Mia nods while Freddie investigates his left ear with a finger. ‘Yeah. Read the story,’ he commands.
‘In a minute, darling. It’s just …’
‘Are you getting revorced?’ he cuts in.
‘Why d’you ask that?’ Kerry’s heart judders.
‘Tom’s mum and dad are getting revorced. He told me at school. He’s gonna have two bedrooms.’
‘Oh,’ Kerry says as Mia throws her a startled look. ‘Well, er, the word’s actually divorced, honey, and I don’t know. I mean, yes, maybe …’ Her children’s dark eyes are upon her, radiating alarm. ‘Daddy-has-a-new-girlfriend-they’re-having-a-baby,’ she blurts out in a rush.
There’s a startled silence. ‘They made a baby?’ Mia exclaims.
‘Um, yes.’
‘How?’ demands Freddie.
‘They just …’ She clears her throat. ‘They just did, like we made you.’
‘With kissing?’ Freddie asks.
‘Er, I expect so, yes …’ Kerry is aware of Mia snuggling closer and wrapping her arms around her.
‘Is Daddy gonna live with the new baby,’ she whispers, ‘and not us?’
‘I don’t know, darling,’ she says, pulling both of them close. ‘We’ll have to see.’ Silence seems to fill the small room with its jumble of books and games piled messily onto shelves. Kerry can’t even hear the sea.
‘I know what men and ladies do,’ Freddie says, brightening. ‘They take their clothes off and bounce on the bed.’
Mia glares at him, then up at her mother. ‘No they don’t. It’s seeds and eggs. I read it in a book.’
‘That’s right, sweetie. It was in that bodies book I gave you.’
‘Daddy did that,’ Mia adds, turning to her brother. ‘His seed met her egg.’
Freddie frowns. ‘Where?’
‘In London,’ she says knowledgeably.
‘In … in her body actually,’ Kerry says firmly.
‘Whose body?’ Freddie asks.
‘His girlfriend’s. She’s, um … called Nadine.’
Cupping a hand over her mouth, Mia leans in to whisper into Freddie’s ear, making him dissolve into giggles. ‘What’s that, Freddie?’ Kerry asks.
‘She said it’s in her vagina.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘The baby’s in there, in her vagina.’
‘Well, not exactly but you’re nearly right – it’s not too far away from there and that’s probably where it’ll come out …’ Kerry blows out air and feels herself sweating. ‘Anyway, enough about babies. I don’t suppose you’re hungry, are you? Would you like a treat before bed?’
‘Can I have Coco Pops?’ Freddie asks, as if startled by his good luck.
‘Coco Pops?’ Mia repeats. ‘Are we allowed them at bedtime after our teeth?’
‘Sure. Why not?’ Kerry says. ‘In fact, I’m going down to get two bowlfuls right now and you can both eat them in bed.’
‘Yeah!’ Freddie exclaims. ‘And I’m not doing my teeth again neither.’
Kerry gets up, relieved that her children have been so easily cheered up after her shock announcement. She’s grateful, too, to have a simple task to occupy her, even if it is only filling two bowls with contraband cereal. In fact, right at this moment, it feels like exactly the right thing to do.
‘Mummy!’ Freddie shouts as she makes for the bedroom door.
‘Yes, Freddie?’
‘Will he still be our daddy?’
She frowns. ‘D’you mean when the new baby comes?’
‘Yeah.’ He nods solemnly.
Kerry bites her lip, willing herself not to cry, at least not until she’s reached the sanctuary of the kitchen. ‘Of course he will,’ she says. ‘Don’t worry, darling. Daddy loves both of you and nothing will ever change that.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘Migraine better?’ Eddy enquires as Rob saunters into the office on Thursday morning.
‘Yes, much better thanks.’ He plans to get the pleasantries over with as quickly as possible so he can hide behind his screen and at least pretend to be working.
‘Unusual for one to last for two days,’ Eddy adds with a smirk.
‘Er, yeah. Anyway, I’m fine now,’ Rob says, marching towards his desk with what feels like a ridiculously bouncy walk in order to display his wellness to all. Does everyone know, he wonders? Surely Nadine hasn’t said anything yet. During their brief, slightly terse conversations during the past few days, she’s assured him that she has no intention of ‘making a grand announcement’, as she put it. She’s at her desk at the far end of the office, prim and expressionless in a dress with tiny purple flowers all over it. Hair neat, red lipstick immaculately applied. She flicks her gaze up at Rob, then quickly back down to her screen.
Rob switches on his computer and stares at it. His first task today is to write his second Miss Jones column, although at this moment it feels as insurmountable as building a cathedral with his bare hands. On this grim, drizzly October morning, the very concept of sex seems appalling; dirty, misguided, leading only to cake-throwing and despair. Yet he has no choice other than to get on with it. Having missed two days of work, and being incapable of switching on his laptop at home, he’s hopelessly behind with everything. He needs to talk to Kerry but, understandably, she either cuts him off or won’t pick up the call. How can he possibly write a coherent sentence with all of this whirling around in his brain?
Gazing at his blank screen, Rob tries to force his brain into writer mode. As they work three months ahead – they are already planning the January issue – his first Miss Jones column has yet to provoke any reader response, so he has no idea if he got it right with the food-in-the-bedroom one. For this issue, Eddy has suggested the topic of ‘Why women sometimes go off sex’. How the hell should Rob know? He’s not a woman, as he’s reminded his editor on several occasions. ‘Think like a woman then,’ Eddy instructed him with a snigger.
Okay, think. Think. It’s not easy, considering his wife has left him and God knows when he’ll next see Mia and Freddie. He also can’t quite believe that Nadine plans to go ahead with this pregnancy, but Rob can’t allow his thoughts to venture down that sorry route now. Using all his faculties to tune out the background chatter, Rob tries to think himself into being a woman. Right. He is now not only a woman but a woman who has gone off sex. More than frigid, she is virtually deep-frozen. She would rather have a cup of tea or an episode of EastEnders – anything rather than her boyfriend’s mauling hands all over her.
How has Rob’s life ended up like this? This isn’t how he’d envisaged himself as a rookie journalist nearly twenty years ago. He’d imagined travelling to war-torn countries, crafting insightful pieces and making a name for himself. Rob glances around the office in mild alarm. Catching Nadine’s eye, he quickly turns back to his screen. It’s only six hundred words, he reminds himself. Get on with it, idiot. Before we talk about what you can do, he types quickly, we need to look at why I might not be in the mood right now. Maybe I’m stressed at work and you’re not paying me enough attention when I come home, shattered, after a terrible Tube journey … These days it’s assumed that Mr Jones’s entire