did blink away a couple of tears, because he sounded so hostile. So impatient. So un-Dan-like.
And now it’s Friday and we’re having breakfast and Dan’s just told me he has to work all weekend.
‘All weekend?’ I say, before I can stop myself. I’m aware I sound plaintive and even a bit whiny, which is something I always swore I’d never be.
‘Huge project,’ Dan says, draining his coffee. ‘I need all my wits to focus on it.’
‘Is that the Limehouse one?’ I say, trying to show an interest. ‘I’d love to see the drawings.’
‘No.’ Dan shrugs on his jacket.
No. Just no. Really charming, Dan.
‘Oh, and I’ve done an extra supermarket order,’ he adds. ‘For this supper party I’m having on Tuesday.’
‘Really?’ I peer at him in surprise. ‘That’s very forward-thinking of you.’
‘It’s all arriving on Monday,’ he continues as though I haven’t spoken. ‘I’ll do the Ottolenghi lamb recipe; you know, the slow roast one with all the spices.’
The slow-roast Ottolenghi lamb. The recipe he rolls out for special occasions or when he wants to impress. And I know Tilda would say I’m overreacting, but I can’t help it. My chest is burning with hurt. He hasn’t got time to spend at home with his family, but he has got time to plan a menu and do an Ocado order and make slow-roast Ottolenghi lamb?
‘That’ll be nice.’ I try to sound pleasant. ‘Quite a lot of effort, though, just for some old friends you haven’t seen for ages.’
‘It’s no effort.’ His eyes are light and unreadable. ‘See you later.’
He kisses me in a perfunctory way and heads to the door, just as Tessa comes charging in.
‘What’s your wish?’ she says, holding a piece of paper up at him. ‘What’s your wish? Your wish, Daddy?’
Oh God. I’d forgotten about that. The girls’ homework task was all about wishes. Anna’s began My mummy’s wish is: and I carefully spelled out ‘world peace’ for her, rather than ‘to know what the fuck is up with my husband’.
‘What’s your wish, Dan?’ I echo her. ‘We’re all waiting with bated breath.’
And if there’s a challenging, almost searing note in my voice, then so be it. Let him pick up on it any way he wishes. (Except, let’s be truthful, he won’t pick up on it at all. He never picks up on searing notes in voices, or sidelong glances, or pointed pauses. It’s all for my own benefit.)
Dan takes the piece of paper and scans it briefly.
‘Oh, I see. Well. I wish …’ He stops as his phone buzzes, glances at it, then winces and shoves it away again. Usually I’d ask, ‘What’s wrong?’ but today there’s no point. I know the reply I’d get: ‘Nothing.’
‘What is your wish, Daddy?’ demands Tessa. ‘What is your wish?’ She’s sitting at the kitchen table, pencil poised over her sheet.
‘I wish that … I could …’ Dan speaks slowly, distractedly, as though his mind is grappling with some other, far-off problem.
‘How do you spell “could”?’ asks Tessa promptly, and I spell it out, because it’s obvious Dan isn’t paying attention. The morning sun is catching the fine lines etched around his eyes. His gaze is distant and he looks almost bleak.
‘Could what?’ Tessa is banging her pencil on her sheet. ‘Could what?’
‘Escape,’ Dan says, so absently that I wonder if he’s even aware he said it. My stomach clenches in dismay. Escape?
‘Escape?’ Tessa surveys him as though suspecting a grown-up joke. ‘You’re not in a cage, Daddy! People who escape are in a cage!’
‘Escape.’ Dan comes to and sees me staring at him. ‘Escape!’ he repeats in a more upbeat tone. ‘Escape to the jungle and see the lions. I have to go.’
‘That’s a stupid wish!’ Tessa calls after him as he disappears towards the front door.
‘Just write see some lions,’ I tell Tessa, trying to stay calm. But my voice is shaky. My whole being is shaky. Dan wants to escape? Well, thanks for the heads-up.
It’s my turn to do the school run this morning, and I’m so distracted, I drive the wrong way, twice.
‘Why are we going this way, Mummy?’ says Tessa beadily from the back seat.
‘It’s nice to try different things,’ I say defensively. ‘Otherwise life gets boring.’
The minute the words are out of my mouth, I realize their ghastly significance. Is Dan ‘trying different things’? Is Mary a ‘different thing’?
I don’t quite know what’s happened to me. I feel like a pinball machine. Suspicions and worries and theories are careering around my brain in a