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‘Pleading poverty as usual,’ said Penny.
Lilly leaned into Jack’s embrace. ‘We can’t all be married to millionaires.’
‘In my next life I’m coming back as a hedge fund manager,’ said Jack.
Lilly nuzzled his neck. ‘Don’t you bloody dare.’
He touched her pregnant belly gently. ‘How’s Frank?’
‘Frank?’ Penny raised an eyebrow.
‘Don’t go there,’ Lilly warned.
Jack had spent weeks trying to engage her in naming discussions. Lilly flatly refused.
‘Then I’ll choose myself,’ he’d said.
‘Not interested,’ Lilly had replied.
‘Frank,’ he’d declared. ‘A good solid name.’
‘The only Frank I ever knew ended up doing a five stretch for attacking his neighbour with an axe.’
‘I thought you weren’t interested,’ he’d retorted.
‘Come on, Jack.’ Penny waved a book of tickets. ‘You must have the luck of the Irish.’
Jack laughed. ‘That’s the lot from the Emerald Isle. Trust me, there’s nothing lucky about Belfast.’
‘You managed to tie Lilly down, didn’t you?’ said Penny. ‘You must be doing something right.’
Jack kissed Lilly’s cheek, winked at Penny and pulled out his wallet. ‘Och, give us a couple then.’
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ said Lilly as she and Jack wandered around the May Fayre.
The school grounds lent themselves to the resolute Englishness of the celebrations, children streaking across the extensive lawns, gobbling ice creams. Blossom blew in the spring breeze like confetti. A white marquee seemed at home next to the immaculate cricket pitch.
Jack shrugged. ‘A copper’s wage may not be six figures but I’m above the breadline.’
‘Unlike this struggling solicitor,’ Lilly laughed.
‘We’ll get by.’
‘We’ll have to,’ said Lilly. ‘I can’t even get the sodding phones to work.’
‘Good,’ said Jack.
‘Good?’
‘Haven’t I been saying all along that you should wait until after the baby’s born to set up shop?’
Lilly rolled her eyes.
Jack had made his feelings abundantly clear. Ad nauseam.
But she wasn’t some chicken on an egg. As much as she wanted this baby, and imagined little fingers curled around her own, she couldn’t be expected to sit around all day incubating.
‘I worked right up to the week before I had Sam,’ she said.
‘You weren’t forty then,’ Jack replied.
Lilly gave him a playful punch on the arm and anticipated one in return when she felt Jack stiffen. She followed his eye line and saw Sam and his dad walking towards them. Things had been tricky in the past between Jack and David. Hell, things had been tricky between Lilly and David. Her ex-husband had a talent for winding everyone up.
‘Hey big man,’ Lilly called to her ten-year-old son.
Sam was wearing a straw hat garlanded with flowers and ribbons.
‘I’m loving that look,’ said Jack.
‘It’s for morris dancing,’ said David.
‘And there was me thinking it was his rugby kit,’ said Jack.
Lilly kicked Jack’s ankle. For Sam’s sake, a truce had been called and they had each agreed to be as civil as possible.
‘It looks great, Sam,’ she said.
‘It looks totally lame,’ Sam scowled. He glanced at another group of boys in similar attire. ‘People will think I’m with those dorks.’
‘Still, you’ve a good chance of being crowned May Queen,’ said Jack.
Sam put up a fist but couldn’t resist a laugh.
‘Can Sam have tea with you, David?’ Lilly asked. ‘I’ve got to see a man about a phone.’
He shook his head. ‘Sorry. I’ve got to collect Cara and Fleur from baby massage.’
Lilly felt heat rising up her neck. David’s girlfriend, Cara, and their child always seemed to take priority and it infuriated her. Truce or not, she opened her mouth to remind David that he had two children.
‘I’ll take him back to the cottage with me,’ said Jack. ‘You’re cool with that, aren’t you, Sam?’
Lilly mouthed her thanks.
‘Can we call at the shop for crisps?’ asked Sam.
‘Sure,’ said Jack.
‘And in the baker’s for a cake?’
‘Why not?’
David pointed to Lilly’s bump. ‘I suspect you won’t be following the school of firm parenting, Jack.’
Lilly gave her ex-husband a cold stare. ‘I’ll settle for the school of just being around.’
