‘It’s paint,’ he says. ‘It’s called Crimson Night.’
‘We said teal, Joe,’ Heather laughs. ‘That’s about as far from teal as you could find. In fact, if you had one of those colour charts, that would be right on the opposite side of the wheel.’
‘That may be true,’ Joe says, scratching his ear. ‘But I think it’ll look cool, don’t you?’
‘A boudoir is what it’ll look like!’ Heather says.
‘Maybe a boudoir is what I’m aiming for.’
‘You’re so naughty!’ Heather says, reaching out to poke him in the ribs.
‘Yeah, but not as naughty as you,’ Joe says, fighting back.
I stand there in a daze, watching them. They look so right together that it hurts. They look as if they have never been apart. They seem young, for some reason, too, as if they’re just starting out in life. Which, in a way, I suppose they are.
‘I’m off,’ I shout, giving them a fingertip wave. ‘I’ll pick Ben up about seven, OK?’
‘But we need to talk, don’t we?’ Joe says. ‘We need to talk about Ben.’
‘No, it’s sorted,’ I tell him. ‘Everyone’s agreed.’
‘It’s OK,’ Heather reassures Joe, slipping one arm around his waist. ‘Everything’s OK.’
‘Oh, OK,’ Joe says. ‘I’ll, um, see you later then, Ame. Seven, you say?’
‘That’s right,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll be back at seven.’
Joe
We watch Amy drive away, and then I turn to Heather and frown. ‘Have you negotiated a peace deal in my absence, clever clogs?’
She grabs one of the pots of paint from the truck and I lift the other one and begin to follow her across the main road. ‘I have,’ she says. ‘Though, actually, I didn’t have to negotiate anything at all.’
We enter the house and stack the pots of paint against the wall. ‘Well?’ I ask.
She turns towards me and pecks me on the lips. ‘Only everything we wanted,’ she says.
‘Term times here?’ I ask, and Heather nods. ‘School holidays with Amy?’ Another nod. ‘You’re a genius,’ I tell her, kissing her back.
She takes my hand and leads me through to the kitchen. ‘It really wasn’t me at all,’ she says. ‘It was just what Ben wanted. All I did was reassure her that we’ll never get in the way of her seeing him.’
‘That’s still amazing,’ I say. Things have been so messy for so long and suddenly the last cloud on my horizon has vanished. I wish I’d bought champagne instead of paint.
‘What?’ Heather asks.
‘What, what?’ I say.
‘What, what?’ she repeats comically. ‘I mean, what are you grinning about?’
‘I just can’t believe everything’s sorted,’ I tell her. ‘Just like that.’
‘I know,’ she says. ‘It’s like a dream, isn’t it? This house, the kids, the two of us . . . Who ever thought any of that could happen?’
At that moment, Sarah enters the kitchen. ‘Mummy,’ she says. ‘I can’t find the Lego.’
‘That’s Lego,’ Heather says, releasing my hand and crouching down to indicate the object in Sarah’s hand.
‘I mean the rest of the Lego,’ she says. ‘I want to make a plane. Ben’s got a proper one, and if I find the box of Lego then I can make one, too.’
‘What’s this, though?’ Heather asks, examining the wheeled monstrosity in Sarah’s hand.
‘It’s a bus,’ Sarah says, holding it up. ‘Like the one at the airport in Spain. But now I want to make the plane.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, honey, but I don’t know where it is,’ Heather says. ‘You’ll just have to look.’
‘But I need it!’ Sarah says. ‘Can you look, please?’
‘Not right now, sweetheart,’ Heather insists. ‘I’m afraid you’ll just have to make do for now. But I’ll look for it later, I promise.’
‘But I need to build a plane!’ Sarah says again.
‘Hey, why don’t you use those pieces to make a plane?’ I suggest, crouching down to join them both at floor level.
‘You can’t use a bus as a plane,’ Sarah says. ‘Silly!’
‘If you pull it apart, you can,’ I tell her. ‘Pull it to pieces and use the bricks to make a plane.’
‘But I don’t want to pull it apart,’ she says.
‘Well,’ I say, looking up at Heather and winking. ‘Sometimes, in order to build something new, you first have to break something old into pieces.’
Heather frowns at me for a moment before she understands what I’m saying, and then slips into a smile instead. ‘That’s true, actually, Sarah,’ she says. ‘Just make sure whatever you decide to build is much better than the thing you’re pulling apart and you’ll be fine. That way you’ll have no regrets.’
Sarah grimaces. She looks unconvinced.
‘I’m sorry, honey,’ Heather says. ‘But for now that’s your only choice. But later on, I’ll help you find the box, OK?’
Sarah rolls her eyes and tuts, making us both laugh, and then flounces her way out of the kitchen.
We straighten and I spin Heather around so that I can slip my hands around her waist.
‘So, is that what we’ve done?’ she asks as I nuzzle her neck. ‘I was wondering.’
‘What’s that?’ I say.
‘Have we pulled something apart to build something new?’
I laugh and kiss her neck. ‘We have,’ I tell her. ‘That’s exactly what we’ve done.’
‘Well, I hope the new relationship is a bit better than the old one,’ she says cheekily.
‘It had better be,’ I tell her, tickling her waist. ‘Otherwise, there’ll be trouble.’
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Rosemary for the original idea from which this novel hatched and for being my writer’s touchstone since this whole adventure began. Thanks to Lolo for being there day to day as I slog out those words. And thanks to Victoria, Celine, Jenni, Sarah and everyone else at Lake Union for all their hard work on this novel.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2017 Rosie Aston-Snow
Nick Alexander was born in 1964 in the UK. He has travelled widely and has lived and worked in the UK, the USA and France, where he resides today. From Something Old is his
