Free Other People's Husbands by Judy Astley Page B

take up ballet or judo or join Beavers, or whatever it was small boys did these days? She hadn’t been a joiner herself, but she’d loved ballet and enjoyed having a flexible, rhythmic body. If Charlie took it up, would he be the only boy in the class? Possibly, but she didn’t want him to have gender issues about what kids could do. Paul would want him to do sport, play rugby like he did, but the thought of Charlie’s velvety little head being thumped by muscle-bound thugs was too terrible to contemplate.
    â€˜So will you get back together? I mean, it’s not, like, it’s not just you two any more, is it?’ Miranda was looking at Cass nervously, as if, Cass thought, being a mother made her something to be treated warily. She was probably right. She felt she was a fearsome, bubbling mix of hormones and protective savagery.
    â€˜Dunno. Only if a lot changes.’ Cass shrugged. The Range Rover moved off slowly and she followed, cursing school-run traffic at the same time as realizing that in a few increasingly short years she might be part of it. How grown-up that would be. How alien. ‘If we don’t, though, we’ll have to stay friendly because of Charlie. I don’t want to spend his childhood apologizing for my choice when it came to his parentage.’
    Miranda put her shoe back on and started biting hungrily at the varnish on her thumb.
    â€˜Randa, did you have breakfast?’
    â€˜What? Like more than some coffee? How would there be time? Does anyone ?’
    â€˜Yes! Otherwise you’ll end up fat. Your body will think you’re starving it and learn to cling to every last calorie. And you’re, like, eating your own skin ?’
    â€˜You know what, Cass?’ Miranda laughed. ‘You sound like my mum! You’ve turned into Every-Mother! Oh God, I’m sorry!’ She looked stricken suddenly. ‘I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t mean you sound old or anything!’
    â€˜I feel old, sometimes. Or maybe it’s tired. I’ve turned into that warning about contraception that all careless girls need, haven’t I? The one who looks haggard and knackered and has baby sick over all her clothes. Who’d want to be that girl ? I should go into sink schools and give a lecture. “Look at me, everyone. Do you want to end up like this?” ‘
    â€˜Oh Cass, you look great, no worries, truly. And you know, Paul really does love you. He’s just a bit . . . you know, like boy stuff. They take a while to adapt. He’ll be OK. And he adores Charlie. He never didn’t want this baby. Everyone knew that.’
    They were nearing the college now. Cass slowed the car so much that the gears complained. She was tempted to stop before she got to the gates and collect her thoughts a bit.
    â€˜I know, you’re completely right.’ She sighed, thinking about how she’d loved the way Paul had lain across her on the bed with his ear against her stretched skin, feeling the baby kick against him, playing gentle songs from his iPod and talking about how he’d take him (or her) to the park and to watch Chelsea’s home games.
    â€˜When I was pregnant he used to talk about how he’d teach him (or her) to swim and to ski and to skateboard. Thinking about it now, I don’t remember any of these plans being about how we’d all do these things together as a family . Family is a bit of a grown-up word for what we are. I don’t remember Paul once saying that I’d be there in all this sporty future, playing cricket on a beach or hanging out down the park. It was like he was already planning a life for Charlie as a maintenance child and organizing activities for his access times.’
    â€˜Oh come on, Cass; you’re just saying that because you need something to pin on him. He hasn’t actually done anything bad , has he? He’s mystified ! He’s just a lad being a lad