worry, I’m not that bad.’
‘Still, I thought you were supposed to take it easy?’
‘It’s been over a fortnight . . . ’ There is another issue, and if Anna is going to help Lou see everything more clearly, she’d best explain. ‘The thing is, Sofia
and I were supposed to be going to this show in London today.’
‘Oh?’
‘Now we’re talking this through, I think that might be why she’s not come home.’
‘Really? What sort of show could possibly make her do that?’
‘Well, it’s the Alternative Parenting Show, you see.’
Silence. Eventually, ‘I’m sorry, but you’ve lost me.’
‘It’s an exhibition, with stands and stuff, for people who are considering having children.’
‘Ri-i-ight . . . ’
‘You know, lesbians and single women and gay men – people who want to adopt or foster – alternative parents, if you will. And I wanted to go with Sofia so, well, we could find
out about the options.’
‘Ah. So you think Sofia’s running away from that.’
‘Possibly, yes. Probably, in fact.’ Lou has a flush of anger. How dare Sofia jeopardize this day of all days? This show is important to her. Sofia knew that.
‘Are you really recovered enough to go?’
‘I’m fine. Honestly.’
‘It sounds a lot to take on.’
‘Sofia was going to drive us so I didn’t have to walk much.’ As fast as it hit her, fury dissipates, gives way to disappointment.
‘Can’t you go another time?’
‘It only happens once a year, and there are all sorts of exhibitors there: fertility clinics, fostering agencies . . . ’
‘Where is it exactly?’
‘Covent Garden.’
Another pause. ‘What time?’
‘It starts at 10.30. But it’s on for the whole day.’
‘Fuck it.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Can you get yourself dressed OK?’
‘Yes. It takes me a while, but—’
‘Right. I’ll take you. Give me forty-five minutes and I’ll be round.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. We’ll go in my car. Be ready at quarter past, I’ll toot outside, save me parking – your road is a nightmare. But don’t rush. I
don’t want you doing yourself an injury coming down the stairs.’
‘Thank you.’ Lou feels like crying.
* * *
‘So where is it, did you say?’
Cath swivels her smartphone so the map tallies with the direction they are walking. ‘This should be Drury Lane . . . Then it must be first left.’ She looks up. ‘Yes. Now, the
Assembly Rooms are number 61–65.’
‘Over there.’ Rich points. ‘I can see the sign.’
‘Great. We’re on time.’
‘Clever old us,’ says Rich.
‘Where’s our programme?’ Cath rummages in her handbag. ‘So, the talk I want to go to is at eleven . . . We’ve got a few minutes for a coffee. Let’s see if we
can find one inside, shall we?’
Rich nods, but in the lobby they are brought to a halt by a woman with a clipboard.
‘Homes Show or Alternative Parenting?’ she asks. There are two queues, one short, heading off to the left; another snaking all the way up the stairs and onto the next landing.
‘Alternative Parenting,’ says Cath.
‘That’s this one.’ The woman waves her arm at the snake.
‘But we’ve got tickets.’
‘Still got to queue, I’m afraid.’
‘Bollocks,’ murmurs Rich, joining the back of it.
‘Tell you what, you wait here, and I’ll see if I can get us a coffee. I think we passed a place on our way.’ And before Rich can ask what he should do if he gets to the front
of the queue before she returns, Cath has gone.
While he waits in line, Rich assesses the people around him. There are a lot of women, he notices. In fact, there are hardly any men. He sees that one guy waving to catch the attention of
another is wearing a Stonewall: Working for Equality T-shirt and puts two and two together.
He glances behind him; there’s a woman with sleek hair in a bob. She is wearing crimson lipstick and her eye makeup is quite pronounced. She is with another woman dressed in
‘Still, I thought you were supposed to take it easy?’
‘It’s been over a fortnight . . . ’ There is another issue, and if Anna is going to help Lou see everything more clearly, she’d best explain. ‘The thing is, Sofia
and I were supposed to be going to this show in London today.’
‘Oh?’
‘Now we’re talking this through, I think that might be why she’s not come home.’
‘Really? What sort of show could possibly make her do that?’
‘Well, it’s the Alternative Parenting Show, you see.’
Silence. Eventually, ‘I’m sorry, but you’ve lost me.’
‘It’s an exhibition, with stands and stuff, for people who are considering having children.’
‘Ri-i-ight . . . ’
‘You know, lesbians and single women and gay men – people who want to adopt or foster – alternative parents, if you will. And I wanted to go with Sofia so, well, we could find
out about the options.’
‘Ah. So you think Sofia’s running away from that.’
‘Possibly, yes. Probably, in fact.’ Lou has a flush of anger. How dare Sofia jeopardize this day of all days? This show is important to her. Sofia knew that.
‘Are you really recovered enough to go?’
‘I’m fine. Honestly.’
‘It sounds a lot to take on.’
‘Sofia was going to drive us so I didn’t have to walk much.’ As fast as it hit her, fury dissipates, gives way to disappointment.
‘Can’t you go another time?’
‘It only happens once a year, and there are all sorts of exhibitors there: fertility clinics, fostering agencies . . . ’
‘Where is it exactly?’
‘Covent Garden.’
Another pause. ‘What time?’
‘It starts at 10.30. But it’s on for the whole day.’
‘Fuck it.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Can you get yourself dressed OK?’
‘Yes. It takes me a while, but—’
‘Right. I’ll take you. Give me forty-five minutes and I’ll be round.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. We’ll go in my car. Be ready at quarter past, I’ll toot outside, save me parking – your road is a nightmare. But don’t rush. I
don’t want you doing yourself an injury coming down the stairs.’
‘Thank you.’ Lou feels like crying.
* * *
‘So where is it, did you say?’
Cath swivels her smartphone so the map tallies with the direction they are walking. ‘This should be Drury Lane . . . Then it must be first left.’ She looks up. ‘Yes. Now, the
Assembly Rooms are number 61–65.’
‘Over there.’ Rich points. ‘I can see the sign.’
‘Great. We’re on time.’
‘Clever old us,’ says Rich.
‘Where’s our programme?’ Cath rummages in her handbag. ‘So, the talk I want to go to is at eleven . . . We’ve got a few minutes for a coffee. Let’s see if we
can find one inside, shall we?’
Rich nods, but in the lobby they are brought to a halt by a woman with a clipboard.
‘Homes Show or Alternative Parenting?’ she asks. There are two queues, one short, heading off to the left; another snaking all the way up the stairs and onto the next landing.
‘Alternative Parenting,’ says Cath.
‘That’s this one.’ The woman waves her arm at the snake.
‘But we’ve got tickets.’
‘Still got to queue, I’m afraid.’
‘Bollocks,’ murmurs Rich, joining the back of it.
‘Tell you what, you wait here, and I’ll see if I can get us a coffee. I think we passed a place on our way.’ And before Rich can ask what he should do if he gets to the front
of the queue before she returns, Cath has gone.
While he waits in line, Rich assesses the people around him. There are a lot of women, he notices. In fact, there are hardly any men. He sees that one guy waving to catch the attention of
another is wearing a Stonewall: Working for Equality T-shirt and puts two and two together.
He glances behind him; there’s a woman with sleek hair in a bob. She is wearing crimson lipstick and her eye makeup is quite pronounced. She is with another woman dressed in
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