The Only Boy For Me Read online

  Charlie is very pleased to get home, and rushes around touching all his toys and hurling duvets about, like a small animal marking out its territory. Kate rings and says the weather has been appalling, and she doesn’t want to see me until my tan fades. Mack calls and wants to see me straight away, but settles for next weekend. Then Lizzie calls.

  ‘So. Did she make you eat Spam?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I knew it. Honestly, when is she going to get over this obsession with tinned meat?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it can’t come soon enough for me.’

  ‘Did she drive you crazy?’

  ‘No, she was lovely actually. We had a bit of a scene one night, when Charlie played up and she wanted to slap him. Or rather she wanted me to.’

  ‘Oh dear, I bet that went down well.’

  ‘Yes, we had a frank exchange of views, but then we had a nice cup of tea and it was fine.’

  ‘Oh good. Did you go anywhere interesting?’

  ‘Not really. We went to the volcano and it took me twenty minutes to get Mum out of the car, but really it was just a lovely lazy week. Charlie had a brilliant time, and I think Mum did too.’

  ‘Good. Lucky you, I’ve been driven nearly demented by those bloody people and their sodding kitchen.’

  ‘Oh dear. Charlie’s brought you back a really tasteful present – will that help?’

  ‘If it’s as tasteful as that hideous donkey you brought back from Turkey, then to be frank, no.’

  It rains constantly, so my tan is fading fast. Charlie goes back to school, but the endless rain means they get no proper playtimes. All the children get very grumpy and are almost hysterical by the end of the day after being cooped up in a small classroom with the wet play box, which consists of old tattered board games and a couple of bean bags.

  Mack has come up with a new plan for us to meet this weekend. He’s arranged to pick up Daisy and Alfie on Friday, and will take them home at teatime on Saturday, and then belt down the motorway and spend the rest of the weekend here. I can’t help asking how his ex-wife, Laura, feels about this. But Mack says they had a very amicable separation, which began at her instigation. She’s now doing a course in homoeopathy, which is something she always wanted to do but Mack made fun of it. She’s also found a wonderful new man, Troy, who’s a herbalist and wears sandals, even in winter. Mack thinks he’s a complete prat, but the kids like him.

  Apparently Laura and Troy are rather keen to go to a lecture on Friday night, on the uses of common hedgerow plants, although I think Mack might have made this up, but it means it’s all worked out rather neatly. And if I ever need miniature doses of belladonna Mack knows just where to get them. I’m secretly hugely relieved that there’s no bitter ex-wife lurking about in the background, especially not one studying the uses of common hedgerow plants.

  Charlie’s school has a church service this morning, something they do once a term. Charlie is sulking, because he says he’s a pagan. I tell him he can always stay at school and do maths worksheets with the school secretary, and he decides he might go after all. We get to the church, which is tiny and ancient and down a narrow lane surrounded by fields, which the recent rain has turned into a quagmire. Charlie steps into a huge puddle as soon as he gets out of the car. I do the best I can with a tissue, but he looks like he’s been in a mud-wrestling tournament on the way to school, and lost every round. The sun comes out, and the scene is transformed into something from a Thomas Hardy novel. I love living in the country at moments like this: it’s very beautiful and timeless and deeply relaxing. Apart from the mud.

  Mrs Harrison-Black seems to have appointed herself church warden for the day, and is annoying everybody by standing at the door reminding people to wipe their feet. The children all file into the pews at the front and begin to wriggle. The parents are all at the back, and I manage to sit with Kate and Roger, who says Sally has told him to keep a close eye on William because he managed to get at the biscuit tin this morning and ate a whole packet of chocolate digestives while nobody was looking. Sure enough, he can be seen batting a small boy on the head with his hymn book. Miss Pike is oblivious, and seems to have fallen asleep, or maybe she is praying. Roger does his best with piercing glares, but to no avail. Finally he has to tiptoe to the front, lift William up out of his seat and whisk him outside before he can cause permanent brain damage.

