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  ‘I’ve had emails from two of the parents in your group, saying how wonderful you are!’

  Andy squirmed.

  ‘They say that you’re honest and not afraid of bringing in your own experiences!’ Judith’s eyes shone. ‘It’s just what we need.’ She lowered her voice – they were standing in the corridor next to the pupils’ lockers. ‘The truth is that we had a very low take-up rate when we asked for volunteers to help out. Parenting classes can be a bit tricky. No one likes to admit they can’t cope or claim that they’re good enough to tell others how to do it.’

  You could say that again!

  ‘Your wife was the only person who agreed to do the teen class, and we were thrilled. Don’t take this the wrong way, Mr Gooding, but we wanted someone whose children weren’t perfect, otherwise everyone else in the class feels inferior. That’s why we were so worried when she couldn’t do it at the last minute – I’m sorry about her mother, by the way. If you hadn’t offered to step in, we’d have had to cancel the whole thing!’ Her young face was pleading. ‘Please, Mr Gooding! We’d all be so grateful if you continued.’

  Andy hesitated. It was only for a second but it was enough. Judith Davies was sharper than she looked. ‘Thank you,’ she cried, seizing the opportunity. ‘Thank you.’

  God, that poor girl, so young to be a teacher, had looked desperate and Andy had always been a bit of a sucker for women in distress. He’d just have to brazen it out with Kieran. Insist he didn’t know him. And he’d cancel that golf session at the club. It would give him more time to mug up the parenting handbook. Maybe buy Dr Know’s book too.

  After all, how difficult could it be to bring up kids? Surely it was just a matter of setting the rules and making them stick to it. You’d get the odd blip, like he’d had with the girls, but the key was consistency and organisation. The same skills that had got him where he was today in business!

  There was, thought Andy walking out to the car park, something comforting about applying business tactics to this new strange world of school-run mums that he’d had found himself in.

  ‘Oy! You!’

  A large burly bald man in an orange boiler suit was getting out of a heavily dented Mondeo and whistling at him. Andy froze. It was Kieran! Quickly he started up the engine.

  Too late. Kieran was striding towards him now, grinning and waving. Reluctantly, Andy put down the window. ‘Nice to see you, mate. Sorry I had to miss the last class – had to do some overtime. You’re a natural, know that? Emailed school, I did. Told them how good you were and how it was great to have a bloke in charge to represent a dad’s point of view. Reckoned that might get them to keep you on, instead of your wife.’ He grinned, revealing a big gap in his teeth at the side. ‘It would be a shame if we didn’t see you again, wouldn’t it? By the way, I wasn’t kidding before. You really do look like a geezer I used to know. Odd how some people have a double, isn’t it?’

  Andy had still been shaking from the encounter when he got back home. His earlier good resolves had vanished. Instead, he felt stressed. Worried. Apprehensive. Like the old Barry. The kid he’d shut away all those years ago.

  ‘Don’t start having a go at me yet, Dad,’ said a white-faced Natasha, sitting at the breakfast bar, cupping a mug of coffee. ‘I’m sorry. It was a one-off. Honestly.’

  ‘That’s not what your sister told me,’ he began. Then his eye fell on the post. It wasn’t the postcard he noticed, from his old secretary who was having a week in the Scilly Isles. It was the envelope with the word Urgent typed in red through the address window.

  ‘Sorry. I opened it by mistake.’ Nattie had a funny edge to her voice. ‘It’s for Mum.’

  He picked it up, intending to put it in his wife’s dressing room, off the main bedroom. But when he got there, something in him, prompted perhaps by all the odd things that had been happening recently, made him take out the piece of paper that was poking out of the envelope anyway. It was a final demand. From a loan company he wouldn’t trust with a barge pole.

  A demand for £10,000.

  Plus £1,000 for interest.

  PERFECT PARENTS: SESSION THREE

  THE THREE-CARD RULE!

  LEARN HOW TO PLAY GAMES – AND GET THE KIDS TO DO JUST WHAT YOU WANT!

  IT’S MAGIC! HONESTLY!

  ARE THE CHILDREN WRECKING YOUR MARRIAGE?*

  When did you last have a meaningful conversation with your husband?

  In between kids’ arguments.

