Page 17 of Love at First Sight

Henry isn’t himself at pick-up – he’s not chatty and doesn’t throw his arms around me like he usually does.

Of course, I’m a horrible self-obsessed arsehole who immediately thinks somehow Henry knows I’ve just been having fleeting thoughts about what it would be like to kiss his mother’s boyfriend.

But when he doesn’t even ask for his snack, I pull myself together and realise that this isn’t about me.

I put my palm to his forehead to check for a temperature, but he seems fine.

‘Everything okay, buddy?’ I ask, once we’re away from the school gates. ‘I’m really curious about how quiet you are. Can you tell me why?’

Henry shrugs and avoids my eye.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Do you mind if I do the talking?’

He shrugs again.

‘I just want to say that, when I feel sad, I like to tell somebody in case they can help me with it. It helps to talk. No feelings last forever. If you feel sad now, just know that you won’t always feel sad.

But whilst you do feel this way, if you want to have quiet time, we can.

I’m right here, ready for whatever you need, okay? ’

‘Okay,’ Henry says, gently.

At home he slinks off to his room, and when I mention my concern to Ali, she says, ‘Maybe it’s because I’m going away soon? I’ll talk to him tonight. Two weeks is a long time to a seven-year-old, even if he is coming to set to visit.’

‘Okay,’ I say, following her lead. If she isn’t worried, maybe I shouldn’t be. ‘Bless his little heart.’

‘I know,’ Ali agrees, pulling a ‘pouty face’. ‘Big feelings in a little body. Can you prep his dinner? I’ll go up and check on him.’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Go be with your boy.’

The whole time I’m talking to her, making food in her house and drinking her tea and worrying about Henry, I feel so two-faced I’m like a double-sided coin. I wear guilt like a shawl, draped in it.

I fancy your boyfriend, Ali. Even though I don’t want to.

By the next morning, the truth has been outed: Thom has proposed to his new girlfriend, and Henry is unsettled by Daddy getting remarried.

Apparently Thom told him it was about to happen when he stayed with him a few nights ago, and Henry, has been keeping it a secret all this time, so as not to spoil the surprise.

I’d be mad at Thom as it is for putting that on Henry.

But he just said a few days ago that he wasn’t that sure about her, and now they’re engaged? What is it with these men?

‘So Thom texted you this morning?’ I say to Ali, who’s cornered me in the hallway. She’s keen to get me up to speed before I see Henry, who apparently confessed everything last night. She texted me a heads-up on my way over.

Ali arches an eyebrow. ‘He did. He sent a photo of him holding her hand, ring and manicure on show, and wrote she said yes , like he was posting to social media instead of filling in the mother of his child.’ She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

‘Are you okay?’ I dare to ask, because for as much as she talks about the divorce being a net good, surely it must sting to see your ex move on.

I blocked Craig on every form of social media, and still found out through a friend of a friend that he was with a girl he used to work with not long after we broke up.

A girl he’d told me not to worry about. I didn’t want to be with him, but I could still have burned his record collection with a smile when I found out.

‘I’m fine,’ she says. ‘I think. I don’t know.

I mean, I have Vinnie – I mean Cal – so …

’ She lets the sentence trail off, and I reach out to rub the top of her arm.

I’m a traitor for doing so, I know I am.

How can I comfort her when I’m so aware of ‘Vinnie’s’ eyes, the curve of his neck?

I swallow hard, push it down and lock it in a box I will henceforth refuse to open.

‘Things are going well with him,’ Ali continues.

‘We don’t fight or argue or get mad. It’s just really …

’ She holds out a hand and moves it horizontally, a gesture I take to mean plain sailing.

‘He’s a good guy,’ she concludes, for the umpteenth time.

Guilt pricking at my skin, my throat hot and eyes dry, I bite my tongue.

I spend the day prepping for Dad’s engagement party in a way I wouldn’t otherwise have done if Leo weren’t coming. I am going to focus on getting through today, just forgetting everything else and having fun . I intend to look good.

‘Interesting you’d get a wax and a spray tan for this man,’ India says, when I meet her after the gym. I’ve skipped it, obviously, because my tan has to settle and I’ve got a blow-dry booked in before Henry’s pick-up. A woman can’t do it all.

