Page 42 of The Husband Diet
Spiderman Meets Family
The next morning, I got a call on my cellphone. Now, I normally don’t answer private calls when I’m at work, unless it’s someone important, like my family or Paul. But today I had a gut feeling I should. My heart skipped a couple of beats when I recognized Mr. Foxham’s – I mean Julian’s – voice, but the other half of me was experiencing the naked terror that something had happened to one of the kids.
‘Hi. Is everything alright?’ I asked straight away.
He chuckled. That same warm, deep chuckle that made my skin tingle, and I relaxed.
‘Of course everything’s alright. But you owe me a coffee, remember?’
I did? Then I remembered my invitation, or more like my challenge, to drop by any time after school. Shit. I hoped I’d have a few days to clean up first.
‘Of course,’ I said, cool and composed by now. ‘Any time.’
‘How about today? Say four o’clock.’
Damn. ‘You bet,’ I confirmed with utter confidence.
As I hung up, I gulped. He sure wanted to catch me with my pants down, and not in the good way. A few days’ notice would have at least allowed me to wash the windows.
But what worried me more was the kids’ reaction to having their principal around our house twice in a week. I didn’t want to scare them. They were so protective of me they’d think we were in some kind of trouble. Of course Julian gave me no way out. I couldn’t say no, could I?
I needed a remedy, something to boost my confidence. So I went into the hotel kitchen and snatched the simplest-looking cake I could pass off as my own and put it in a fancy box (which I’d have to get rid of if I wanted to get away with this).
I parked at the school gates and looked up as the car door opened and my gang tumbled into our courtesy car.
‘Hey, guys,’ I said cheerfully. I couldn’t wait to get the news off my chest. ‘Guess who’s coming after school for a slice of cake?’
‘Mr. Foxham,’ Maddy chimed.
How did she know?
Warren buckled his seat belt and turned to me, his eyes bright. ‘He promised that he’d show me his best catch. I can swing like a mother—’
‘Hey! Where did you learn that language?’ I demanded.
The schools were breeding grounds for every human vice, always had been.
‘Sorry,’ he said meekly. ‘I got carried away.’
Mr. Foxham – Julian, as I had finally managed to call him without faltering anymore – was just on time. He had a baker’s apple pie with him, which I accepted gracefully, putting my hair (which I always let down when I was at home) behind my ear like a shy schoolgirl. I had to put a stop to the butterflies in my stomach.
‘Mr. Fox, will you show me how to do a catch? That’s still sort of like my weak side.’
‘Of course, lad. Let me just have a quick chat with your mother and I’ll meet you outside. You practice your swing in the meantime, OK?’
Warren smiled, nodded and disappeared into the backyard as if he’d been put in charge of choosing his own team for the Boston Red Sox.
‘So, how are you doing?’ he asked me.
‘Great! Still high about Warren’s performance. My son’s an ace! And so is his coach.’ I had to stick my finger in it again, didn’t I.
Julian smiled. ‘He takes after you. By the way, you have a lovely house – very warm and comfortable.’
‘It’s a mess. There are toys everywhere. It seems for every doll or ball that I pick up, ten more materialize.’
‘I find it perfect the way it is. And it’s enormous.’
I blushed at the compliment while I loaded the coffee maker.
