Chapter 72

Wednesday March 25th

Alex called round last night to take me running.

I could tell Nick was jealous, but he managed to grunt an ‘alright’ when I let Alex up to the flat.

As I was putting on my running gear, I thought, ‘This is going to be an absolute nightmare. Alex is properly fit. He’ll run at 100mph.’

But actually, Alex was kind and we did lots of walking, as well as running.

Neither of us said much at first – in my case, partly because I was out of breath. But after a while, we got talking.

I asked Alex about his family and the hotel business. Then I asked about the Dalton estate, and whether the rumours were true about him selling up this year.

Alex said, ‘You listen to too much gossip, Juliette. I’d never sell the family home.’

‘I thought the house might hold bad memories,’ I said.

Alex said, ‘Are you talking about the fire? I hardly ever think about that. Not anymore.’

I said, ‘Jemima visits you a lot. Does she like Great Oakley?’

Jemima is Alex and Zach’s (very) little sister.

A few years ago, Catrina Dalton had an affair with a 20-something Greek underwear model, and Jemima was the result.

Jemima is seven-years old, but has a designer wardrobe and a modelling contract with Gap. She’s the sweetest little girl you could ever meet, and always totally polite and well behaved. It’s amazing really, because her mum is horrible.

Jemima goes to a private boarding school in London during the week, but comes to the village at weekends and during the holidays.

‘She loves the village,’ said Alex. ‘Just like I did as a child.’

That surprised me. Because as a child, Alex never seemed all that happy.

Zach was always as bouncy and cheerful as they come, but Alex was more serious. Not exactly withdrawn, but quite stern. People rarely messed with him, put it that way.

I suppose he and Zach do have different dads.

‘Does Zach like the family home too?’ I asked.

Alex said, ‘Yes – but that’s irrelevant. I own it. I bought Zach out years ago.’

‘But he’s always staying there,’ I said.

‘He treats the place like a hotel,’ said Alex, with a wry smile. ‘So does my mother. Must be something about being a Dalton. But I’m happy for the family to stay whenever they like – especially Jemima. It will always be her home.’

I said, ‘But isn’t Jemima’s real home with your mother? In London?’

Alex said, ‘She feels more comfortable in Great Oakley with Zach and I. Surely that’s obvious?’

I asked how Jemima found boarding school. I mean, it must be lonely – living away from her family.

Alex said, ‘She’s learning independence. Just like Zach and I did.’

Alex and Zach went to Windsor College, where they foster confidence, perseverance, tolerance and integrity. (Us Duffys went to Oakley Primary, where they foster a tolerance of powdery mashed potato.)

‘But didn’t you feel lonely as a boarder?’ I asked.

Alex said, ‘Sometimes. But it was good for me.’

I asked Alex if he remembered playing in the woods when we were kids.

Alex looked very serious and said, ‘Of course I do.’

When we got back to the apartment, Alex crossed his arms, frowned and said, ‘Goodbye Juliette. I’ll come again next week. Same time.’

And off he went.

Nick was all grumpy when I got in, asking me how ‘fancy pants Dalton’ could run with a ‘gold watch between his arse cheeks’.

Thursday March 26th

Sadie called round today to talk about running outfits.

She was pretty annoyed that I’d been jogging without her – especially when she found out Alex Dalton came round last night.

She said, ‘YouknowCatrina heads a modelling agency. If I date Alex or Zach … poof! I get on the cover of Cosmo.’

But I wasn’t going to give in to Sadie’s emotional blackmail. She’s let me down for enough training sessions – it’s a cheek to expect me to phone her last minute.

As we were getting changed, I asked her how often she thought a couple should have sex.

She said, ‘Whenever you want a man to buy you something.’

Then she asked how often Nick and I had sex.

I told her not very often.

She said, ‘I always thought he’d be weird in bed. He strikes me as the sort of guy who’d watch himself in a full-length mirror.’

But he’s only ever done that once.

