‘Beans on toast,’ mumbled Izzy.
‘That was what she said she…’ began Clare, but Zoe talked over her.
‘Never mind, darling,’ she tutted. ‘We’ll get you something decent to eat when we get you home. Excuse me,’ she said, this last icy comment directed at Liam. He stepped out of her way and she opened the front door. Izzy ducked her head against the wall of cold and pulled her coat tighter around her.
‘I’m so sorry, Izzy,’ said Liam as Zoe propelled their daughter through the door. ‘I’ll make it up to you,’ he called out, but Zoe had already slammed the door in his face. Liam sighed again and traced around his eye sockets with the middle finger of both hands.
‘I’m sorry, love,’ he said.
Clare was angry about so many things she didn’t know where to start.
‘Did you hear her?’ she demanded. ‘Implying that I didn’t feed Izzy properly. She refused to eat the casserole I made. She asked for baked beans on toast.’
Liam shrugged. ‘All she did was ask Izzy what she had to eat. I don’t see what’s wrong with that.’
‘You never see, do you, Liam?’ said Clare. ‘You take everything Zoe says at face value. That was a pointed remark aimed at me.’
‘It’s not worth getting worked up about, Clare.’ Liam hung his coat on the hat stand. ‘You shouldn’t let her come between us.’
‘You let her come between us. I don’t know why you ever divorced Zoe and married me. All she does is insult me and all you do is defend her.’
‘Hey,’ he said, raising his hands in the air, palms facing outwards towards Clare. His usually mild demeanour was gone, and an angry look flashed across his features. ‘That’s really not fair.’
Clare blushed, knowing that she had gone a step too far but, now on a roll, she could not stop. ‘You’re intimidated by her, aren’t you?’
‘I’m not intimidated by Zoe. I just prefer not to be confrontational with her.’
‘But you let her walk all over you. And in front of Izzy.’
‘That’s the way you see it.’
‘That’s the way it is.’
Liam sighed again. ‘I prefer not to argue with Zoe in front of Izzy. Listen, Clare, Zoe has problems. She’s on her own and life’s not easy for her. She doesn’t have many friends and I still feel guilty about leaving her. I guess I feel sorry for her. I wish you would show a bit of compassion too.’
‘Compassion?’ Clare nearly choked on the word. ‘You want me to show compassion to Zoe? Liam, in case you hadn’t noticed, she’s a…a first-class bitch.’ The last words sounded common, harsh, unkind.
‘That’s enough now,’ he said sharply and Clare bit her lip, annoyed with herself. She’d lost the moral high ground and deflected the argument away from her main gripe – that Liam did not do enough to defend her against Zoe’s persistent, insidious put-downs. ‘Look,’ he added, in a conciliatory tone, ‘I’m just trying to keep the peace, Clare. I’ve had a rotten day.’
‘Well, so have I thanks to you. And don’t you ever do this to me again,’ said Clare, remembering just in time that wagging a finger at Liam would necessitate letting go of the dressing gown, making her look even more ridiculous than she already did. Instead, she folded her arms tightly across her chest.
‘What?’ said Liam.
‘Come home at this time when you know I’m supposed to be going out. How often do I go out with the girls, Liam? Once or twice a month? Is it too much to ask you to be home on time just this once?’
‘Clare, that’s unreasonable. If I could’ve been here earlier, I would’ve been. You know that.’ He ran his hand over his face. ‘I’ve had a hellish day.’
‘And to leave me with Izzy as well.’
‘Sure, Izzy’s no bother,’ said Liam.
‘She’s a little madam, Liam,’ snapped Clare. ‘When you’re about she’s all sweetness and light and when you’re not she’s a complete pain. Like tonight.’
‘What did she do that was so awful?’
‘She…she refused to help bath the kids.’
‘Well, to be fair, that’s not really her job, Clare.’ Liam raised his eyebrows, and cocked his head to one side the way he did when he thought she was being unreasonable. This infuriated Clare even more.
‘You don’t understand. The kitchen was a mess – Rachel had spilt baked beans everywhere,’ said Clare, waving her hands about in an agitated fashion. The dressing gown gaped open. She snatched it shut, gripping the collar of the gown under her chin. ‘ asked for her help and she refused just out of spite. And then she was making out to Zoe just now that I’d left her downstairs all on her own when it was her choice.’
Liam shook his head, not really listening. ‘Clare, I’m sorry but I just don’t have time for this right now. I’m only just through the door,’ he said, consulting his watch, ‘and you were supposed to be at No.11 ten minutes ago. Look, why don’t you go and finish getting ready and we can finish this conversation another time?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Clare flatly, torn between the desire to pursue the argument, and the desire to meet her friends before the evening was ruined. She suddenly noticed that Liam looked exhausted and guilt diluted her anger. ‘Why don’t you go and get something to eat?’ she suggested, softening. ‘There’s a casserole in the oven and a crusty loaf in the bread bin.’
‘I will, thanks, love.’
‘What was so awful about your day?’ said Clare.
‘Oh, the usual. Office politics. You don’t want to know.’
He was right – she didn’t. And she conveniently interpreted this as meaning that he didn’t want to talk about it. ‘I’m sorry for going on about Zoe.’
‘It’s alright. I know what she’s like. Believe me, I’d rather battle Boadicea than Zoe any day.’
Clare giggled. Liam looked at her from under a cocked eyebrow and the corners of his mouth turned up in one of his irresistible smiles. ‘But have I told you that you look very fetching in that ensemble?’ he said. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. ‘I always think a woman looks very sexy in her man’s clothes,’ he breathed into her ear.
‘Not in this old thing!’ said Clare, looking down at the dressing gown and smiling. ‘I’m buying you a new one and this one’s going straight in the bin!’
‘Go on, then,’ he said, patting her bottom. ‘You’d better get yourself ready before I ravish you!’
Clare ran up the stairs, giggling, and remembered that Liam’s ability to make her laugh was the reason she had fallen in love with him in the first place.
By the time she finally made it to No.11, Clare was half an hour late. No.11 was a small bistro housed in the front of a former hotel on Quality Street. The rest of the hotel had long since been turned into apartments. The original sash windows had been replaced by concertina floor-to-ceiling ones that were pulled back in the summer months and tables placed on the sunlit pavement outside, continental style.
Tonight, though, the windows were firmly shut against the bitter January night.