  In your sleep.

  On skype.

  At the divorce court.

  When did you last make love?

  Six weeks after the last baby.

  Six months after the last baby.

  Six years after the last baby.

  Still counting.

  When you go on a family holiday, do you:

  End up sleeping with the kids to make sure they’re safe in a strange place.

  Refuse to let them join the kids’ club in case they pick up germs.

  Get cross with your husband because he leaves it up to you to watch them in the pool.

  Extracted from Charisma magazine.

  * There are no right answers. But it might make you think …

  Chapter 13

  BOBBIE

  ‘GIVE ME BACK MY DS.’

  ‘IT’S MY DS!’

  ‘NO IT’S NOT!’

  ‘That’s enough!’ Bobbie felt like banging the children’s heads together. ‘It’s bedtime, anyway. So neither of you can have it.’

  Daisy shot her a don’t-be-stupid look. ‘It’s only seven o’clock.’

  Why had she bothered to teach them to tell the time? Or to read? Or to talk? If she’d encouraged them to stay mute, they wouldn’t be able to answer back or challenge orders. God, she needed a drink. Bobbie went into the utility room, ostensibly to put on the washing machine. ‘Because Daddy and I are having a special meal together,’ she called out.

  ‘Is that why you’re opening a bottle before we’ve gone to bed?’ Daisy appeared at the door, both hands on her waist in full teacher mode. ‘I saw you, Mum! It’s there! Hiding in the soap-powder cupboard.’

  A glass of wine was one of the few pleasures she had left nowadays! Something that Dr Know, no doubt, would deeply disapprove of. But she needed something to unwind after a day of ‘don’t do that’s’.

  ‘Actually, it’s beetroot juice.’

  ‘In the laundry room? Let me taste it then.’

  ‘Sorry. All gone.’ Hastily Bobbie swigged the rest of the evidence and bustled her daughter back into the kitchen. ‘Tell you what! Why don’t you help me tidy up?’

  The kitchen table was groaning with a week’s worth of post that she hadn’t had time to open. She’d tried to make a start this morning but had got diverted by a disturbing marriage survey in her favourite magazine. Oh heck. There was a school note too. About not double-parking. It all needed clearing unless they were going to eat off the floor.

  ‘I’m not tidying up!’ Daisy sounded like a mini-terrorist. ‘I want to cook!’ She eyed the packet of ready-made fish pie on the side. Before she’d had kids, Bobbie had attempted to make everything from scratch. But who had time any more?

  ‘OK. But make sure you put the packaging at the bottom of the bin.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because … just because, that’s all.’

  Daisy eyed her suspiciously. ‘Why are you and Daddy having a special meal together?’

  It was as though she was being interrogated about a date! Bobbie thought back to the message she’d left earlier, with Rob’s secretary, reminding him that she needed him home early for ‘a rather important family matter’. Hopefully the secretary would get the point. That magazine article had really unsettled her.

  ‘Because we need some time to talk.’

  ‘But you talk when you argue!’ Daisy’s eyes narrowed as though she was eighteen and not eight.

  Was this the example they’d been setting? ‘No we don’t.’

  �
��Yes you do, Mum!’ Her daughter flicked back her hair – oh for the days when she’d tied it up in bunches! – and eyed her suspiciously. ‘Why aren’t you wearing jeans?’

  Bobbie smoothed down her black evening trousers which she only wore on special occasions. The elasticated waistline made up for the extra stone that she’d never quite been able to shift after Jack. ‘Because it’s nice to dress up sometimes.’ She wouldn’t put it past her daughter to have X-ray vision and demand to know why she was wearing the new silk undies she’d splashed out on earlier, just in case she and Rob got that far. ‘Now why don’t you go up to your bedroom and download a film?’

  Bobbie hadn’t ever meant to be one of those parents who got a laptop each for her kids but she’d given in last year because ‘everyone else has one’. Rob had said it was ‘ridiculous’ and that had led to yet another argument. Nowadays, nearly all their disagreements seemed to be about the children. Or him getting home late. Or her work which wasn’t bringing in enough money.

  Shit. That reminded her. She still had some calls to make if she was going to get her quota. She hadn’t reached it last month and her pay statement, which was based on performance, had been even smaller than usual.

