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Chapter 7

SEVEN

Zoe

It'll be fine, Zoe. Here if you want to talk it out this weekend x

I look down at the message and smile, resting my elbow on the countertop of my kitchen.

It's been over a week since I sent the chicken, since Jack replied with a laughing emoji, and since then all that's happened is an exchange of messages, a conversation. We don't mention the kiss, we just continue that line of witty exchange via messages instead. Sure, I have to look up my emojis to ensure I'm not sending anything remotely vulgar, but I like that feeling of hearing my phone pinging, or seeing he's replying after I message him, and I like those three dots that tell me he's writing. I like how sometimes he's the last person I speak to at night, and he tells me to sleep well. I have no idea where it's going, but there's a warm buzz that comes with the novelty of our conversations, the idea that there's no pressure to be anything other but myself with him. And at a time like this, I am grateful to him for the distraction as today starts the first weekend where I will be without my kids.

‘Mum, where are my black trackies?' Dylan asks me. I smile and point to the laundry room where I washed and dried said trackies in preparation. Even though he has three other pairs, it's only those ones that will do. He grabs them and gallops up the stairs again. I take a long sip of wine. Manchester is what's happening. I finally got Lottie in a position where she would agree to go on the trip. Granted, my plan was based on good old-fashioned bribery and blackmail, but I also assured both of them that they could go with my blessing even though I knew it would hurt my heart beyond belief to not have them round like some sort of security blanket. Whether I'm married to their father or not, they are not pawns in this situation and my desire will always be that they remain unscathed in all of this. So, it's a Friday night, they're packing and I am readying myself for their departure. I will not cry.

A head pops round the door. ‘You know it's not too late. I can stay if you want. Or maybe you could come, too?' Oh, Lottie. She shuffles over in her Ugg boots and wraps her arms around me. I see parents who do this a lot. They go on holidays despite their marital circumstances, all part of some big, blended family. Maybe one day I'll get there, but not now. If I went now, I'd likely push Brian in front of a bus. I won't tell her that. I stroke her head and kiss her forehead.

‘Lottie, I'll be fine. You go. I think that's part and parcel of how our new situation will work out. We just won't do things as a four anymore.'

‘And I hate him for it.' She scowls. All at once, I feel all that sadness and grief in her tones. I hate to admit it, but we were a good foursome.

‘Just try… That's all we're asking. Push the hate down because you're going to be sitting in a car with him for four hours now.'

Her deadpan expression and flared nostrils make me giggle. ‘And like we said, I think if you asked him to buy that North Face coat you're after, I reckon he's so desperate to get in your good books he may buy it for you. I'd seriously milk it.'

‘Pandora stuff, too?'

I open my eyes and nod at her, and she smiles. Little Lottie. Even though it's the biggest cliché you'll hear, I remember when she'd sit on my knee at this countertop and we'd eat toast together on a Saturday morning and I'd help her drink her milk, holding a beaker to her mouth that was as big as her tiny face. Now she's all limbs, a mane of hair and this wondrous human I get to unleash on the world. She comes over to embrace me again as I hear a key turn in the door, and I stiffen. That sound feels like an annoyance to me now. He's here. Lottie doesn't let go and I feel a lump in my throat already starting to form.

‘Hello?' his voice thunders through the hallway. ‘You ready, kids?'

‘Lottie,' I whisper. But her hug gets tighter. ‘We're in the kitchen, Brian,' I call out. The front door shuts and I hear him walk through.

‘Evening, all! Ready, Lots?' he asks her. How is he so sprightly? Lottie is silent and shrugs her shoulders, looking over to me, confused at having to leave me but still wanting to show her allegiance. I get it, little one.

‘Dylan's just upstairs,' I tell him. ‘Actually, can I ask a favour? Now that you don't live here anymore, please could you ring the bell rather than letting yourself in? Just so we respect each other's boundaries.' He stares at me for bringing it up, now, but it felt like as good a moment as any to say he can't just come into my house and treat this like his home when it suits him. ‘I mean, I wouldn't just walk into yours and Liz's house without asking.'

