Page 11 of Love at First Sight

‘Singing,’ Henry replies, and I’m so happy he’s happy.

With it being a fee-paying school, they push the kids pretty hard.

Henry doesn’t consider himself clever, though, even at seven years old, because they make it clear with his reports and the notes in his homework diary that they expect more from him than he gives, which is just ludicrous.

He does his best, and what more can anyone ask for from a child?

From anyone? He has this insidious awareness of the hierarchy in his class, though – of who is better at maths and scores the highest marks on spelling tests every week.

When I was at school the most popular kid was simply the one who could run fastest. But Henry is kind and loving and funny and comes with the jokes, plus he’s so passionate about music.

So for him to be recognised for that is a big deal.

‘How was your day?’ he asks as we walk out the gate.

I hand him a bag with a satsuma and a cream cheese sandwich as we meander to the bus stop. ‘It was good, thank you for asking,’ I say. ‘I had breakfast with my dad, so that was nice.’

‘Don’t you have breakfast with your dad every day?’ Henry asks, peeling the satsuma and passing me the discarded peel.

‘I live by myself, remember?’ I remind him. ‘When you get to my age, you don’t live with your grown-up any more. But you still get to see them loads.’

‘I’m going to live with Mummy forever,’ Henry tells me. ‘Because she makes good spaghetti bolognese.’

‘That’s a great reason to live with somebody forever,’ I say. ‘My dad can’t really cook. He used to make very good toast, though.’

‘I don’t like toast that is too brown at the edges,’ Henry says. ‘But I don’t like hot bread, either. It’s really easy to burn toast. You have to have the toaster on the exact right setting or else it’s not good and you have to put it in the bin and start again.’

‘Or save the bread for the ducks,’ I suggest, leaning against the red bench of the bus stop and noting our three-minute wait on the departure board.

‘You can’t feed ducks bread!’ Henry shouts, horrified at the thought. ‘It makes their stomach explode! You have to feed them peas!’

‘Peas?’ I say. I really try never to outwardly doubt anything Henry tells me, because I hate when people assume kids are stupid and all adults know better. It’s not my place to ever make a small person feel less intelligent. That said, feeding peas to ducks? It doesn’t track with me.

‘Mrs Harrington told us. They need the fibre. It’s the healthy choice for them.’

‘Interesting,’ I say. ‘Now. I’m not saying Mrs Harrington is wrong, but I am just going to verify this with Google.’

‘What’s verify ?’

‘Double-check.’

Henry nods. ‘Let me do it,’ he says, taking my phone off me and holding down a button to activate Siri. ‘Siri,’ he says, careful to enunciate clearly. ‘Can you feed ducks peas?’

The bus arrives just as Siri confirms that I am an idiot, peas are the preferred food for ducks, and bread is indeed the worst thing you can give them.

‘I love that you teach me things,’ I tell Henry, settling into a seat on the top deck. ‘It’s pretty cool that you know so much.’

‘Did you know Mummy’s boyfriend is coming for tea tonight?’ he says, by way of reply.

‘I did not,’ I say, intrigued by this turn of events. ‘Your mummy didn’t mention that to me.’ Henry nods his confirmation as I think: Typical Ali . ‘Are you excited?’

Henry does this thing when he wants you to think one thing, but another thing might be true. He nods very quickly but doesn’t make eye contact. And that is exactly what he does right now.

‘Do you maybe feel a bit nervous too?’ I probe. ‘Or a funny feeling you can’t describe?’

Henry doesn’t say anything. He looks out of the window, but I can tell he’s listening.

‘After my mum moved to Australia and I stayed here with my dad,’ I say, ‘I felt all mixed up inside. A bit like when your mummy and daddy decided to live in different houses. That was a big change, wasn’t it?

But you did so well. You talked all about your feelings, and let us help you, didn’t you, and I remember thinking, What a clever boy .

