‘Can you take the girls upstairs, Sylvie?’ says Dan in unreadable tones, and my heart flips over. ‘Just until I say so.’
‘OK!’ I say, my voice a bit strangled. What has Dan done?
I hustle the girls into their room and read them a Winnie-the-Pooh story in a self-conscious voice, all the while thinking: erotic chair? Erotic sofa? Erotic … oh God, what else is there? A sex swing? (No, Dan couldn’t have ordered that. Our joists would never support a swing.)
I’m desperate to google big sex item needs delivery in van on my phone, only the girls are bound to grab it. (This is the trouble with your children learning to read.) So I just have to sit there, talking about Heffalumps, getting into a lather of suspicion and fantasy … when, at last, I hear the front door slamming and the sound of Dan’s tread on the stairs.
‘Come downstairs,’ he says, looking round the door, his whole face glowing. ‘I have quite a surprise for you.’
‘Surprise!’ yells Tessa joyfully, and I glance at her in alarm.
‘Dan, should the girls …’ I give him a meaningful glance. ‘Is this suitable?’
‘Of course!’ says Dan. ‘Go to the kitchen, girls. You won’t believe your eyes!’
The kitchen?
OK, I’m really not following this.
‘Dan,’ I demand as we go downstairs, the girls hurrying ahead. ‘I don’t understand. Is this your sexy surprise?’
‘It certainly is.’ He nods beatifically. ‘But not just sexy … beautiful. She’s beautiful.’
She?
‘Arrrggh! A snake!’ Tessa comes bombing out of the kitchen and wraps her arms round my legs. ‘There’s a snake in the kitchen!’
‘What?’ My heart thumping, I skitter into the kitchen, turn around and immediately jump back six feet. Oh my God. Oh my God.
Lined up against the wall, where our toy box used to be, is a glass tank. Inside the glass tank is a snake. It’s orange and brown and has a black snakey eye and I think I might vomit.
‘Wh – wh—’ I’m gibbering. I’m actually unable to form words. ‘Wh—’
‘Surprise!’ Dan has followed me in. ‘Isn’t she lovely? She’s a corn snake. Bred for captivity, so you don’t have to worry about her getting upset.’
That’s not what I was worried about.
‘Dan.’ Finally I find my voice and grab his lapels. ‘We can’t have a snake.’
‘We have a snake,’ Dan corrects me. ‘What shall we call her, girls?’
‘Snakey,’ says Tessa.
‘No!’ I’m nearly hyperventilating. ‘I won’t have a snake! Not in the house! I won’t do it, Dan!’
At last, Dan looks at me properly. Eyebrows raised innocently. As though I’m the one who’s being unreasonable. ‘What’s the big deal?’
‘You said you were getting something sexy!’ I hiss furiously. ‘Sexy, Dan!’
‘She is sexy! She’s exotic … sinuous … You must agree.’
‘No!’ I shudder. ‘I can’t even look at her. It,’ I correct myself quickly. It’s an it.
‘Can we have a dog?’ pipes up Anna, who is quite intuitive and has been watching our exchange. ‘Instead of a snake?’
‘No!’ cries Tessa. ‘We have to keep our lovely snakey …’ She attempts to hug the glass tank and the snake uncoils.
Oh God. I have to look away. How could Dan think a snake was a sexy surprise? How?
By the time the girls are in bed, we’ve reached a compromise. We will give the snake a chance. However, I do not have to feed, handle or look at the snake. I will never even touch the freezer drawer dedicated to its food. (It eats mice, actual mice.) Nor am I calling it Dora, which is what the girls have named it. It is not Dora, it is the Snake.
It’s 8 p.m. and we’re sitting on our bed, exhausted by our negotiations. The girls are in bed and have finally stopped creeping out to ‘see if Dora’s all right’.
‘I thought you’d like it,’ says Dan dolefully. I think the truth has finally dawned on him. ‘I mean, we talked about having a snake …’
‘I was joking,’ I say wearily. ‘As I have explained about a hundred times.’ It never occurred to me he might be serious. I mean, a snake?
Dan leans back against the headboard with a sigh, resting his head against his hands. ‘Well, I surprised you, anyway.’ He looks over with a wry smile.
‘Yup.’ I can’t help smiling back. ‘You did.’
‘And you liked your cardigan, anyway.’
‘It’s stunning!’ I say with enthusiasm, wanting to make up for the snake. ‘Honestly, Dan, I love it.’ I stroke the fabric. ‘It’s so soft.’