at Poppy, who started to cry. She was tired – they were all tired, thought Willow as the plane stopped moving and the seatbelt light went off.
Willow jumped up. ‘Lucian, get your backpack and Custard,’ she said, gesturing to Custard who was tucked between two seats. Lucian did as she asked and Willow sent a silent thanks to the people who were helping him in his learning. He had grown more confident and even had a few words, mostly consisting of ‘Hi’, ‘No’, ‘Mummy’, ‘Pops’ and ‘Jint’, but it was a start, she thought. He was far more receptive to the world; he accepted her hugs and kisses, returned them even, and laughed with George the dog, who had reluctantly been put into kennels for the time they were away.
Poppy insisted that George had to go to Merritt’s to stay, but Willow said that Merritt was away on holiday. It was easier than trying to explain to Poppy that she, her mother, had ruined everything.
After an arduous time at the airport wrestling bags and children and with no help, Willow faced the American paparazzi. ‘Are you reuniting with your husband, Willow?’ they asked as she walked through the airport, Jinty sitting precariously on top of the Samsonite cases and waving the headphones at them that she had stolen from the plane.
Poppy walked behind her mother, in tulle, pink Doc Martens and the bonnet that she had taken from Middlemist. Lucian was next to her.
‘Mummy has a new boyfriend,’ said Poppy as she looked down the barrel of a camera.
‘Is that true Willow? Do you have a new boyfriend?’ screamed the photographers.
Willow stopped and dragged Poppy to her side by the elbow. ‘Be quiet,’ she hissed. ‘You know I don’t have a new boyfriend.’
‘Yes you do Mummy,’ said Poppy, her face puzzled.
‘What’s his name? Who is he?’ shouted one photographer at Poppy.
‘He’s a Merritt,’ said Poppy. Willow wanted to throttle her daughter but didn’t want to be arrested in a public space.
The photographers looked at each other. He’s a merit? they wondered.
‘He has merit?’ they asked.
‘Yes, she has Merritt,’ said Poppy, confused.
‘Jesus,’ said one as Willow pulled away in the waiting car. ‘I didn’t even know what that word meant until I was thirty.’
‘I still don’t know what it means,’ said one of the more aggressive photographers. ‘She must be a freaking genius,’ he said.
The next day gossip hit the wires that Willow had a new lover who had great merit, according to her genius, gifted child.
Merritt read it online at Middlemist and wondered what on earth it was all about. Willow has moved on, eh? he thought sadly; and so, it seems, have the children.
The house in Beverly Hills was modest by LA standards, but comfortable all the same. It was nice to be in the relative warmth, and the children insisted on swimming as soon as they arrived. Willow sat watching them, enjoying their screams of delight. Jinty floated in a giant plastic iced donut and Poppy and Lucian wore armbands and jumped in and out of the water until Willow dragged them out with the promise of ice cream. Kerr would be arriving any minute and she wanted the children to be clean and shiny and happy to see him.
The doorbell rang and she answered it. There stood Kerr. He looked good, she thought; LA obviously agreed with him. He had lost the puffiness that he had had the last time she saw him; too much wine and cocaine probably. Now he stood fit and well, tanned and wearing relaxed jeans, a white t-shirt and flip-flops.
‘Hey Willy,’ he said easily, using the name he had given her from when they first got together.
‘Hey Kerr,’ she said, a little icily. ‘Come in.’
Kerr walked inside. ‘This is nice,’ he said, looking around the Spanish villa.
‘It’s fine; it’s just for the holidays,’ she said. Kerr sat on a chair in the living room.
‘I thought you might stay now.’
‘Where? In America?’ asked Willow, confused.
‘Yes, well I’m going to live here, and I thought with you being American and all that …’ His voice trailed off.
Willow thought for a moment. In theory she should live in the States – she was American, her parents were here – but she had begun to think of England as home.
She liked England, with its funny ways and manners. She felt more English than American, while clearly Kerr had become a flag-waving Yank.
‘I don’t know, Kerr,’ she said. ‘I like England.’
‘Man, you don’t know what you’re missing,’