Chapter Twenty-Three

Edith propels herself into the kitchen, honing in on James like a missile and almost knocking him off his feet as she throws herself into his body. He stumbles, but manages to stay upright.

‘Hey, you.’ Hooking his hands under her arms, he hoists Edith up and rests her on his hip. ‘I think you’ve left scorch marks on the floor.’ He kisses her forehead before easing her back down onto the ground. ‘Do you know Arlo? He goes to your school.’

Edith observes Arlo before nodding her head. ‘He’s friends with Lola’s little brother.’ She clambers onto the chair next to Arlo, who’s already eaten the superhero salad from his plate and is now nibbling at his sandwich. ‘How old are you? I’m seven, the same as Lola. Lola’s little brother is six. My brother is bigger. And mean .’ She looks towards the kitchen doorway, her eyes narrowing to little slits and her mouth puckering as Seth slopes into the room.

‘What have you done now?’ James’ chest has expanded, as though he’s holding in a massive sigh.

‘What? Nothing. God .’ Puffing out a breath, Seth turns and thunders from the room, bumping into the woman passing through the doorway without apology. The woman shakes her head and holds her hands out to the side before letting them fall against her thighs.

‘He hit me.’ Edith rolls up the sleeve of her T-shirt and examines the flesh for some sort of mark. ‘Really, really hard. It made me cry, but just a little bit.’

The woman reaches into her handbag and produces a phone. ‘He found her playing on his phone. Needless to say he isn’t getting this back today, so I’m afraid he’s in a bit of a mood.’

The sight of the confiscated phone reminds me that I haven’t replied to Paul’s message yet. My fingers find the phone in my hoodie pocket but I leave it where it is for now.

‘I’m sorry to drop and run like this.’ The woman – Carla, the ex-wife, I’m assuming – smirks at James, displaying she’s not in the least bit regretful. ‘But I’m meeting a friend for coffee and I’m already running late.’

‘No worries.’ James steps forward and pecks her on the cheek. ‘I’ll drop them off at about seven?’

‘Perfect.’ She kisses the top of Edith’s head and raises her hand in a general farewell to the room before she dashes off.

The kettle clicks off, so I make a pot of tea for Gran and pour juice for the kids. Gran has finally sat back down at the table while James has gone in search of Seth for ‘a little chat’. I send a quick message to Paul (‘I just got a 6 year old boy to eat SALAD. How amazing am I?’) before joining Gran and the little ones at the table. James and Seth eventually make it back into the kitchen, leaning against the worktop to eat their sandwiches as there’s no more room at the table.

‘Can we have ice cream now?’ Arlo dumps a crescent-moon-shaped bit of sandwich on his plate and swipes the sleeve of his T-shirt across his mouth.

‘Can I have ice cream?’ Edith looks at her dad, her eyes wide and a tiny but hope-filled smile on her lips.

‘I was going to take Arlo over to the ice cream parlour in the park. He wants to try nepapoltan, don’t you, mate?’ I ruffle Arlo’s hair while leaning in towards James and whispering, ‘That’s Neapolitan to you and me.’

‘Can we go?’ Edith’s eyes are even wider now. ‘I want to try nepapoltan ice cream. Please?’

‘I can take Edith with us. And Seth.’ I’m not quite sure why I’m offering to take charge of two more kids – perhaps the superhero-salad-eating thing has gone to my head. I’m suddenly Mary Poppins with no fear of small humans. Or giant, gangly ones, in the case of Seth.

‘Why don’t we all go together?’ James takes his plate to the sink and turns the hot tap on. ‘It’s been years since I’ve had nepapoltan ice cream. Do you fancy an ice cream, Cordy?’

‘I think I’ll stay here.’ Gran catches my eye briefly before looking away. ‘And rest.’

‘You’d better.’ Grabbing Arlo’s plate, I tip the leftovers into the compost caddy and James takes it off me to wash. ‘If you touch the hoover – or any other household appliance – there’ll be trouble.’ I grab a tea towel and dry the plates, because I know if I leave them, Gran will take it upon herself to do it while we’re out.

The ice cream parlour is situated conveniently close to the play area of the park, though the swings and climbing frame are empty right now due to the persistent rain. Stepping into the shop is like stepping into another world; while it’s grey and drizzly outside, inside there’s an explosion of sugary-sweet colour, with gleaming pink and white tiles on the floor, pastel-coloured seat cushions, and blocks of soft shades on the walls. There’s an octagonal counter in the centre of the room, with three sides containing trays of every conceivable flavour of ice cream, two more containing a rainbow of toppings and another filled with jars of cones and wafers of various shape and size. The remaining two sides are lined with tall stools, which Edith and Arlo attempt to clamber up onto as soon as we step inside.

‘What would you like?’ I’m helping Arlo onto the stool, but I turn to Seth, whose expression is as dark as the clouds outside.

‘Whatever.’ He shrugs before sloping off to one of the booths by the window, dropping into the end seat so nobody can sit next to him.

I look at James and shrug. ‘Five nepapoltans then?’

It seems like a simple choice, but at Alessandra’s there is so much more to a Neapolitan ice cream. I have mine in a sundae glass, with whipped cream, chocolate sauce, rainbow sprinkles and a chocolate-filled rolled wafer. And it is a thing of beauty. So much so, I take a photo of it and post it to Instagram before digging in.

‘What do you think? Is nepapoltan your favourite?’

Arlo has chosen to have his ice cream served in a chocolate-dipped cone, with raspberry sauce and mini marshmallows on top. He’s only a few licks in and his face is already looking sticky.

‘Nepapoltan is the best .’ Arlo grins at me before taking an extra-long lick that leaves him with a blob of raspberry sauce on the tip of his nose.

