used to know Rob’s sister Hannah too and I met her in Stockholm at the weekend. She’ll be at the wedding.’ He had a sudden flash of schooldays at Bettsbrough Comp when bringing a girl’s name into conversation was referred to as ‘mentionitis’ and was meant to mean you liked her.
‘I’m going to have a new dress. We’re going on Saturday to buy it, before trick or treating, aren’t we?’ Josie snuggled up to Nico on the mushroom-coloured carpet, relaxing as they talked of good things.
‘That’s right.’ He kissed the top of her head. Would his heart get through his daughter’s childhood in one piece?
He remained for another ten minutes, cuddling, chatting, comforting, until he could take Josie down to Tilly and belatedly hurry off to work.
At lunchtime, when he’d returned from getting his hair cut, he received a reply from Rob: Thanks for checking on Hannah. Glad she’s OK. See you at the wedding.
Nico replied: Sure. Then he dived into meeting notes, eating a salad from the cafeteria.
His business week proved exhausting. Meeting chased meeting. A UK ice-hockey team client came to him with doom-and-gloom prophecies over a sponsor going bust. Two members of Nico’s SLS team, Ellie and Jack, were found out in an affair and Ellie’s husband worked for an SLS client. The husband screamed at Ellie and she turned up at work red-eyed. Jack stormed over to the client’s premises in Borough and screamed back at the husband. It absorbed a lot of Nico and HR’s time. After Josie went to bed each evening he caught up on emails, writing tenders or reading contracts and then fell into bed and struggled to switch off his brain.
Throughout it all, he ate conscientiously three times a day. Sometimes it wasn’t as much as planned, but he ate. Emelie had checked out his haircut and given it the seal of approval with: ‘’Bout time,’ and a thumbs up. He was meeting all his goals.
Now, Saturday, he refused to so much as glance at his inbox.
Today was for Josie. He’d take her to Brent Cross in search of a pretty dress for Rob’s wedding and later they’d meet with Stephanie, Martha and their mummies and spend two hours begging at strangers’ doors for tooth-rotting sugary crap – his interpretation, not Josie’s. To her, trick or treating meant excitement and an excuse to gorge on treats not normally encouraged. Afterwards, he’d deliver her to Loren.
On Sunday, while Josie was with her mum and little sister, he’d treat himself to a long, long outdoor run. He’d go to Hampstead Heath and clear his lungs of fumes and over-breathed suburban air. Maybe then he’d get his emails and reports up to date before he picked Josie up ready for school on Monday.
School on Monday. School on Monday. SCHOOL ON MONDAY.
He didn’t know if it loomed in Josie’s mind but it did in his.
By mid-afternoon, Josie was the proud possessor of a cobalt blue dress studded with silver beads for Rob’s wedding and was excited about jumping into a witch costume and acquiring a green face and a wart on the end of her nose, courtesy of Emelie’s face-painting skills. Then they called for Josie’s friends to go trick or treating. Nico strolled behind with the mummies, listening as they discussed balancing a career and parenthood, as if he didn’t face that challenge. Josie, Stephanie and Martha gabbled and giggled, losing pointy hats and tripping over broomsticks as they trod garden paths at houses with pumpkins outside and knocked on doors, calling, ‘Trick or treeeeee-eat.’ He hoped fervently that renewing her links with Stephanie and Martha would reassure Josie that Jessica’s defection wasn’t the end of her world.
Finally, they said their goodbyes and, after going home to stash Josie’s share of the tooth-rotting sugary crap and pick up her overnight bag, set out for Loren’s soulless modern flat. It was eight-thirty when they climbed the stairs and rapped on the door. Josie, her face paint smeared, had already moved her focus from Halloween. ‘Are we going to a fireworks display soon? And when will the Christmas lights go up in Oxford Street?’ She knocked again, banging the letterbox with both hands.
Nico consulted his phone. ‘Fireworks display on Saturday the seventh.’ He was making a note to find out about the lights when Loren finally answered the door.
Josie gasped, ‘What’s the matter, Mummy?’ and Nico looked up sharply. Loren, framed by the doorway, looked spaced out. Her short hair a dull brown bush, mascara crescents