it is!’ he said eventually, a note of triumph in his sweet little voice as he located his prey. He pointed to a louche leopard loach, partially hidden behind the ceramic pirate galleon, busily sucking algae off the inside of the tank as nature intended. ‘There’s the fucking fish, daddy! Can you fee him? Can you fee the fucker?’
I crouched down to look into the tank, but my view was obscured by my own reflection in the glass, so clear in the darkness of the room around it that I could see the tears making their pathetic, self-pitying journey down my cheeks. ‘Yes, I can see him,’ I said then, quietly to myself, ‘I can see the stupid fucker.’
We studied the sucking fish for a while until I felt it was reasonable to turn on the TV and tune into one of the several dozen all but identical children’s channels we had acquired. Matthew sat down next to me and I hugged him like a favourite toy as he stared at the screen. The repetitive squeaky voices drilled into my brain, crowding out the more important stuff I should have been contemplating at that time – like what the hell was I going to say to Natasha when she emerged from her well-earned lie-in. In some circumstances this could probably be used as torture, but for me, at that moment, the cartoonish cacophony delivered blessed relief.
At half past six, Helen glided into the room and perched on my lap. She put both arms around my neck and hugged me tightly, kissing me on my forehead, nose and lips. I realised how much I loved the smell of my daughter in the morning – she smelled of perfection. Not manufactured, thousand-dollar-cosmetic, perfumed Hollywood perfection – just pure, unquestioning beauty, innocence and love. With her face nestled alongside mine, her breath tickling my neck, I risked a couple more tears, hoping she wouldn’t notice them trickling into her hair. My fists were clenched so hard that my fingernails dug into my palms. I wanted to scream – to rail like Lear against my own stupidity. If I loved my children as much as I knew I most definitely did, then how the hell had I let what had happened happen? How could I have risked all of this for all of nothing?
When the programme ended, Helen leapt up from my lap and announced she had something for me. She went out into the hall, returning immediately holding a piece of paper carefully in front of her, the blank side towards me to enhance the surprise. She poured herself back into my lap and turned the paper around to reveal an intricate drawing of four people – two big and two little – standing in front of two buildings – one large, one small. Half the picture was in daylight, the other half in darkness. In the lighter half stood a big person in a dress with brown hair and bright red lips, in front of whom stood a little person in a blue dress and an even littler person in some kind of trouser arrangement. All of them wore sad expressions despite the sunshine. Shrouded in darkness, a large person in blue trousers and a red shirt stood before a very tall building. He was almost perfectly round, like Father Christmas on dress-down Friday in Lapland. His expression was enigmatic – on closer inspection I saw that he had two mouths: one turned up in a smile, the other downcast and gloomy. One eye was bright and twinkling; the other looked sad and lonely.
‘This is me and Mummy and Matthew,’ Helen explained, pointing to the lady with the two dwarves on one side of the page, ‘and we’re all sad because you’re not here. And this,’ she said, pointing to casual Santa, ‘is you in New York and it’s dark because you said that sometimes it’s night-time over there when it’s daytime here and you’re sad because you’re missing me and Mummy and Matthew, but you’re happy too because you’re having a nice time and going to films and parties and stuff.’
‘That’s beautiful,’ I said, huskily and I meant it. Then I noticed a small red figure in the top right corner of the piece of paper. ‘What’s that “6” for?’
‘Oh, that’s the mark Mrs Hodges gave it,’ Helen replied. ‘She told me it was wrong because it couldn’t be light and dark at the same time and you couldn’t be happy and sad. But she liked the drawing of the house and said that I’d coloured within the lines nicely, so she gave it a six and said it wouldn’t be going up for parents’ evening.’
‘I shall be taking that up with Mrs Hodges,’ I heard Natasha say, and looked up to see her standing in the doorway, looking tired but strangely elegant in her white bathrobe and leopard print slippers. I was surprised to see her up so early – usually whoever was on ‘lates’ eked out every possible second of peace and quiet before joining the chaos downstairs. I’d been counting on waking her up with a nice cup of tea in my own time, fully prepared for our first proper conversation.
‘You’re up early,’ I said. She walked across the room to me and draped her arms across my shoulders, kissing me on the top of my head as I lowered my face away from her. My eyes, I feared, would be red and it was too early in the year for hay fever.
‘I’ve got some presents for you,’ I announced, creating a reason to get up and out of the room so I could compose myself properly. ‘I’ll make Mummy her tea and then I’ll get them.’ I heard the chorus of disapproval from the children as I left the room, leaving Natasha to deal with their appeals for the satisfaction of their fundamental human right to receive their gifts immediately. I used the time it took to boil the kettle and brew the tea to make sure I had every angle covered.
Handing out the presents bought me a little more time. Matthew, as usual, received a model plane bearing the livery of the airline that had delivered me safely home, adding it to his collection of twenty or more – one for every time I’d chosen work overseas over time with him and his sister. For Helen, I had found a watch with a selection of different coloured wristbands and Natasha looked pleased with a bottle of her usual perfume and a pair of inexpensive earrings. Everything came from the in-flight catalogue. Everything had to be as normal as possible and even the children knew that I hated souvenir shopping, preferring to spend every possible moment in the Business Lounge rather than joining the fight for last minute gifts at the airport. While Mattie settled down with his new plane, and Helen played happily with her watch, checking the coloured straps against her hair, pyjamas and skin, Natasha and I finally had time to catch up on all that had happened while we’d been apart.
‘Not much to tell, really,’ I lied when she asked me about my trip. ‘Usual stuff. A few meetings with Buddy and the guys at the studio. They’re really expanding fast over there. Buddy reckons they might make twelve movies next year which could mean a lot more work for us. We went to the premiere of the movie, of course – pretty lousy film but it should do OK at the box office. Bennett was a complete and utter prat throughout, as expected. Then I thought I’d come home and catch up on all the broken nights I’ve been missing. I really don’t recommend getting eight hours sleep every night, hon. It’s very over-rated.’ I was aware I was speaking slightly faster than usual but otherwise thought I pulled it off pretty well.
‘Same old, same old, then?’ Natasha said, her tone gently mocking my casual account but otherwise carrying no obvious threat. ‘So while I’ve been back here enjoying myself with the early mornings and breakfasts and packed lunches and school runs and cleaning and tidying and all the other exciting things that define my existence, you were having to go to meetings and film premieres. Poor baby.’ She yawned and hugged her tea a little closer. ‘Go on,’ she said after a short pause, ‘amaze me. How was the party? Did you get to see the divine Olivia Finch again? Or has she taken out a restraining order on you after you watched her doing it last time you were in New York? And did you manage to slip my phone number to George Clooney, by any chance?’
‘Erm …’ I began, hoping that my face hadn’t turned as red as it felt from the inside. ‘Er …’ I continued with a little more conviction. ‘I can’t really remember now. Um. Yes, of course, I did see her at the party. You know, after the film. Just to say “hotel, Olivia” – I mean “hello, Olivia,” you know?’
‘Ooh,’ said Natasha, ‘so it’s “Olivia” now, is it? May I assume we’ll be exchanging Christmas cards this year? If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you fancied her. Can’t imagine why when you have this waiting for you at home.’ She struck a pose, trying to look as glamorous as possible in her ancient, threadbare robe.
I could have said, ‘Yes, actually, it is “Olivia” and I didn’t just speak to her but spent a good part of Saturday night making mad passionate