you xx
You too xx
Then he sends his usual reminder.
PS Don’t forget to delete.
When he finally rings at ten to seven, she’s in the middle of bathing Mabel and can’t answer. He leaves a message apologising for not being able to call earlier and suggests she phone him when she can. Amber feels irritated. He has no idea how difficult all this is. There’s no way she can call him back tonight. There’s Mabel to see to, the dinner to cook, not to mention the obvious fact that George will walk through the door at any moment.
She lifts Mabel out of the bath and wraps her in her fluffy hooded penguin towel. ‘Oh, you’re so cute,’ she says, rubbing her dry. She starts to fantasise about going around to Seth’s place. It would be so good to talk to him face to face, and he’d love to see Mabel. They haven’t spent any time together for ages. It’s not really possible for her to get away at weekends – a weekday would be better. Maybe Seth would be able to work from home one day next week, or even take a day off. Would he be prepared to do that for her? Perhaps, if he was seriously worried about her mental health. Then again, maybe she should just see a bloody doctor.
She hears the front door opening downstairs. ‘Hi!’ George calls up, shutting it behind him.
Amber does a quick change of gear. ‘Daddy’s home,’ she says to Mabel, picking her up.
He climbs the stairs and pokes his head around the door. ‘How are my two favourite girls?’
‘We’re fine, thanks. Can you finish off here while I get the supper ready? Sorry, I’m a bit behind.’
He pauses to contain his annoyance. ‘Okay. Just let me get my coat off.’
She carries on drying and dressing Mabel until George takes over, then hurries into the kitchen. It’s a quick-assembly meal tonight. Amber’s never been an ambitious chef, but since becoming a mum, she’s reverted to her old student menu of stir fries, pasta, oven chips and takeaways. Easy but boring. As she chops an onion, she thinks of their Michelin-starred dinner last Saturday and the incredible passion that followed. It feels like a lifetime away. Or rather, some other woman’s life that she borrowed for a short time but had to return.
‘I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid,’ George says as he puts Mabel – who clearly has no intention of going to bed yet – in her baby rocker and sits down to eat.
Amber’s face falls. ‘What do you mean? What bad news?’
‘It’s okay, no need to panic. I’ve got to go to a conference this weekend, that’s all. The company’s announcing plans for expansion. I wanted to send one of my assistants, but head office says all managers have to attend.’
‘How long for? Where? Will you have to stay over?’
‘It’s two nights in Manchester, so yes.’
She stares into her bowl of tuna pasta, tears pricking behind her eyes. ‘No. You can’t. Please don’t leave me on my own.’
George carries on eating. ‘Sorry, love. I’d much rather be at home with you and Mabel, but I can’t refuse. It’s not like she’s a newborn any more. I can’t use her as an excuse.’
‘But … but I need my weekends. I really, really need them. By the time Friday comes around, I’m dead beat. If I can’t lie in on Saturday morn—’
He puts down his fork. ‘You’ve only just had a break. Surely you can manage. It’s just a weekend, for God’s sake.’
‘But you know I’m struggling.’
He sighs. ‘Yes, yes, I do … I do my best, Amber, but if I gave up work, where would we be then?’
‘They can’t make you work weekends, it’s not fair.’
‘If you need support, ask your mum to come over.’
‘No way, she just makes me feel even more inadequate.’
‘Ruby, then.’
‘I can’t ask her two weekends running. Anyway, she’s probably already got plans.’ Amber looks at him imploringly. ‘Please don’t go. I need you here.’ She pauses. ‘Something’s wrong …’
‘What?’
‘Something weird happened this morning …’ She searches for the rest of the sentence, but the words scurry away.
‘What do you mean, weird?’ His tone is ever so slightly impatient.
‘I, er … had a memory lapse.’
‘What?’
She tells him about the washing machine and the wet sock, but he screws his face up, unimpressed.
‘Everyone has moments like that,’ he says dismissively. ‘Like walking into a room and forgetting what you came in for. Or arriving home and not being able to