Elizabeth Buchan - The Second Wife aka Wives Behaving Badly

‘Why?’ I squinted at him. He was in his dressing-gown.

‘Come and see,’ he persisted.

Somehow I got out of bed and stumbled into the boys’ room. There, neatly laid out on his bed, was Felix’s sports kit. T-shirt, navy blue shorts, white plimsolls and white socks. ‘Have I got it right, Mummy?’ he asked.

‘Look at me,’ Lucas said, and tore off his dressing-gown. He was wearing his – but the T-shirt was back to front. He mimed a couple of air punches and dropped to one knee. ‘Ready, steady – go.’

‘Come here, Lukey. You’ve got your T-shirt on wrong.’

Felix scrabbled under the bed and, with an air of triumph, produced my trainers, which he must have taken from my wardrobe, and laid them at my feet. ‘That’s for your race, Mummy’

‘Right.’ I wrestled with Lucas and the T-shirt.

Felix was cataloguing his kit. ‘There are my shorts. These are my shoes…’

‘Very good, boys,’ I said. ‘Brilliant. Couldn’t be better.’ I sat down on Lucas’s bed. ‘Do you know how early it is?’

Felix had finished his inventory and was hopping about with his pyjama bottoms round his ankles. ‘You will come, Mummy, won’t you?’

I rubbed my eyes. ‘ Of course, ’ I said.

At Paradox, I worked solidly through the morning and got ready to leave on time, armed with the file entitled Statistical Analysis of Depression in Females, 40-65 . Then Syriol called, ‘Visitor for you, Minty.’

A wan, appreciably thinner Poppy sat on one of the seats leafing through Television Weekly . At my approach, she threw aside the magazine and leapt to her feet. ‘Hi. I’m sorry to do this to you, but have you any news from Theo?’

‘No. It’s taking a heck of time, but there’s nothing I can do.’

‘Oh, God, Minty.’ She had tied her hair back savagely. It didn’t suit her.

‘Here,’ I said. ‘Sit down.’

‘I keep thinking Dad would have so hated me for this. He was always so careful and taught me to be careful, and it’s haunting me. I can’t get this picture out of my head that he’s thinking I’ve let him down.’ She wrapped her skirt round her fingers, bandage-style. ‘I hate to think he’d be disappointed in me.’

‘You’ve got to talk to Richard, Poppy’

She shook her head. ‘I have to deal with it myself. It was a mistake, and just because I’m married to Richard it doesn’t mean he has to know everything about me.’ She fingered her handbag strap. ‘My poker debt is a private matter.’

‘What about your mother? She’d understand.’

‘You don’t know Mum,’ Poppy said miserably. ‘She’s not forgiving on some things. What I need is the money Dad left me. Then I can pay off my debt and I won’t bother you again.’

‘Theo’s still wrestling with the Inland Revenue. There were a couple of problems that no one could iron out to do with the money your father inherited from your grandmother.’ I was curious. ‘Why did you do it, Poppy?’

She shrugged. ‘It was exciting. I thought I could beat the system. All the usual excuses.’ She observed a point on the wall. ‘So boring and predictable.’

She was so agitated that I got up, went to the water-cooler and ran a mugful. I pressed it into her hands. ‘You know, it’s all perfectly manageable.’

Barry walked down the corridor and raised an eyebrow. I made a nondescript gesture, and he disappeared. I glanced at my watch. Time was leapfrogging and Lucas was due to run in the egg-and-spoon.

Poppy noticed the gesture. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Minty. I know you’re busy’ The concession was so unexpected that I sat down beside her with a thump. ‘I don’t understand, Minty, why I was caught. Then I think I wanted to be caught by it… Oh, what the hell? What the hell?’

There was not much slack in my finances, but sufficient to take a temporary knock. I reached into my handbag for my cheque book. ‘Look, why don’t I lend you some for the moment? It’ll stave off the problem, and then you and I will go to see Theo. He’s bound to confidentiality.’

Poppy raised her head. ‘Would you do that?’

Her astonishment was almost offensive but, funnily enough, I understood. ‘Yes.’

‘OΚ. Thanks.’ Tears streamed down Poppy’s cheeks. ‘I’m a mess… Minty. That’s what I am. And what do I do about it?’

Egg-and-spoon race. Next up the sack race. Felix was in that one. I hauled my notebook out of my bag. ‘Actually, Poppy, I’ve done some research on counselling.’

‘Counselling!’ She was dismissive.

I stared at her. Are you serious or not?’

Poppy didn’t answer. I grabbed her wrist, hauled her out of Paradox, hailed the first taxi and told him to drive to an address in South Kensington. ‘I’m taking you to a counsellor who’s highly recommended. When we get there, Poppy, you’re going to make an appointment and I’m going to watch you do it.’

By the time I arrived at the common, the races had been run, the rosettes pinned on to chests and the picnics were in full swing.

There was the usual mêlée of parents, mostly mothers, with one or two progressive, unemployed or browbeaten fathers. An area of the common had been roped off. It contained a table on which flapped a white cloth held down by several silver cups. Their status came under the heading ‘reprieved’: the cups were the relic of an earlier era and there had been much solemn debate among the staff as to whether competitive races should be allowed.

It was hot and sunny, and children in blue shorts and T-shirts ran about like ants on speed. It took me two seconds to locate Rose in the crowd. She was sitting on a tartan rug with Felix, an open cool bag between them, and her full pink skirt was the colour of a flower. Eve was with another group, chatting to a friend. A similar tableau was repeated ad infinitum: tartan rugs, open cool bags from which crisps, cold pizza, fruit juice, and wine – to save the adults’ sanity – flowed.

Rose waved a cocktail sausage in the air, and said something to Felix, who laughed so hard that he fell back on the rug and kicked his legs in the air. He always threw himself backwards when I made a joke but I hadn’t seen him laugh like that for a long time.

‘Hello.’ I collapsed on to the rug beside them.

Rose was cool. ‘Hello, Minty. Lucas is over there.’ She pointed to a knot clustered round the PE teacher. ‘He did well.’

Felix thrust a sausage at me. ‘Careful.’ I bent to kiss him. He was hot and sweaty, and smelt of wine gums and orange juice, which was not particularly enticing but dearer to me than anything else I could think of. ‘How did you do?’ I whispered.

He pressed his mouth to my ear, and the roar of his breath assaulted my eardrum. ‘I came tenth, Mummy’

Rose gazed into the middle distance. A couple of teams were conducting an impromptu tug-of-war. ‘The boys kept asking where you were. Whatever it was, I hope it was worth it.’

‘I do too,’ I echoed fervently.

‘Really, really worth it,’ she repeated. ‘Lucas was… a little tearful. He won the egg-and-spoon.’

I knew what Rose was thinking. Hell bent on pursuing my career, I was prepared to sacrifice my sons’ happiness and welfare. ‘Oh, come on, Rose, you know as well as I do what happens in the office. You told me that whenever Sam and Poppy had a carol service or sports day or whatever, there was a last-minute panic or holdup at Vistemax, which made you late.’

Rose had always been fair. ‘True.’

I squinted to where Lucas was at the centre of the PE-teacher huddle. ‘What’s going on?’

‘A disputed second and third in the twenty-metre race.’ The implication was that I should know what was going on. ‘He was so hoping you’d turn up in time to see him run. They both were.’ She paused and said quietly, ‘But you were carrying on in your own sweet way, Minty.’