Page 45 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
“It’s not Jess’s job to entertain us. She’s not a clown.”
Dan rubs a hand over his face; he looks tired. “I need to swap weekends with you in a few weeks. Sylvie’s parents are over from Sweden, I’ll text you details. Also, Ethan hasn’t done his homework.” Then Dan turns to start rifling through my post. “Have you seen a letter from NatWest? I’m expecting a new card reader.”
“You need to redirect your post,” I say tightly, annoyed about the homework. Dan has the log-in details for Ethan’s homework app; he can easily access everything from his phone.
“I know, I know. Jesus,” Dan says with a groan. Four minutes in his company and already my cortisol levels feel spiked. He doesn’t find what he’s searching for, gives me a strange look, as though he wants to say something, but then thinks better of it.
“What?” I ask irritably.
“I was just going to say, you look nice. Did you change your hair?”
Oh great, now Dan thinks I took his feedback to heart. I shrug and Dan rolls his eyes. He’s at the bottom of the stairs before he turns around and takes two steps back toward me. “Sylvie wants to meet you. She wants you to come for dinner.”
“Oh,” I say, blindsided.
“She feels weird that we speak on the phone. She doesn’t get that this”—he pushes a finger back and forth in the air between us—“is just logistic.”Ouch.“Those late-night phone calls didn’t help, Anna.” Dan lets out a tired sigh. “I think she’ll feel better once she’s met you. Will you come?”
She’ll feel better once she’s met me? Why? Because she’ll see what a haggard old crow I am and realize Dan couldn’t possibly have any residual feelings?
“Sure, text me a date,” I call down the steps.
He gives me a curt nod, then turns to go. Why did I say yes? Why didn’t I say I’d think about it? I don’t want to sit and watch Sylvie play house with my ex-husband. Now I’ll have to try to get out of it.
When Ethan and Jess get back from Dan’s, there’s always a period of adjustment. I’ve learned it’s best not to ask them too many questions or try to force them to recalibrate too quickly. I just put some music on, prepare food, then let them come to me. Ethan is first to be lured in by the smell of homemade hummus and toasted pita bread.
“Mum, I’ve thought of someone for your next date,” he tells me.
“Oh, right,” I say, having briefly forgotten about the stupid column.
“The man from the show with the dog in the snow!”
“Right,” I say slowly while handing him the hummus, “I might need abitmore to go on.” It sometimes takes a while to decode what Ethan is talking about. Once he told us about “the island that looks like an angry parrot with no feet,” which turned out to be Ireland, and that for tea he wanted “the round bread with the footprints in”—crumpets.
“You know, the show about the policeman in the snow with the dog,” Ethan explains, “the show you watch all the time. His face is on all the posters.”
Now I know who he’s talking about. Ryan Stirling, the star ofPort, Starboard, Murder, is currently performing inRichard IIIat the Bath theater.
“Ryan Stirling?” I ask, laughing. Ethan nods. “I can’t go on a date with Ryan Stirling.”
“Why not?” he asks, his face a picture of innocence. “He might not know anyone in Bath. He might want to make new friends.”
Ethan is right about one thing: I do have a huge crush on this particular actor. He’s probably the main reason I enjoyPort, Starboard, Murder. Well, him and his cute little doggy sidekick. In the show Ryan plays a British detective, Brandon Farley, who’s called in to help with a crime that took place in international waters. He’s a good cop, but he wouldn’t hesitate to bend the law if it meant taking down the bad guy. There are thousands of memes dedicated to Brandon Farley saying his catchphrase: “You want to play by the letter of the law? Then don’t play with me.”
“What have you got to lose?” Ethan asks, parroting a question I’m always asking him.
This is technically true. I have been meaning to book a ticket to see him inRichard III. I could e-mail Ryan’s agent, tell him about the column, see if he might meet me one night after hisshow. The mere thought of meeting Ryan Stirling for a drink sends a buzz of excitement through me.
Jess comes downstairs, having changed into tracksuit bottoms and a black hoodie.
“Did you get the clothes you wanted this weekend?” I ask, and she nods. I sense she’s upset about something, but I know she won’t tell me if I ask the wrong questions. “Did you have fun at your dad’s?” She shrugs and I reach out a hand to rub her back.
“Penny is having a roller-skating party next weekend. Practically everyone else is invited,” Jess says, pulling her hands up into her hoodie sleeves.
“I’m sorry, honey, that’s not kind of her.”
“Whatever. I don’t want to go anyway,” she says, but I can see that she does and my heart aches for her. Jess walks across to the fridge and takes out some juice.
“I saw you threw some of your toys away. Did you really want to do that, hon?” I ask gently, and she looks thrown. “It’s okay if you don’t want them anymore, I’d just rather we gave them to Lottie for her baby or took them to Goodwill.” She turns her head to look out of the window. “I rescued them from the bin. Are you happy for me to give them away?”
