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‘They’re not! They’re using the food gifts as leverage for friendship and whatever else it is they like to have me around for. If I had a girlfriend this wouldn’t happen.’
‘What, because your girlfriend would be cooking for you instead? Jesus, Joe, welcome to the twenty-first century.’
Joe tuts. ‘That is absolutely not what I meant and may I suggest that you stop jumping to terrible conclusions about me? You seem to have made up your mind about me already and not in a good way.’
I shrug. He’s not wrong there.
Joe holds my gaze.
Eventually I say: ‘Surely the meals are their way of showing kindness after you’ve been through such a tough time? I mean, I’d love a free dinner, pal. All I’m hearing from you is a lot of moaning.’
‘Christ, say it like it is, why don’t you.’ He laughs. ‘You know what? I am being an ungrateful bastard about all the care packages. I know that the mums mean well but here’s the thing, Sophie, sometimes their kindness makes me physically sick.’
‘Sounds like you’ve got a weak digestive system there, Joe. You should probably get that checked out.’
‘Would you like to hear about my plan now?’ Joe sighs.
‘Quickly please, I’ve issues to resolve.’
‘We pretend to date.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘We fake a relationship. Think about the benefits. If you’re no longer the hot single mum then maybe you won’t be seen as a threat to other parents at school, see? You’ll be in the mum circle in no time.’
I want to linger over the ‘hot single mum’ comment and Joe’s suggestion that’s the reason other parents don’t talk to me (which cannot possibly be right), but Joe’s in full swing.
‘And it will get your sister off your back. No more dating apps. No more swiping right for men who want to Netflix and swill with you.’ He hoots with laughter at this and I narrow my eyes at him. ‘As for me, no more tea and sympathy. Pretending to date you will mean I get the chance to step away from the “poor widowed Joe” thing. It could be a real fresh start for both of us. The chance to move forward in a way that we’re both comfortable with. No butting in from busybodies who think they know us better than we know ourselves.’
‘That’s … that’s a ridiculous idea,’ I say, struggling to find the words. ‘Faking a relationship, Joe? Who does that? Reality TV stars who need to keep their names in the limelight with a magazine deal and a fauxmance, that’s who! Not normal people. Not parents in their thirties with normal lives and jobs and … I don’t know … pot plants.’
‘What do pot plants have to do with this?’
‘It’s the analogy, Joe! I am a pot plant! Normal people don’t fake relationships, that’s what I’m saying.’
‘Okay, I hear you. It is a bit unusual, I admit. But,’ he leans in, ‘just think of the advantages.’
I consider the school mums. They’re a unique bunch but still, I want to belong for Lila’s sake. If I was in their club I know Lila would have a more active social life outside school. I hate to think of her missing out because I’m not making enough of an effort. Suddenly a bubble of hope is forming deep in my stomach. The prospect of an alternative year stretches out before my eyes. One where I won’t be pestered about who I’m dating by Poppy or feel like a failure at the school gates.
I look at Joe. Sure, he’s extremely annoying. But maybe not entirely bad?
And is this actually a decent workaround for both of us?
‘Joe,’ I say. ‘Either you are an evil genius or completely bonkers.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you saying you’re in?’
‘What’s your last name?’
‘Kitson.’
‘Joe Kitson,’ I repeat, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. ‘Sophie Rogers. It will be my pleasure to fake-date you. However, there is one condition.’
He raises an eyebrow.
‘We join the parent volunteer group together.’
He sighs. ‘But I want to get as far away from the mums as physically possible.’
