d looked like the girl he had fallen in love with. He’d been making her laugh by telling her about his disastrous attempt to deep-fry tofu last week for their dinner. She had said she thought he was fine the way he was and he had joked about maybe sneaking off to eat cake in his lunch hour when the lettuce and fresh air diet he was on got too much.
She must’ve sent these as a joke, something just between them. It was the kind of thing she would do. He smiled, feeling his stomach lurch like a boy with a crush on the girl next door.
Greg turned on the coffee machine, popped a strong espresso pod in the top and brewed a
