Effie’s brow furrows. “But last time, Auntie Fiona did it to Auntie Dana. And she said she could have whatever she wanted.”
The logic takes a bit of figuring out but then my head swivels, and Dana has the good grace to blush. “That’s something only mummies can do to mummies,” I try to explain. Then, in the interests of impartiality, because sometimes Effie requires explicit instructions, I add, “Or daddies to mummies.”
“So, Daddy can do it to you?” she asks.
This is getting complicated. “No. Not your daddy. Only daddies who live with mummies.”
Effie is silent, thinking. Then, “What about Mr Carter? He’s a daddy. He told us his son won a prize for running very fast. And he lives with a mummy.”
“No. He can only do it to the mummy he lives with.” I struggle to refine the premise in terms Effie might understand.
“But no mummy or daddy lives with us?” It is part question, part comment. “Should we get one for you?”
I am rescued from further verbal contortions by Dana, who correctly guesses Effie’s desire. “Do you want this?” She flashes another chocolate brownie in front of my daughter’s eyes. Effie nods. “Take one for Max, too,” Dana reminds her.
As Effie leaves the room, I stare at Dana, eyebrows raised.
“Yes, we’ll be more careful in the future. Max wouldn’t even have noticed. Sometimes I forget Effie can be so observant. Especially when she’s so often obtuse about people.”
Then she winks at me and says, “But out of the mouths of babes, hun.”
“Anders is a workaholic.” I say this as if it explains everything.
Dana’s apparently comfortable with that. She shrugs. “Some men are. But at least he’s a rich workaholic. And he’s building a company. Of course, he works hard. Unlike that tosspot, Mike. I’ll never understand what you saw in him.”
“He had great taste in music. What can I say? I was young, and at the time that seemed crucially important. I never expected him to become the father of my child. That was an accident. But that’s exactly my point.”
“That Mike is a loser?”
“That Effie already has one disengaged father, who’d rather spend time anywhere else than with her. She doesn’t need another.”
Dana purses her lips. She’ll regret that habit when she’s sixty but at least it’s a sign she’s accepted my argument. Except she tries a different tack. “She doesn’t need another or you can’t take another?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’ve been emotionally closed off since Mike pulled his stunt. And who could blame you? What he did was shitty. But now it’s almost five years later, and here is someone saying he wants a committed relationship, knows about Effie and is willing to take her on and you turn him down flat? Is that protectiveness or is that fear?”
I don’t answer her because I can’t. I cannot distinguish.
“Look at him!” She gestures to the closed laptop. “Can you honestly tell me you’ve never fancied a piece of that arse?”
Maybe. When I first went to work for him. Of course, I noticed he was hot and there was a kind of glamour about him. But I was still a mess, full of worries and disrupted sleep, at that time. I just ignored any attraction, and it disappeared, worn away by constant exposure and familiarity, probably.
Dana takes my silence as acquiescence.
“You can’t waste all of that hotness. If you won’t marry him, how about a roll in the hay? You haven’t been with anyone since Mike!”
“Yeah, well. It was a roll in the hay that ended with Effie. It put me off another. Besides, a quick tumble wasn’t on the agenda. Anders was very clear. He wants marriage and children. And I’m a single mum. Sleeping with my boss would jeopardise everything. I would be risking my job, my future and my ability to pay the rent, all for a quickie. I don’t have that luxury.”
“Alright, not Anders. But there’s this new sous-chef working with Fiona. He’s single.”
“Oh, how the bar has dropped,” I point out. “From a well set-up businessman offering marriage to any bloke whose sole qualifying attribute is singledom. Let me say this very clearly, Dana. I’m not looking for any man, not a one-night shag nor a sugar daddy. One day, maybe, when Effie is more settled. Butnotnow.”
Dana finally capitulates, although I’m sure there is a tiny part of her that hasn’t quite given up hope. I don’t think she’s reached the stage where I’ll find the sous-chef lurking in her kitchen one day but it’s not far off. But even taking Fiona into account, if I were to consider having a fling with anyone, the very last person I would choose, apart from Anders, would be a chef. They work appalling hours, evenings and weekends. Dana and Fiona make it work, but only because Dana is freelance and has flexible hours. I don’t.
For all I tell myself I’m doing okay as a single mum, watching how Dana and Max’s lives improved so dramatically after moving in with Fiona has been an eye-opener. It’s not only the security that comes with having two incomes in one home that has melted away the worry lines from Dana’s face. Having another person to pass the baton of childcare to when you’ve just had enough is a massive benefit. And I’d love to have someone who’s interested in me and wants to talk over my concerns, the way Dana can talk with Fiona.
Friendship helps, but nothing substitutes for partnership. If only I could fall over a perfect partner the way Dana crashed into Fiona. But the men I actually find attractive are thin on the ground. Add in the necessity they be kind, patient and Effie-friendly and we are in endangered species territory.
