‘I get it.’ Bill seemed almost relieved, she thought, sadly. ‘You know where I am every lunchtime. And every Saturday morning.’
‘I’ll look forward to that. And so will Toffee.’
They smiled crookedly at each other, and Zoe made herself carry on with the haircut, stretching out the sections between her fingers to check she’d got the lengths right.
‘At least you’re going to get a decent haircut,’ she said, stroking his thick curls for a little longer than she strictly needed to. ‘Where do you normally go? Your mum?’
He caught her eye again, and she knew he was enjoying the bittersweet sensation of her hands in his hair almost as much as she was.
You’re doing the right thing, Zoe told herself. Boundaries. Rules. That’s what you need. Things could build up from friendships, whereas a date – that could go badly wrong.
‘Zoe?’
Hannah, the salon receptionist, was hovering behind her, with the portable phone pressed against her chest. She looked worried, not her usual competent self.
‘Is there a problem?’ asked Zoe.
‘Um, there’s a call for you, from the school? It’s Spencer. He’s . . .’ Hannah glanced at Bill. ‘Maybe we should go into the staff room.’
Zoe put down her scissors at once, patted Bill on the shoulder, and almost chased Hannah into the tiny room the stylists used for coffee breaks and emergency bitching sessions.
Hannah kept the phone clamped to her chest and widened her eyes. She was wearing a lot of blue kohl – as only a twenty-year-old could – and the effect was dramatic. ‘You’ve got to go and pick Spencer up. There’s been some kind of incident.’
‘Oh, my God.’ Zoe grabbed the phone off her, a thousand grisly possibilities flashing through her mind. ‘Hello?’
‘Is that Mrs Graham?’
‘Yes.’ Zoe recognised the voice: Mrs Barratt, Spencer’s class teacher. The last time she’d seen her was six months ago when she’d been singing his praises at a parents’ meeting. She’d sounded a lot happier then. ‘Is there a problem? Has there been an accident?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid there was some trouble at lunchtime, and Spencer’s been rather upset. As well as very naughty.’
Zoe felt the blood drain from her face. ‘What sort of trouble? Is he all right?’
There was a worrying pause. ‘Spencer’s all right now, yes,’ said Mrs Barratt. ‘But I’m afraid Callum Harris isn’t quite so well. Would you mind coming in to get him? I think it’s best if he goes home with his mum now.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Zoe. ‘I’ll be right there.’
Zoe barely remembered the drive up to the school, or the near-sprint towards the head’s office, with the school secretary struggling to keep up with her. Her salon FitFlops seemed to clatter horribly down the corridors, and when she saw Mrs Barratt waiting outside the office, her heart sank.
Mrs Barratt had always reminded Zoe of a lovely story-book mum, right down to the handknitted cardigan and homely smile. To see the disappointment in her brown eyes now cut her to the bone. Zoe felt as if she was being summoned to the head’s office, just as much as Spencer was, for failing as a mother.
‘It’s just so unlike him to be so angry,’ Mrs Barratt whispered in disbelief as they went in.
As the door opened, Spencer spun round with relief plain on his tear-streaked face, and Zoe felt a tug of maternal protectiveness towards her little boy.
He’d obviously been crying his eyes out, but his lip was jutting as if he defied anyone to tell him so. Lunchtime with Mrs Kennedy had put a lid on whatever attitude had got him into trouble, and now he looked ready to throw himself into his mum’s arms for a cuddle.
Zoe resisted the temptation, and instead arranged her face into a disappointed expression.
‘Is Daddy here?’ Spencer peered behind her, as if he expected David to be following.
‘No, your daddy couldn’t come,’ said Mrs Kennedy. She was poised behind her desk while Mrs Barratt hovered anxiously somewhere between Spencer and the door. Like a stern owl and a mother hen, thought Zoe.
‘We called him too – our new secretary wasn’t sure from your file who was the custodial parent,’ explained Mrs Barratt. ‘I’m very sorry about that, I hope it hasn’t caused any trouble.’
‘No, no,’ lied Zoe. She didn’t want to think about what David would say. Another triumph in his ‘better off with me’ campaign. ‘We share . . . all parenting matters.’
‘Is Daddy going to come?’ Spencer persisted, his face suddenly eager.