He looks mildly confused, like I'm speaking another language. ‘But we're co-parenting, it's different,' he tells me.

‘It isn't really – you don't live here anymore,' Lottie adds. ‘I agree with Mum.'

Brian goes to the doorway of the kitchen, refusing to answer and as he looks away, Lottie winks at me. ‘DYLAN!' he shouts. ‘Let's go, bud.'

I look Brian up and down, sipping my glass of wine. It's strange how the external has hardly changed. His leaving didn't prompt him to go out and buy a new wardrobe or go for a radical new haircut. I remember finding those brown boots with him in a sale, telling him to buy them, they'd go with everything. What is strange is how internally, everything is different. The value he placed on me, our family, our life. He felt that Liz was worth more than that. It still hurts that I never saw it coming. That in the space of mere months, life changed so very quickly. I quickly swipe away the painful feeling that flashes up and remind myself I'm better off this way. I will be better off. Then I picture Jack and think of the kiss, and my stomach is a riot of butterflies.

‘Plans for the weekend, Zoe?' he asks me casually, bringing me expertly back down to earth.

I was going to hoover and maybe start a box set, you shitbag.

‘Oh, I've got marking to do and then I was going to meet someone for lunch.' I'm not but I have to pretend I have a life, that there may be the possibility that I might be doing something exciting with my life, like tapas.

‘You're still letting work seep into your weekends then?' he says casually.

‘Well, that's my problem now, eh?' Is this why you had an affair? Because I'd work at home at the weekends? Are we blaming my career now? Maybe it's easier to do that than blame your lack of integrity. I look over at Lottie. Civility, civility, civility. I want to throw a mug at his smug head. Dylan appears with a rucksack at the door, and I look down at Lottie's trolley bag that I know includes two changes of shoes should she need them. Dylan can barely look at me.

‘So…' I say, trying to control a waver in my voice. ‘Have a truly excellent time. Send me some pics to let me know you're having fun. I guess I'll expect you back on Sunday evening at some point.'

‘Depending on the traffic. We'll get dinner enroute. I thought we could go for a Wagamama.'

The kids turn to look at me. Wagamama was always something we did as a four, boys one side of the bench, girls the other. Crispy squid and edamame to start. Shared jokes over katsu and ramen. You absolute shit, Brian.

The kids know as much and come over to envelop me in this double-sided hug that seems to be our new thing. Let's sandwich Mum to let her know how much we love her. Brian looks on quietly as I hear Lottie crying.

‘Hey, hey, less of that. You will have so much bloody fun, you won't even know I'm not there.'

She shakes her head as Dylan stands next to her, looking at the floor, and I'm reminded of little people going to school for the first time, being removed from me and what they know, and feeling completely unsure and unsettled about that situation. And it breaks me to see them like this, but it also makes me want to glass Brian. Keep it together, Zoe.

‘I love you both madly. And souvenirs, yeah?'

‘A Man City scarf maybe?' Dylan jokes.

‘Wash your mouth out, kid. Know your manor,' I say, putting on a London accent. The sound of him laughing is a relief. ‘Lottie-Lots, just try,' I whisper into her ear, holding her close and kissing her head. And I would hold her forever like this if I could, but I can't and I feel her grip loosen as she stands away from me. I wipe her cheeks and smile.

As they gather their things, I can hardly look at Brian even though I can sense he's trying to catch my eye. For what, Brian? To gloat? I hope you choke on your gyoza. Instead, I focus on the kids and lead them through the hallway, reminding Dylan to do up his coat and passing them sneaky ten-pound notes into their palms.

‘Love you, Mum.' That's from Dylan and those are the words that may very well end me.

‘Love you, too, Dyl.'

And I watch their bodies as they bundle into Brian's car, small arguments over shot-gunning the front seat, and wave at the car maniacally as they reverse out. And then they're gone. I walk back into the house, closing the door softly, the very haunting silence being my only company, as tears fall softly down my face.