There’s lots of people who can’t talk about their feelings, you know, but you can!

It’s amazing!’ Henry’s eyes move away from the passing street below and focus more in my direction.

‘The thing is, when it comes to talking about feelings, most people think you can only have one feeling at a time. Most people think you can be just excited, or just scared, or just happy. But do you know what I think? I think it’s more complicated than that.

I think you can feel more than one feeling at the exact same time.

Which means it can be confusing! But you know you can feel excited with a bit of scared, or half nervous, half happy.

Or even half happy, half sad.’ I let that notion land before I add, ‘Have you ever felt more than one feeling at the same time?’

Henry nods, slowly.

‘Excited and scared,’ he says.

‘About tonight?’ I ask, gently.

‘Yeah.’

‘Hmmm,’ I muse. ‘Well, that proves that I’m right: some people can have more than one feeling at once. Do you think you might know what bit you’re excited for and what bit you’re scared for?’

‘I’m excited because I’ve never met Vinnie before and he might bring me a toy,’ Henry says. ‘And I’m scared because I’ve never met him before and he might be nasty.’

‘Hmmm,’ I muse again. ‘Has Mummy got nasty friends?’

‘No,’ Henry says. ‘Mummy’s friends are nice.’

‘That’s good then. I hope he’s nice too. And if he isn’t, we can make a plan, if you like. That way you’ll know what to do.’

‘What plan shall we make?’ Henry asks, and he’s slipped his hand into mine, a sure sign that he’s trusting what I’m saying, that I’ve made him feel safe.

‘Well, you and Mummy could have a special word that you can say to her if you feel scared. Like banana-poo-head or something like that.’

Henry giggles.

‘So, if you say banana-poo-head to your mummy, she’ll know she has to kick him out of the house immediately!’

‘Yeah!’ he says. ‘Because I’m her number-one boy, nobody else!’

‘Exactly! And maybe we could draw him a picture, and give it to him when he arrives as a way to say you’re a nice kid and you’d like to be friends, so he should be nice too.’

Henry considers this.

‘All right.’

I decide to leave the conversation there, and not to push it any further. He’s told me the problem and we’ve come up with some solutions – I feel that’s enough for now.

Out of nowhere Henry says: ‘Did you know if you hold money up to a light you can tell if it’s real or not?’

God bless kids.

We get off the bus and play two-steps-forward-one-step-back to get home.

As soon as we open the front door we’re hit with the succulent smells of Ali’s bolognese sauce, an all-day affair that stinks out the whole place with its aroma.

It’s an old family recipe, and one I’ve tried myself: it’s amazing.

If she’s making this for Vinnie she must really like him – she doesn’t normally cook.

I find myself thinking, I’ll cook for my guy one day.

I’ll cook for Cal, if he ever sees those bloody posters.

Henry finds Ali in her walk-in wardrobe, deciding what to wear for the evening, after she shouts down a hello.

‘Jessie?’ Henry yells once he’s had his mummy cuddle. ‘Can you help me find my party clothes?’

I trek up the stairs and past Ali’s room, where she’s stood in matching underwear, hair in a low messy bun, make-up immaculate.

‘Tonight’s the night, then,’ I say, and she looks up with a smile and a big in-breath.

‘I just want it to go well,’ she says, voice low so Henry can’t hear. ‘I didn’t think it was a big deal, but all day I’ve been thinking, What if Henry doesn’t like him? I really need them to click, you know?’

‘I do know,’ I say. Over my shoulder I shout to Henry’s room that I’ll just be a minute, and I slip into Ali’s space.

‘Wear high-waisted jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt. You’ve got an arse to die for and a waist that makes men melt.

It doesn’t need to be any fancier than that,’ I counsel.

‘And Henry wants to like this man. We’re going to put him in his party clothes and draw a picture.

Everyone wants the same thing, Ali, and if you vouch for this man I’m sure he’s perfect. ’

Ali digests this. ‘Okay,’ she says, exhaling a big breath and shaking her arms, ridding herself of the doubtful feelings.