‘I’d love to say this is all for me,’ I say, pursing my lips over a soggy paper straw that after thirty seconds is officially crap at helping me drink a superfood smoothie. I pull it out, bin it, and drink from the cup instead.

India smirks. ‘But you might actually let yourself have a good time tonight?’

I shrug, trying to keep my game face on. I don’t want to ‘use’ Leo as a way to forget about Cal and his whole messed-up vibe, but as ever, you’ve got to show up for your life, haven’t you? Be more Leo , in a way. He takes his fun where he finds it, and I will too.

‘Just doing it for the story.’ I wink, and she says, ‘That’s my girl.’

I wish India was coming tonight, but it’s her mum’s sixtieth so she’s heading west to Uxbridge to celebrate.

‘And the outfit is …?’ she presses, as we pause at the part of the main road where she takes a left and I go right. I won’t see her now until after the weekend.

‘My backless yellow dress,’ I say. ‘Because fuck Simone.’

India claps her hands gleefully. ‘Oh, she’ll hate it!’ she shrieks. ‘It’s the perfect choice!’

It’s a weird flex, but because of the working out and lifting of weights, I have a really strong back and, if pressed, would say my best physical feature is …

my spine. Bizarre, I know. But it’s super-indented and my back has great muscles and so backless attire is my superhero costume.

And Simone will hate it because Simone hates me, yes, but she also seems to hate me more when I look nice.

It’s like I’m more tolerable in sweatpants than I am in bias-cut silk.

‘Have you got them a gift?’ India asks. ‘You haven’t mentioned anything …’

My eyes go wide. ‘Shit! It never even occurred to me!’ My hand launches to my chest. ‘That’s really bad, isn’t it? What time is it? Should I grab a bottle of champagne or something, do you think?’

India shrugs. ‘I mean, your father is sixty years old, it’s not like he’s a newlywed setting up his first home, is it? Be a bit weird if you got them a milk pan.’

‘Whatever I get will be used against me, anyway,’ I point out, and I don’t even say it miserably.

It’s just the sad truth. Simone complains about everything.

I know for a fact she told Dad I made her feel bad because I said I didn’t like jazz – and she’s in a jazz band.

That’s not even true! I said I didn’t know much about jazz, thinking it’d be a conversation starter , not a conversation ender!

It’s little things like that, undermining my relationship with Dad, that mean I don’t trust her.

‘I give it two years,’ India says, with a sympathetic smile. ‘You’ll get your dad back, Jessie. I promise you.’

She’s lying, but it’s a kind lie.

‘Maybe,’ I say.

Because Ali is due home late after being held up on set, the plan tonight is that, after school pick-up, Henry and I will go home and do the usual: unpack his bag, do some reading, eat snacks and decide on what’s for tea, et cetera.

Then instead of me going home to get ready, Ali has allowed me to use her master suite to get dolled up, so when she’s back I can head straight off into town for the engagement party.

I’m halfway through blending my foundation when the door goes, which is about as inconvenient a time as the doorbell can go, considering a good base blended well is the cornerstone of all make-up success.

Ali doesn’t like Henry answering the door alone, on account of her celebrity status and the fact it could be anyone.

Her co-star in the last thing she filmed for the BBC had a stalker, and it continues to haunt her.

I can’t imagine being afraid of your own doorbell.

There are some sickos and crazies out there, it must be said.

I run down the stairs and peek through the spyglass to see it’s Cal. I take a deep breath to steady myself, as frustration and anger spike my heart rate. I’m flustered but can’t leave him on the doorstep. After all, it isn’t my house. Urgh. I fling back the door.

‘Hello,’ I say, as neutrally as possible.

‘Jessie,’ he says, voice frantic. ‘I’m so pleased you’re here.

I’m breaking up with Ali – it’s not even that serious.

I’m pretty sure she’s only dating me to get back at her ex-husband.

Honestly. That day at the river … I don’t want you to think I’m a dick.

I can do dick-ish things, but I’m not a dick in totality.

I need you to understand that.’ It all comes out as one run-on sentence, like he’s worried pausing for breath means I won’t let him finish.

I eyeball him, willing myself to steady my breathing. Apology or not, this is all too dangerous. I don’t want to know if he’s breaking up with Ali! That doesn’t mean anything to me, except that she’s going to be in a terrible mood after. I bite down on my lip and Cal waits for me to say something.