I don't notice the doorbell at first. My tears took me to the sofa where I thought I'd just have a moment to weep and hug some pillows. Maybe I'd have a drink and do something I normally wouldn't if the kids were here, but then I don't remember a time without them. Maybe I'll finally get round to watching Bridgerton . Then I notice the doorbell. Maybe I ordered food and didn't remember. More likely it's next door asking me if I've seen their cat. They really need to put a tracker on that beast. I head to the door and notice two figures standing there. Jehovah's Witnesses? If this is the case, I might listen to their spiel just to have some company on a Friday night.

I open the door and before me stand Mia and Ed.

‘Oh, Zoe,' Mia says, noticing my damp face and swollen eyes. She enters the house and throws her arms around me.

‘Why are you here?' I ask, surprised to see them.

‘Well, Jack mentioned you'd be on your own and he was worried about you so…'

I smile to hear Jack's name, kind of glad he's not here to witness this strange meltdown of mine. ‘Well, that's very sweet. Come in, come in. I'm sorry I'm such a wreck, though. I'm literally still in work gear and I haven't got anything in. We could order some food?' I tell them, using a tissue I had up my sleeve to dab at my glowing nose. I lead them into the house, hoping they haven't seen the shadows of tearstains I've left on the cushions.

‘Did you have plans? Tell us if we're in the way and you'd rather be alone,' Mia says, looking around the place.

‘I hadn't really thought about what I'd do. I was just going to potter…' They both look at me curiously, Ed nodding like an ally who knows how a good potter is soothing for the soul. Mia looks less impressed as they both take a seat on my sofa. ‘You spoke to Jack then,' I quiz them. To be fair, with the kids out of the picture, Jack would have been the perfect distraction for this weekend, but I still debated if it was too soon, too complicated, too scary.

‘He said you've been texting,' Mia says, unable to contain her glee. I smile back at her. ‘Am I allowed to ask what that is?'

‘I don't quite know… You know about the kiss, don't you?' I ask them.

‘There was a kiss? Really?' Ed says, with a shocked expression. This is why Ed does not teach drama. He can see my raised eyebrow and looks sheepish. ‘He did come to us for advice.'

‘And what did you advise him?' I ask tentatively.

‘We said you've been through a lot, to go at your pace and maybe don't snog again on school grounds,' Ed says.

‘You kiss me on school grounds,' Mia replies, indignant.

‘Yeah, but not a full-on snog with tongues.'

I widen my eyes. Either Jack went into detail or that CCTV footage got out. Could you see my tongue? That's bloody awful.

‘Was that the right advice?' Ed asks.

I nod. It's spot-on, though I don't really know what my pace is. Like glacial slug speed. Is that something young Jack is willing to hang around for? They both sit there politely, waiting for me to react, to say something. ‘So, do you want to hang out tonight? I have wine, we could just get drunk?' I ask them, hoping they won't just spend the evening staring at me.

‘Actually…' Mia says, fidgeting in her lilac Converse. ‘We're here for other reasons. You're allowed to say this is a shit idea but actually it was Ed's.' She points to her husband and he takes over.

‘Look, at our wedding we were given a lot of random gifts and one of them was a night in a hotel in London. It's a spa hotel, the stay comes with treatments and food and… well, we're probably never going to use it…'

‘Ed doesn't do spas,' Mia explains. ‘He has concerns about hot tubs and fungi.'

Ed nods. ‘Legitimate concerns. So, we just thought… Well, we also felt bad that you never got to enjoy our wedding properly because of what happened with the phone call about your marriage ending, and, well, it's a tough weekend, and you've been through so much… we thought you'd like it? Like a gift to you,' he rambles.