‘I don’t know,’ said Zoe. ‘Shh.’
‘I’m very sorry to have to interrupt your working day, Mrs Graham,’ said Mrs Kennedy. She gave Spencer a reproachful glance, and added, ‘There will be people going without their haircuts because Mummy had to be here to collect you, Spencer.’
‘I’ll fit them in somewhere,’ said Zoe hurriedly. ‘What’s been going on?’
Spencer immediately lost his eagerness and looked down at his shoes, which were, Zoe noticed, scuffed.
‘Hit Callum,’ he mumbled.
‘We can’t hear you,’ said Mrs Kennedy calmly. ‘Be a big boy and tell the truth.’
Spencer looked up at Zoe with a heartbreaking expression. It was like the one Toffee gave her, when she saw him wee in the kitchen – guilt and frustration that he couldn’t help doing it. Zoe had to bite her lip not to reach out and hug him. ‘I hit Callum.’
‘Why, darling?’
He shook his head and stared at his shoes again.
‘He won’t say.’ Mrs Barratt leaped in. ‘I’ve asked them both, and Callum says he didn’t say anything, but I rather think he did, because Spencer gave him a real thump. Nothing broken, but we can’t have any hitting here. It’s not very nice and Spencer’s going to have to miss his playtime tomorrow.’
‘Spencer! We never hit people!’ Zoe was horrified. ‘Never ever!’
‘Spencer, would you like to go with Mrs Barratt to collect your coat?’ suggested Mrs Kennedy. ‘I’d like a word with your mum.’
Spencer slid off his chair without looking at Zoe, and took the hand Mrs Barratt offered him. When they reached the door, he turned around and looked Mrs Kennedy straight in the face. ‘Sorry, Mrs Kennedy,’ he said in a rush. ‘Sorry, Mrs Barratt. I didn’t mean to be naughty.’
Zoe felt her eyes water.
‘I’m sorry too, Spencer,’ said Mrs Kennedy. ‘But we’ll start with a clean slate tomorrow, won’t we? Come in with a happy face. That’s a good boy.’
Her expression turned more serious once he’d left the room.
‘I wouldn’t normally send a little one home, but Spencer had such a tantrum even Mrs Barratt couldn’t calm him down. He was really inconsolable. He broke up the model he’d been making all this morning. I thought it was best if he went home and the two of you worked through it together.’
‘Of course,’ said Zoe, now mortified as well as distraught. ‘I’m so sorry about the hitting – he’s such a gentle soul.’
She stopped. Spencer had got more physical lately, smacking Leo in play, but never seriously. Never to hurt. Her eyes welled up again. Was it her fault? Was it something she wasn’t doing? Wasn’t it enough, without David’s male influence to set him right?
Mrs Kennedy passed her a box of tissues. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Mrs Graham, it’s not unusual when parents separate for children to act up, for attention.’
‘But he gets plenty of attention!’ Zoe blew her nose. ‘And it’s not like it’s news – his father moved out over a year ago now. We’re really careful to be nice in front of him and Leo, to make it as easy as we can.’
‘Are there . . . Again, I’m sorry if this seems a bit personal, but we do see a fair bit of this sort of behaviour.’ Mrs Kennedy’s voice was kind, but she chose her words carefully. ‘Are there new partners on the scene? That can set a child back in coming to terms with a separation.’
Zoe looked up at her. ‘Well, yes. He did go away with h
is dad and his new girlfriend the other weekend. But he seemed fine about that.’
‘Well, not if he was secretly hoping the two of you might still get back together. It would be so much easier if we could just tune into little ones’ heads like a radio, wouldn’t it?’ The head teacher lifted her eyebrows with a world-weary sympathy. ‘I’m sure you can get to the bottom of what happened today. Let Spencer know we’re not angry about it, but as we say, it’s better to talk with your mouth, not your hands.’
‘Of course.’ Zoe stood up and her knees felt weak.
And that was the end of any daydreams she might have had about sexy doctors.
Spencer was worryingly silent until they were out of the school gates, and then, when Zoe turned up the hill, away from their usual route, he came to life again.
‘Where are we going, Mummy?’ he asked, while they waited at the traffic lights by the railway station.
‘We’re going to get Toffee from Rachel’s.’
