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‘No, it’s fine. I’ve just got to corral Amelia. Hang on.’
I hear the sound of doors being closed, followed by a few whimpers from Amelia, who is obviously cross at having her freedom curtailed.
‘Sorry about that. Since she started crawling, she’s become a complete liability. She’s into everything! We’ve had to buy covers for all the plug sockets, and we’ve got baby gates across all the doorways. It’s like living in Fort Knox, but she still finds ways to put herself in danger. She’s trying to walk, so she’ll grab at anything to pull herself up. God knows what it’ll be like when she actually starts walking. I think I might have to buy a lead. Anyway, how was your trip?’
I fill her in on the details, although she has to stop me regularly to prevent Amelia from hurting herself. I can sense her exasperation mounting, and I’m just about to suggest I call back when things come to a head.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ she exclaims. ‘Sit there and I’ll put the bloodyTeletubbieson for you.’
‘I try to limit her screen time,’ she explains to me a few moments later as the theme tune plays in the background, ‘but sometimes putting her in front of the TV is the only way I can get anything done. Thank goodness I’m back at work three days a week now. I need adult contact to keep me sane. Does that make me a bad mother? I look at the other mothers at nursery, and they all seem much more together than me, somehow.’
‘Of course you’re not a bad mother!’ I tell her. ‘Amelia’s thriving, isn’t she? I bet those other mothers either have nannies, or they’re so full of Xanax they don’t even know what day of the week it is. If you went to the nursery at drop-off time on a Saturday or Sunday you’d probably find them all there, wandering round in a daze and bumping into the door, like flies trying to find their way out of a locked window.’
Charley laughs softly. ‘Thanks, Mads. I can always rely on you to lift my spirits. So, how’s the GBF?’
‘He’s fine,’ I tell her. ‘He’s planning a surprise for me on Saturday, to celebrate our first year of working together.’
‘But you hate surprises! What on earth is he thinking?’
‘I know, but I was tired, and he promised it would be something nice. Maybe I should ring and cancel, though. I don’t know. I’ll think about it. How’s Ed?’
‘Busy. He’s representing the soon to be ex-wife of a Russian oligarch. Trying to identify the assets is proving to be a nightmare, as you’d expect. He’s not allowed to tell me much about it, but occasionally he drops a detail here and there. It’s a totally different world when you’re arguing about who gets which yacht, and whether she should continue to have use of a private jet!’
‘I hope he’s not abandoning his parental duties.’
‘He’s trying not to, but he is a bit. He tried working from home a couple of times, but it’s such a madhouse here when Amelia’s awake that he soon had to give that up. So, he’s going into the office, and sometimes he doesn’t get home until after I’ve gone to bed. We had a couple of arguments about it, because I suspected him of using work as an excuse to get out of doing his fair share with his daughter, but deep down I knew I was being unreasonable. He is potty about her and makes a real effort when he’s here, so it’s not all bad. He’s found some baby floating thing that they do at the local swimming pool on Saturday mornings, and he takes her every week so I can have a lie-in. I think there might be a hidden agenda there though.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, he’s started going on about how much easier things are now that she sleeps through the night and, the other day, he actually suggested we could try for another baby.’
‘Another one? What did you say?’
‘I told him I’d chop his cock off if it came anywhere near me wearing fewer than three super-strength condoms. I think he got the message!’ she laughs.
After a few more minutes of conversation, we book a date in the diary for me to pop in and drop off their Christmas presents, and I ring off.
* * *
I’m sitting on the sofa typing up the Cape Town trip on Friday when the text arrives from Toby.
Hi. I will collect you at 9 a.m. Dress casually and warmly. You won’t be cold/wet/dirty, but we will be outdoors for part of the time. Bring walking boots. Tx
My heart sinks. What have I let myself in for?
My mood has barely improved when he arrives to collect me and, after I’ve given him a few monosyllabic answers, we complete the first part of the journey in silence. At least it isn’t raining; the sky is cloudless and it’s a perfect, crisp winter day. After a while, I start to suspect where he’s taking me, and my spirits lift a little.
‘Are we going to Hever Castle?’
‘We might be. Have you been before?’
‘No, never, but I’ve always wanted to go.’
‘The gardens aren’t great at this time of year, but we can look inside the house and walk around the lake. I’ve booked us into a pub for lunch.’
At the sound of a pub lunch my bad mood lifts completely. Toby parks the car and we put on our coats and walking boots. I can see that the gardens would be much better in summer, but they’re still magnificent, and the castle is fascinating. I stand in Anne Boleyn’s childhood bedroom and try to imagine her in it as a girl, full of hopes and dreams, completely unaware of the tragic direction her life will end up taking.
‘It’s extraordinary to think that it’s still privately owned, isn’t it?’ Toby remarks, as we set off on a walk around the lake. ‘I wonder whether the owners ever close it and just come and live in it for a bit. That would be fun, don’t you think?’