‘Really?' I say, surprised by the kindness of the gesture. ‘To check in tonight? But…'

‘But… your kids aren't here so you can't use that as an excuse. You literally just have to bung some stuff in a bag. We phoned the hotel and they've got space. We'll also throw in a lift. Ed is an excellent driver,' Mia says. ‘You don't have pets, do you? We'd even look after them if you need.'

I feel my bottom lip tremble at the loveliness of it all. A spa? All I can think of is a bathtub I won't have to clean before I get in it, a bed I wouldn't have shared with my ex-husband at some point, a clean room free of memories of my kids, my family. It's wonderful to suddenly feel so elated by the idea.

‘Are you really sure? If someone gifted it to you…' I say.

‘It was Ed's aunt. That's probably why we'd have to take you, so we can take a photo in front of the hotel to prove we've been,' Mia confesses. ‘But really, I think this would be good for you.'

I go up to them, hugging them both tightly. It's strange when these big catastrophic life events happen. People hover around you waiting for you to fall, to catch you, but really what saves you is the singular gestures, whether those be unexpected chocolate bars, hugs, text messages or re-gifted spa trips. It's the sum of all these gestures that keep you afloat.

‘And, I mean, it's a couples' package – just in case you wanted to invite anyone else along?' Mia tells me. Ed elbows her sharply in the ribs, and they exchange a look.

I laugh. Not tonight.

Jack

‘THIS WAY! YOU'RE RUNNING TOWARDS THAT GOAL!' I shout across the football pitch at the many little people all herded around the football, drawn to it like magnets. They don't care if they're running the wrong way, they just want a touch of the ball. Little Vinnie charges towards the wrong goal, scores and then does some Ronaldo-style goal celebration like he's the king of the world. I double up in hysterics to see him, then blow the whistle around my neck. ‘KIDS, COME INTO ME!' I signal. Do they listen? Do they hell. They all continue to run around in circles while I blow the whistle three more times. Little heads start to get the message and herd in my direction, three of them wearing Manchester United gear which makes me shake my head. ‘WHO HAD FUN?' I yell.

They all scream something in return, some of them punching the air. I am really not sure how much football they learned but they got a run out and look incredibly excited about life. ‘Are you coaching us Sunday, Uncle Jack?' asks a little familiar auburn head in the middle of the pack.

‘No, George, your dad is taking that.'

‘Boooooo!' cries out his twin brother, Barney, and I smile because essentially that's validation that, as a coach, I'm pretty awesome.

‘I'm just helping out for the night because your dad is stuck at work and said he'd pay me in McDonald's.'

This makes this ten-year-old crowd laugh. ‘What do you get at McDonald's, Coach Jack?'

‘I get a chicken nuggets Happy Meal with a strawberry milkshake. And the toy, not the book. I'm no geek.' I get more laughs. Maybe I'm teaching the wrong age group. ‘Before we leave, please take your water bottles and don't leave until you see your mums or dads.'

Some of them come up to me to fist bump me and say their thank yous and for one brief moment in time, I know what it feels like to be Pep Guardiola after a training session. Such respect. One day, I hope one of you plays for England and remembers that time I made you run around all those multicoloured cones, wearing mouldy bibs that were two sizes too small.

In the car park beyond the gates, I see Dom running from his car, still in a work suit. He greets parents and heads over to me as I pack the equipment away. ‘Oh my, I owe you, little brother. Were they good? Did they listen?'

Dom is my only sibling, one of the few people I look up to. He was always the hero, always looked out for me, so it made sense that I would return the favour. Even if that sometimes takes the form of the occasional training session and babysitting, which basically is an excuse for me to play video games and induct those kids into the world of stuffed crust pizzas.

‘They were all amazing. If they win on Saturday, we can hope that's because of my excellent coaching.' I turn and see George running so fast in circles that he falls over. Maybe not.

‘We haven't won a match in two seasons, Jack. We were beaten 16-0 last week,' he tells me painfully.

‘Ouch. Why haven't they sacked you then?' I joke.