  Thankfully, Daisy had actually done what she’d asked! Strains of My Real Mother Is an Alien (a favourite in this house) filtered down the stairs. Jack was quiet. Good quiet or bad quiet? Bobbie hesitated. If she didn’t disturb him, she might just squeeze in a couple more calls.

  This week’s survey was about personal hygiene wipes. It was proving a bit of a challenge.

  ‘Hello. Is that Adrienne Tilling? It is? Hi. How are you? My name is Bobbie and I’m doing a survey on …’

  One down. Twenty-two more to go.

  ‘Hi. My name’s Bobbie and I wondered if you had a few minutes to …’

  No. Right. On to the next one.

  Damn. Now her mobile was going. Mum. At last! She’d been trying to get hold of her for ages. She desperately needed to hear her soothing voice. A reminder that Bobbie wasn’t really a grown-up after all. Was she the only middle-aged mum who didn’t feel old enough for all this responsibility?

  ‘Darling! Are you there? So sorry I haven’t been in touch before but Herbert and I have been on a tour, promoting his new book!’ Mum sounded so excited, like a young girl describing a date. ‘It was wonderful! Everyone made a great fuss of us.’

  Bobbie felt an unreasonable rush of jealousy. ‘That’s great.’ Then she remembered. ‘Look, I’m on the other phone for work. Sorry, are you still there? No, not you, Mum. Hello? Hello?’

  Bugger. She’d lost both of them.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ Rob was standing at the doorway, tie dishevelled and face strained.

  ‘Mum and work at the same time.’ Suddenly aware of a burning smell, Bobbie dashed to the oven. A billow of grey smoke came out. ‘Dinner’s ruined!’

  He flung his tie on the chair. ‘You shouldn’t have left it in for so long.’

  That wasn’t fair. ‘I was trying to get some calls in.’

  ‘Tell me about it! My secretary said I had to get back early. What’s up?’ He glanced at the candles and the table with proper cloth napkins by the side of their best place mats. ‘I haven’t forgotten our anniversary, have I?’

  ‘No.’ Bobbie felt her voice coming out flat. ‘I just tried to make an effort, that’s all. Have some, you know, couple time.’

  ‘Right. Sure.’ His voice softened. ‘That would be nice. But I have to say that I’m not that hungry, I’m afraid. I had to take a client out. It would be nice to sit down and chat, though. In fact, I’ve got something to tell you, I may have to go to—’

  ‘DADDY!’ There was the sound of mini-elephants stampeding down the stairs. Daisy flung herself into Rob’s arms, closely followed by Jack, determined not to be outdone.

  ‘Can you watch the film with us?’

  ‘Can we eat dinner with you?’

  ‘I helped Mummy make it!’ Daisy was beaming triumphantly. ‘The packet’s at the bottom of the bin.’

  Two hours later, when she’d finally got the children down, Bobbie peeled off her lace undies and crawled into bed. Rob was already flat out, breathing noisily. The house was silent: the first bit of peace she’d had since getting up that morning at six thirty. But she couldn’t sleep. For some reason, Bobbie kept wondering what Andy was doing right now. She couldn’t imagine her own husband being in charge of the kids while she went away.

  ‘What are you doing?’ mumbled Rob sleepily as she reached out for him.

  ‘Just trying to cuddle up.’ Bobbie turned over, hurt, listening as the loud snores resumed.

  So much for couple time. Perhaps she’d left it too late? Maybe Rob had gone off her completely. It wouldn’t be surprising. Even she could see that the always-rushing-around, often snappy, ineffectual mother of Daisy and Jack was completely different to the happy-go-lucky Bobbie that Rob had met at university.

  Had she tried so hard to be a good mother that she’d forgotten about her husband?

  ‘It shouldn’t be like that,’ agreed her friend Sarah. ‘But it is.’ They were walking through the park by her friend’s home in Ealing, west London. It was a teacher training day at Corrywood so Bobbie had seized the opportunity to catch the train with the kids and visit her old friend. ‘At least that’s how some men see it,’ she continued. ‘They can’t cope when all your attention is on the children and then they find someone else who’ll give them more time. Pathetic really.’

