Page 15 of Such a Good Couple
Breakfast on the deck, gang. There’s a chef here doing mad shit – he just made me a blueberry, lemon and ricotta soufflé. Unreal scenes.
Clara heaved the suitcase onto the bed and pulled out a pair of high-waisted short shorts and an orange crochet bralet. She’d made a vow to dress well on this holiday, trawling Depop forgood deals on a few nice bits. She wanted Ollie to see her as more than just his co-wrangler of children. It was a very dispiriting part of marriage – God, shehopedit wasn’t justtheirmarriage – that you could literally go weeks without really looking at the other person, without reallyseeingthem. With three kids ten and under, sex was once a week on agoodmonth. Various podcasts she listened to seemed to promise light (aka sex) at the end of this tunnel when the kids were older and more self-sufficient.
Clara and Ollie’s sex had become extremely efficient when it did happen.Blueywas their sex babysitter and they could basically both finish in less time than an episode. The standardBlueyepisode was seven minutes long.
Plus, if you had kids, the reality was you were likely having sex with someone who, best-case scenario, had seen you effectively shite out a baby while grunting obscenities. Surely no amount of fake tan and nice underwear could help them unsee that?
Once she was dressed and had lashed on a bit of the expensive CC cream Maggie’d sent in one of her many care packages of spendy treats she claimed she was given for free and didn’t want, Clara headed to the deck where Maggie, Dodi and Essie sat at a long table with a pretty gingham tablecloth. They were being tended to by various staff in uniforms of crisp navy shorts and sleeveless white shirts.
Maggie was wearing a loose white dress with flowers embroidered across the shoulders and sipping from a delicate flute. Her daughters wore sun hats and swimsuits and looked impossibly cute eating their berries and chocolate pancakes.
‘Good morning!’ Maggie called.
‘Hi!’ Clara took a seat and was handed a menu.
‘Coffee, ma’am? Mimosa?’
Clara laughed. ‘Both! Thanks a million!’ Then mouthed‘ma’am’ at Maggie.
Maggie giggled. ‘Did you see Annie or Conor?’
‘Not yet, I got the feeling that they were under pressure to …’ Clara lowered her voice, throwing a glance at the twins, ‘to … eh … get to bed last night. I’d say they’re on the old sex diet this week. Boning on a timetable must be such a fun-suck.’
Maggie nodded. ‘I sensed the edginess alright. Has she said much about how it’s going lately?’
‘She doesn’t really talk about it anymore.’ Clara accepted the proffered glass of fizz from the waiter’s tray.
‘Yeah,’ Maggie agreed quietly. ‘Apart from the odd snap of the negative tests, she’s not doing the monthly bulletin in the WhatsApp.’
‘I think the whole slog has just beaten the quippiness out of her.’
Maggie leaned closer. ‘Surely it’s time for them to, ya know, take some action. Fertility treatment, like.’
‘I’m not sure they can afford it, Maggie. The rent on their apartment is probably crazy.’ Clara stopped, worried she’d said too much. She scanned the menu, avoiding Maggie’s gaze. Maggie and Fionn were always trying to give them all money. They’d fully wanted to buy her and Ollie a bigger house outright a couple of years into Fionn’s ascent. Annie and Conor had said they’d received the same offer. Clara felt a squirm of guilt remembering the boozy dinner the four of them had had bitching about Fionn and Maggie’s house proposals. Clara knew they meant well but there was something just a bit fucking off about the whole thing. It was soobviousthat Maggie and Fionn must talk pityingly about them all. And it was kind of insulting and presumptuous assuming that everyone must aspire to have fame and money. Okay, ofcourseClara would like to have more money but not charity from friends. Besides, money and friendship rarely mixed well.
‘I’ve been thinking.’ Maggie was clearly not ready to drop the fertility matter. ‘I really want to help them.’
Clara welcomed the arrival of another waiter with a pad and pen. ‘Hiya.’ Clara smiled. ‘Can I please have the eggs royale and three chocolate pancakes for my kids? I better go get them up.’ Clara started to rise, grateful to be ducking out of the conversation.
‘Don’t.’ Maggie raised a palm. ‘Ed, the day nanny, already got the boys! They’ve been playing down there for ages!’
‘Well,’ Clara paused awkwardly, not quite sitting, not quite standing, ‘shouldn’t I get them dressed and stuff?’ Just then a caterwauling started up from inside the house. The noise was increasing in volume and drawing nearer. ‘Ah.’ She dropped back into her seat. ‘My children, no doubt,’ she said just as the three boys exploded out of the house trailed by a grinning guy of about twenty.
‘Ed! This is Clara.’ Maggie waved him over. ‘Clara, this is Ed. He’s on the day shifts this week.’
‘You’re amazing.’ Clara shook his hand. ‘If you feel the need to sedate my kids or trap them under something heavy, feel absolutely free. Sitdown, Reggie!’ The toddler was already up on the table and immediately plonked himself down amid the glassware and cutlery. ‘I meant on a chair,’ she added, starting to reach for him, only for Ed to swoop in.
‘I’ve got it.’ He smiled. ‘Come on, big guy.’ He plucked Reggie up and settled him on a chair. Already the pancakes had arrived and all the boys began tucking in, grunting away at the usual volume.
‘I can only apologise. I would say that they’re never like this at home but that would be a lie.’ Clara picked up her drink, watching Ed patiently tending to Dodi and Essie, wiping their chocolatey hands and reapplying their sun block.
‘Idoparent my kids at home, I swear,’ Maggie said wryly,evidently following Clara’s gaze. ‘This is special “holiday levels” of nannying. The girls don’t even have a nanny in LA.’
‘Hey,’ Clara raised her glass, ‘you don’t have to explain yourself to me. If youcando it, youshoulddo it.’ She regretted her words more or less straightaway.
Maggie looked pained. ‘Clara, you know we’d love to help—’
‘Maggie! If you start offering me money for childcare while I’m on a holiday you are paying for, I might fully pass away from mortification.’
