it’s still Not Right. In fact, the thought of being alone with her husband makes her feel quite nauseous.
Reluctantly, Freddie snatches a pair of pants from the radiator and pulls them on. ‘Everyone else has a dog,’ he mutters, reaching for his beloved black and orange tracksuit that’s strewn over the back of a chair.
‘You can’t wear that tracksuit,’ Kerry barks.
‘Why not?’
‘Because … because it’s too hot out there. You’ll be all sweaty and uncomfortable,
and
it needs a wash …’
‘It’s
fine
, Mum.’ He rolls his eyes, already pulling the wretched thing on. As Mia appears, brandishing her carefully drawn design for a potentially prize-winning sand sculpture – ‘That’s fantastic, darling,’ Kerry says distractedly – she realises she doesn’t have the energy to cajole him out of it. Anyway, at least he’s dressed
.
‘You didn’t look at it, Mummy,’ Mia huffs.
‘I did! It’s amazing. You’ve put so much thought and work into it …’
Mia scowls and slams her drawing onto the table. The jeans she’s wearing finish at her ankles, Kerry notices, and her once purple T-shirt has faded to a chalky mauve. Is it worth trying to persuade her to change? Probably not. With the picnic packed, and a bag of towels, plus numerous buckets and spades in readiness by the door, Kerry checks the time again. Anita is due any minute now. As soon as she and the kids are all safely installed in the competition area of the beach, Kerry will hurry off to meet Rob in Hattie’s, a chintzy tearoom at the far end of the seafront.
‘Auntie Anita’s got Bess,’ Freddie reminds her as she grabs a big plastic bottle to fill with diluted orange. She realises that the other children will probably have little cartons of organic apple juice, but it’s too late to worry about that now.
‘Yes, well, that doesn’t mean we have to have one, does it?’
‘But I want one! You said if I was a good boy and I
am
a good boy …’ He gives the elasticated waist of his tracksuit bottoms a fierce twang.
‘We’d never be bored if we had a dog, Mummy,’ Mia chips in. ‘We’d always have someone to talk to and be our friend.’
Something twists in Kerry’s stomach, and she busies herself by swilling out the bowl she’d used to make the egg mayonnaise.
‘But you do have people to talk to, sweetheart,’ she murmurs. ‘You have me and Daddy and all your old friends in London, and you’ll soon make new ones here …’
‘I won’t,’ Freddie says.
‘Why not?’ Kerry asks. ‘What about those nice boys we were chatting to on the beach yesterday?’
‘
They
had a dog …’
‘Yes, Freddie, but not everyone—’
‘I don’t
want
new friends,’ he barks at her. ‘I ONLY WANT A DOG.’ At which the doorbell pings, and Kerry almost weeps with relief as she rushes to greet Anita and her children at the door.
As she hugs her friend, amidst hugs and excitable chatter about multi-turreted sandcastles, she clearly hears Freddie muttering away in the kitchen.
‘I hate egg,’ he announces. ‘It stinks and Mummy does too.’
Chapter Ten
Here she comes, Rob notes with a surge of relief, as Kerry crosses the road towards the tearoom where he’s spent the last twenty minutes waiting for her. It’s a breezy, early September afternoon, and she looks …
normal
, he’s pleased to see, in jeans and a plain navy T-shirt – not that he didn’t like her in that red dress and heels. Actually, no, he
hated
the red dress and heels because the image of her all done up is intermingled with the horror of her throwing that cake at him.
Kerry pushes open the teashop’s glass door and marches straight for his table.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she says briskly, dropping her bag onto the floor and plonking herself on the spindly wooden chair opposite him. Her face is slightly flushed and make-up free, her long dark hair tied back in a ponytail with a few stray strands poking out.
‘That’s okay,’ he
Reluctantly, Freddie snatches a pair of pants from the radiator and pulls them on. ‘Everyone else has a dog,’ he mutters, reaching for his beloved black and orange tracksuit that’s strewn over the back of a chair.
‘You can’t wear that tracksuit,’ Kerry barks.
‘Why not?’
‘Because … because it’s too hot out there. You’ll be all sweaty and uncomfortable,
and
it needs a wash …’
‘It’s
fine
, Mum.’ He rolls his eyes, already pulling the wretched thing on. As Mia appears, brandishing her carefully drawn design for a potentially prize-winning sand sculpture – ‘That’s fantastic, darling,’ Kerry says distractedly – she realises she doesn’t have the energy to cajole him out of it. Anyway, at least he’s dressed
.
‘You didn’t look at it, Mummy,’ Mia huffs.
‘I did! It’s amazing. You’ve put so much thought and work into it …’
Mia scowls and slams her drawing onto the table. The jeans she’s wearing finish at her ankles, Kerry notices, and her once purple T-shirt has faded to a chalky mauve. Is it worth trying to persuade her to change? Probably not. With the picnic packed, and a bag of towels, plus numerous buckets and spades in readiness by the door, Kerry checks the time again. Anita is due any minute now. As soon as she and the kids are all safely installed in the competition area of the beach, Kerry will hurry off to meet Rob in Hattie’s, a chintzy tearoom at the far end of the seafront.
‘Auntie Anita’s got Bess,’ Freddie reminds her as she grabs a big plastic bottle to fill with diluted orange. She realises that the other children will probably have little cartons of organic apple juice, but it’s too late to worry about that now.
‘Yes, well, that doesn’t mean we have to have one, does it?’
‘But I want one! You said if I was a good boy and I
am
a good boy …’ He gives the elasticated waist of his tracksuit bottoms a fierce twang.
‘We’d never be bored if we had a dog, Mummy,’ Mia chips in. ‘We’d always have someone to talk to and be our friend.’
Something twists in Kerry’s stomach, and she busies herself by swilling out the bowl she’d used to make the egg mayonnaise.
‘But you do have people to talk to, sweetheart,’ she murmurs. ‘You have me and Daddy and all your old friends in London, and you’ll soon make new ones here …’
‘I won’t,’ Freddie says.
‘Why not?’ Kerry asks. ‘What about those nice boys we were chatting to on the beach yesterday?’
‘
They
had a dog …’
‘Yes, Freddie, but not everyone—’
‘I don’t
want
new friends,’ he barks at her. ‘I ONLY WANT A DOG.’ At which the doorbell pings, and Kerry almost weeps with relief as she rushes to greet Anita and her children at the door.
As she hugs her friend, amidst hugs and excitable chatter about multi-turreted sandcastles, she clearly hears Freddie muttering away in the kitchen.
‘I hate egg,’ he announces. ‘It stinks and Mummy does too.’
Chapter Ten
Here she comes, Rob notes with a surge of relief, as Kerry crosses the road towards the tearoom where he’s spent the last twenty minutes waiting for her. It’s a breezy, early September afternoon, and she looks …
normal
, he’s pleased to see, in jeans and a plain navy T-shirt – not that he didn’t like her in that red dress and heels. Actually, no, he
hated
the red dress and heels because the image of her all done up is intermingled with the horror of her throwing that cake at him.
Kerry pushes open the teashop’s glass door and marches straight for his table.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she says briskly, dropping her bag onto the floor and plonking herself on the spindly wooden chair opposite him. Her face is slightly flushed and make-up free, her long dark hair tied back in a ponytail with a few stray strands poking out.
‘That’s okay,’ he
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