Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,38

me, as if he’s remembered that he’s too old for his mother’s arms.

‘Are you very upset?’ I ask him.

He shrugs. ‘Are we getting a new dad, then?’

‘No!’ I exclaim. ‘Not at all. He’s my… boyfriend.’ Such a silly word for a woman of my age. ‘I like him very much, and I’d like you to meet him too.’

‘Ok,’ Oliver says, standing up. He also leaves the room.

I don’t know what to do about Mia’s reaction. Oliver has always been more straightforward, his feelings showing on his face. He is the sort of child who expresses his emotions and gets rid of them, quickly moving on. Mia is the opposite. It scares me how much of a cauldron is bubbling inside her, when it might rise to the surface and explode. I have offered for her to talk to someone, explaining that a counsellor is just an objective listener, a person who understands the process of grief and shock, but she insists there’s nothing wrong with her, that lots of kids lose their parents, that she’s got plenty of friends she can talk to. And I haven’t pushed it.

I spend the day trying to speak to Mia, but she’s either rude to me or refuses to talk. I call Cassie.

‘I’m a crap mother.’

‘You’re not. You’re trying to do your best in a crap situation. Mia is hurting and it’s understandable.’

‘Is it too soon to introduce them to Patrick?’

‘Possibly.’

I groan, wondering if I have been too impulsive, whether I should uninvite him.

‘But I want to be honest with the kids. No more pretense.’

‘Well, then, you’re doing the right thing. Tell Mia she can always talk to me if she wants to.’

‘Thanks, Cass. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

Patrick arrives on the dot of 7 p.m. I have made Mia’s favourite roast chicken and Oliver’s favourite pancakes for pudding. I don’t suppose it will make any difference. I’m not sure whether to warn Patrick about the kids’ reactions, but decide not to. I don’t want to make him any more uncomfortable. He is wearing suit trousers and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves – strange for a Sunday. He gives me a kiss on the cheek and proffers another rose.

‘Do you mind if we don’t touch at all whilst you’re here?’ I whisper, feeling myself flush.

‘Of course.’

He follows me into the kitchen, and I try to imagine seeing it through his eyes. It is a fabulous room, part of the converted barn, with the complex oak beams and rafters on display. The handmade kitchen is painted in cream, with a navy-blue island unit, and the work surfaces are a seamless white Corian, beautiful, if somewhat impractical. I hate having to scour the sink with bleach to get rid of tea bag stains. We have a black Aga as well as two conventional ovens. I never use the steam oven. At the far end of the room is a massive oak table large enough to seat fourteen people.

‘Wow!’ Patrick whistles gently. He isn’t the first and he won’t be the last to be impressed. Ours is the sort of kitchen you see laid out on the pages of glossy magazines. I know how lucky I am.

‘Would you like a drink?’

‘A beer would be great.’

‘Food is nearly ready,’ I say as I hand him a glass. ‘I’m just going to call the kids.’

I walk to the bottom of the stairs and shout, ‘Supper’s ready!’

Oliver comes clattering down and careers into the kitchen. I wonder if he’s forgotten that Patrick was going to be here, because he freezes.

‘Hello,’ Patrick says. ‘You must be Oliver?’

Oliver gawps at him.

My boy is well brought up, because he snaps out of the moment quickly and shakes Patrick’s hand.

‘Are you into Minecraft?’ Patrick asks. ‘Because my nephew is the same age as you and he’s obsessed. I could do with a few lessons if you’re up to it at any time?’

‘Sure,’ Oliver says.

‘Darling, could you go and get your sister for me, please?’

He sighs, but thumps back upstairs. A few seconds later he re-emerges. ‘Mia says she’s not hungry.’

‘What!’ I turn to Patrick. ‘I’m sorry. Mia has been struggling of late.’

‘That’s totally understandable.’

‘Why don’t you two start, and I’ll go and have a word with her.’

‘How about I carve and you can go and chat to Mia. I’m sure Oliver and I can manage the serving. Hey, Oliver?’

I find a carving knife and some serving bowls and leave them on the side for Patrick.

Upstairs, Mia is on her bed