I haven’t told Pete this, but sometimes at work I get up that Facebook video of him reading to David on the play mat and watch it over and over. That’s the family I could have had. Should have had, even. And—much as I adored the family I did have—I didn’t find the idea off-putting. Pete just looked so right with David, so natural. So if he’s correct, and a mollifying email is what’s now required to reset the relationship with the Lamberts, it’s a price worth paying.
Our friends, of course, had been stunned by what they’d witnessed. “A nutter as well as a prick” was Richard’s assessment, and it did seem apt. As usual, Pete tried to see both sides—“He’s just like that. He blows his top, and then it’s all forgotten”—but even he had to admit that Miles’s behavior had been downright weird.
And besides, Miles hadn’t blown his top. That was one of the things that was so strange about it—the eerie calm with which he’d hurled his insults at us.
I made Pete take out a bit in the first draft where he apologized more profusely for not going to Cornwall, though. It might have been our suggestion to spend the day together, I pointed out, but we’d never signed up for a long weekend, let alone a whole week. If we implied we were in the wrong about that, Miles would simply walk all over us.
It was me who insisted on the bit about unacceptable language, too. Because I’m not having some rich entitled pom thinking he can walk into my home and call it a shithole.
* * *
—
WE FINALLY SEND THE email at four P.M. Miles doesn’t reply. Not that evening, or on Easter Monday.
“What do I do tomorrow?” Pete says over supper. “Take Theo to the Lamberts’ as usual, or keep him here?”
“God, I don’t know.” I think. “I suppose, if you do take him, at least it’ll be a chance to talk to Lucy. Find out where she stands.”
“Or there might be a massive row. If Miles is there, I mean.”
“Maybe a massive row is what’s required right now.”
“Um,” Pete says. “In front of Theo?”
I glance at him. If Pete has a weakness, it’s that sometimes he’ll try to smooth things over when what’s really required is a bit of shouting. But he’s right, of course—we shouldn’t be teaching Theo that shouting is how adults resolve disagreements, at least not while his own behavior is still so erratic. “Then why not keep him home for a day?” I suggest. “That might give Miles a reason to get back in touch, after all.”
47
PETE
SO I KEPT THEO home.
Around eleven, while Theo was drawing what he claimed were dinosaurs on the giant pad we kept especially for rainy days, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen. MILES LAMBERT. Slightly apprehensive, I answered it. “Hello?”
“Pete, mate. What’s up?” Miles said cheerfully. “Is Theo all right?”
“Theo’s good, thanks. Why?”
“Lucy texted to say you hadn’t turned up this morning.”
“That’s right,” I said cautiously. “You hadn’t replied to our email, so we weren’t sure if you were expecting him.”
“Of course we were. That was the deal, right? Daytimes at ours, nights at yours.”
I frowned. “I don’t think we exactly formalized that into a deal, Miles.”
Silence.
“Did you read our email?” I added.
“Yes. Well, the first few lines anyway. It was a bit long, to be honest. But I got the gist. Look, apology accepted. Water under the bridge. And let’s face it, I probably spoke a little hastily as well.”
I took a deep breath. “Miles, we need to sort this out.”
“Consider it sorted. Anyway, now we’re all good, how soon can you get Theo over to Highgate?”
“I need to think about that,” I said firmly. “Definitely not today, and as for tomorrow…Look, you should know that we have reservations about how this whole nanny-share thing is going to work. Whether it’s really the best thing for Theo. In the long term, I mean.”
There was a brief silence. Then, in the calm, distant voice I was getting so familiar with, Miles said, “Well, don’t think too fucking long, Pete.”
And then the phone went dead.
* * *
—
I RELATED ALL THIS to Maddie when she got home. “It’s like a switch inside him suddenly gets thrown. Then, when the switch goes back again, it’s as if it never happened.”
Maddie nodded. “I think Lucy’s scared of him, too.”
As if on cue, our doorbell rang. We looked at each other. “Speak of the devil,”