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‘Us women have to stick together, am I right, Sophie?’
‘So right.’ I nod, picking up the last of the cookie crumbs with my index finger.
‘Now, I’m going to warm some milk for the little ones before bed, I take it you’re staying over?’ She looks at me.
‘Oh, crikey no! I’ve just come to pick Lila up.’
‘But sure, look at that head injury. You can’t leave. Joe’s got plenty of space. Anyhow, it’s howling out there.’
‘Is it?’ I ask, looking out of the window to see the rain now lashing down.
‘Look, Sophie, it’s raining and you hadn’t noticed.’ Joe grins. I narrow my eyes at him.
‘You’ll catch your death,’ confirms Denise.
‘Er …’
‘You’re very welcome to,’ confirms Joe. ‘Sidney has bunks and I’ve a spare bedroom for you.’
I glance from Joe to Denise and back again. I know I shouldn’t stay but I’m feeling too drunk to go home and put Lila to bed. And I’ll have to be Sensible Sophie again when I’ve had such a fun night and it’s lovely to be surrounded by adults who are easy to talk to. And it feels so cosy here. The smell of milk warming on the hob. A faint hint of what I suspect was spaghetti bolognaise for tea still lingering in the air. I can’t remember the last time I agreed to a spontaneous sleepover but Tipsy Sophie isn’t completely against the idea.
‘If you’re really sure?’
‘Wonderful.’ Denise beams, and it’s a done deal. She grabs her coat and adds: ‘See you soon, son.’
‘Hang on, you can’t leave in the storm if I can’t!’
Denise regards me with a twinkle. ‘I used to walk six miles to school and back come rain or shine. I’ll be just fine. I’ll be back in the morning to take the kiddies to school.’
‘Wait!’ I call before she leaves. ‘I could do drop-off tomorrow? It would save you the journey and I’ll be here anyway, so I might as well.’
Denise mulls this over.
‘It would be my way of saying thanks for the cookies and the tea solidarity.’
‘Go on then.’ She smiles. ‘Thank you, love.’
The kids have gone to sleep (a miracle considering how thrilled they were that Lila was staying for a sleepover) and I am pretty much completely sober by the time Joe shows me the spare room where I’ll sleep (surprisingly tidy). Joe potters off to find me some makeshift pyjamas for the night and then presents me with a pair of long johns and a ginormous Red Hot Chili Peppers T-shirt.
‘This is quite the look,’ I note as I emerge from the bathroom in my new get-up. ‘May I ask why you own long johns?’
‘From a ski trip many moons ago, before I realised that I’m a hot-blooded Irish man and that salopettes are quite warm enough on their own. I’d only been in a cable car for ten seconds before I steamed the whole thing up, I was that hot. Haven’t worn them since.’
‘You have washed them though, right?’
‘Nope. Left them good and sweaty.’
Assuming he’s joking, I lunge around the room to emphasise the gaping crotch area. ‘Roomy.’
‘It’s definitely a look.’ He laughs as I collapse down on the sofa.
‘Joe? How old’s your mum, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Sixty-three.’
‘She seems so … capable. Who insists that a woman in her thirties has a sleepover at her son’s house while she herself intends to walk home in a storm? Shouldn’t we have made her stay? I feel bad.’
Joe chortles. ‘You cannot make Denise do anything. She grew up on a farm in rural Ireland surrounded by rabbits and she looked after her many, many siblings while my Grandma and Grandad were out working the land. Honestly, if you ever try telling her to do something can you let me know first? I’ll come and watch, for the crack.’
