Cleo talked so fast that listening was a bit like a workout. ‘Lemon, thanks.’
‘Have a muffin. Have two! I’m already eyeing up a third.’ Cleo started loading a plate.
Sarah tapped her cup. ‘You’re a fox, Cleo. Sam still makes cow eyes at you after how many years of marriage?’
‘Twenty-three.’
‘Twenty-three?’ marvelled Isobel. ‘Wow.’ She and Nathan hadn’t even made it to an engagement ring.
‘Sam tells Cleo she’s beautiful all the time, Isobel. It’s that hair. Women would kill for that natural curl.’
‘Ha! Tell Evie that, she detests hers.’ Cleo’s smile faded. Isobel stirred her tea and tried to blend in.
‘So, what’s wrong with Evie?’ asked Sarah, around a delicate mouthful of something.
Cleo sighed. ‘My antennae are twitching.’
Sarah bit into another forkful and held her hand over her mouth. A diamond glinted in the sunlight. ‘Go on.’
‘She’s having stick off some little shits at school. It’s not cyber-bullying, not yet, just . . .’ Cleo batted a hand. ‘Childish stuff. Name-calling. Crappy comments about her looks. Unimaginative little weasels.’ Isobel sipped quietly from her teacup. ‘I was stunned she was so upset at first. You know Evie, perfectly capable of fighting her corner. So now I’m wondering . . . is something else going on?’
Isobel’s voice came from nowhere. ‘Something else?’ Cleo might be missing something catastrophic on her daughter’s horizon. The internet was good at delivering catastrophic.
‘Well, she has these emotional outbursts, usually when she catches me and Sam arguing. Which admittedly is probably too often. I feel like we’re setting her off, which is awful, but it’s also the only time she actually tells us if something’s bothering her.’
Sarah’s fork hovered at the edge of her plate. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Cleo. I’d hate to be a teenager today, everything documented and up for public viewing. Plus it’s GCSE season. Evie probably just needs an outlet.’
‘I know. And I am making an effort, to get along better with Sam, I mean. I sent him an uncharacteristically nice text just this morning so I’m not all bad.’
‘A nice text?’ winked Sarah. ‘I see.’
‘We don’t sext each other, Sarah. Good God, could you imagine? I’d need a panoramic lens just to get everything in.’
‘Evie and Harry brought that letter home too then? My mother read Will’s out. He was mortified.’
Cleo looked at Isobel. ‘The high school are concerned our children are moronic enough to photograph their genitals. Honestly, they think we’re dragging them up. No, I just texted Sam to suggest we make an effort, for Evie really. Put on a united front. We’re going to the cinema. We’ll argue.’
‘Everyone argues, Cle.’
‘You two never argue! Honestly, Isobel, Sarah and Jon never argue. They’re disgusting.’
‘Only because he has his space and I have mine. I like it when he goes running every night. Is that bad? Am I ungrateful?’ Sarah stabbed at a blueberry and popped it between her teeth. ‘Do you have children, Isobel?’
‘Just a niece. Ella. She’s five.’
‘Very wise,’ piped Cleo. ‘Kids are trouble. Especially teens. Although you haven’t had a peep out of Will yet, have you Sar?’
‘Nope,’ sighed Sarah.
‘Still no sign of a girlfriend then?’
‘Not yet. Although he did shout at Max last month after he opened Will’s text message without needing the code.’
‘Girlfriend alert! Don’t you think, Isobel?’ Isobel smiled and sipped her tea.
‘Not unless her name’s Edward. Does Harry know him, Cle? I think he’s new. Will’s always dashing off to meet him.’
Cleo frowned. ‘H hasn’t mentioned an Edward, but then he’s all loved up with the lovely Ingred from Copenhagen. I keep catching him taking selfies with puppy-dog eyes. Dread to think what it’s costing us getting them to her inbox. Anyway, I’m counting my blessings. The way I see it, if Harry’s busy fantasising about a girl all the way over there, he can’t be getting himself into much trouble with girls over here, can he? I don’t want to have to do the condom talk, and Sam’s useless.’
‘You’re putting me off my pancake, Cle.’
‘Sorry. I can’t believe how fast our little boys are growing into men.’
‘I know, it’s scary,’ agreed Sarah. ‘Doesn’t seem five minutes since they were holding hands marching into pre-school together.’
Cleo grinned behind her cup. ‘You’ll be having the condom talk with Max before long, Sarah.’
‘Don’t!’ yipped Sarah. She looked at Isobel. ‘Max is five.’
‘Oh. Is he at the school where you teach?’
‘He is.’
‘Handy for the school run,’ smiled Isobel.
‘Yup. Not so handy when you need to put your parent’s hat on, though. I’m dreading sports day.’
‘Hmph?’ A fleck of muffin shot from Cleo’s mouth.
‘I told you, the whole school’s running a vote on which child’s pet should be Mr Pethers’ co-umpire this year.’
‘Whose brilliant idea was that? You’re a pet-free home,’ mumbled Cleo.
‘Exactly.’
‘Oh, just pop him a garden bug in a tub and let him name it what he likes.’
Sarah rubbed her forehead. ‘Max was already crazy about getting a puppy, this pet election is sending him into overdrive. On top of Sebastian Brightman pushing his buttons.’
‘What’s up with Max and Olivia’s kid?’
‘Oh, nothing really. Max won’t eat brown bread sandwiches any more because Seb says brown bread is for ducks. He’s stopped wearing his orange raincoat because Seb says orange is the colour of orangutan poo. Max hates breakfast club on Tuesdays now because Seb’s told the other breakfast kids not to play with Max, the orangutan-poo-wearing, duckfood-eating kid.’ Sarah pushed her pancake away. ‘Sorry. You did ask.’
‘Have you tried collaring Olivia? Too busy horse riding, I expect. All those dressage rosettes, you’d think she’d be able to train her offspring to behave.’
‘Maybe you could try a play date?’ suggested Isobel. ‘They might have more chance finding a common ground away from the rest of the class?’
Sarah nodded towards her cup. ‘I agree, Max and Seb probably would find common ground if they were given the chance. It’s just a little complicated, and too boring to go into, but Olivia wouldn’t be keen on a play date at our house.’
‘No, because Olivia and the rest of the Hornbeam momsters swallow everything Juliette’s got to say like chocolate-covered rabbit shits.’ Cleo stiffened. ‘Did you just hear that? Those bloody cats in my bins!’ Cleo was on her feet. ‘Back in a jiffy.’
They watched her go. She was making a detour via two schoolboys hovering by the terrace ramp, both pointing their phones towards the café windows.
‘What