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‘You’re still a child!’ Andrew cries, clearly just as appalled as me.
She glares at us, her lips clamped tightly together as if we might prise the piercing from her mouth. From the expression on Andrew’s face, he’s considering it. When did our sweet-natured baby turn into this sullen, truculent stranger?
‘She must have got it done yesterday,’ Andrew says helplessly. ‘I’m so sorry, Lou. I had no idea she’d sneaked off to do it.’
‘Actually,’ a voice says behind us, ‘she didn’t “sneak off” anywhere. I took her.’
Caz joins us in the kitchen, dumping her ludicrously expensive cream Prada bag on the counter as if it’s a carrier bag from Sainsbury’s.
‘For God’s sake,’ Andrew says testily. ‘Why would you take my daughter to get her tongue pierced?’
‘She’s sixteen. It’s not illegal. She was going to get it done anyway, so I thought it’d be better if I madesure she went to a reputable place with clean needles.’ Caz shrugs. ‘And it’s not like a tattoo, it’s not permanent. She can take it out at any time.’
‘It’s not Caz’s fault,’ Bella says staunchly. ‘She’s right, I would’ve done it anyway.’
A complicit glance passes between them. Bella used to loathe Caz, but suddenly the two of them are thick as thieves, andI’mthe one on the outside.
‘You had no right,’ Andrew snaps at Caz. ‘She’smychild. When she’s under my roof, she’s my responsibility.’
I don’t miss the sudden tension between the two of them. It’s not just about the tongue piercing, either. I know what Andrew looks like when he’s on the defensive. Caz is making a mistake: he doesn’t like being in the wrong, and he’ll find a way to blame her for it. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s seen the video Bella posted to her dad’s page last week. Bella didn’t mean anything by it – the clip probably popped up in her Facebook ‘throwback’ feed and she just shared it to him – but I’ll admit my motives weren’t quite as pure when I saw it and tagged Caz. She may want to rewrite history now and tell herself Andrew never really loved me, but hedid, and that video proves it. Everything that went wrong between us can be traced back to that woman’s appearance in our lives, and she deserves to be reminded of that now and again.
Tolly suddenly bursts back into the kitchen, startling us all. ‘Bagpuss has throwed up!’ he cries, his eyes wide with drama. ‘It’s all over Daddy’s bed!’
‘On my blanket?’ Caz exclaims. ‘That’s Peruvian vicuña!’
My son stops short, suddenly uncertain. ‘It’s OK,’ I say quickly. ‘It’s not your fault. Caz isn’t blaming you. Thank you for telling us.’
‘Did you give him tuna, Mum?’ Bella accuses.
I hesitate. ‘Only a little bit. He loves licking out the tin.’
‘Mum! You know it always makes him sick!’
‘I assume that’s why she gave it to him,’ Caz mutters.
Andrew sighs. ‘Bella, can you just go and sort it out. Get Kit and Tolly to help you.’
Bella is about to protest, but something in her father’s expression tells her this is not the time. She sighs theatrically, grabs a roll of kitchen towel from the counter, and stomps off upstairs with the boys.
‘Look, I’ll fix the blanket,’ I say, sorry-not-sorry. ‘Get it dry-cleaned, or something. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it sounds. Or I’ll get you a new one—’
‘You can’t dry-clean vicuña,’ Caz says sharply. ‘And it’s irreplaceable. I bought it when I was in Machu Picchu. What is that cat even doing in my house? You know I’m allergic. Andytoldyou not to bring him.’
I specifically asked Andrew if it was OK to bring Bagpuss, and he said it was fine. Clearly that didn’t get approved further up the food chain. He catches my eye, and I read his wordless appeal not to land him in it. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, falling on my sword. ‘I didn’t know what else to do with him. He’s so old, he couldn’t cope with my mother’s dog, and Min’s boys are so boisterous—’
Caz cuts me off. ‘Whatever. It’s done now. I suppose it doesn’t matter, since you’re leaving anyway.’
A beat late, Andrew picks up his cue. ‘Look, Louise. It’s not that we haven’t been happy to help out. It’s just, I think we all need a bit of distance going forward.’ He coughs, and shifts awkwardly on his feet. ‘I’m not sure taking the job at Whitefish was a good idea, to be honest. I’m all for keeping things civilised, but you’ve put Caz in a bit of an awkward position. It’s difficult for her to do her job properly when there’s such a personal relationship between the two of you.’ He looks at her, and then back at me, clearly trying to remember the script she’s given him. ‘We all need a bit of space. Just so no feathers get ruffled. I could … er … give you the number of our handyman, so you don’t have to call me. And Bella’s old enough to bring Tolly to me for weekends without involving you.’
My cheeks burn with humiliation. The way he paints it, I sound desperate and needy, my nose pressed against the window of their lives: a sad, unloved ex-wife who can’t move on. Why is it, no matter how successful or attractive a woman is, if a man leaves her she is defined by that rejection, an object of pity just because one weak man can’t keep his trousers zipped?
I summon as much dignity as I can muster. ‘I’m afraid I can’t let Chris down, Andrew. Not now I’ve taken on the job.’ I smile coolly at Caz. ‘I’m sure the two of us can figure things out at work.’
‘I’m sure we can,’ Caz says. ‘Now that we understand each other.’
Three weeks before the party
Chapter 21
