But she met them at the Wolseley early Sunday morning for breakfast. And went boating on the Serpentine with them. And made them dinner on Sunday night, lasagna, which I never make because pasta, as far as I’m concerned, is nutritionally empty. Even if it is delicious.
It was clearly serious, and yes, I will admit to being sad. And disappointed. But I was also grateful that if Jason was going to have a girlfriend, at least it’s a girlfriend who’s nice to my daughter; at least she doesn’t have a potential evil stepmother to contend with. It was small consolation, but consolation nevertheless.
How wrong I was. What I didn’t see coming was Cara’s raging jealousy. It didn’t emerge for a while. The first time I met her I was going out and Jason had come to pick Annie up, so we all walked out together, and there she was, this very short blond woman in the front seat of Jason’s car.
Sober, I am always gracious, or at least I try to be, so I walked over with a big smile to introduce myself. She could barely look me in the eye. It was quite clear, in fact, that she wanted nothing to do with me, and as the relationship has progressed it is clear to me that she is the one who wears the trousers, and oh what demanding trousers they are.
Before Cara, Jason and I were becoming friends. We had had that lovely night at the theater, and then a few other nights, always with Annie as the excuse, but it was starting to feel hopeful.
Suddenly he stopped wanting to spend time with me, started making excuses. I would suggest something, but he was busy. After a little while I stopped suggesting we do things together, but then, if I asked him to take Annie on a night that wasn’t his, or babysit her, or show up to something at school, which had never, ever been a problem for him, suddenly he was unavailable. All the time.
It became clear that this had nothing to do with Jason, for Jason had always put his daughter before everything, but was about Cara wielding her insecurity through power, demanding he put her first, their relationship. It has put a tremendous wedge between us these past few months.
I hesitate in the doorway. If the poison dwarf—as I have secretly started to refer to her, but to Sam only; I would never let Annie hear—if the poison dwarf is waiting in the car, her usual sour expression on her face, Jason will be out of here quicker than you can say Snow White.
“Annie’s just getting her stuff,” I say. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“That would be lovely,” he says, and I almost drop my books in surprise. Clearly she’s not in the car.
I move the glasses up to the top of my head. I know I look good in them, but this is ridiculous, I’ll never find the bloody kettle, while Jason makes himself at home at the kitchen table.
This used to be our kitchen table. It is a scrubbed pine table my mum found at Alfie’s antique market and Jason and I stripped ourselves. It’s a bit eighties country, and not the sort of thing that’s very in right now—everyone I know has sleek modern maple-and-steel tables these days—but I love this. It feels like I’m sitting in an old farmhouse in the country, and I will never get rid of it.
I put the kettle on and turn to see Jason, his legs spread because they have never fit properly under the table, his hair messy in the way that I have always loved, and my heart turns over. I quickly walk outside into the corridor saying I’ll be back in a sec because I don’t want him to see the tears well up in my eyes.
Why did I throw this all away?
For a while, I blamed Jason. Why couldn’t he forgive me? Why was it such a big deal? He was the one to blame.
I don’t think that now.
Now I just wish things were different.
My friends say I’ll meet someone else, but all the dates I’ve been on were terrible. I show up terrified they’re going to think I’m awful, and invariably they’re the ones who end up wanting to see me again, with me coming up with every excuse in the book not to have to endure a whole evening listening to arrogance,