Pedigree Mum

‘Anyway, when you say you want a “base”,’ Kerry adds as they make their way along the seafront, ‘do you mean a shag pad?’

‘Of course I don’t mean that. For God’s sake, that’s ridiculous.’

‘So why would you need it, unless this thing with Nadine—’

‘There’s no thing,’ he snaps. ‘I thought I’d finally managed to get that across to you …’

She glares at him, wishing she wasn’t obliged to spend another moment in his company. ‘Why d’you want to keep the house, then?’

‘I’m just trying to think practically,’ he mutters. ‘It is quite a schlep every day …’

Kerry throws him a baffled look. ‘But you said you’d be fine with the train, and you can always stay over with Simon or Phil if there’s something on after work …’

‘I … I just think,’ Rob starts, ‘maybe we’re being a bit hasty in selling it. It all feels a bit sudden, that’s all. Maybe we’d be better renting it out instead?’

‘I wish you’d have the courage to admit you’re having cold feet about moving,’ she replies bitterly.

‘No, I’m not. I just think … this might be a more sensible option, for us not to burn our bridges, you know? You’ve said yourself how you haven’t managed to make any friends yet, and I was thinking, perhaps that’s why last Saturday happened. I’m not making excuses, but maybe I’m not quite ready to make a complete break, and that’s why I went out and drank too much and crashed out at Nadine’s like a fucking idiot. Maybe it’s just been building up and I needed to let it all out …’

‘What did you need to let out?’ Kerry barks. ‘Your sperm?’

The woman in the creperie kiosk stares at them, brandishing her spatula in mid-air.

‘I can’t talk to you when you’re being like this,’ Rob hisses, quickening his pace. ‘That’s really going to help us settle in around here, isn’t it, shouting about sperm in public?’

‘Well, you obviously don’t want to settle in, so what does it matter?’

‘Kerry, listen to me.’ He grabs her arm and they stop and glare at each other. ‘Just forget what I said about the house. Let’s accept the offer – I’ll ring the agent first thing on Monday, okay? And once I’ve done that, can we please just forget this whole thing?’

She focuses hard on his handsome face, which looks as tired and stressed today as it had during the early parenting years when sleep was snatched in hour-long segments. Kerry inhales, feeling her anger fading slightly and deciding she has to get over this. Rob is far too prim and proper for a one-night stand; in all their years together, she has never seen him even flirting with anyone. As for the house cleaning incident – Cif-gate, as she and Anita have named it – Nadine is probably nurturing some mild, Daddy-type crush on Rob, and insisted on tagging along. A woman would have to strip naked and launch herself, missile-like, at Rob for him to realise she found him attractive. ‘Come on,’ she says coolly, shrugging away his hand. ‘They’ll all be waiting for us at the beach.’

Spotting his parents treading gingerly between the sand constructions, Freddie leaps up and waves frantically.

‘It got run over!’ he yells.

‘What did?’ Kerry hurries towards Anita and the children.

Anita pulls a wry smile. ‘Well, Sand Island looked great until a dog ran right across the top of it.’

‘Oh no.’ Kerry frowns at the collapsed mound, its toothpick flags scattered everywhere. Daniel, Anita’s youngest, has burst into tears, and Anita pulls him onto her lap.

‘I’m sure it doesn’t matter,’ Kerry tries to console him. ‘The judges probably looked at the sandcastles before the dog came—’

‘No they didn’t,’ Freddie thunders.

‘Dogs shouldn’t be running about loose on the beach,’ Rob declares.

‘Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t deliberate,’ Anita explains. ‘Some guy was chasing it, it must have got loose …’

‘Then it was his responsibility to keep it under control,’ Rob huffs as Kerry and Anita exchange glances.

‘My mummy won’t let us have a dog,’ Freddie bleats loudly to anyone within earshot.

Sitting beside Kerry on Anita’s tartan rug, Rob takes Kerry’s hand in his and squeezes it. ‘Quite right, Mummy,’ he whispers with a smile.

The tinkle of a brass bell from the judges’ table calls everyone to attention.

‘After that unfortunate little incident,’ announces an elderly lady, her gold-rimmed glasses glinting in the weak sunshine, ‘it’s time to announce the winners of the annual Shorling sandcastle competition. Everyone ready?’

‘Yeah!’ Freddie yells. Kerry removes her hand from Rob’s slightly clammy grasp.

‘Okay. It’s been a tough decision but, in third place, I’m delighted to announce … Team Tyler-Jones for their fabulous Hogwarts!’

‘Boring,’ chime Freddie and Anita’s boy Jacob.

‘Shush, Freddie,’ Rob hisses.

The judge tinkles her bell again. ‘Second prize … Team Marshall’s amazing Eiffel Tower!’

‘Show-offs,’ Anita whispers with a grin. ‘Their dad did the whole thing anyway, barking orders at his children like Hitler in a yachting cap.’

Kerry snorts with laughter, sensing the tensions of the past, miserable week starting to drift away, despite the fact that Freddie appears to be the only child here in a tracksuit.

‘And first prize … Team Crawly-Jones and their amazing replica of the Sagrada Família …’

Mia’s face droops. ‘What’s a Farm-ear?’

‘Just some old church,’ Kerry murmurs.

‘I wouldn’t quite put it that way,’ guffaws the yachting cap man. ‘I think you’ll find it’s Gaudi’s architectural masterpiece although, granted, there’s been controversy over the more contemporary aspects of the restoration …’ He smiles smugly and pops a shiny black olive into his mouth.

‘Has there really?’ Kerry asks, feigning wonderment as the woman at the judges’ table calls the assembled crowd to attention.

‘Everyone?’ she calls out. ‘We just had a quick chat among ourselves and decided to award a very special prize to the team who put in so much effort, only to have it all destroyed …’

Mia and Freddie gawp at their mother expectantly.

‘… Team Tambini-McCoy with their treasure island – at least that’s what we think it was before the unfortunate event – so if the children would like to come forward …’ All six surge towards the judges’ table, their rowdiness garnering the odd look of disdain as they return, delighted, with their booty.

Admittedly it’s just an ice cream token each, but Rob is dispatched to the old-fashioned red and white striped kiosk with the children dancing around him as if they’ve scooped a major prize.

Anita stretches out her slender honey-tanned legs on the blanket. ‘So …?’ she says when Rob is out of earshot. ‘How did it go?’

Kerry pulls off her canvas plimsoles and digs her toes into the warm sand. ‘Okay, I guess. He’s still adamant that nothing happened.’

‘Which is feasible …’

‘Yes.’