Monday to Friday Man by Alice Peterson Page A

past us. ‘Can you let me know as soon as you can?’ he asks, giving Gloria a curt nod on his way out.
    ‘Of course. Thanks so much for coming over.’
    ‘No problem.’ He mounts his bike and pedals off into the hinterlands of Hammersmith.
    I turn to Gloria, relieved.
    ‘Choosing a lodger and living with someone is like a marriage,’ she insists. ‘You rarely marry the first man you go on a date with, do you?’
    Good point.
    ‘Don’t worry, Gilly. Only twelve more Roys to go.’
    And on that note, we polish off the rest of the bottle of wine, order some Thai and watch How to Look Good Naked .

     
    Later that night, in bed, I can’t sleep.
    Is Gloria right? Will I find the perfect Monday to Friday man? If so, why do I have such an uneasy feeling about allowing a stranger into my house?

9
     
    1985
    ‘I have this uneasy feeling,’ Mum says to the health visitor, when Nick, Anna and I return home from school. Megan is lying on her fleecy rug in the sitting room, toys scattered around her. Mum said Anna could come over for tea before we go off to Brownies together later on in the evening. I’ve just been made chief Elf and I’m taking my House Orderly test tonight; one of my main tasks is polishing a brass doorknob. I can’t wait.
    ‘She should be sitting up by now, surely?’ Mum insists, as we clamber past Megan and the grown ups and into the kitchen.
    ‘Mrs Brown, you’re being an over-anxious mother,’ she says. ‘I see it all the time.’
    ‘But Megan’s seven months old.’
    ‘I’m sure everything is fine. She’s a happy little baby. Look at her.’
    Mum doesn’t say anything.
    ‘Try not to worry,’ the health visitor stresses as she puts on her coat.
    ‘Gilly!’ Mum calls up to my bedroom, after the health visitor has left. ‘Can you come here!’
    I emerge at the top of the stairs, pen in my mouth, brow furrowed in concentration.
    ‘Please.’ There’s desperation in her tone.
    Reluctantly I follow Mum into the sitting room and crouch down next to Megan, who looks up at me, smiling. Her dimpled legs look like doughy baguettes and she’s wearing soft pink shoes, designed with felt piglets.
    I stroke Megan’s dark hair. Everything about my baby sister is big. She has a round face, the shape of a full moon, deep-blue eyes, chubby arms and legs, a mass of thick hair and a wide smile. Dad says she’ll be a super-model when she grows up.
    ‘There’s something wrong,’ Mum says. ‘I’m worried, Gilly.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Watch.’
    Mum lifts Megan into her arms, holds her briefly, then places her gently back down on the rug. ‘Did you notice anything?’ Mum asks, staring at me.
    ‘Like what? She’s fine.’ Impatient, I get up. ‘Can I go now?’
    But Mum asks me to watch again. Exactly the same thing happens. I shrug.
    ‘Sorry – go, poppet,’ she says distractedly. As I am about to leave the room I watch Mum picking Megan up again, rocking her in her arms and then putting her back down on the rug and watching carefully, as if Megan’s about to do something different this time, but she doesn’t. She just flops back down like she always does. I hover by the door.
    ‘Go,’ Mum says. ‘I’m sure I’m just being silly.’
    I nod.
    ‘And Gilly?’
    I wait.
    ‘Don’t mention this to your father, OK?’

10
     
    It’s Sunday morning. I was out last night, on a date. Anna set me up with one of her work colleagues called Harvey and we went to a new restaurant in Soho. The atmosphere was great, and unlike my last date, who’d turned up in a white top tucked into cord trousers, the overhang of his belly on display, Harvey had style. I am going to thank Anna for this one, I thought, as we flirted at the bar. There was chemistry, no doubt about it, but that was soon killed off when, at the end of the evening, he produced his calculator, saying I owed more because I’d eaten a pudding and he hadn’t.
    The telephone rings. Normally Mum calls me from Australia at this time of the