‘Yay! Then can we take him to the park? And see the other dogs?’
Zoe swung round in the front seat. ‘This isn’t a treat, Spencer. Mrs Barratt thought you should go home because you needed to calm down. And I’m very upset about you hitting Callum. He’s your friend!’
Spencer’s lip quivered. ‘He’s not any more.’
‘What did he say? You can tell me.’
The lips flattened into a defiant clam.
Zoe sat back as the traffic moved off, and let out a despairing breath. Spencer and Leo had been such easy, undemanding children up until now; she wasn’t sure she had the parenting skills to deal with real naughtiness.
Spencer began kicking the back of her seat, but Zoe just turned up the radio so she couldn’t hear it.
Megan was in the kennels office with Toffee when they arrived, in the middle of one of the two-minute training lessons she said she gave him throughout the day.
Zoe was pleased to see Toffee’s fat tail start wagging at the sight of her: it was the first uncomplicated reaction she’d had all day. Megan looked nearly as pleased to see them too. But Megan was, Zoe thought, about as close to a cheerful yellow Labrador as a human being could get.
‘Hey, guys!’ said Megan. ‘You’re just in time. Watch this! Toffee? Toffee! OK, put him down, Spencer, would you? Toffee, sit!’
She raised her hand, which might or might not have contained a biscuit, and Toffee’s bottom hit the deck obediently.
‘Good boy!’ Megan made a huge fuss of him, and slipped him the treat.
Zoe wondered how long it had taken Bill to teach Lulu to balance the biscuit on her nose and if the same trick was within reach of a Labrador.
‘Has he been OK?’ she asked, watched carefully as Spencer tumbled around with Toffee in the corner of the office.
‘He’s been as good as gold, like he always is. Freda and I would pop him in our pockets right now, wouldn’t we, Freda?’
‘Mm.’ Freda was behind the desk, writing out the telephone messages for Rachel, but her eyes were following Spencer around the room. Toffee was scampering under the leaflet dispenser, which Spencer was spinning with jerky swipes of his hand, so the photocopied sheets of dog-training tips were spilling out.
‘Do you want to take Toffee to see the dogs?’ suggested Zoe, anxious to distract him before the spinner got knocked over. ‘Be nice and quiet, Spencer. And don’t poke at them.’
Freda opened her mouth, possibly to raise an objection, but Spencer had already charged off towards the double fire doors. Zoe started after him, but Megan was there first.
‘I’ll go with him,’ she said. ‘You stay here and have a cup of coffee. You look like you’ve had a bad day. Come here, Spencer. Let’s put Toffee’s lead on, get him used to it. No, not too tight. Hold it like this . . .’
Zoe watched as Megan gave Spencer firm instructions, the same way she talked to Toffee, then led the boy and the dog out of the office.
Once the fire doors had shut behind them, a sudden quiet fell on the office and Zoe’s shoulders slumped.
‘You’re very early,’ said Freda. ‘Is everything all right?’
Zoe bit her lip. ‘Yes, fine.’
‘You could do with the coffee, though?’
She nodded. In her bag, she could feel her phone ringing. David, probably.
Zoe hesitated, then she remembered it was David’s stupid girlfriend and his stupid mobile-phone-and-puppy bribes that were stoking up the problem. She grabbed the phone from her bag and answered it while she was still cross.
‘What the hell’s going on, Zoe? I’ve just been told my son’s been kicked out of school!’ David wasn’t bothering with pleasantries. ‘What’s happened? They wouldn’t tell me any more.’
Zoe glanced at Freda, who tactfully backed into the kitchen with the used coffee mugs. ‘Sorry!’ she mouthed, then turned to face the window.
‘Stop over-reacting, David. He hasn’t been kicked out – I’ve just brought him home for the afternoon. He won’t tell me what the fight was about – he’s very moody at the moment. I don’t want to make him feel worse.’
‘For God’s sake, Zoe, he’s too young to be in fights! He’s seven! What next? Bunking off school to nick stuff? You’ve got custody because you claimed you were the best one to deal with all this.’
She stared out of the window into the orchard where Rachel was throwing balls for a couple of terriers. It was so peaceful, with the forest in the background and the rows of apple trees. Rachel threw the ball in a long, elegant motion; the dogs bounded eagerly after it, and dropped it at her feet for her to throw again. Easy. Neat.
