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‘No, it’s not a bad time,’ I mimic and roll my eyes as Gavin walks into another room.
Molly laughs. ‘You’re silly, Mammy,’ she says and lunges forward to wrap her arms tightly around my waist. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too, baby,’ I say.
‘I’m not a baby,’ Molly says. She lets go of me and lowers herself onto her bum again. She stretches her legs out in front of her and slips off her shoes and switches them onto the opposite feet. ‘See. I’m a big girl.’
Result. I smile.
‘C’mon,’ I say, taking Molly’s hand in mine and helping her to her feet. ‘Let’s see if Daddy is ready. We don’t want to be late.’
I toss one strap of Molly’s sparkly pink school bag over my shoulder and tuck her even brighter pink lunchbox under my arm. Molly holds my hand and skips alongside me towards the sitting room.
The sitting room door is slightly ajar and I’m just about to push my hand against it when I hear Gavin’s voice crackle and break.
‘Oh God. Okay. Oh God,’ he says. ‘Jesus, Heather. This can’t really be happening. Tell me this can’t be happening.’
I pull my hand away from the door and, I turn, about to direct Molly back towards the kitchen but she wriggles her hand away from mine and pushes the door all the way back until it bangs against the wall.
‘Molly, for goodness’ sake, Daddy’s busy right now,’ I say.
‘Daddy, look.’ Molly skips into the room, ignoring me. ‘I fixed my shoes. All by myself. Mammy said I was a baby, but I fixed them.’
Gavin is facing the fireplace and he doesn’t turn around. Not even when Molly crosses the room and tugs on the back pocket of his suit pants. His head is low, and his shoulders are round. Gavin is six foot two and broad, he’s still carrying some muscle from playing rugby in college, but suddenly my husband seems shorter and almost frail. As if the weight of whatever Heather has said is physically crushing him.
‘Molly,’ I call. ‘Molly, honey, come here.’
Molly lets go of Gavin and spins around to look at me. Gavin is silent and nodding his head as he stands statue-like with the phone still pressed tightly against his ear. I wonder if he’s even noticed we are here.
‘Molly, will you go upstairs and brush your teeth, please?’ I ask.
‘I already did.’ Molly pulls a funny face as she parts her lips to show me her top and bottom teeth at the same time. ‘See.’
‘Can you brush them again, please?’ I say.
‘But…’
‘Remember what the tooth fairy said?’ I say.
Molly puffs out. ‘Shiny teeth are a fairy’s favourite.’
‘Exactly. So, go on. Good girl.’ I move out of the door arch to allow Molly to pass by me on her way to the stairs. ‘I can’t wait to see how sparkling you can get them.’
‘I can get them super sparkly. Sparklier than my school bag,’ Molly says, rushing up the stairs. I don’t even tell her not to run.
Molly leaves the bathroom door open and I wait until I can hear the tap running before I set her schoolbag and lunchbox down on the couch and hurry over to Gavin. I place my hand on his shoulder and I feel him shaking. This isn’t like him. Heather and Gavin have an almost annoyingly good relationship for a pair of exes. They split parenting of Kayla as evenly as they can even though they live on opposite sides of the country. Gavin pays the lion’s share of costs: school trips, braces,new shoes. And he never once complains. I think he feels guilty that Heather dropped out of college when Kayla was born, while he continued with his studies.
‘I’m the bigger earner,’ Gavin tells me when yet another dentist bill comes through the letterbox.
It’s true. But Heather is way out of line this week. She must have called Gavin ten times already, all because Kayla fell and sprained her knee. Heather is talking about some specialist that Gavin and I have never heard of, and no doubt Heather thinks theBank of Gavinwill cover the cost. It’s getting completely out of hand. I’ll have to talk to Gavin about it later.
‘Gavin,’ I say, my fingers curling a little tighter around his shoulder. ‘What is it?’
Gavin turns around and his face is pale. His eyes are meeting mine but he’s not really seeing me. He’s still holding the phone against his ear but I don’t think there’s anyone on the other end anymore. Suddenly, this doesn’t feel as if it’s about money.
Light footsteps begin to move around overhead and I know Molly will come bouncing down the stairs any second.
I reach for Gavin’s hand and lower it away from his ear. He’s clutching his phone so tightly his knuckles are as white as his face. I don’t bother attempting to prise his phone out of his hand, or even try to talk to him; instead I slide my hand around his waist and lead him to the couch. He walks, taking baby steps like a small child. A horrible weight settles in my stomach when we reach the couch and I have to reach up and physically press my hands against the tops of my husband’s shoulders to guide him to sit down.
