this arrangement, I reflected, was that Theo was never going to learn to share better while he was with a child so much less advanced than him. If anything, he was just going to get used to having the undivided attention of two adults at once. And what was having a nanny with limited English going to do to his speech delay? It really was only a stopgap solution.
But I suspected Miles and Lucy didn’t see it that way. I wondered how long it would take to get some kind of payout from the hospital. After that, hopefully, we’d be able to sort out our own childcare again.
* * *
—
THE REST OF THE week passed without incident, and without word from Miles. And on the plus side, now that Theo was no longer at nursery I didn’t have to bother with a costume for World Book Day. It gave me quiet pleasure when I bumped into one of the nursery mums by the organic fruit and veg in Sainsbury’s and spotted a Where’s Wally? costume in her trolley. I remembered her name: Sally Russell. She’d been one of the prime movers behind the group I’d dubbed “the motherhood,” constantly making snide remarks to the effect that full-time dads made clueless carers.
“How lovely,” I said, glancing down. “Harry will look so cute in that.”
Sally flushed. “I was going to make one, but he absolutely refused to be a mouse again. And it’s only seven pounds fifty.”
“So it is,” I agreed. “Makes you wonder where they source it, doesn’t it? Long-sleeved shirt, trousers, and hat. Is it Fairtrade cotton?” I leaned down to look. “Oh. Polyester. Cambodia. Shame.”
I shouldn’t have been enjoying myself so much, but if the boot had been on the other foot, she’d have shown no mercy. And it didn’t take her long to come back swinging.
“And how’s poor old Theo?” she said, her voice dripping with concern. “We were all so upset to hear he’d been excluded. Where did you manage to place him, in the end?”
“Theo’s fallen on his feet, actually. We’ve found a really good nanny share with”—I hesitated—“with friends.”
“That’s great. He probably wasn’t quite ready for preschool, was he?”
“Probably not,” I agreed. I really wasn’t bothered by her barbed comments, which was nice as I was fairly sure she was bothered by mine. “Good to see you, anyway.”
As I moved off she said suddenly, “Did you hear about Jane Tigman?”
I turned. “No. What happened?”
“She got knocked off her bike and broke her leg.”
“Knocked off how?”
Sally shook her head. “She can’t remember anything about it. She thinks it was a car, rather than a van or bus, but she’s not absolutely sure. It must have just touched her back wheel, she thinks, and sent her flying. Whoever it was, they didn’t stop. Luckily it was just after she’d dropped Zack off, or he’d have been on the bike with her.”
“That’s terrible,” I said. Jane might have been responsible for Theo leaving the nursery, but it was impossible not to feel sorry for her. “Send her my best wishes, will you?”
42
MADDIE
I’M AT WORK, REDOING the budget for a commercial—the client has arbitrarily decided it should cost 20 percent less, but is adamant it shouldn’t look 20 percent less good—when Ingi from reception calls.
“Maddie, there are some people here to see you. From the NHS.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Is there anywhere we can talk in private?”
“The Surfer room is free. I’ll put them in there, shall I?” All our meeting rooms are named after famous commercials, which tends to confuse the clients.
Obviously, this must be to do with our claim. But I’m surprised they’ve come to see me without an appointment. Is it some kind of ambush, to catch me off guard? Or is this the way they do things here in the UK? Either way, I decide, there’s no point in getting worked up about it before I know what they want.
In the meeting room, a man and a woman are waiting. Both wear suits and open-necked shirts. The man, who’s younger, has a laptop in front of him, while the woman, who’s short and stocky, is sorting through a bulging folder of paperwork.
“Hello, I’m Maddie Wilson,” I say briskly. “I understand you want to speak to me?”
“Yes.” It’s the woman who answers. “I’m Grace Matthews, and this is Thomas Finlay. We’re from NHS Resolution, the part of the health service that deals with litigation.”
I sit down. “It’s regarding our claim, I assume.”
Grace Matthews nods,