‘She’s expecting me,’ he says. ‘Can I come in and wait?’

‘You want to come in and wait for Ali so that … you can break up with her?’ I clarify. ‘Okay.’

I step back and let him in, suddenly very aware that I’m in a skimpy dressing gown and only half made-up.

‘I’m in the middle of something,’ I say. ‘But you can make yourself at home.’ I scurry back upstairs, leaving him to it.

I keep half an ear out for the door, hoping that Ali comes back before I have to go back downstairs.

I finish my hair, my make-up, and slip on my dress.

I don’t look half bad. I might not be thrilled about the occasion, but at the end of the day I love my dad, and ultimately want someone to make him happy.

I wish that Simone didn’t do that, but if she’s going to …

I suppose I’m just going to have to roll with it, like so much of life these days.

‘Jessie!’

Henry’s call comes from downstairs.

‘Can you help me?’

I grab my bag and head towards his voice, which I discover is coming from the downstairs loo.

‘You okay?’ I ask.

‘I just need some help,’ Henry says, and he doesn’t have to explain the rest: he’s done the sort of poo he needs help wiping. I know the code. I’m mindful of my dress and do what I can to clean him up. Kids: the ultimate reality check.

When we’re done and I’ve washed my hands twice, I walk through to the kitchen, where Cal is sat behind a row of mini Marvel characters, mid-battle. He’s been playing with Henry, even though if he breaks up with Ali today he’ll never even see him again. Which is sweet, I guess.

‘I’m just washing my hands!’ Henry yells from the bathroom. ‘Don’t play without me!’

Henry has been trained by both Ali and me to wash his hands like he’s preparing for surgery, which leaves Cal and me alone. He looks up, jaw slackening and eyes widening.

‘You look incredible,’ he says, softly, and I hate that I blush.

I manage to squeak out a thank you.

‘I’m going to go and get Groot!’ Henry shouts, thundering up the stairs.

‘Okay, pal!’ Cal yells, meeting my eye and smiling. I half smile back, not willing to commit to anything more meaningful. This is so messy.

‘I meant what I said,’ Cal presses. ‘That day we met, Jessie … I didn’t mean to mislead anyone. I never went to buy fucking quinoa expecting that I’d meet somebody. That I’d meet you …’

I look at my painted toes in their strappy sandals, because it’s too much to look at his earnest face. I’ll start forgiving him if I’m not careful.

‘I brought you this,’ he says, pushing a folded document across the breakfast bar towards me.

I pick it up and unfold it. In big type at the top it says Hackney Community Support Fund and on the following pages it has questions about everything from my personal details to the business idea.

‘For Stray Kids,’ he explains.

My heart pumps so fast I fear it might give out. He can’t talk about Stray Kids here. Ali doesn’t know. I haven’t figured out how to frame it for her yet. That’s half the reason I’ve not done more about getting it started.

‘Please don’t tell Ali about this,’ I say, finding my nannying rucksack and stuffing the form inside. Cal looks confused. ‘She wouldn’t like it,’ I explain. ‘She’d call me disloyal, and this job is everything to me, all right?’

Cal nods. ‘All right,’ he says. He holds up his palms, surrendering. ‘Sorry. I just wanted to help.’

‘I know.’

I can tell Cal has follow-up questions from the way his eyes dart up to look at the ceiling and he sticks out his tongue, just slightly, at the side of his mouth.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘Well, it’s just …’ he starts, uncertainly.

‘How could anyone resent you for wanting to contribute to the community and set something up that is clearly so beneficial to children?’ It makes me roll my eyes – has he not met the Ali I work for?

But then, actually, he probably hasn’t. I’m sure, as a date, Ali is charming and coy and fun.

So it’s unlikely to ever occur to Cal that as an employer she can be bossy and possessive.

All of this must be written all over my face, because Cal says, ‘It’s none of my business. Sorry. I was just trying to be helpful. But to reiterate: I won’t tell her, okay?’

Before I can reply, Ali’s key sounds in the door, and a wave of relief washes over me.

‘You really do look great,’ he whispers before she walks into the kitchen, and I hate how happy that makes me feel, how much taller and prouder I stand, buoyed by his words.