  We wait for the telltale sounds of slapping outside the church door, but thankfully Roger has gone for the Reasonable But Firm approach, and comes back in a few moments with William holding his hand, looking much calmer. He sits with us, and concentrates on swinging his legs backwards and forwards, just missing the pew in front each time. The vicar arrives, and begins a rather brave attempt at a modern child-friendly service. He asks the children what happens if we put a seed in the ground, and they all look perfectly blank, until one little boy puts his hand up and says, ‘Does it grow into a beanstalk?’ I assume he’s hoping that the text for today might turn out to be Jack and the Beanstalk. The vicar says very sweetly, ‘Well, sort of. But what I really meant was that from little acorns mighty oaks do grow,’ and the children all go, ‘Oh.’

  The vicar then waffles on for what seems like hours about the importance of being kind, and nice, and how we should all sow the seeds today of the people we want to be tomorrow. I’m in the middle of a daydream where I find a packet of seeds which turn me into Cindy Crawford, when the children all stand up and begin ‘singing’ ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’. A very old lady has come to play the organ, and she’s not exactly zippy in her delivery, so the children finish the song about three minutes before she does.

  The vicar then launches into prayers, and thanks the children for behaving so nicely in God’s house. They all look around them as if God will appear from behind the font at any moment. Then they all surge back up the aisle and cause a massive scrum by the doors in an effort to get back out into the sunshine and run around before their parents can grab them and get them into cars for the drive back to school. One dad is shouting, ‘For Christ’s sake, get into the car now,’ just as the vicar comes out of the church. Roger and I start to laugh, and Kate says she once did something similar right behind Our Vicar at the harvest festival, and was so embarrassed she went bright red from head to foot and Mrs Taylor asked her if she was feeling ill. I offer to take William and Rosie back to school so Roger can get off to work, and he gives me a look of utter devotion and practically sprints to his car. William and Charlie sit in the back saying rude things about Our Vicar, and Rosie sits in the front telling me that when she’s grown up she’s not going to have any babies at all. And if she does they will not be boys. Definitely. Because everybody knows boys are stupid. Luckily the boys are too busy libelling the vicar to hear.

  I spend the rest of the morning trying to sort out a pile of bills, bank statements and various other irritating bits of paper which seem to have arrived in the last few days. Barney rings and tells me about two new scripts: both dog-food commercials, studio jobs, and from Mack’s agency.

  ‘Great, Barney, I could do with the work. I’ve just been looking at my bank statement.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a huge mistake. You should just throw them in the bin like I do.’

  ‘Well, if these jobs happen I won’t have to worry.’

  ‘Of course it probably didn’t hurt us that you’re shagging the creative director.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Oh, don’t play the innocent with me. I’m talking about you and Mack MacDonald. You know, the one that turned up on the shoot and you nearly fainted when he got out of the car. Honestly, I’m not totally blind, you know.’

  ‘Yes you are, Barney. Don’t you remember that job in Wales when the crew all changed clothes, and then put their coats on back to front? You were oblivious until they all put their hoods up and started falling over.’

  ‘That was different. Anyway, Lawrence told me.’

  ‘Told you what? Honestly, w
hat is the matter with that man? Come on, tell the truth, you didn’t notice a thing.’

  ‘Look, don’t get stroppy with me. I’m not complaining, you know – it’s about time you found yourself someone to play with when Charlie goes to sleep.’

  ‘Bugger off, Barney.’

  ‘I was just joking, I think it’s great. Just remember to tell Mr MacDonald that calling Lawrence about a folder he’d left at the hotel was a bit obvious, even for Lawrence. You know what he’s like, he probably rang the hotel and sent forensics down.’

  ‘Look, it’s very early days yet; I was going to tell you when there was really something to tell. I know how much you adore agency people.’

  ‘Well, he’s all right, actually. We had a word in the car and he seemed to have a fairly good grip on things.’

  ‘You mean he said you were a genius.’

  ‘Well, yes, there is that, but that’s a sign of good taste, nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘So you’re not going to go on and on about it then?’

  ‘On the contrary, my dear, I shall whine and moan like I always do, and if he turns up on one of my shoots and starts throwing his weight about you’re fired. But apart from that, good luck to you. Oh, and by the way, I told Lawrence I knew all about it and was delighted. He’s furious.’

  ‘You are brilliant, Barney. Thanks.’