‘I am dealing with it,’ she said tightly. ‘But I don’t think it helps, introducing him and Leo to—’ She made herself say it. ‘— to Jennifer so soon.’
David let out an exasperated sigh. ‘So soon? Why? We’ve been together for . . .’ Now he stopped short.
‘Go on,’ said Zoe, masochistically. ‘It can’t be longer than I’ve already guessed. You’ve got the divorce now – admitting the truth can’t change anything.’
‘It doesn’t matter how long we were seeing each other,’ he blustered, and even though Zoe didn’t feel a thing for him any more, something inside her wizened up. What a pushover, she thought. Everyone just runs rings around me.
‘He’s got to know sooner or later that we have our own lives,’ he insisted. ‘They’ve got to accept we’re not getting back together.’
‘But in the meantime I’ve got to pick up the pieces?’
Rachel was throwing two balls at a time now, much to the terriers’ delight. For a moment, Zoe wished she had Rachel Fielding’s life: cosmopolitan, sexy in an unusual, media sort of way, great legs, no ties. No one ran rings round Rachel; she did exactly what she wanted, and got what she wanted.
As soon as she thought it, Zoe wanted to wipe her traitorous brain clean.
‘And I’m not seeing anyone,’ she added, just to twist the knife – in whom, she wasn’t sure. ‘I’m trying to put the boys first.’
‘If you want to live like a nun that’s up to you,’ said David. ‘Not my problem. But Spencer is.’
He sounded so sanctimonious, like he wouldn’t kick off if she sent him the invoices for the child therapist.
Zoe rubbed her eyes. Getting bitchy wouldn’t help.
‘I’ll find out what’s been going on, and let you know what you can do,’ she said, in the calm voice Mrs Kennedy had used to such amazing effect on Spencer. ‘And in the meantime, maybe you could get a book out of the library about helping your child cope with divorce? And one for your girlfriend. Though preferably not Snow White.’
‘Very funny,’ snarled David, and hung up.
Freda poked her head around the door. ‘Are you done, pet?’ She proffered a cup of coffee. ‘Put two sugars in. Thought you needed it.’
‘Thanks.’ Zoe sank onto a chair, barely feeling the heat of the mug cupped in her hands. The dogs were barking up a storm in the kennels, and she hoped Spencer wasn’t play
ing up too. That was the last thing she needed: Megan deciding that Toffee and the Grahams were too much to handle.
‘Does it get easier, Freda?’ she asked. ‘Parenting?’
‘No,’ said Freda. ‘Our Lynne, bless her, was a terror. Motorcycles, boyfriends with tattoos, the lot. Then she moved to New Zealand, got married and we don’t know the half of what she and her family are up to.’ She smiled, wistfully. ‘But you get into the habit of worrying. That’s why Ted and I fostered dogs for Dorothy – gave us something else to worry about.’
‘But small enough to put on your knee.’
‘Yes! And unconditional with their love, too.’
Zoe sipped her coffee. Between her madhouse at home and the madhouse at work, the kennels were turning into the only place she felt relaxed – and that was with all the homeless dogs yapping away on the other side of the doors.
‘But enjoy it while you can,’ Freda added, unexpectedly. ‘Because before you know it, they’re off, and you’re telling a Yorkshire terrier that her mummy loves her.’
Zoe looked at the old lady, and suddenly saw a melancholy in Freda she hadn’t noticed before beneath the busy façade. She was about to ask more, when the doors burst open and Megan came in, with Toffee on the lead and Spencer trailing behind her, sulking and looking a lot like David when his team lost a home game.
‘Spencer,’ she began, with a warning tone, but Megan held up her hand. She didn’t look as cheerful as normal, but there was a set to her jaw that suggested she was determined not to lose her temper either.
‘Training!’ she said brightly. ‘That’s what Spencer needs. He’s going to teach Toffee a new trick, and Toffee’s going to teach Spencer some patience.’
Neither Toffee nor Spencer looked particularly convinced, but Megan got out her training treats and caught Zoe’s eye. ‘You want to join in, Zoe? We’re going to learn “Stay”. And this might take some practice.’