Prologue
Sue created the group Nana’s Week of Fun.
Sue added Joni.
Sue added Nick.
Sue added Cate.
Sue added Michael.
Sue added Allie.
Sue
Hello, everyone. My grandson helped me set this group up so I hope we’ve done it right! Before Phyllis passed, she asked me to assist her with something she’d been planning for some time. I have a message from her about next week and the scattering of her ashes.
Cate
What the ???
Sue
Before we begin, can everybody hear me?
Michael
We can hear you, Sue.
Allie Hi Sue.
Nick
Nobody can hear you, Sue. It’s not a séance.
Sue
Make sure you have added everyone, Sue.
Sue
Sorry, I wasn’t meant to post that bit here. That was the start of Phyllis’s instructions.
Cate Instructions? What is going on?
Sue posted a GIF.
Nick Is that Ryan Reynolds?
Sue I didn’t post that.
Cate
You did. Not that I’m complaining. Love a bit of The Reynolds.
Sue Are we all here now? I think we’re just waiting for Joni.
Nick
She’s here. There are two blue ticks, which means everyone has read your message. I need to pick Stan up from school in a minute so can you just tell us what’s going on?
Michael
Are you there, Joni love? Sue has a message from Nana.
Allie Is Phyllis OK? Is she at peace?
Nick
It’s not a message from the grave, Mum. Jesus.
Cate
Can you just tell us please?
Sue
OK. I’ll copy and glue it. Bear with.
Sue
Hello, my darlings. If you are reading this, Sue has managed to assemble you all in one place. Thank you, Sue. You always were a good friend. This message is for Michael, Allie, Joni, Nick and Cate. It’s important that you ALL read it. I am sorry to have to do this as I know you may not be best pleased with what I have arranged, but I have my reasons and I don’t think any of you are able to argue with me, now that I am dead.
Next week, the five of you, plus young Stan, will stay together at my house. I have added a couple of days to the long weekend you had all agreed to be at for my 90th birthday celebrations. I have devised an itinerary for your week and you will be presented with your first activity on your arrival at the pub next Friday.
In order for my will to be read and my ashes to be released, you must all stay for the full week and complete a number of activities. Tasks, if you will, though they will be fun. I never wanted it to come to this, but my attempts to bang your heads together over recent years have proved futile, and this is, I suppose, my parting shot. If you don’t complete the week, there will, with regret, be no inheritance for anyone other than Cats Protection and my ashes will remain with Sue. I would rather that my final resting place was somewhere other than the top of Sue’s television, particularly when she watches so much Bargain Hunt, but it is a risk I am willing to take. If it comes to it, at least I know the cats will be all right.
Joni, I know that you particularly are not going to like this, and I am sorry for that. I love you and I want what is best for you. I hope that, in time, you will find it in yourself to forgive me.
I have left Sue four more messages to share with you at specific times during the week but, for now, it’s goodbye from me.
With love, Nana Phyllis
Cate
Was she on crack?
Nick
What does she mean, she’s devised an itinerary ?
Allie
An awful lot of thought has gone into this, by the sounds of it.
Nick Did you know about this, Michael?
Michael
I had no idea. This has caught me completely off guard.
Allie
What shall we do?
Nick
It doesn’t sound like we have much choice, does it?
Cate
You’re very quiet @Joni . . .
Nick
She’s not going to do it, obviously. She won’t want to spend a week with us.
Cate
Of course she’s going to do it. It’s not just her inheritance at stake, it’s all of ours.
Cate
And Nana being laid to rest, of course. Which is more important. RIP.
Michael
Are you there, Joni love?
Joni has left the group.
1There are two types of people in the world. The planners, who like to organize things with plenty of notice. These are the people who book tickets and sort travel and generally oversee life’s admin. (Spoiler alert: I am one of these people. I like nothing more than a plan. Plans save lives.) Then there are the people who say things such as ‘Shall we play it by ear?’ or ‘Let’s go with the flow.’ Lewis falls into this second group, which is why him overseeing tonight’s anniversary date-night planning has set my nerves on edge. I’m not good with the flow. The flow could meander anywhere and, in my experience, no good has ever come from meandering.
If you’re thinking, ‘I bet she’s fun at parties,’ you would be right. I am not very fun at parties. Truth be told, I spend a lot of time worrying that I am not very fun at all. It’s such a tricky quality to cultivate, funness, and I suspect the fact that I once googled ‘How to be fun’ means I can’t exactly be bursting with joie de vivre. The more fun you try to be, the less fun you seem.
I haven’t always been quite so un-fun, but that’s a longer story. The sort of tale that lends itself to a lift-the-flap children’s book: The Woman Who Lost Her Fun. Is it hiding under the bed? No! Is it buried beneath years of heartache and resent—
‘Do you think they used a stunt double for that bit on the bridge?’ Lewis brings me back to the moment. He’s holding the
door for me as we exit the cinema. ‘I saw an interview recently where he said he did a lot of his own stunts, but I can’t imagine he did that one. What do you think?’ He taps me on the arm. ‘Joni?’
My eyes adjust to the evening light, my brain catching up with his post-film commentary. ‘Probably not that one, no.’