‘It’s Ne- a -pol- i -tan.’ Edith slides down from her stool and heads over to the mini chalkboard menu propped up on the counter above the trays of ice creams. She points out the words and spells it out for us again.

‘So it is.’ I hit myself lightly on the forehead. ‘You’re a very clever girl.’

‘Mummy says I’m a genius.’ Edith shrugs and clambers back up onto her stool. ‘But I’m just good at reading.’

‘Daddy says you’re a genius as well.’ James straightens on his stool, throwing his shoulders back. ‘I’m always telling you how clever you are.’

‘ You tell me I’m a ratbag.’ Edith’s chosen to have her Ne- a -pol- i -tan ice cream served in a wafer bowl, and she’s mixed the scoops into a marbled, gloopy soup which she’s now spooning up and dropping back into the bowl.

‘That’s because you are a ratbag. But you’re a clever ratbag. And a messy one too.’ James wrestles a serviette from the metallic dispenser on the counter and leans over to wipe up a splash of ice cream soup. He grabs another and wipes the sticky sauce from Arlo’s nose. ‘And speaking of mess, what do you think your gran’s up to while we’re out? Deep cleaning the kitchen? Clearing the gutters?’

‘She’s probably using the opportunity to have the attic clear-out she’s been meaning to do for the past decade.’ I’m joking when I say this, but it fills me with worry, because I wouldn’t put it past Gran to tackle a huge task like that single-handedly (literally).

‘She’s definitely a determined woman.’ James plucks the fan wafer from his ice cream and bites off the pointed tip before dipping it back into his ice cream.

‘I think the word you’re looking for is stubborn.’

‘Capable?’

‘Stubbornly so.’ I catch James’ eye and smirk. ‘Seriously though, the woman’s like a machine. Not in an emotionless way – far from it – but she just gets things done, you know? She doesn’t let anything get in her way. Broken bones, well-meaning grandchildren…’

‘Or lodgers.’

I nod as I dig my spoon into my chocolate scoop of ice cream. ‘Or lodgers. Or even my mum, who’s also a force of nature. When you put the two of them together, there’s no stopping them. Like when my grandad had his stroke. I came home to help out and they’d already put their heads together and devised a rota so there would always be someone there to help Grandad, day or night, and the housework and the shopping and the cooking all got taken care of. I wasn’t much good at the cooking or the personal care, but I helped out with other stuff – washing up, hoovering, that kind of thing – and I’d sit with Grandad, reading the newspaper to him when he was too tired to do it himself or watching his favourite films with him while Gran rested.’

‘It sounds like you all came together to help your grandad.’

I give a one-shouldered shrug. ‘It’s what families do.’

‘Why didn’t you go off again on your travels, once your grandad was okay? Or go to university?’

I give another one-shouldered shrug and dig into my bowl again, filling the spoon with vanilla ice cream this time. ‘I don’t know.’ I do know, but I don’t want to say it out loud, in case all the other bits come out and James sees what a monster I am. ‘Everything had changed, I guess. People had moved on and I’d lost the passion for celebrity journalism.’ I grin at James, my face belying the guilt that’s squirming around inside and making the ice cream curdle in my stomach.

‘Daddy?’ Edith has slipped down from her stool and she’s standing in front of James, her head tilted to one side and her hands pressed together, palm to palm. ‘Can I show Arlo how to play on the pinball machine?’

‘Go on then.’ James reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a handful of change, sifting through for a couple of pound coins, which he passes to Edith. ‘Seth? Do you want a game?’ He holds up another quid and nods towards the pinball machine. Seth looks up briefly from his ice cream to sneer in reply. ‘Go on. It might be fun?’ He waves the pound in front of Seth’s face and though he rolls his eyes, he snatches the coin and shuffles over to the arcade machine. ‘“Pinball Wizard” by The Who.’

‘What?’

James scoops ice cream on the remaining half of his wafer. ‘That’s what you were humming just then.’

I hadn’t even realised I was doing it until James pointed it out. ‘Actually, it was the Elton John version.’

‘Are you into Seventies music?’

I shrug. ‘Russell – my boss – is, so I have to listen to it whether I like it or not. You’re a fan too, I’m guessing. I caught Gran dancing along to T. Rex in the kitchen earlier.’

‘Ah, yes. I was listening to it last night while cooking. Must have forgotten to take it back upstairs.’

‘Well, Gran seemed to be enjoying it. It was quite cute, actually.’ Gran’s usually into Diana Ross or the Bee Gees rather than glam rock, so I smile at the memory of her shaking her bum while she made the sandwiches.

‘Edith and Arlo seem to be enjoying the pinball.’

I twist in my seat so I can see the machine. Arlo and Edith are standing on either side of it, each taking control of one of the flippers, their faces lined with concentration as they hammer at the button constantly, no matter where the ball happens to be. Arlo hasn’t asked when his mum’s coming back for a while, so he must be having fun. First the superhero salad and now this. I am acing this babysitting thing.

‘Even Seth looks like he’s getting into it.’ I watch as Seth’s head jerks left and right as he follows the path of the pinball, his face more animated than I’ve ever seen it. Is that… a smile almost forming?

‘He’s a good kid underneath all those surly pre-teen hormones.’ James pushes his ice cream away. ‘I don’t think the divorce helped. Edith was so young, she just took it in her stride, but Seth didn’t react too well to the split. It’s taking him a bit more time to adjust.’

‘He’ll get there.’ I nearly reach out to squeeze James’ hand but shovel another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth instead.

James nods, eyes still on his son, who’s up on his toes now to get a better look at the flying pinball. ‘I hope so.’