Friday March 27th

Showed Nick some houses on Rightmove, but he said they ‘weren’t quite us’.

I shouted at him about being too picky and dragging his feet.

Nick said I was spoiled and ungrateful. Then he phoned his Mum and told her I wasn’t happy with the apartment.

Helen came round and made a big show of ignoring me.

It was quite nice actually.

Much better than her pointing out stains on Katy’s clothes or complaining because I’ve brought the muddy stroller into the shiny kitchen.

Saturday March 28th

Most embarrassing day ever. EVER.

Oh my God. Oh my God! I can barely write it down.

Birthday lunch for Helen today, which was bad enough in itself. But worse, it was round Bill and Penelope Dearheart’s house.

Bill and Penelope hadn’t seen Nick in ‘far too long’. (In Helen’s world, Nick needs to be paraded in front of her friends regularly. God knows why. He hardly makes her look good.) So Helen and Penelope arranged a ‘simple birthday luncheon’ where the parading could take place.

The Dearhearts live in one of those big farmhouses at the end of a muddy tractor track.

It’s called ‘The Vicarage’ and has a huge conservatory and a garden full of lavender bushes.

You can only really get there by Land Rover, so my little car tipped and heaved through the muddy troughs like a lame dog.

Penelope Dearheart greeted us at the big oak front door with a forced smile.

She’s a shorter, blonde version of Helen – perfectly groomed, perfectly scarfed and perfectly fragranced.

And like Helen, she has those thin twitchy lips that always look a little bit angry.

Bill was his usual loud, rude self, with his big square head and booming laugh.

As Penelope ushered us in, her two crazy, inbred greyhounds, Sergeant and Horatio, bounded in from the garden.

They were the size of small horses and knocked over a bottle of scented fig oil and an antique chair as they leapt around the hall.

Sergeant was chewing a gnarled copy ofPeriod Homeand Horatio had clearly been eating mud.

If they had human faces, they’d have been cross-eyed and grinning.

Penelope shouted at them as though they were human children.

‘How many times have I asked you to be careful here?’

Then she sent the dogs into the garden and announced we’d be eating in the conservatory, ‘so we can enjoy the pale spring sun peeking through the clouds.’

I was totally nervous.

Especially when we sat at the table, and Penelope told us the wine glasses were antique family heirlooms.

Katy was in the sling and kept trying to grab everything. And the more I moved the glasses away from her, the more she wanted them.

I was so busy moving the wine glasses, I didn’t notice Katy grab a big block of Stilton and stuff it into her mouth. Then she half-coughed, half-vomited blue cheese and dribbled all over the lovely white table linen, the beige carpet, and Penelope’s plate.

I tried to clear everything up, saying sorry over and over again.

Penelope and Helen’s lips twitched.

Then (WHY does she always do this at the WORST POSSIBLE MOMENT?) Katy did the longest, loudest mega-farty poo ever. It sounded like a train rumbling past.

Everyone tried to pretend they hadn’t heard. Which made it even funnier.

I excused myself to change Katy, and Penelope got all flustered.

‘NOT in the downstairs lavatory please. It’s being decorated. You can use the upstairs bathroom.’

The upstairs bathroom had one of those free-standing baths with Victorian taps. But it didn’t have a bin for the dirty nappy.

Katy was crying. I got all flustered.

Decided to stash nappy under the pram downstairs. Bit disgusting, but I thought I could throw it away at home. Then I went upstairs again to wash my hands.

When Katy and I got back to the conservatory, the two dogs were going crazy over something in the garden.

Penelope said, ‘Oh no. Bill. What have those dogs got now?’

I had a bad feeling. Right in the pit of my stomach.

Suddenly, Sergeant galloped up to the glass with the nappy in his mouth.

Penelope said, ‘I think he’s got a …’

Bill said, ‘It looks like … a nappy.’

Then everyone was horribly quiet.

Everything was in slow motion.