So, what now? His meal had been eaten, Simon had gone off to meet his mates, and that just left Match of the Day. Probably the same match he’d just seen live. He chucked his chip wrapper in the already full-to-bursting bin in the kitchen, squashing the contents down hard to make a bit more room, thus avoiding having to go outside again to empty it, and flipped the kettle on. What would Nicci be doing now, he wondered? He’d bet that she wouldn’t be moping about at home by herself. Probably out with that Jason bloke.
Oh, yes, she’d sworn it had been a one-off, that there was nothing going on, that it had all been a terrible, stupid mistake, but how was he supposed to believe a word she said any more? And he’d seen that Jason. Made it his business to seek him out and watch him in action. From a distance, of course. If he’d gone any closer he probably would have decked him. But anyone could see the bloke had an over-confident, cocky way about him, like he wouldn’t take no for an answer. It came with the territory, he supposed. A look-at-me type in a fancy suit, used to getting his own way. Not that he could see the attraction himself. No, he wouldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. Oily git!
He seemed to represent everything Mark himself was not, and never wanted to be. God knows why Nic had fallen for his patter. Not satisfied any more with what she had at home, presumably, the ordinary kind of life he had believed without question they’d both wanted. Sometimes he felt like he’d never really known her at all.
Mark poured himself a coffee, slopped some cheap brandy into it and swallowed a mouthful. Oh, boy, that was strong! What was he trying to do? Get blind drunk? Sink into oblivion, in his own armchair? No, if he was going to drink, he’d rather it was among friends. Well, acquaintances, anyway. Or total strangers. What the hell? He may have never met this Rudy character before, but he knew Simon, right? Simon had said it would be okay to tag along. What else was there to do, on a Saturday, when your flat is a soulless shell, your wife is a cheat, and the life you thought you were living had turned out to be a sham?
A stag do sounded exactly what he needed. Not strippers, though. He hoped it wasn’t going to be that kind of an evening. He’d not had one sexual thought since he’d walked out on Nicci, and he didn’t fancy any of that false in-your-face stuff tonight. Being surrounded by cheering, leering blokes, with a phoney policewoman pulling a pair of fluffy handcuffs out of her cleavage or some old scrubber’s bare arse waving about in front of him would just put him off his beer. But a few drinks and a laugh would be good. Male bonding at its best. Barring football, of course, and they’d already done that today.
He knocked back the coffee, which was so hot it would have burned his throat if not for the almost instant anaesthetic effect of the brandy chasing it down his gullet, then he picked up his phone and dialled Simon’s number.
As Nicci pushed open the big glass doors at quarter to eight on Monday morning, it was just starting to rain. The Happy Bees Nursery had been well named. It certainly had a happy atmosphere and, once the children started arriving, it literally buzzed with bee-like noise and constant activity. She’d always enjoyed her job, and the children were a joy, most of the time, but still she couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever felt quite so pleased to be coming in to work, and escaping the drizzly November weather outside had nothing to do with it.
Weekends just weren’t any fun nowadays, and after fighting off Jilly’s insistent attempts at sorting her life out for her, and enduring a long miserable Sunday, during which she had not ventured outside once, not even for a newspaper, she was glad of a bit of routine normality with someone to talk to again.
Nicci yawned into her hand as she slid out of her raincoat and made straight for the kettle in the staffroom. They’d be opening up in fifteen minutes, when a stream of harassed-looking parents would start to run in as usual, depositing their kids, hastily kissing them goodbye and running out again, hoping none of them screamed so they’d have to stay a while, and that they’d then get caught up in the rush-hour traffic and be late for work. Nicci was sure that some of them looked more anxiously at their watches at this time of day than at their children.
Still, there was time for a tea before the onslaught. The place ran like a well-oiled machine, with all the tidying and sweeping and setting out of the right toys and equipment for the following day being done during the half hour or so before going home at night, so the early morning routines were always laid back and easy, knowing everything was already prepared.
‘Morning!’ two voices chorused in chirpy unison. One belonged to Rusty, the very loud and very round Jamaican woman who managed the place and was technically her boss but who Nicci had always thought of far more as a friend. She was stretched out diagonally across two comfy chairs and was rubbing her knobbly toes with one hand while spooning way too much sugar into her tea with the other. Rusty was in her late forties and, despite being bogged down by admin and paperwork for a good part of each day, she loved nothing more than getting hands-on and spending time with the children whenever she could. It was what she had trained for, after all, and she had such a natural grandmotherly way about her that all the little ones adored her.
Then there was Chloe, her complete opposite. Chloe was small and pale and outwardly shy, a girl no one would think capable of saying boo to a goose but who seemed to have no trouble quietening a whole room full of toddlers with just one stern but silent look. Her nose was buried in a celebrity magazine and she was dunking a digestive into her coffee and aiming it in the general direction of her mouth, while at the same time trying to talk without spraying soggy crumbs, but achieving only moderate success.
‘Good weekend?’ Chloe spluttered, peering over the top of a double-page Zara and Mike Tindall spread.
‘Nothing much to speak of. Bit of a party on Friday, but it wasn’t my sort of thing really.’ The last thing Nicci wanted to do was explain. ‘How about you?’
Chloe put the magazine down next to her coffee mug and turned her full attention towards Nicci. ‘Great, thanks. Hang on! Have you been crying?’
‘No, of course not. Bit of a cold coming on, I think. And there’s a chilly wind out there this morning.’ She scrabbled about in her bag for a tissue and made a point of blowing her nose.
‘I think you protest too much.’ Rusty was approaching, seemingly unconvinced and using her sympathetic voice, the one she usually reserved for kids who had fallen over and grazed a knee. ‘That red nose of yours is not from some sudden change in the weather. Come on, Nicci, love. If something’s up, you can tell us. It’s not that husband of yours, is it? I thought he’d moved out.’
‘No, no. He’s done nothing. And, yes, he has moved out. I haven’t even seen him. Not for a couple of weeks.’
‘Still upsetting you though, is he? Huh!’ Rusty pulled a face and eased Nicci down into one of the chairs she had just vacated while she poured her a cup of tea. ‘That’s men for you, honey. Hurt you when you’re with them, hurt you when you’re without them. Feels like us girls just can’t win sometimes. You can tell me all about it later, but for now, you drink this up and put a good old smile back on that pretty face of yours, ’cos we don’t want any of the families to start asking you damn fool questions, do we? Not that most of them would notice if you’d shaved your head and cut your ears off, not at this time of the morning!’
Nicci drank her tea, then took a small mirror from her bag and dabbed a blob of foundation under her eyes and over her nose. It made her look a bit better, even if she didn’t feel it. And on the dot of eight, the children started pouring in, the