  ‘My pleasure. When are you in next?’

  ‘Friday, if that’s OK?’

  ‘Fine. We’ve got another crap script in, for fizzy orange or something – crap idea but I might be able to do something with it. Should be a nice job, it’s got a piano going down a staircase. It’ll be a huge budget.’

  ‘Barney. I’ve told you, I am not doing any more jobs with you that involve stunts, and that’s final. I still have nightmares about that helicopter.’

  ‘Oh no, this one’s not like that. I just need to work out how to stop the piano once it’s come down the stairs, and it’ll be a piece of cake.’

  I tell Mack all about my chat with Barney when he phones, and he offers to track down Lawrence and punch him on the nose. I’m sorely tempted but decline. Actually it’s a bit of a relief that Barney knows, which means the entire office knows. I won’t need to make secret phone calls, and can call on the girls for support if I need it. I’m also pleased that Mack seems totally unconcerned that Lawrence is gossiping his way round London. I ring Leila to share the news with her, and she is jubilant and says we are now officially a couple and should have a dinner party at the first opportunity. I tell her I would rather stick pins in my eyes. She says she knew I would say that.

  Work on Friday turns out to be frantic, because the timing on the dog-food films has suddenly changed and they want them as soon as possible. I spend the entire day doing budgets, and arguing with Lawrence. Get home exhausted at ten, and Edna says Charlie was such an angel tonight she promised him she would ask Mummy to take him swimming tomorrow morning, and she hopes I don’t mind but it was the only way she could get him out of the bath. We have a cup of tea and she tells me all about her son’s latest request for a loan. Apparently he wants a new car this time. Bastard.

  Charlie creeps into my bed at some point during the night, and wriggles so much I get hardly any sleep. I wake up very grumpy and tell him there’s no way I am going swimming. He sulks, and I lose my temper and tell him not to be such a brat, and he bursts into tears. I spend the next half-hour reading him a boring book about badgers to make up, and then he launches into a mammoth Lego-building session which is still going on when Mack arrives. Mack is forced to build a Lego castle while I make supper, but he copes very well. He even manages to persuade Charlie to stop firing the Lego ‘cannon balls’ into the fire, which I have failed to do for most of the afternoon, by suggesting that they go into a special cage in the castle and are saved up until the invaders arrive.

  I begin a long debate with Charlie as to what is the appropriate time for going to bed. I let him stay up late as a special treat – actually only an extra half an hour but he thinks it’s midnight – and then he barely makes it up the stairs before falling asleep. I come back downstairs to find Mack is also asleep, so I leave him to doze and I’m doing the washing-up when he wanders into the kitchen.

  ‘Sorry about that, the kids were exhausting last night.’

  ‘No problem, do you want some more coffee?’

  ‘Actually what I really want is some sleep. I don’t suppose there’s any chance I could actually sleep in a bed, is there? I mean, with you, in a bed, waking up with you. You know the sort of thing.’

  ‘Alright. But don’t be surprised if Charlie bounds in at the crack of dawn.’

  ‘Fair enough. I’ll try to bear that in mind.’

  It’s lovely settling down to sleep with him like proper grown-ups, and my newly acquired tan is a great success. Mack turns out to be not tired at all, and I fall asleep in his arms hours later, feeling very content but a little bit worried in case Charlie charges in and is shocked at the sight of Mack in my bed. As it turns out he simply pushes Mack to one side and jumps into the middle of the bed at some point just after dawn. Mack merely groans, and has obviously had previous experience of being booted in the stomach by small boys because he doesn’t even wake up. We all doze for a bit, and then Charlie suddenly sits bolt upright, shouts, ‘Cartoons,’ and rushes off downstairs, desperate not to miss a second more. I get up to make coffee, and return to find Mack is in the bath singing.

  Everything seems very peaceful, and I’m in the kitchen when Charlie comes running in.

  ‘Mummy, did you know Mack is in our bath, and he’s got no clothes on?’

  Oh God: I feel sure my response to this will be vital to Charlie’s whole psychological future.

  ‘Well that’s alright, isn’t it, Charlie? I mean, Mack can have a bath, can’t he?’

