CHAPTER 94

CHAPTER 94
I left a humiliating message on his answer machine asking for cash.

Half hour later, I got a call from Penny Castle (his solicitor) asking me to ‘desist any financial requests until after the maintenance hearing.’

Penny lives in the Great Oakley too. In a three-storey townhouse with two white cats. She shouts at the kids in legal speak, ‘Please REMOVE your ball from the perimeter of my property …’

I told her that I couldn’t stop Katy growing while we waited for the hearing. ‘She needs clothes now,’ I said. ‘Not in six months’ time.’

She said, ‘Perhaps you could borrow the money from a family member. I’m sure your solicitor would be happy to draw up a loan contract.’

I asked her what the legal speak for ‘fuck off’ was. Then I hung up.

Didn’t really want to do Oxford Street shopping on my own, but Laura was studying and Brandi was doing her manicure exam.

Getting the tube with a pram was no fun at all. No one helps you on the steps like they do in the village.

In Great Oakley, you can hardly walk down the street without someone sticking their head in the pram and cooing over your baby. But in London, it’s like everyone is annoyed with you.

I probably shouldn’t have used the big Silver Cross baby carriage with the massive wheels.

It was Mum’s idea. She told me I’d have more room for the shopping.

She was right. But it’s been in the garage since Brandi was a baby. So it was full of spider’s egg sacs and the wheels squeaked.

Mum said, ‘No one will get in your way pushingthatbeast along,’ adding that it was ‘the Rolls-Royce’ of prams, and could ‘fit four babies and a pound of potatoes’.

I tried Mothercare first, but there was nothing on sale. And I need to economise.

So I went to Primark.

I’ve always wondered why half the clothes in Primark are on the floor.

Now I know.

It’s because women with ridiculously huge Silver Cross prams push their way through the aisles and knock everything off the hangers.

They didn’t have anything in Katy’s size – it had all sold out.

So I decided to go back to Mothercare.

Halfway back down Oxford Street, I realised I’d accidentally shoplifted three pairs of neon socks. They were hanging off different parts of the pram.

Went all the way back to Primark to hand them in.

The security man asked me why I’d come back, since I ‘got away with it’.

Wandered down New Bond Street past all the designer shops.

Saw this AMAZING brown tote bag that Laura would just LOVE for Christmas.

Then a car pulled up beside me.

I started to apologise for the size of the pram and how it wouldn’t all fit on the pavement.

But then I shut up, because Alex Dalton was in the car.

He was wearing a black suit and glaring at me.

He said, ‘We saw you walking. Can we give you a lift?’

His little sister Jemima was in the back.

I nodded at the pram and said, ‘Thanks, but this pram was made in the days of horses and carts. I don’t think it’ll fit in your car.’

Alex said, ‘We’ll walk with you then. Jemima could do with the fresh air.’ Then he pulled the car up on the curb.

I said, ‘You’ve parked on a double yellow line again.’

Alex said, ‘And I’ll pay for the parking ticket. Again.’

God!

I was torn between disapproval (stuck-up rich people thinking they can pay to do whatever they like) and being massively impressed (he’s such a rebel! No care for the law!).

Jemima clip-clopped out of the car wearing a little madam outfit of blue jeans, flat knee-high riding boots, a lovely navy blue sweater and a jaunty little pink satchel slung across her body. Utterly adorable.

Alex asked if I was enjoying London.

I told him I hadn’t really enjoyed London since I had Katy.

Alex said he hated cities too.

I said, ‘But aren’t all your hotels in cities?’

He said, ‘Yes. I like the hotels. Just not the cities.’

Alex asked if I was going inside the handbag shop.

I said, ‘We’re off to Mothercare actually.’ In a silly, high voice.

Jemima said, ‘Oh we’dloveto go with you.’ Then she grabbed my hand and said I’d have to show her the way.

Alex walked beside us, hands in his trouser pockets, looking all serious.

When we got to Mothercare, Alex frowned at all the kids bouncing in the cots.

Jemima said, ‘Can I –’

Alex said, ‘No.’

She said, ‘But that little boy –’

He said, ‘He shouldn’t have that on his head AT ALL. If you must go and play, there’s a toy kitchen over there.’

Jemima scampered off and left Alex and I alone.

Katy was crying a bit, so Alex got her out of the pram.

He said, ‘There’s too much going on in here, isn’t there? Is it all too much?’

Katy stopped crying and chewed his shirt collar.

I was impressed.

Alex said, ‘I remember what Jemima was like. When she was little. She hated too much stimulation.’ Then he said, ‘I trust Nick Spencer is paying for this shopping trip.’

I said, ‘Why do you always call him by his full name?’

Alex said, ‘To set him apart from the Nicks I actually like.’

Then he asked me who my solicitor was, and I told him it was Ted Grunty.

Alex said, ‘Christ, the man who forged those planning applications?’

I told him that was never proved. Then I told him I’d decided to run the Christmas marathon after all.

Alex asked me how my training was going.

I said slowly.

Alex said, ‘Hopefully you’ll be able to keep up with me.’

Our eyes met, and I felt myself smile.

Then Jemima decided to show us all the things she’d written on a little toy chalkboard.

I ‘oooed’ at her letters.

She said, ‘They’re not letters. They’re words. Look, ‘ECZEMA’. And ‘ARCHITECT’. Are you coming to afternoon tea with us?’

Alex said, ‘Yes she is.’

I tried to protest. I said I didn’t want to interrupt their family time, and anyway I was meeting Laura in a few hours.

But Alex said, ‘Jemima wants you to come and so do I.’ Then he put Katy in the pram and said, ‘Let me push that behemoth for you.’

And off we went.

We had afternoon tea at the Kensington Dalton Hotel.

The fanciest hotel in all of London.

I’ve never seen anything like it.

I tried not to stare at the gold cherubs and silk walls, but I don’t think I quite managed it because the bellboy said, ‘Do mind the rug, madam.’

Katy bounced up and down, trying to grab the antique oil paintings.

Jemima was of course a perfect little lady. Gliding through reception to the tearoom, smiling serenely at the waiting staff.

One of Jemima’s school friends was having afternoon tea (how the other half live!) and Jemima wanted to sit with her.