Page 24 of Who’s That Girl?

‘We are?’ I say in surprise.

Still holding a child in each arm, he turns round and sees me sitting on a kitchen stool. I wave weakly, suddenly feeling like I’m in the middle of a domestic and wishing I wasn’t.

‘Oh, hi, Charlotte,’ he says, a little awkwardly. ‘I didn’t see you there.’

‘Hi, Julian.’ I smile. ‘How’s work?’

Julian is a big-shot lawyer and is always working on some case involving millions of pounds and high-profile clients. In fact, a couple of weeks ago I was on the elliptical machine at the gym and I saw him on one of the TV screens, being interviewed outside the Old Bailey for the evening news.

‘Pretty hectic. We’re in court at the moment and the jury—’

Before he can finish, he’s interrupted by Vanessa. ‘Ready, Charlotte?’ She throws me a look. I have the feeling it’s more a command than a question.

‘Vee, please, I’ve only just walked in,’ he says tersely. ‘I’ve got to leave again in half an hour.’

‘I won’t be long,’ she says, grabbing her handbag from the countertop.

‘Can’t I just have a few minutes to unwind a little?’

That’s it. She pounces on him. ‘You want to unwind a little? What about me? Do you never think I want to unwind a little?’

Sliding off my kitchen stool, I start to back out of the kitchen.

‘What am I? An unpaid babysitter?’

Julian’s face sets hard. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but then reconsiders. ‘OK, fine, go ahead.’ He sighs and turns back to jiggling Sam and Ruby on each arm. ‘Right, who wants to watch Sponge Bob?’

There’s squeals of excitement. Vanessa throws him a scowl before marching ahead of me out of the kitchen and through the front door.

Chapter Eight

‘Sponge Bob bloody Square Pants!’ she grumbles under her breath. ‘Can you believe it?’ Outside, she turns to me for support and I grapple around for the correct reaction, which isn’t easy considering I have no idea what she’s talking about. ‘Can you bloody believe it!’ she insists, her face tight with annoyance. Vanessa can look quite scary when she gets mad. She gets this big crease down the middle of her forehead, and her nostrils flare.

On second thoughts, perhaps I don’t actually need to know what she’s talking about. I just need to agree with her.

‘Um, no … definitely not,’ I say loyally, and then for good measure throw in a ‘Square Bob indeed!’ Complete with a loud tut. See, I can do the loyal best-friend bit.

‘You mean Sponge Bob,’ she corrects, glancing sharply across at me.

Shit.

‘Er, yes … of course … that’s exactly what I mean,’ I say hastily, trying to brazen it out, but I needn’t have worried as she’s not listening.

‘He knows I don’t like them watching too much TV. The odd half an hour is fine. I mean, I’m not one of those women who won’t let their children near a television till they’re going to university …’

She continues ranting as she marches ahead down the street, bag bouncing on her shoulder, arms swinging by her sides. I scurry alongside her. Vanessa is six foot in bare feet and she takes giant strides. I can barely keep up.

‘… But it’s not fair. I never get any time to myself. OK, I know I agreed to stop working and be a stay-at-home mum, but it would be nice if he could take both of them to the park sometime. Give me a bit of me-time. You know he’s never looked after the two of them together? Sam is nearly thirteen months old—’

‘So is there a place to get a drink nearby?’ I interject brightly.

Vanessa stops ranting momentarily and pulls a face. ‘You see, that’s the thing. He knows we’re not really going for a drink.’

‘We’re not?’ I look at her, confused.

‘No. I’m not going to leave him to cope with both Ruby and Sam. It’ll kill him. Well, maybe for ten minutes.’ She smiles wanly. ‘There’s a Tesco Metro on the corner. I’ll get a bottle of wine and take it back home.’

As we enter the chilly, air-conditioned, neon-lit frontage of Tesco Metro, Vanessa makes a beeline for the wine cabinet and swiftly picks out a bottle of Pinot Grigio. I get the feeling this is not the first time she’s made one of these wine runs. There’s no meandering up and down aisles looking for the wine section, minutes spent looking at all the different varieties before making a choice. It’s a professional, quick-in-and-out job, and now we’re at the cash register and she’s pulling out her credit card.