Page 93 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

‘Apologies, Clare,’ said Patrick. ‘My mother has a unique perspective on personal boundaries.’

‘I’m content for it just to be Ivy and me,’ Clare replied. ‘Her father’s not on the scene.’

‘Was he a bounder?’ Agatha tightened her lips. ‘I’ve had my share of those.’

Clare shook her head. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that he seemed lovely, before realising that that would reveal that she barely knew him. A truth she’d rather not share with these lovely old ladies.

‘He’s a good man,’ she settled on. ‘But it’s complicated.’

‘Say no more,’ said Patrick, giving his mother and aunt a warning look.

‘It happens,’ said Agatha. ‘Better a happy child with one happy parent than an unhappy child with two unhappy parents.’

‘As the long saying which doesn’t roll off the tongue goes,’ said Camilla with a chuckle. ‘But at least you tried, dear. Aggie wouldn’t even do that.’

Except with the rugby team, thought Clare.

‘Our father was a wonderful man,’ said Agatha. ‘He and our mother were blissfully happy for their entire married life. They set the bar high.’

‘That didn’t stop me trying to reach it,’ Camilla pointed out. ‘Took me a couple of attempts. Patrick’s father, for example. A wet lettuce if ever I met one.’

Patrick met Clare’s eye and shook his head. Such a good sport, she thought Clare, never rising to the bait.

‘Or you could take a leaf out of my book,’ said Patrick, addressing her directly. ‘Set your own bar. Don’t let your parents’ experiences colour your own. Happy families, broken families, blended families … just because your parents did something well or badly doesn’t mean you’ll do the same. We’re all human, we don’t expect perfection from ourselves, why expect it from others, especially our parents?’

Camilla gave him a haughty look. ‘I’m not sure whether I’m offended or not.’

Clare thought about what Adam had said about his father: He wasn’t just a brilliant dad, he was the best man I knew. Another man who’d set the bar high for his family. Maybe Patrick was right. Maybe she should stop using her parents’ broken marriage as the cornerstone on which to build her own relationships. Perhaps she should start from scratch, trust her own instincts, instead of assuming that every love affair was doomed to fail.

‘Don’t be offended,’ said Clare. ‘Your son is very wise. And look, he’s also a baby whisperer.’

Ivy had fallen asleep again, her head tucked under his chin, her fingers clasped around his thumb. Everyone cooed and Patrick went pink with pleasure.

The old ladies fell into conversation about the shortcomings of someone called Eddie Sprigg while Clare sighed longingly, wishing her own dad was more like Patrick. But life didn’t work like that, you couldn’t wish people were different because it suited you. Mike didn’t want to be a hands-on grandfather. Maybe it was time she accepted that and stopped willing it to happen. Ivy should be surrounded by people who delighted in her presence, not those who merely tolerated it. And Adam, she mused, which side of the fence would he fall on?

When he’d come round to see her, she’d been disappointed that he hadn’t wanted to meet Ivy. Did that mean he wasn’t into kids? Or was it, as Skye suggested, that he’d assumed that Clare and her baby were part of a little family unit, and he hadn’t wanted to cause any awkwardness.

Whatever his thoughts, she’d find out tomorrow. She hoped he’d adore his daughter. She hoped he’d find Ivy’s every sound, her every gesture, every hair on her head as amazing as Clare did. Because if he did, she’d feel much happier about letting him into their lives.

Her stomach somersaulted as she processed how much her opinions had changed. What had happened to her desire not to share Ivy, to not put her daughter in a position where she might be let down by anyone?

Perhaps because, eventually, people need people, she thought. Even she, who’d doggedly pursued independence at all costs, had had to accept that.

Liz and Skye arrived with trays of food: triangular-shaped sandwiches filled with the Delmarge ladies’ favourites, Viennese fingers dipped in chocolate, scones with jam and cream. Ivy woke up, much to everyone’s amusement, and soon she and Patrick were covered in bits of chewed-up sandwich. Clare couldn’t think about food, her stomach was churned up and her head was too full of Adam and what was going to happen tomorrow.

Eventually, tea was finished and the Delmarges readied themselves for their departure. Clare and Liz escorted them to the door while Skye took Ivy down to the kitchen. Once Agatha and Camilla were in the car, Patrick hovered awkwardly in front of Liz.

‘Goodbye then, it was lovely to see you.’ Liz took a step back indoors.

‘Liz,’ Patrick stuttered, ‘I was wondering if you fancy coming out on the boat with me on Wednesday. I could pack us a picnic lunch, let me cater for you for a change.’

‘What a lovely idea!’ Clare dived in to encourage her. ‘I’d be nagging you for an invite if it wasn’t for my arm.’

‘It’s kind of you,’ said Liz. Clare held her breath, willing her to give him a chance. ‘But, unfortunately, I’m meeting an old friend for lunch.’

That was the first Clare had heard of it.

‘Ah OK. Another time perhaps?’ He raised an eyebrow hopefully.