‘Thank you. Will you stay? Just until the ice is broken? He’s coming at five-thirty, so we can eat at six.

Can you stay until I serve? We’ll be okay once everyone starts eating, I’m sure. ’

‘Of course I’ll stay, Ali. I’m normally here until that time anyway. Now. You look amazing, get dressed and I’ll go see to Henry.’

‘You’re an angel,’ she tells me. ‘Thank you.’

I stick my head into Henry’s bedroom to see he’s gelled his hair and put on his ‘party shirt’ – a green corduroy thing he wears over a T-shirt, doing up the top button and letting the rest hang open, exactly as his (very well-dressed) dad does.

When we get downstairs, Ali has beaten us to it, lighting some candles out on the garden table and leaving a red wine open to breathe.

Inside the house there’s a Spotify soul mix playing.

It’s lovely. At least somebody out there is living their best life, with their 2012 Tignanello and Cleo Sol beats at a garden supper.

The weather is perfect too: early evening sun lowering in the sky; gentle breeze flowing coolly through the aromatic lavender bushes.

Henry gets to work on his picture, as Ali adds the finishing touches to her sauce. When the bell chimes, I offer to get it, since her hands are covered in little bits of basil.

‘Make him feel welcome,’ she says, tasting what she’s made and going to wash her hands.

‘Of course,’ I say, in my most upbeat way.

I’m very about this promising man myself.

Thom was, in so many ways, such an absolute perfect match for Ali, despite the arguments and fights, that seeing who this level-headed, nice man is for myself – not to mention he’s a ‘normie’, and not an actor – satisfies my most nosy parts.

Who has got Ali this excited? Because Thom, with his easy banter and megawatt smile, his salt-and-pepper cropped hair and bright blue eyes … Well. He’d be hard to beat …

I fling the door open with the friendliest face I can muster, and my brain instantly short-circuits.

There, stood in the doorway of Ali’s house, is Cal. My Cal.

‘What …?’ I say, in awe. He’s holding a huge bouquet of flowers. I can’t believe he’s tracked me down. This is beyond anything I could have even dreamed!

‘Hi,’ I say, beside myself, trying again at a welcome. I have vague thoughts in the back of my head about being in a baggy dress that doesn’t really show off my best assets, and it was hot today so I probably look a bit worse for wear. But … who cares! He’s here!

‘Vinnie!’ Ali says, over my shoulder. ‘Sorry, I was just finishing the cooking. This is Jessie, Henry’s nanny. Come in, come in!’

My vision is suddenly a blurry, stodgy mess.

Why is Ali calling him Vinnie? Why is he smiling at Ali and giving her the flowers?

He looks at me awkwardly, eyes bulging and then darting around him like he’s looking for clues.

Why has he brought a Guardians of the Galaxy Lego set with him? None of this makes any sense.

‘Jessie, it’s not like you to fall mute,’ comments Ali, as she laces her hand through Cal’s. She chuckles awkwardly, as if she’s mad that I’m not playing my role better. ‘Are you okay?’

As we move out of the doorway my eyes can barely focus, but I manage to somehow blink, and swallow, and lie.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It’s just still so hot outside.’

Ali pulls Cal down the hallway, and he shoots a sad look back at me that I can’t read.

Cal is … Vinnie. Ali’s Vinnie. This doesn’t make sense. Why did he tell me his name was Cal? Or has he got some sort of charismatic and charming twin brother?

‘Jessie can hang up your jacket,’ Ali says, my cue to be of better assistance than I currently am, gawping and processing. ‘Jessie?’ she prompts.

And then my confirmation comes: Cal knows exactly who I am. As he hands me his jacket he says, in a low whisper, sounding totally mortified, ‘I can explain, okay?’

‘You’d better,’ I hiss back, stuffing his coat in the closet.