As he drove to the seafront, I told him that he must tell me if there were any special foods he’d like me to cook.
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Your cooking’s great.’
I laughed. ‘Well, no one has ever said that before.’
‘No?’ Joe said. ‘Why not? Your cooking’s lovely.’
‘Well, thank you, sir,’ I said jokingly.
‘But – and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way . . .’ Joe started.
‘Oh God,’ I said. ‘I knew there had to be a but.’
‘It’s just, do you think you could cook a bit more?’ Joe asked. ‘I do know that I eat like a horse.’
‘Not a horse,’ Ben shouted from the rear. ‘A pig. Mum always says you eat like a pig.’
‘That’s, um, a different thing,’ Joe said, glancing at me and pulling a funny face.
I felt so embarrassed. I’d been serving him double the amount I ate myself, and it truly hadn’t crossed my mind that might not be enough. ‘God, Joe,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry. Of course! Why didn’t you say?’
‘It’s just the job’s really physical,’ he said. ‘So I burn through a lot of calories.’
‘Please, you don’t have to justify yourself,’ I said. ‘I’m just shocked I didn’t realise.’
‘It’s honestly not a problem,’ Joe said. ‘I’ve been filling up on bread and cheese, so it’s fine. But if you could up the portion size a bit, that would be great.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘No problem.’ I was thinking about the quantity of bread and cheese we’d been getting through and felt annoyed at myself for not having guessed the reason. ‘How did you manage on those ready meals?’ I asked, after a moment. ‘There’s never enough in those even for me.’
‘I was eating two.’
‘Three,’ Ben chipped in. ‘He used to cook three for him and one for me.’
‘Yeah,’ Joe said, glancing at me and grinning lopsidedly. ‘Sometimes it might have been three.’
‘I’m so embarrassed,’ I said, and it was true. My teeth were hurting just at the thought of how I’d watched him wiping his plate with bread every night. I turned to look out of the side window and pulled a face at my own reflection in the glass.
‘Don’t be.’ Joe reached across and squeezed my knee, and this surprised me so much that I physically jumped.
‘Oops,’ Joe said. ‘Sorry!’
‘No, it’s . . .’ I said. Fine? I thought. Nice? Lovely? Because I couldn’t think of anything appropriate, the sentence remained unfinished for a few long seconds. ‘. . . just me,’ I said finally. ‘I’m jumpy.’
That evening, we all watched a film on Netflix. It was a teen movie called Lady Bird that Lucy had been nagging me to watch.
Joe and Ben shared the big armchair, while I snuggled on the sofa with the girls. Though the film was surprisingly good, my attention strayed about halfway through. For ten minutes I thought not about the film, but about a series of images running through my mind’s eye. In them, Ben and the girls were seated on the sofa, while Joe and I snuggled in the armchair together. The visualisation was surprisingly powerful, and I could imagine the feel of his body wrapped around me, picture the scent of his breath mingling with mine. By the time I snapped back into the room, I had beads of sweat pearling on my top lip.
‘. . . actually cried a bit, there,’ Joe said, once it was over.
I was surprised. Ant had never cried during a film, as far as I could recall, and if he had, he had certainly never owned up to it.
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘It was lovely, wasn’t it? Good choice, Lucy.’
Ben, who had dozed off on Joe’s lap, stretched and linked his arms around his father’s neck. ‘I wish you could stay here for ever,’ he said, through a yawn.
‘I’m sorry, champ?’ Joe said.
‘Instead of going to live at Grandpa’s,’ Ben said. ‘I wish you could just stay here.’
Joe cleared his throat and stood, scooping sleepy Ben up in his arms. ‘The way the job’s going, I might well just be here for ever,’ he said. ‘Come on. Time to get you back to the house of horrors.’
From the corner of my eye, I watched them exit the room, and a few minutes later I heard them leave by the front door.
I was feeling strangely emotional as I put Sarah to bed, but I couldn’t work out why. The film had been quite moving in parts, so for a while I convinced myself that was the cause. How good we are at lying to ourselves! Well, I certainly am, at any rate.
Joe returned ten minutes later, while I was in the bathroom with Lucy. Getting her to brush her teeth was always something of a trial because she could never stop talking long enough to do it properly.
When I got downstairs, Joe was back in the armchair, watching a news channel.
‘Are you really behind on your job?’ I asked, and as I said it, I was hit by another wave of emotion and I suddenly understood that it came from my fear that he really would leave us in a week’s time, mixed with hope that he might yet stay a bit longer.
‘Yeah,’ Joe said, turning his attention from the TV. ‘This job we’re doing out in Hersden’s a real bitch. Half the wall came away with the cupboards, so we’re having to rebuild all that first.’
‘You know you can stay on longer,’ I said. ‘You can stay as long as you like.’
‘I was gonna ask you about that, actually,’ Joe said. ‘You don’t have another lodger lined up yet, do you?’
I shook my head. ‘I’ve no plans to line one up, either,’ I said.
‘Having me has put you off for good, has it? I get that.’
I laughed. ‘No, I really like having you here.’ And there they were again,
