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‘I am Scandinavian,’ I say. Obviously I’m making a rather sweeping claim to my genetics à la Poppy, but it would be less impactful to add ‘one-eighth’ or whatever it is at this point.
‘Oh! How chic!’ Celeste eyes me up and down. ‘I suppose you do have that Nordic air about you. Your hair really is lovely when you wear it down, much nicer than the dreadful up-dos you often go in for.’
‘I think Sophie’s hair always looks great, up or down,’ Joe chimes in, instigating a series of ‘awws’ from the other mums.
Even so, my hand shoots up to my hair without thinking. I have been wearing it loose more recently and find myself blind-sided by that backhanded compliment. Part of me would love to put Celeste in her place and tell her that I do not appreciate the insinuation that I am not as cosmopolitan as her four-year-old child. I spent a week at a coffee expo in Copenhagen before Lila was born and it was the best research trip of my life, thank you very much! And yet, on the other hand, I am on a mission to make friends here and I don’t think having an insect face-off with Celeste will help.
‘We’ll all be eating insects soon, what with the climate crisis,’ Celeste ploughs on.
‘Ugh, not me.’ Tally wrinkles her nose. ‘Vegan.’
‘It’s very important that we all do our bit for the environment,’ Celeste insists.
‘I totally agree. Are your family vegan, Celeste?’ Tally bats back.
‘Gosh no! Oscar could not be without his fillet steak, could you, darling?’ At this point she notices that her son has his butt hanging out and she scoops his trousers back up without a word. ‘We have fillet Fridays every week, don’t we, Oscy?’
Oscar pouts, displeased to find himself fully clothed.
Tally looks revolted. ‘Think of the methane!’
‘I’d rather not.’ Celeste purses her lips.
At this point Joe steps in to ease the rising tensions between the mums. ‘Oh look, the gates have opened. Right, Sid and Lila, I’ll pick you up later!’
‘Are you having a playdate? How sweet,’ says Olivia.
With all the kids gone I can fully embrace our new ruse, reaching around Joe’s waist and beaming up at him. His arm reaches around me and I nestle in, feeling no awkwardness whatsoever. This is great. Maybe if we were actually dating it would be different? That first physical contact should be charged with hormones, shouldn’t it? Snuggling into Joe feels more like settling into a comfy sofa, somehow familiar. God, we’re evil geniuses. And Mother Nature must be too because, as it turns out, we’ve been designed so that I fit perfectly into Joe’s chest. What a stroke of luck.
Joe leans down and kisses the top of my head.
‘You guys are adorable,’ announces Frankie. ‘We should get something in the diary with my Jack too.’
‘I’d love that,’ I reply quickly.
Jesus H! This is actually working!
Chapter 11
I might be a smidge drunk. Although to be fair it was definitely the lamp-post’s fault for getting in my way just now, not mine. Who puts a lamp-post right in the middle of a pavement anyway? I must write to the council immediately, I think, rubbing my bruised forehead and turning to give the offending streetlight a hard stare. On second glance it does seem that the streetlight is not in the middle of the pavement after all.
Oh dear.
One champagne with the new clients turned into several – okay, fine … three. Or four. I might have lost count? This is unlike me. I got carried away with their enthusiasm and now, well, I am a disgrace. Gingerly, I walk up to Joe’s house and try to manifest myself sober. It’s definitely working. I round my shoulders back, gulp some fresh air and am about to ring the doorbell when I freeze. What if Sidney’s gone to bed already? I don’t want to wake him up and upset Joe right when I’ve made a new friend at school. I know I hate it when Lila’s just settled and some buffoon makes a modicum of noise on the street outside.
I do not want to be a buffoon.
Abandoning plans to ring the bell, I decide that throwing a small pebble at the window will be a better way of announcing my arrival. I scan the front garden for a nice round stone, picking one up and checking that it’s smooth.
Perfect.
I’m taking a step back, about to launch the stone at Joe’s window when I hear the front door open.
Joe is leaning against the frame, hands tucked into jean pockets, with one eyebrow raised.
‘May I ask what you’re doing?’ he asks, looking amused.
‘How did you know I was here?’ I frown. ‘I’m being as quiet as a house.’