‘Double ouch. Because I'm a volunteer and no one else will do it? Unless you…' he says, hinting at me. ‘I bet they liked you. I'd buy you a McDonald's every day.'

‘Healthy.'

‘They do salads now.'

‘The answer is still no. I love you, I love George and Barns, and I will help out anytime, though.'

He sticks his tongue out at me as we walk towards the car park, and I heave the giant bag of balls and equipment over my shoulder across the astro pitch. It's a huge community pitch on the outskirts of South London where we grew up, herds of excitable kids being chased by exasperated coaches under the floodlights, the mid-autumn air starting to bite. I won't lie, it brings back fond memories of when I used to play, when our dad used to coach us and our mum used to stand there in her big red beanie with her Tupperware of cut-up oranges, getting overly excited every time her son had possession of the ball. ‘I'm still going to get a McDonald's for this, though, yes?' Needs must.

‘You strike a hard bargain… just not tonight. I've got to get these two to Cubs to tire them out. Bank that Maccy's for another time.' I flare my nostrils, unsure whether to just ask for the money. I stop at their family motor and wait for him to open the boot so I can deposit the kit. ‘Anyway, we need a catch up. Come over for lunch one Sunday. I want to hear more about how the new job is going. I always thought you'd be a decent teacher.'

‘You must have witnessed my fine command of the children tonight,' I joke. ‘It's all good. A little manic learning the ropes but I'm meeting some nice people.'

He nods in the way that Dom does. I gave four solid years to helping him out with his boys and there's gratitude there, but I think he always hoped that once I moved out, I'd find my own path. He's another who doesn't quite understand why I'm still drifting and haven't picked a vocation in life.

‘And do you think they might take you in? Train you up? I hear you can do that these days? Train on the job.'

‘Hold up there, sparky,' I tell him. ‘We'll see. I'm not sure teaching is for me.'

He rolls his eyes. ‘Jack-of-all-trades. Master of…'

‘All of them, you cheeky bastard!' He smiles at me, knowing he's legally not allowed to hate me. ‘By the way, I got the boys' birthday party invite. I'm there. What do I bring?'

‘Yourself and a big fucking box of Lego. That Ninjago shit. Are you bringing a girlfriend?'

‘That would be a no. You still dating that school run mum?'

He flares his nostrils. ‘Kind of. This is why we also need a catch up. She's into stuff.'

‘In bed?'

‘I need tips. I can't search for it on the internet because I put in that child protection security software. If I look it up at work, I'll get fired.'

‘Then I am intrigued,' I say, laughing. Then I pull a face. ‘Is it to do with wee?'

Dom laughs loudly so his breath fogs the air. George runs up behind him, throwing his hands around his waist. ‘What are you talking about?' he asks, his cheeks all rosy from the cold and the activity. ‘Do you need a wee, Uncle Jack?'

‘YES,' I say, attempting to be convincing by jogging from foot to foot. ‘I was also discussing birthdays. Your dad said to buy you a puppy… what colour do you want?'

‘REALLY?' Barney squeals.

Dom shakes his head at me. I hear the sound of male voices swearing behind us on another pitch and we instinctively cup our hands around the boys' ears. The other joys of football that I had forgotten about. I look over at the pitch and the majority of them don't look much older than eighteen. Some match is in full flow, the soundtrack provided by a row of spectator dads obviously knowing better than any referee. My attention is drawn to one of the boys at the back.

‘I know him. I teach him,' I say, pointing him out to the twins. It's Gabe from homework club. I watch him take on a lad and put in the most perfect tackle to dispossess him. ‘NICE, GABE!' I don't think he heard that, but Dom did, and he smiles.

‘I don't think teaching is for me,' he says, mimicking my voice. That's not what I sound like at all. ‘You crack on and watch the football. I've got to run. What do we say, boys?'

They bundle themselves into my arms and I smile broadly to be a part of that uncle-twin sandwich. ‘Thank you, Uncle Jack. Love you.'

‘Love you, too, buds. Be good. Think about a name for that puppy.'

