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He’s Not There

If the devil is in the details, if the pleasure is in the planning, then the fun is in the fantasy. Though Fen knew well enough how reality can let a daydream down, that Monday she made sure she forgot. Though she was aware that the planning might well be pointless, she happily indulged herself. Though she knew that her own guardian devil was guiding her, she turned deaf ears to her conscience. All her conscience wanted to say was Think about it – what is the point? But for Fen, just then, the point was that her imagination had been ignited and running with it was fun. And wasn’t it refreshing to have the energy and the desire to spend a little time choosing what to wear? And didn’t it seem entertainingly decadent to put mascara on in the daytime? And wasn’t it fun to think about something other than baby food for a little while? And when it all seemed suddenly fanciful, questionable even, Fen simply justified that Cosima needed some nice fresh air. And wasn’t a stroll up Bishops Avenue as good a route as any? And if further corroboration was needed, then a date with Cat at the café in Kenwood House provided it.

*

‘He’s not there,’ Fen said to Cosima as they walked up the Bishops Avenue, ‘but there again, why would he be?’ She walked on, mulling theories on coincidence, unrealistic expectations and downright improbability. She stopped to pick up Cosima’s teething rings. She looked back over her shoulder to the tree and the flowers. ‘Shall we leave a little note?’ she asked. ‘There’s no harm in that. It would be friendly, wouldn’t it – might make his sad task a little less so.’ She turned the buggy and retraced her steps.

Hi Al!

Cosima and I were passing.

I noticed a couple of Kay’s daffodils were looking peaky so I’ve removed them.

Hope that’s OK.

Fen.

‘Shall we leave Mummy’s mobile number too? I mean, it’s no big deal, is it, it’s just a friendly gesture – communication being a global thing.’ Fen added her number after her name.

She set off for Kenwood in earnest and thought to herself how she’d just done the right thing.

It’s not like I’m hoping he’ll call. It’s not like I’m swept up in daft daydreams. She spent the rest of the route distinguishing between the Daydream and the Distraction.

There’s a major distinction between the two. A daydream can be pointless, a distraction useful.

It was with a spring in her step that she crunched along the sweep of gravel driveway heralding Kenwood House.

Cat was already there, sitting in the converted coach house, caressing a cup of tea. Fen zoomed the buggy over to her, mimicking a screech of brakes with her voice. An elderly couple looked slightly alarmed, as if that was no way to handle a buggy, as if babies should be in nice coach-built prams, not bizarre three-wheeled monstrosities.

Though they’d spent all weekend together, Fen gave Cat a kiss and a hug. She took Cosima from her buggy.

‘Here, you cuddle your Auntie Cat,’ she told the baby. ‘Mummy’s going to get herself an enormous slice of cake.’

‘You’re chirpy,’ Cat told Fen on her return, declining the gateaux that Fen had bought.

‘And you look miserable,’ Fen commented, giving Cosima an organic sugar-free rusk. ‘Everything OK?’

‘I feel glum,’ Cat admitted, ‘and I want to be allowed to feel glum. So thank God you’re not Pip.’

‘What’s up?’ Fen asked, spooning butter-cream from the cake’s surface directly into her mouth.

‘I’m not pregnant. I don’t have a job. I don’t like Clapham. Ben’s never home and I wish I’d stayed in Colorado,’ Cat declared.

‘Cat,’ Fen said, ‘you’ve only been home two minutes.’

‘It’s been three months,’ Cat corrected. ‘I’ve had sex forty-two times and have sent out nineteen pre-emptive letters for jobs. Nothing.’

‘Cat, you make the former sound like a chore and you’re being unrealistic about the latter,’ Fen admonished her lightly.

‘And you sound like Pip,’ said Cat, ‘so stop it because I need you to be the one who there-theres me.’

Fen paused to consider this. It was true. Go to Pip for practical advice and accept her authority. Go to Fen for a hug and be assured of some plain sympathy. ‘It takes time,’ Fen soothed, ‘both take time.’

‘You got pregnant overnight!’ Cat objected.

‘It wasn’t planned,’ Fen said.

‘Then it’s not fair,’ said Cat.

Fen looked at her younger sister apologetically and put her hand over Cat’s. ‘Come back to mine this afternoon,’ she said. ‘Let’s look at my books and magazines. There’s sure to be Ten Top Tips For Tip Top Fertility or something.’ Though Fen made it sound as though she was doing Cat the favour, privately she liked the idea of a way out of the mums-and-babies group.

‘What’s wrong with Clapham anyway?’ Fen asked. ‘I thought it was meant to be quite a happening place?’

‘I stick out like a sore thumb,’ Cat said. ‘All the women bustle about with perfect children, or sit smug behind the wheels of their SUVs.’

‘But that’s your goal too,’ Fen said, ‘that’s what you’re hoping for. And actually, it doesn’t sound dissimilar to this part of North London.’

‘But while it’s not happening for me, it makes me feel so isolated,’ said Cat, ‘and it’s made me realize that I really want to be nearer to you. And Pip. I felt less far away when I was living in Colorado – how mad is that? I feel lonely stuck over the river. Ben’s really upbeat about his job but he’s working really long hours. I haven’t made any friends. I miss Stacey and the gang in Boulder. And I miss my mountain.’

‘Your what?’ Fen asked.

‘Flagstaff. Remember that hike we went on? That’s my mountain. You saw where Ben and I lived, Fen. You saw the awesome wilderness right on our doorstep. You filled your lungs with that crystal-pure air. You stayed in our gorgeous apartment. You hung out with our mates. You saw how people drive SUVs out there because of the terrain, not fashion. You had a taste of our quality of life.’