Aasha knows she should be listening to Mr Markson. Maths is her worst subject. She’ll definitely get As in everything else. Maybe even A
s in geography and art. But maths has always puzzled her. Who really cares how you work out the average score on dice? And why would you ever need to calculate the average speed of a train from London to Inverness? She’d been to Scotland once for a cousin’s wedding and it had taken eight hours in the car to get there. She and her brothers had bickered most of the way, and she’d been sick in a lay-by near Birmingham, but no one had asked her to work out their average speed.
But as her dad is constantly reminding her, she needs to get at least a B.
‘Or no good university will even look at you, and what then?’
What then, indeed.
She tries to drag her attention back to the lesson but in seconds it’s wandered back to where it was before. Ryan Sanders.
Aasha can’t believe she’s giving him head space. He’s such a loser, in the bottom sets for everything. He’ll be lucky to scrape any GCSEs, never mind a good grade in maths. The only thing he’s any good at is art, and then he doesn’t turn up most of the time. Not that she’s noticed him. Or even cares.
‘An ASBO kid,’ her dad would call him.
Not that Ryan has an ASBO, or at least not one that Aasha knows about. But he’s that type. A bad boy.
‘Bet I know who you’re thinking about,’ whispers Lailla.
Aasha feels the heat creep around the base of her throat. ‘I’m not thinking about anyone.’
Lailla giggles. ‘So why are you writing his name all over your notebook?’
Aasha looks down and gasps. She’s doodled Ryan’s name all down the margin.
‘Your brothers will kill you,’ says Lailla.
Aasha turns over the page and smooths it down. ‘Shut up, Lailla.’
She forces her eyes back to the white board but she can still hear Lailla laughing—just like she can still see Ryan’s name through the paper.
‘Any chance of a coffee?’
The engineer was once again prone on the brand-new carpet in Lilly’s office, ferreting about in the socket and squinting like Popeye.
Lilly indicated her espresso maker still in its box, and turned her attention to the printer. She lifted the lid and rooted around. Where the hell did you put the ink?
‘You ain’t really cut out for this,’ the engineer observed.
Lilly bristled. ‘Just fix my phone.’
But he was right. Of all the people best suited to organising things, Lilly had to be at the bottom of the list. She was a litigator, a case lawyer, a court-room brawler.
She pulled out her mobile and called her old boss.
‘Rupes, it’s me.’
Rupinder laughed. ‘How’s it going?’
Lilly poked suspiciously at her printer. ‘It’s a bloody nightmare.’
Rupinder gasped. ‘Is something wrong with the baby?’
‘Oh, that.’ Lilly patted her bump. ‘No, everything’s fine.’
‘So what’s the matter?’
‘I just don’t know how you did it.’ Lilly looked mournfully around the office. ‘How did you run everything so efficiently?’
‘Ah,’ Rupinder caught her meaning. ‘Well, for one thing, I had help.’
Lilly nodded. When she’d worked for Rupes there’d been three partners, a handful of secretaries and the old bulldog on reception, Sheila. Lilly never thought the day would come when she missed the interfering old battleaxe, but at least she could work the photocopier.
‘I can’t afford to hire anyone,’ Lilly said. ‘Not until I’m up and running.’
‘And how will you manage that on your own?’
Rupinder’s voice was, as always, the epitome of calm. Lilly wished she were still around, that they could work together.
‘I miss you, Rupes.’
‘I miss you too.’ Her words were like balm. ‘But you still won’t manage on your own.’
Lilly pushed out her lip. ‘I’ll just have to.’
Sam licked the sugar off his fingers and eyed the last doughnut.
‘Are you eating that?’ he asked.
Jack patted his six-pack. Since the enormity of becoming a dad had hit him, he’d decided the very least he could do was try to stay alive. He’d started slowly, refusing the odd takeaway curry. He’d curbed the beer and upped the running. Before long he began to enjoy his new regime and now ate no wheat, sugar or dairy. It drove Lilly insane.
‘Fill your boots.’
He watched Sam devour it, enjoying the pale sunshine streaming in through the kitchen windows.
‘What?’ Sam spoke through a mouthful of jam and grease.
‘You’re just like your mum,’ said Jack.
Sam frowned. ‘Thanks a bunch.’
‘Your mother’s a fine woman.’
