Page 12 of Just for the Season

‘Haven’t forgotten,’ I tell her. Bloody kids. Funny how they remember some things so well, but not the things you want them to remember. Hopefully the woman won’t be here.

The door opens and we’re greeted by hugs and noisy exclamations from Rob, Miranda and the children; no third-party observer would guess that it’s only just over twenty-four hours since the kids last saw each other at the end of the school day yesterday.

We’re barely inside the kitchen when the bell goes again.

Miranda hurries to the door, and then we hear women’s voices.

‘I think you met Frankie last week.’ Miranda’s smirking as she re-enters the room, with Ellie… and Frankie. ‘Maybe a sober introduction now?’

‘Cheeky,’ says Ellie, laughing.

‘I think Dad and Frankie have already met.’ Ruby directs a (fake) angelic smile towards me, before giving me an enormous nudge.

‘We have,’ I say, accepting the inevitable: I’m going to have to make my apologies in front of the entire group. ‘I need to apologise.’

‘You what?’ asks Frankie.

‘You did get to the front of the queue before I did. The carrot cake was rightfully yours, and it was mainly my fault that it fell on the floor.’

‘Mainly?’ Frankie asks with a raised eyebrow.

‘Entirely,’ I clarify. ‘I mean…’ I consider referring to the folly of turning round fast in a small, cake-filled space while holding a large bag over your shoulder and then decide – due to Frankie’s still-raised brow and a frown from Ruby – that discretion is the better part of valour. ‘It was entirely my fault. All of it.’

‘You also didn’t explain that you needed the cake because it was my birthday,’ says Ruby helpfully.

‘I did not. I am also sorry for that.’

‘Cake apology accepted,’ says Frankie. ‘The antibiotics?’

‘What antibiotics?’ Ruby asks.

I open my mouth to explain – I really have nothing to apologise for in regard to the cat’s medicine – but Frankie beats me to it.

‘Your father did not believe I could correctly administer Ellie’s cat Maurice’s antibiotics, and was very patronising and rude, before becoming impatient and doing them himself just as I was about to do them,’ she tells Ruby.

‘Dad!’ Ruby puts her hands on her hips.

I’m torn between wanting justice and wanting to make my daughter happy.

I’d just been trying to ensure that Maurice was alright and that I’d get back home before Ruby got home from school. I was not being patronising and rude. Well, not without good cause – very good cause – anyway. I look at Frankie’s still-raised eyebrow (I’m surprised that isn’t giving her a headache) and smug I’ve-beaten-you little smile. I really want justice. I want her to apologise to me.

But then I look at the expectant expression on Ruby’s face. She does not want me to argue or explain why I was in the right and Frankie was in the wrong. She wants me to apologise. Recently I’ve been getting things wrong with Ruby a lot. Clearly she is more important than point-scoring with a woman who is essentially a complete stranger.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

‘Very sorry?’ asks Frankie. The woman’s a demon.

‘Extremely sorry to the point of self-flagellation,’ I say.

‘Dad, are you being sarcastic?’ Ruby queries.

‘Not at all,’ I say. ‘Just… sorry.’

‘Well… thank you.’ Frankie’s gracious smile is one of the most annoying facial expressions I have ever had the misfortune to see.

‘Not at all.’ My teeth are gritted.

‘Great, then.’ Miranda claps her hands together. ‘We need to get drinks sorted. Rob, why don’t you get Libby and Ruby to help you. The waiting staff aren’t arriving for another fifteen minutes.’ Smiling, she addresses Ellie and Frankie: ‘Have you recovered from last weekend or are you on the water?’