raise you a whole load of things you’ll never even have thought of. It all comes out in the wash. They turn out okay in the end because we’ve put all that goodness in them from the beginning. It would be a boring old world if everyone toed the line all the time.’
And off she went with her colourful crocodile of little ones, splashing in puddles and singing a song I’d never heard before, but that appeared to have ‘motherfucker’ as the chorus, tinkling out of the mouths of her innocent babes.
I felt strangely uplifted and waved to Faye, who was cutting across the car park. ‘Jo!’
I walked towards her. We hugged, my heart lifting with the simple pleasure of being with someone I could just be myself with.
‘See Old Mother Jasmine cornered you. How many kids has she got now?’
‘Some of them are her grandchildren, I think. She’s quite nice really.’
‘Careful. She’ll have you joining her on a sit-in about the proposed runway at Gatwick.’
I didn’t want to slag off Jasmine, so I diverted Faye: ‘Our girls in the sixth form! Where did that time go? Seems yesterday that Phoebe snatched the Jesus from Georgia in the Reception nativity!’
I’d loved Faye for how she’d hooted over that. It was the start of an irreverent friendship that had seen me through many a competitive cake bake. She’d also been pretty vocal in her support when things had started to go downhill with Phoebe over the last year – ‘Honestly, all teenagers do this stuff. If I’d had access to a smartphone at fifteen, who knows what trouble I could have got into?’ She’d made a point of standing with me at the final assembly before they went on study leave for their GCSEs and whispering comments about the amount of Botox present in the room.
I filled her in now on Andrea’s nosiness about how we were getting on with Victor.
‘She probably doesn’t realise that beyond her dinner parties and stuffed quails’ eggs, there’s a whole universe of people doing unselfish things for the good of mankind. Don’t worry about the likes of her and her little band of evils.’ She winked at me. ‘I think you’re doing brilliantly. It’s bound to be hard – teenagers are testing at the best of times. Can you sneak out for lunch one day soon? Gonna need a bit of a sanity check with Georgia getting on the Oxbridge treadmill. Not going to need my telescope to spot the competitive parents there.’
‘I’m sure I can squeeze in a lunch. Are you going to watch Jordan play rugby on Saturday?’ I asked.
‘Yes, why? Are you going?’
‘Apparently so. Mr Sanderson’s just invited Victor to join the team on Saturday. Not quite sure if he’ll actually get to play much, but it’s good that he’s getting involved.’
‘Woo! Brilliant! Look forward to some female company among all the dads who think they’re bloody Tuilagi. See you there then. Jordan’s captain this year, so I’ll give him the nod to make sure Victor gets a bit of a turn and that all the boys give him a proper welcome into the team.’
I thanked her, waving her off, feeling a bit less furious with myself for not telling Andrea the truth, that I asked myself every day if we’d made a huge mistake. Thank God for Faye, helping me put silly gossiping mums into perspective.
When I got home, as a penance for allowing myself to wish Victor wasn’t complicating our lives, I decided to change the sheets on his bed. I made Phoebe do her own and told myself off for encouraging Victor to think that boring household drudgery was beneath a man, but I just wanted him to feel welcome. I hovered at the door of his room, wondering whether he’d mind me poking about when he wasn’t there. In the end, I decided that I couldn’t bring back Ginny but I could offer the momentary joy of climbing into a bed with fresh linen.
I smiled at the mural they’d painted on the wall, the wonky Wales lettering above the dragon-pug. I brushed away the twinge of nostalgia for my classy cream guest room and studied the photos on the desk. Victor at the Millennium Stadium with his friends, with their red and green hats, all waving their flags. He must find our Sussex backwater so different from city life. The photo of Ginny and Victor clinking glasses down at Cardiff Bay on her last birthday winded me. We