another sip of wine, hoping to stave off more of Esther’s questioning, wishing she would turn her attention to Diane for a while.
As if reading my mind, she asks Diane about her son. His eating habits is one of Diane’s favourite topics of conversation, so I get a few minutes’ reprieve while the conversation revolves around how best to get children to eat vegetables they don’t like. Jack listens attentively, as if the subject is of real interest to him and my mind turns to Millie, worrying how she will take it if I’m not able to go and see her over the weekend, because it’s getting harder and harder to explain my absences to her. Once, it would never have occurred to me to wish her to be any different to how she has always been. Now, I’m constantly wishing that she didn’t have Down’s, that she wasn’t dependent on me, that she could live her own life instead of having to share mine.
Called abruptly back to the present by Diane ordering my dessert for me, I tell Esther, when she asks what I was dreaming about, that I was thinking about Millie. Diane asks if we’ve seen her recently so I tell her that we saw her the previous Sunday and that Jack took us out for a lovely lunch. I wait for someone to ask if we’ll be going to see her again this weekend, but nobody does, so I am none the wiser.
‘She must be looking forward to coming to live with you,’ Esther says, as the desserts arrive.
‘Yes, she is,’ I agree.
Jack smiles. ‘We’re looking forward to it too.’
‘What does she think of the house?’
I reach for my glass. ‘Actually, she hasn’t seen it yet.’
‘But didn’t you move in a year ago?’
‘Yes, but we want everything to be perfect before she sees it,’ Jack explains.
‘It looked pretty perfect to me when I saw it,’ she remarks.
‘Her room isn’t quite finished yet, but I’m having so much fun doing it up, aren’t I, darling?’ To my horror, I feel tears welling up inside me and bow my head quickly, conscious of Esther’s eyes on me.
‘What colour will it be?’ asks Diane.
‘Red,’ says Jack. ‘It’s her favourite colour.’ He nods at my chocolate fudge cake. ‘Eat up, darling.’
I pick up my spoon, wondering how I’m going to be able to do as he says.
‘It looks delicious,’ says Esther. ‘I don’t suppose you want to share it with me, do you?’
I hesitate, feigning reluctance, wondering why I’m bothering because I won’t have fooled Jack. ‘Help yourself,’ I say, offering her my fork.
‘Thank you.’ She spears a piece of the cake. ‘Did you and Jack come in separate cars?’
‘No, we came together.’
‘Then I’ll drop you back, if you like.’
‘It’s fine, I intend taking Grace home before going into the office,’ Jack says.
‘Isn’t that a bit of a detour?’ she frowns. ‘You can get straight on the motorway to London from here. I’ll take her home, Jack, it’s really no problem.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but there are some documents that I need to pick up before seeing one of my clients later this afternoon.’ He pauses. ‘It’s a shame I didn’t bring them with me, because I would have let you take Grace home with pleasure.’
‘Another time, then.’ Esther turns to me. ‘Grace, perhaps we can exchange telephone numbers? I’d like to have you all around to dinner, but I need to check with Rufus to see when he’s free. He has a trip to Berlin coming up and I’m not sure when it is.’
‘Of course.’ I give her our home number and she taps it into her mobile.
‘And your mobile?’
‘I don’t have one.’
She does a double take. ‘You don’t have a mobile?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t see the need for one.’
‘But everybody over the age of ten and under the age of eighty has one!’
‘Well, not me,’ I say, amused—despite myself—at her reaction.
‘I know, it’s incredible, isn’t it?’ says Diane. ‘I’ve tried to persuade her to buy one but she isn’t interested.’
‘But how on earth does anybody get hold of you when you’re out and about?’ wonders Esther.
I shrug. ‘They don’t.’
‘Which is quite a good thing,’ says Diane dryly. ‘I can’t go shopping without Adam or one of the children phoning to ask me to get them something, or to find out when I’ll be back. The number of times I’ve been standing at the checkout in Tesco trying to load all my shopping into bags while trying to sort out something at home doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘But what if you have a problem?’ asks Esther, still trying to get her head round it.
‘People managed perfectly well before without mobiles,’ I point out.
‘Yes, back in the Dark Ages.’ She turns to Jack. ‘Jack, buy your wife a mobile, for God’s sake!’
Jack opens his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘I’d be only too happy to. But I know that if I did, she wouldn’t use it.’
‘I can’t believe that—not once she realises how practical they are.’
‘Jack’s right, I wouldn’t,’ I confirm.
‘Please tell me you have a computer.’
‘Yes, of course I do.’
‘Then could I have your email address?’
‘Sure. It’s [email protected].’
‘Isn’t that Jack’s address?’
‘It’s mine too.’
She raises her head and looks at me quizzically from across the table. ‘Don’t you have your own address?’
‘What for? Jack and I don’t have any secrets from each other. And if people email me, it’s usually to invite us for dinner, or something else that concerns Jack too, so it’s easier if he sees the messages as well.’
‘Especially as Grace often forgets to tell me things,’ Jack says, smiling indulgently at me.
Esther looks thoughtfully at the two of us. ‘You really are a joined-at-the-hip couple, aren’t you? Well, as you haven’t got a mobile, I suppose you’ll have to resort to pen and paper to take my numbers down. Have you got a pen?’
I know that I don’t. ‘I’m not sure,’ I say, intending to make a show of looking for one. I reach for my bag, which I had slung over the back of my chair, but she gets there first and hands it to me.
‘Goodness, it feels empty!’
‘I travel light,’ I tell her, opening my bag and peering inside. ‘No, sorry, I don’t have one.’
‘It’s all right, I’ll get them.’ Jack takes out his mobile. ‘I already have your home number, Esther, from Rufus, so if you just give me your mobile?’
As she reels it off, I try desperately to commit it to memory, but I get lost somewhere near the end. I close my eyes and try to retrieve the last few numbers but it’s impossible.
‘Thanks, Esther,’ says Jack. I open my eyes and find Esther looking at me curiously from across the table. ‘I’ll write it down for Grace when we get home.’
‘Wait a minute—is it 721 or