Page 22 of Love at First Sight

‘He is,’ India deadpans, shooting me the side-eye. She’s met Simone, and 200 per cent agrees with me vis-à-vis her awfulness.

‘She’s foul,’ I explain. ‘Like … practically half his age, in it for the money, I think. She’s just … not who you want as a stepmother-to-be.’ I shudder dramatically. ‘That’s the first time I’ve said that,’ I say. ‘Stepmother.’

‘I had a friend at school who shagged his stepmother,’ Bear says.

‘Well,’ I reply. ‘I definitely don’t want to dothat.’

After our workout, I make India come with me to Whole Foods so we can remove all of the posters she pinned up with such hope.

‘Men,’ India sighs, ripping one in two near the bananas. ‘What a disappointment.’

I pull one down near the brown paper bags for the fruit. ‘I feel like I should chastise you from generalising, but my heart wouldn’t be in it if I did.’

India looks at me and gives me a sad half-smile. ‘I do want to say, though, I know this is crap, but please don’t give up hope. You’re always saying two things can be trueat once, aren’t you? Well, this can suck, and you can still believe.’

I roll my eyes.

Love is dead to me.

I skip a post-workout shower to get a coffee and do my affirmations instead. Once complete, I flick through my diary in my phone, pleased that after the weekend, when I invited everyone I know to a bunch of different things, I’m looking pretty booked up for a while: theatre shows and pub drinks with friends, and potentially a Tough Mudder volunteer slot with the gym lot. The only dark cloud on the calendar is Dad’s engagement party this week. It’s to be held at a fancy hotel in Soho, which suddenly hits me as suspicious: if they only got engaged a short while ago, how did they have time to reserve such a prestigious locale? I wouldn’t put it past Simone to have booked it a year ago, when she first started seeing Dad. Still, it’ll be a chance to at least vet her friends, and figure out what her deal is. She presents such a facade to me – acting friendly enough in front of Dad, but her face falling and conversation stopping as soon as he’s out of earshot. It’s like she doesn’t like me, but she doesn’t even know me. She’s never tried to get to know me. It’s so bizarre – she’s a nut I cannot crack, but from what I’ve seen I don’t want to crack her. If Dad thinks he loves her, she must show him such a different side. I can only hope her friends and family might fill in the gaps to make up something like the truth. Anyway. No matterhow much I might ruminate and worry, picking up Henry brightens up my day every single time.

We chat all the way home, about everything from how Nyla in Year 1 has got nits (I make a mental note to pass that intel on to Ali) to how Thom is taking him to the climbing wall and then out for pizza at the weekend. It’s like Henry’s discussion of his dad makes Thom actually appear, because when we get home, Thom is unexpectedly in the kitchen, like the old days.

‘Daddy!’

Thom scoops Henry up and I rifle through Henry’s bag for his water bottle so I can wash it, and also look for any miscellaneous bits of paper that might be important.

‘Nice to see you, Thom,’ I say, and I mean it. Maybe it’s because my own parents’ marriage didn’t work out, but there used to be something comforting about this house when it was two parents and a kid. I know that’s my own wounded inner child or whatever, but it’s true. Somehow Thom makes this house feel like a home. He’s a lot more grounded than Ali, bakes and cooks and waters the plants – Ali doesn’t even notice she has plants until Henry comments that they look a bit dead.

‘Likewise, Jessie. How’s it going?’

‘Good,’ I say. Then, noticing how Henry has his head pressed up against his dad’s, I add, ‘Nyla in Year 1 has nits, is the headline from school.’

Thom looks suitably alarmed. He puts Henry down and pulls anuh-ohface at me. I laugh.

‘I’ll check the medicine cabinet for the ointment we’llneed if such plagues touch upon the O’Hara house,’ I say, leaving Henry to show off hisGuardiansLego.

Upstairs, Ali is fixing her make-up in her bedroom mirror. I knock on the door to show respect – it’s needless really, since she can see me in the reflection.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ I say. ‘I just wanted to check the medicine cabinet for supplies – there’s nits going round at school.’

‘Eww,’ Ali says.

‘I know.’ I linger, still waiting for permission to go into her en-suite, where all things pharmaceutical are kept.

‘What, Jessie?’ she says, turning around. ‘Why are you just standing there?’

Her tone is sharp. Mean, even. I don’t think she’s ever spoken to me like this before. I open my mouth to respond, but don’t know what to say.

‘Sorry,’ she continues, shaking her head and closing her eyes to take a breath. ‘That came out wrong. You go back downstairs and I’ll check the medicine cabinet, okay?’

I assume she’s had some bad news from her agent. As such, I shouldn’t take being snapped at personally. That said … ouch.

‘Ali’s taking care of it,’ I say to Thom, who’s sitting with Henry at the breakfast bar, Lego in front of them, matching milk moustaches on their top lips. Thom nods.

We occupy ourselves Lego-ing and milk-drinking, with Henry under strict orders that he gets thirty minutes to chill out and then it’s reading time. There mightnot be official homework today, but daily read-aloud is non-negotiable.

‘So, Ali’s new fella,’ Thom says, right in front of Henry. ‘What’s he like?’

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