  When Sarah had been married to Ross, her investment-banker husband, they’d had a lovely three-storey home in Islington overlooking the park. But after he’d gone off with the MD, she’d ended up with a two-bedroom maisonette. Ross had been able to afford a good lawyer.

  ‘And I have to say,’ she added, deftly avoiding a used condom in their path, ‘Rob shows all the signs. The wrong ones.’

  Bobbie felt her heart thumping in her throat as she watched Jack and Daisy hare off through the damp leaves left over from the winter. Tom, Sarah’s son, who was Jack’s best friend, was streaming ahead, shouting excitedly. They couldn’t hear. The coast was clear.

  ‘Go on.’ Bobbie braced herself. ‘Remind me.’ She’d been around when Ross had gone off only a few months after Tom had been born. But although she’d tried to help, Bobbie had been up to her eyes with a new baby and demanding toddler.

  ‘Well …’ Sarah stopped as an ambulance screamed by. Bobbie had forgotten how noisy it was in London. ‘There was the getting back late all the time. Not having sex. Not appreciating special couple dates at home – yes, I tried that one too. Arguing over Tom’s bedtime. I tell you, Bobbie, it might be difficult on my own, but I’ve realised from the other mums in my parenting class that it can be easier to be single. At least you don’t have someone telling you that you’re doing it all wrong.’

  Bobbie could see that. A picture swam into her head of herself bringing up a subdued Daisy and Jack who only saw their father at weekends. It had its attractions! Then again, had they really gone that far down the hill without her realising? ‘He has got a new secretary,’ she ventured.

  ‘Oh dear!’ Sarah bit her lip worriedly. ‘How old?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Married?’

  ‘He doesn’t say much about her.’

  ‘Not good. Could mean he feels guilty.’ Sarah gave her a hug. ‘Or it might be that he isn’t interested. Hard to tell. Mind you, there is one thing you could do if you’re really worried.’

  Bobbie listened carefully. It was an audacious idea, not one that Bobbie could really bring herself to contemplate. Besides, she’d get sacked or reported if she got found out. ‘Up to you.’ Sarah shrugged. ‘After my experience, I wouldn’t trust anyone again. Ever.’

  As she spoke, there was an ear-splitting cry ahead. At a distance, Bobbie could see two small boys wrestling each other on the ground. ‘They’re arguing!’ Bobbie threw Sarah a horrified look. ‘But our two never argue.’
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  Sarah’s face was taut as they began running towards them. The closer they got, the clearer it was that Jack was the aggressor. ‘He’s taken my phone, he’s taken my phone,’ Tom was saying.

  ‘GIVE IT BACK TO HIM,’ Bobbie began to shout.

  Sarah laid a hand on her arm. ‘Shouting doesn’t work. I’ve learned that on the course. You have to try empathy management.’

  She knelt down next to the boys. ‘Jack, I can understand that you envy Tom for having the latest smart phone. And Tom, I understand that you don’t like Jack any more because he has a daddy at home and your irresponsible father abandoned us when you were a baby. Now you’re older, you’re beginning to realise the full implications of that. Is that right?’

  Bobbie gasped. Talk about bad-mouthing the absent parent! But Tom, whose little face was caked with mud, was nodding. So was Jack’s.’

  ‘The thing is, Jack, that Tom’s daddy gave him the phone out of guilt during his last access weekend. So why don’t you hand it back and we’ll go to that ice-cream parlour on the corner.’

  ‘OK.’

  To Bobbie’s amazement, both boys stood up.

  ‘How did you do that?’ whispered Bobbie.

  Sarah shrugged. ‘We’ve got a great teacher. It’s a real pity you live so far away.’ Then she tucked her arm into Bobbie’s again. ‘Cheer up! You might not have anything to worry about. Well, you do with Jack, obviously. And with Dr Know. There’s no way I’d have that man at my table! But when it comes to Rob, you know what to do now, don’t you?’

  Her husband was very quiet for the rest of the week. Not that she saw much of him. He had to be in the office all weekend too. That new campaign again – or so he said. Daisy and Jack seemed to pick up on her vibes and by the time Monday evening came, Bobbie was more than ready to go to parenting school, if only for a break from the house.