Free Seeing Other People by Mike Gayle Page A

a better present for a child than the opportunity to tell off a parent? He adopted his sternest expression: it was adorable. ‘Do you promise not to do it again?’
    I held up my hand and crossed my heart. ‘Never again.’
    ‘Then I forgive you.’
    Hand in hand we made our way over to Rosie who had just finished saying goodbye to her friend.
    ‘I’m sorry I was late, Rosie. A whole bunch of stuff got in the way. Do you forgive me?’
    Rosie shrugged. ‘You didn’t miss much anyway. Jack got nervous and kept playing the wrong notes. Everyone thought it was hilarious.’
    I glared a first and final warning in Rosie’s direction as Jack’s face crumpled in sadness. ‘Rosie, you know better than that. Apologise to your brother.’
    She rolled her eyes for both Jack’s benefit and mine. ‘Fine! Jack, I’m sorry, OK?’
    It sounded more like a threat than an apology and Rosie knew it. I glanced at Penny, who had come over to join us, hoping that she might jump in and say something, but she didn’t. It was as though she’d decided to take the role of an impartial observer. Was she really so angry with me for being late? Or was this to do with something else?
    Out of earshot the children gathered their instruments and so I took the opportunity to gauge her mood. ‘Are we OK?’
    A thin-lipped silence then she turned her back on me, picked up the kids’ bags from the chair in front of her and left the room.
     
    Any hope that Penny’s mood might have lightened once we reached home evaporated the moment she got out of the car – having not said a word the entire journey home – and made her way inside the house without looking back. Even Jack, who had never been great at reading people’s emotions, was prompted to ask if Mummy was all right. I told him she was just tired and he nodded solemnly as though he understood.
    I took responsibility for the bedtime regime while Penny cleared the kitchen noisily. Left to his own devices Jack could easily take a good hour and a half to get ready for bed with a long shower, full-scale search of his room for missing pyjamas and several trips to the bathroom. I managed the lot, bedtime stories included, in forty-five minutes – which given that I was wild with tiredness myself was no mean feat.
    On the way downstairs I passed Rosie’s room; thankfully as a ten year old she pretty much put herself to bed these days. She was sitting on her bed in her pyjamas and dressing gown playing with her iPod.
    ‘So what are you doing now? Are you staying up here or coming down for a bit?’
    She momentarily lifted her eyes from the screen. ‘Staying put. Are you in trouble with Mum because you were late?’
    I couldn’t help but smile; sometimes I loved how black and white my kids’ worlds were. ‘No one’s in trouble with anyone. Mum’s just tired and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep a low profile and get to bed tonight without any fuss.’ I kissed the top of her head. ‘Lights out by nine o’clock at the latest and I mean it.’
    Downstairs I paused in front of the kitchen door, wondering what tack to take with Penny. Should I ask her outright what the problem was or wait patiently and hope she’d tell me in her own time? In the end I decided to play it by ear and entered the kitchen to find her sitting at the table. My eyes flicked from the half-empty bottle of Malbec in front of her to the full glass she held to her lips.
    I sat down in the chair nearest to her. ‘Rough day?’
    ‘No more than usual.’
    ‘It’s just that you don’t seem right. It’s not just because I was late is it?’
    ‘It didn’t help.’
    ‘So what is it?’
    ‘You tell me.’ She looked away and took another long sip from her glass before setting it carefully down on the table. I tried to read her face. She was angry, possibly hurt too, and while I was the cause I couldn’t work out why.
    ‘You slept with her didn’t you?’ she said, her gaze fixed towards the view of