Me and Mr Jones by Lucy Diamond Page B

crease-free in the wardrobe. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me it was there?’ he demanded irritably, thrusting his arms into its sleeves.
    ‘Sorry,’ Alicia said lightly, as if such things were beneath her. ‘Must have forgotten.’
    This wasn’t the only hold-up. Lucas, their eldest son, who was eleven and seemed to be morphing into an adolescent slug, was loath to get dressed at all. Normally Alicia would have coaxed and wheedled, she might even have bribed him. Today she shrugged. ‘Oh well. Wear your pyjamas then,’ she’d said, without looking up from painting her fingernails.
    Lucas hadn’t been expecting this, and began to scowl and bluster. ‘But . . . then I’ll look like a dick.’
    Clearly this was meant to push her into a comment about language, but was Alicia going to rise to it? Not today. ‘Then look like a dick,’ she replied airily. ‘Your choice.’
    He’d actually backed away, completely at a loss as to how to react. ‘Oh, all right , so I’ll get dressed ,’ he grumbled. Slam went his bedroom door.
    Alicia’s lips twitched. ‘Your choice,’ she repeated sweetly under her breath.
    Finally, when they had assembled in the car – there was some jostling between Rafferty (nine) and Matilda (eight) for the least favoured middle seat, which Alicia chose to ignore – Hugh put the key in the ignition and started the engine.
    ‘Oh. Wine,’ he said suddenly. ‘Have you got the wine?’
    ‘Wine?’ she echoed, deliberately blank.
    ‘Did you not buy any?’
    ‘Did you want me to? It wasn’t on the shopping list.’
    ‘No, but . . .’ No, but I assumed you’d get it, just like you always do, because you’re the woman and you always remember these things.
    She waited, hands in her lap. As it happened, they did have two bottles of Oyster Bay in the utility room, if only he bothered to check. But as ever he’d expected her to look after the niceties, even though Lilian and Eddie were his parents. Something stopped her from mentioning any of this.
    ‘Fine, we’ll just stop somewhere on the way and I’ll pick something up then,’ he said grumpily.
    ‘Okay,’ she replied. A thrill of rebellion went through her.
    Then the engine started and they were away.
    It turned out that, despite their lateness, they were still the first to arrive by a long chalk. Lilian was having a paddy about the vegetables in the kitchen, but, against all her instincts of rushing to don an apron and help, Alicia poured herself a large glass of wine instead and went out into the garden with the children. Hopefully they’d burn off some energy before they were forced to sit down politely for the longest meal of the week.
    Emma and David arrived – David looking somewhat pudgy about the face and in need of a decent shave, and Emma in a peacock-blue dress that had tiny purple flowers stitched around the neckline and hem. Her cropped hair shone coppery in the weak spring sunshine and showed off her lovely white neck.
    ‘I love your dress,’ Alicia said. ‘Such a gorgeous colour.’
    ‘Thanks,’ Emma said. ‘You’ve had your hair cut! It really suits you.’
    Alicia positively glowed. She had always felt that her life must seem small and drab in contrast to Emma’s cooler, sparklier existence. But maybe they weren’t so different after all. They were both career women, there was common ground between them. It was time she stopped painting herself into the boring corner.
    A tussle between the children had broken out, but she turned away. Hugh could deal with them for a change. ‘How’s work?’ she asked Emma brightly.
    Half an hour passed and still there was no sign of Charlie. This wasn’t extraordinary in itself, of course: Charlie was always late to family gatherings; his world spun on Charlie-time rather than in sync with mere mortals. Normally, though, his doting mother would forgive him for this, and all his other bad habits, excusing every misdemeanour by dint of him being the youngest. The fact