Peter is able to hold in his burst of interrogation for six seconds. A record for him.
‘Cat, who was teaching Grace to make spag bol?’
‘Just a friend of mine.’
‘If you’re seeing someone who’s going to be around my daughter, I have a right to know who he is!’
I pull him into a classroom off the main corridor. I’m livid and we need to finish this before Grace gets back.
‘Two things, Peter. Number one – you had Emma spending time with Grace before I knew anything about her. And number two – you don’t “have a right” to know anything about my private life. What do you want? A checklist of people who might visit my house? You’ll just have to trust that I’m making good decisions for my daughter. Why do you have to be like this? Grow the fuck up.’
I don’t give him time to respond – I’m already stomping towards the library to collect Grace. I spot her sitting alone on a red beanbag, engrossed in a book about dinosaurs. I hear Peter behind me, the sound of his cloven hooves instantly recognizable. I take a deep breath and smile.
‘Grace! Time to go, sweetheart!’
‘AT LAST!’ She slides the book back into the shelf and jumps up. ‘Did you see my teacher?’
Peter chimes in. ‘We did. Your mum and I are very proud. Emma will be too.’
Ugh. I’m aware that clubbing the smug bastard you share a child with to death with a dinosaur book is probably frowned upon, but it doesn’t stop me imagining the sense of joy I’d feel afterwards.
Grace skips ahead of us towards the car and I walk quickly behind her, determined to stay at least five feet away from Peter and his potential random acts of interrogation. We get to my car and she hugs him goodbye. As I close the passenger door he places a hand on my arm.
‘I’m sorry, Cat. You’re right; I do trust your judgement. I just worry about who’s around Grace. I can’t help it.’
‘Peter, if I do get involved with anyone and they become a part of Grace’s life, then you’ll know about it. Grace is a happy, clever girl and that’s because somehow we’re managing to give her a stable normal childhood. By implying that I’d do anything to fuck with that is insulting.’
‘Fair enough – I said I’m sorry. I’ll see her tomorrow when you drop her round.’
‘Actually, can you pick her up after work? My car is going in for a service in the afternoon and I won’t get it back until Thursday.’ Complete lie but I could use the extra time to get ready for my date.
‘OK, but it’ll be six before I’m there. See you then.’ He gives a final wave to Grace, then walks off down the street to his car.
Perfect. I make a mental note to park my car somewhere else tomorrow and finally start to get excited about date number four.
Chapter Fourteen
I’m supposed to be working, but I’ve just spent the past three hours cleaning my flat. Generally if I’m having guests round I’ll just have a quick surface tidy, but according to The Rules of Engagement, I should ensure that my flat is free from any signs that I might be a bunny boiler.
Don’t leave your shit lying around. It’s off-putting. This means no time-of-the-month undies hanging in the bathroom, no romance novels or ‘How to trap a man’ magazines lying in plain sight.
I have to say I’m finding the whole experience of consulting the book a bit weird after Dylan’s ‘confession’ . . .
In order to keep up my car lie, I nip to the shops to collect a few bits and pieces and then craftily park in the street behind my house. I’ve asked Rose’s husband Rob to drop Grace home as a favour. My somewhat slapdash plan seems to be working.
I tell Grace I’ll buy her anything she wants from the toy shop if she promises not to wreck my beautifully clean house before her dad picks her up. She agrees as long as that something is an overpriced monster doll. I’ve bought fresh flowers for the living room and I’m burning a candle that is supposed to smell like cookies. I’m not convinced, and neither is Grace: ‘I don’t like it, Mum. It smells like a dead biscuit.’ I snuff it out and burn some incense instead.
I figure that even though I’m not sleeping with Tom this evening, there still might be a freak accident in which all my clothes fall off, so I’m not taking any chances. I shave myself into oblivion, leaving only the hair on my head and a landing strip intact.
I’ve only managed to dry half my hair when the buzzer goes at 6.35 p.m. Peter. Grace skips down the hall to answer it, while I mouth the words ‘about fucking time’. I grab my less-than-sexy dressing gown as I too head for the door. Grace doesn’t even ask who it is; she just buzzes them in and slides past me like Tom Cruise in Risky Business. I make a mental note to have words with her later about letting random psychos into the flat, and then brace myself for Peter’s inevitable comments on my ‘outfit’. I hold my dressing gown closed with one hand and open the door.
‘Dylan?!’
He’s standing there holding a tub of parmesan cheese and a giant pepper mill.
‘Hi, Cat; I noticed the other night that you were missing these. You can’t have a good spag bol without parmesan and freshly ground black pepper.’
He’s waiting for me to invite him in, but I have no words. I also have no pants on. I clutch my dressing gown tightly and move to the left to let him by.
