Free Girl on the Run by Jane Costello Page A

rambunctious moo and prompts Lola’s bottom lip to wobble. ‘Oh dear,’ soothes Jess, producing a dummy and popping it in the baby’s mouth. ‘So there’s no way of knowing whether Heidi will have the serious or mild form?’
    ‘Not yet. Though there’s one good sign: people with fewer lesions on the brain tend to fare better. Heidi only has one – for now. But nothing’s certain. Ever.’
    We head to the café to give Lola her lunch, since if she doesn’t eat at exactly twelve noon she throws a tantrum that would make Mariah Carey look like Mother Teresa. Jamie has a sandwich and I can’t resist buying us all one of the gorgeous-looking chocolate cakes with Smarties on top.
    ‘They’re meant for the kids,’ Jess grins as we find a table.
    ‘So I’m reliving my childhood. How’s Adam?’ I’ve found over the years that asking Jess about her husband helps to give the impression that I’m fond of him.
    ‘Oh, he’s fine,’ she replies, looking a bit forlorn as she lifts Lola into her highchair. ‘Same as usual.’
    I frown, sensing something amiss. ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘Nothing,’ she replies, too innocently. ‘Nothing at all. I mean . . . he’s fine. Simple as that.’
    ‘Mummy,’ interrupts Jamie after taking a single bite of his sandwich. ‘I don’t want this. It tastes like ham.’
    ‘It is ham,’ she informs him.
    ‘But I don’t like ham,’ he says.
    ‘Since when? You’ve always loved it.’
    ‘I like chicken now,’ he argues.
    ‘Well, they had chicken, but you chose ham. You chose ham because you like ham.’
    ‘Not any more.’
    ‘You’re going to have to eat it, I’m afraid, Jamie. Some children are starving in this world, you know.’
    He looks at her sorrowfully. ‘They could have my sandwich if they liked.’
    Jamie spends ten minutes dissecting his food into infinitesimal pieces before Jess finally relents and allows him to play in the ball pool while she feeds ravioli to Lola.
    ‘What did you mean about Adam before?’ I ask, now Jamie is out of earshot. ‘You went . . . funny.’
    ‘Did I?’ Jess is wiping Lola’s mouth. ‘I didn’t mean to. It’s nothing, honestly.’
    I glare at her. She looks at my face and caves in.
    ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Well . . . can I ask you a question?’
    ‘Fire away,’ I reply, picking off a corner of cake and popping it in my mouth.
    ‘Do you think Adam and I are well matched?’
    I cough back crumbs and, between splutters, finally bring myself under control. ‘Of course.’
    ‘That’s not a very convincing response,’ she points out huffily.
    ‘Honestly, I do,’ I protest. Jess has always been Adam’s biggest advocate – determined that he’s the most intelligent, funny and kind man she knows. Personally, I can’t see it but there are some things you can’t say even to your best friend.
    Despite her insistence about his qualities, however, there’s still a part of Jess that holds back, though I have no doubt that this is one of the many consequences of her emotionally confused upbringing.
    She and her younger sister Sarah were raised by an austere mother, who never showed the girls affection, while their more demonstrative father was forever disappearing to enjoy his sole recreational pursuit: womanising.
    Despite his philandering, part of Jess has always adored her father. And a part of her is exactly like him.
    Before Adam, Jess struggled terribly with commitment; she loved the idea, but couldn’t manage the practice, which meant virtually every relationship she had ended in infidelity – hers.
    When her mum died of breast cancer, she made an overnight decision – one she’s determined to stick to. Much as she loved her dad, she didn’t want to turn into him: she wanted stability, monogamy and a family. There’s no doubt that Adam has delivered all that.
    Yet I still have a nagging suspicion that she chose him because he represented all those things and not necessarily because she was