They laugh. My brother does not. He bundles them into the car, and I wave them off, not before my attention is taken again by the football happening on the pitch across the way. I gave up football way before that age, being more distracted by girls really, but it's nice to see Gabe so invested in it and excelling in something he's obviously good at. I go up to the railings where he's playing, a final whistle blows, and it would seem his team are celebrating so I will take that as a win. I clap my hands and watch as Gabe heads over to the side of the pitch to talk to a parent, before catching my eye.

‘Mr Damon, what are you doing here? You watched my match?' he says, a tad cautious.

‘I was coaching my nephews on the other pitch. Just caught the last few minutes. Class tackle, by the way. I knew you were giving Van Dijk energy…'

He cracks a laugh and then I think I get something, possibly approval. It's the fact I'm in my adidas football boots that I wear once a fortnight for five-a-side, isn't it? The tracksuit makes me look like I know what I'm doing. I'll take that. I hope he tells people at school that I'm cool. I could do with the boost. Although Dom thinks differently, I'm still on the fence about teaching. Maybe it's the culture of being a sub but a lot of the kids presume they can doss in my lessons. I peer into other lessons and kids are sitting there, taking notes and learning. In mine, I'm begging them to just write the date down and not climb out of the windows.

As I turn away from the pitch, I see a girl in a fluffy bomber coat run up to Gabe to share her excitement of the win with him and I smile. She takes a selfie of them as he hangs an arm off her. Oh, young love. Why does it involve so many selfies, though? But I know what it means to feel the excitement and butterflies of a new relationship and I suddenly think of Zoe. It's been a very reserved week since our kiss. I went with Mia and Ed's advice and I'm being a gentleman and respecting her space. So, we talk, we keep it PG, I don't dip too much into innuendo. But that doesn't mean I feel any differently, that the kiss we shared hasn't opened some floodgate, that I don't think about her constantly. I've not sure I've ever craved someone so much. The intrigue about what that kiss could mean haunts me and I'd be lying if it's something that hasn't come into my mind every night before I go to sleep and have a wank, as crass as that sounds. Needs must.

As I stand there, I contemplate my next moves. It's Friday. God, I should be going out, right? I would if I wasn't so tired and it's too late to do the ring around and make plans. I should have just asked Dom for a tenner for that McDonald's or invited myself around to theirs. Maybe Frank's mum will have made us something to eat? I could wash my hair and start a show. Hold up there, Jack. That may almost be too exciting.

I look down at the last message I sent Zoe a few hours ago. Her kids were heading off with their dad this afternoon and I told her all would be fine and offered my services for a chat should she need it. She saw it but didn't reply. Was that too forward? I didn't want to suggest that with an empty house I could be someone who could fill that space. I hope she's alright. She was worried about her kids going off with their dad and I could feel the stress radiating off her, and all I really wanted to do was offer her a hug. Could I just go round, hug her and then go? That wouldn't be weird.

A message pops up on my screen.

Jack, you free tonight?

Like some saviour, someone who knew I was destined to be alone tonight comes to the rescue. Ed.

Can be? You out tonight?

We've ventured into town for some drinks. Come join?

He drops me a pin. It's actually only five Tube stops away so do-able once I have a quick shower, but the location is a tad confusing.

Are we getting massages? Spa hotel?

There's a pause.

We just had dinner here and we're hanging around. It's a nice bar. There are free nuts.

You are full of innuendo tonight. Stop flirting with me.

I can't. Are you coming? This is not innuendo by the way. Mia needs to know if she has to nick a chair from the next table.

To be honest, it could be just what I need. Not sure I could handle something too raucous this evening. Just a civilised drink with mates with some sort of bar snack involved because my own brother couldn't shout me a burger.

I can be there in an hour?

Excellent. See you in the bar. Wear nice shoes because I don't know the rules in these establishments anymore.

Can't wait

I text him, then I send him the chicken emoji. He doesn't reply which is no fun.

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