  ‘Yes, of course he can. But when I went into the bathroom he covered up his willy.’

  I bet he did.

  ‘Yes, well, that’s OK too, isn’t it? I mean, some people are shy about that sort of thing, you know, Charlie.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But he used my flannel, Mummy. Tell him not to use my flannel.’

  I think this might be some sort of defining moment: must stand firm, yet be reassuring.

  ‘Charlie, don’t be silly. You can have a clean flannel out of the airing cupboard at bathtime. There’s no need to fuss. Now, do you want crispy bacon and scrambled eggs, or just crispy bacon?’

  He yells, ‘Bacon,’ and rushes off back upstairs and then I hear him shouting, ‘It’s OK, Mack. You can use my flannel to wash your willy, Mummy says she’ll get me a clean one for later.’

  Mack eventually wanders into the kitchen, with a huge grin on his face.

  ‘I promise to bring my own flannel next time. Honestly, I nearly had a heart attack. What happened to the lock on the door? Did you take it off specially to traumatise house guests, or what?’

  ‘Charlie kept locking himself in. I nearly had to call the fire brigade the last time, so I took it off. I’m sorry he barged in on you like that.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry. Alfie went through a phase of sitting watching me in the bath, and I got quite used to it. He didn’t like me using his flannel either, but there’s only so much silent staring a man can take.’

  We spend the morning dodging Lego, but feel very calm and relaxed. Mack reads the papers and I cook lunch. I could get used to this. Manage not to burn anything, and Mack says it’s the best lunch he’s had in ages, which is a patent lie unless smart London restaurants have gone into terminal decline, but nice of him to say it anyway. We go for a walk in the woods, and Charlie tries to track down pheasants by leaping into bushes clapping his hands. He’s astonished that this does not reveal a single one. Mack asks if we would like to come up to town next weekend and stay with him in his house, because Alfie and Daisy will be there and it might be fun. I’m rather staggered by this, but agree and say I’m sure it will be lovely. Can’t help feeling that meet
ing his kids is another crucial landmark stage, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it. But at the same time I’m glad he’s asked. Charlie says he would like to meet Alfie, but is not keen on girls because they are silly and whisper. Mack says he knows just what Charlie means, and I pretend to get annoyed which delights Charlie.

  Mack leaves after tea, and drives off up the lane tooting his horn a lot which Charlie thinks is brilliant although I suspect the neighbours might not agree. Charlie and I spend ages wrestling with homework. He insists on drawing Viking warriors with machine guns, despite my assertion that this is both historically inaccurate and not what Miss Pike had in mind when she said they should write about what they did at the weekend. I ring Leila and Kate in the evening, and the general consensus is that meeting the kids is a vital next step, fraught with potential pitfalls, and bound to be a bit tense. But it also means he is serious. I go to sleep feeling dazed and confused, but very happy.

  The next few days are frantic with work, because the dog-food jobs have got the go-ahead and the shoot is set for next week. Luckily the scripts are nothing to do with Mack, so I won’t have to face working with him again just yet. One of his junior creative types, Paul, has written them, so he’s the face of the agency for this job. I go into the office and have endless meetings with Barney, which Lawrence tries to infiltrate with a variety of pathetic excuses which finally provoke Barney into telling him to piss off. Paul turns up at the casting, and turns out to be rather sweet. I tell this to Mack and he gets all huffy and says he hopes I don’t make a habit of having passionate encounters with agency personnel on shoots, because if I do he will just have to turn up unexpectedly to check how things are going.

  A letter comes home from school to say lots of children in Charlie’s class have got nits. I get busy with the comb and shampoo, and sure enough Charlie has got them too. Actually I only find three, but according to the leaflet they breed at an astonishing rate, so there could be seven million by morning. I feel sick, and wash my own hair, twice. Try very hard not to share my revulsion with Charlie, but I needn’t have worried. He’s delighted – he calls them his nitters and wants to keep them in a bottle, so he can try to teach them tricks. I veto this firmly, and have a hideous time in Boots buying multiple bottles of nit shampoo. I decide to buy all the embarrassing goods at one time, so I take the opportunity to stock up on condoms. The woman behind the till gives me a very funny look.