Page 37 of If We Were Young

“How many children do you have?” I felt I should have known the answer to this, but again, it just highlighted the space of the last lifetime we’d lived without speaking.

“Two.” Apparently, we were still hardly speaking now. That’s all he gave me.

I mean, were they babies? Was he now co-parenting? Were the kids in London with him, or were they still in Scotland?

I bit my tongue.

If he wanted me to know he’d say.

He sighed. Then I sighed.

Sigh.

His car, black and as shiny as the lift, seemed very low. I had to hike my skirt up to get in. He grunted and tightened his seatbelt with force.

“Seatbelt,” he barked.

My hands were so sweaty it took three attempts. Turning, I tried to open the window so I could get some air on my hot face, but the windows were child-locked. Instead of saying anything I sat and sweated.

“Where’s your daughter’s school?”

“Oh.” I shook my head as the car pulled out of the car park and he waved a silver credit card at the barriers card reader. “No, it’s fine. Could you get me to where I’ve parked my car near the station at Surbiton? I can make it from there.”

His gaze flicked to my face. Ma’s sudoku made more sense.

Kingston to Surbiton wasn’t far, even on the train, but he got me there quicker than public transport would have.

“Do you get many calls from the school?” I jumped out of my seat when he spoke. We’d been silent since Moses parted the Red Sea.

“Hannah is, uh…” Angry. Destructive. A Rubik’s cube.

He slid his eyes in my direction and my breath caught. “I’m sorry about your husband. I should have said when I saw you last. That was bad mannered of me.” I liked how he could differentiate between his actions then and now.

“Thanks.” I glanced out the window before muttering, “I’m sorry about your marriage.”

I watched him in the reflection. He nodded, just once.

Too soon we were at my car and I pointed out my Volvo. I didn’t know why it made his lips curve.

My hand pushed at the handle, but I hesitated. Within the confines of his silent car I was almost her. I could feel her again. I didn’t want to get out and deal with an angry headmaster and a child who I didn’t understand. I wanted to stay right now.

It was stupid and ever so dangerous.

Matthew Carling hated me.

“Matthew?” I had one foot outside the car.

“Mm.” Distracted, he stabbed his finger and put something into the SatNav, eager for me to go.

“Why did you add me on Messenger?” Had I ever sounded more like a teenager? Someone give me an alcopop and a straw.

He turned, his frown flickering back to life.

“Was it because you knew you’d be working with me?”

“Yes,” he barked his answer and I slipped out of the car slamming the door behind me.

Well done, Ronnie. That was a whole lot of puking for nothing.