Page 137 of The Honeymoon Affair

I can put the dinner debacle behind me. But I do have a red line. And that’s her coming to the house uninvited ever again, for their Freedom Friday drinks or anything else. I’m going to make it clear to him and he has to make it clear to her. Because if she dares put one foot inside the house – my house-to-be – without my permission in the future, that’s it. Over. For ever.

I say all this to him on Monday night when he comes to Marino after I finally sent him a text saying I was ready to talk. Before he arrived, I gave the place a deep clean (the area around Steve’s armchair was an absolute pit!), leaving it super tidy and smelling of irises, anemones, amaryllis, orchids and all the other flowers from his over-the-top bouquet. I divided the flowers among an assortment of vases because it was far too big to fit in a single one.

‘You’re absolutely right,’ he says when I finish speaking. ‘I realise how insensitive I’ve been. I guess it’s because I’m a gnarly old man who hasn’t a clue, while you’re a young, intelligent woman in touch with your feelings.’

‘I thought the USP for your books is that you’re totally in touch with women’s feelings,’ I remark.

‘Fictional women,’ he says. ‘I can make fictional women feel what I want, do what I want and think what I want. It seems I’m not quite as successful with real-life versions who have minds of their own and think differently to me.’

I laugh, and so does he.

‘You can’t imagine how pleased I am that you’re laughing again,’ he says.

‘I’m laughing now, but I absolutely won’t be if Ariel comes into the house again.’

‘She won’t,’ he assures me. ‘You have my word.’

‘I’d really like it if you two weren’t in touch at all,’ I murmur as I snuggle up to him on the sofa.

‘It’s tricky when she’s my agent,’ he says. ‘But I won’t be writing another book for at least a year, so any contact between us will be minimal.’

‘Except she’s working at the bottom of your garden.’

‘I realise now that it’s not ideal,’ he says. ‘But honestly, Iseult – Izzy – I usually don’t see her that often.’

‘Fortunately you don’t have to. It’s not like you have children to co-parent.’

‘My books are my children,’ he says.

‘Hmm. What about actual children?’

‘What about them?’

‘You said they weren’t a priority for you and Ariel, that you weren’t in a hurry. But what about now, Charles? You’re approaching fifty and I’m nearly thirty. Even though I’m not in a rush myself, it’s something we need to think about.’

He’s silent. I don’t say anything either.

‘I never saw myself as good dad material,’ he says eventually. ‘Even before I wrote books, I was very caught up in my career. But being with you – even though I’m making a terrible hash of being with you – has made me realise there are more important things in life. I think I’d be a better dad now than I would’ve been ten years ago. I hope so anyway. And I’d love to have children with you.’

I snuggle even closer. His arm around me is comforting.

‘Oh, there’s something I forgot to mention,’ he says after a while.

I feel my heart jolt. If it’s something about Ariel and the divorce, I’ll kill him.

‘I told Mum I’d do her next literary festival. I hope you’ll come. It’s in a few weeks. I’ve never done one for her before,’ he adds. ‘She never asked me.’

‘She never asked?’ I sit up and look at him. ‘I’d’ve thought you’d have been her first author.’

‘She didn’t want it to look like favouritism,’ he says.

‘Wow. She seriously thought asking her Booker-winning son to read would be giving off nepo-baby vibes?’

‘It’s her way,’ says Charles. ‘She bigs me up in public but likes taking me down a peg or two at home. There’s a part of her that thinks I let her down by not managing the pub with Nick.’

Honestly, what’s wrong with the woman? Both her sons are doing well, aren’t they?

‘Oh, she’s very happy that I became a literary success,’ says Charles when I say this. ‘She just thinks I should remember my roots. She’s . . . well, she marches to the beat of her own drum.’