‘The motorbike flips were insane. And that bit where the bus is on fire and the motorbike flies over the top.’ He puffs out his cheeks. ‘Incredible.’
‘Mmm-hmm.’ My mind wandered from the machine guns and motorbike stunts around twenty minutes in, fretting instead over the unhinged group chat I was added to by my nana’s friend Sue last week. What’s being proposed is completely insane. A ‘family week of fun’ with people who are mostly not my real family, doing things that will almost certainly be no fun at all, even when I’m exerting my maximum fun effort. I tried to leave the chat altogether, but Sue was having none of it, re-adding me, then sending a separate private message laying the guilt on thick. It was so important to Phyllis that everyone got involved, love.
It’s blackmail, that’s what it is. I’m not even sure it’s legal to bribe people who typically avoid each other to spend time together in order to release your will or ashes, but evidently Nana wasn’t going to let that stop her. Shy of faking illness or injury, I can’t see how I’m going to get out of it.
‘I knew you’d enjoy it.’ Lewis nudges me with his elbow. ‘You can’t beat those sort of action sequences.’
‘Well, it’s not really my sort of film.’
‘No, but you enjoyed it. So . . .’ He smiles triumphantly. ‘It was definitely the best thing they were showing.’
‘Right.’ I don’t point out the poster behind him for the new South Korean tragicomedy everyone’s been raving about. I knew the chances of him booking tickets to that one were slim as he ‘doesn’t do subtitles’, but I’ve said many times that I don’t really do action.
‘Are you hungry?’ He drapes an arm around my shoulder and I sling mine around his waist. I’m being unfair. He’s gone to the effort of arranging an evening out to mark our anniversary and, granted, it wasn’t my favourite genre of film, but we’re still out together, celebrating. I’ve curled my hair for the occasion and I’m wearing my favourite green sundress, tan sandals and Mum’s gold locket, which I’ve recently had restored. Lewis is wearing his trademark polo shirt and chinos combo, but it’s his best polo shirt, the navy one reserved for nights out. We’re doing something special. Marking ten years of us. And the start of the school holidays, having waved the last of my classes off for the summer this afternoon.
‘I’m starving. What time are we eating?’ We cross over and join the high street, where a busker is giving ‘Tears in Heaven’ his all.
‘Any time you like.’ Lewis gives my shoulder a squeeze.
My heart sinks. ‘Have you not booked a table?’ I keep my eyes on the pavement ahead. Based on previous experience, I reckon I know the answer, but I hope I’m wrong. This is precisely why I prefer to be in charge. Being in charge removes the unknowables, which is just the way I like it.
‘I wasn’t sure what time the film would finish,’ Lewis says. ‘I can’t imagine it’ll be a problem to get a table though.’
Even after a decade I’m surprised by such casualness in the face of planning. I offered to book somewhere weeks ago; perhaps the new Italian on the waterfront, or the tiny place behind the museum that does a seven-course tasting menu and has a sixweek waiting list. But I was so busy with end-of-year madness that Lewis told me he would sort it – leave it with me, babe – and so, against my better judgement (and pushing aside my deeprooted desire to take charge of the organizing), I did leave it with him. Clearly it hasn’t been sorted. If it had, we wouldn’t be veering towards the windowless shopping mall.
‘So where are we going, exactly?’ I’m working hard to keep the
disappointment from my voice. We sidestep around a group of teenagers who are looking a bit fighty.
‘I thought we’d try Benny’s first.’
‘Benny’s?’ I’ve stopped walking. ‘As in Benny’s Burgers ?’
‘That’s the one. It’s decent, apparently. Been wanting to go for ages.’
‘Who says it’s decent?’ The sinking feeling that’s been growing in my stomach has well and truly sunk.
‘Boner and Gaz.’
‘Oh, well, if Boner and Gaz recommended it, it’s definitely the perfect place to celebrate ten years of being together.’ Boner and Gaz are Lewis’s oldest friends, the former still defined as a man in his forties by the time he got a hard-on in assembly.
‘Don’t be like that, babe. It’s not just Boner and Gaz. Loads of people rate it.’ Lewis reaches up and touches my cheek. ‘Let’s just see if they can squeeze us in. Come on, we should probably—’ He gestures at the fighting teenagers, whose voices are getting angrier, their crude insults louder. One of them appears to be livestreaming the altercation on Snapchat. Thankfully, I don’t recognize any of them from the classes I teach, though even if I did, I’m not sure I would risk intervening. They’d probably turn the camera on me and it would end up being sent around the Year 10 WhatsApp groups again, like the time someone filmed a short clip of my Algebraic Fractions lesson then put it on a loop with an audio of someone snoring over it.
Reluctantly, I follow Lewis past Poundland and through the door of Benny’s Burgers, where an LED milkshake on the wall bathes us both in a neon blue light.
‘Table for two?’ A girl no older than the teens outside wipes her hands on her apron. She looks frazzled. Lewis nods and she beckons for us to follow her.
‘What a result.’ He clenches his fist in celebration. ‘I told you it would be fine.’
I don’t say anything because I don’t trust myself not to cry. It’s pathetic – I’m being pathetic – but I suddenly feel a fool in my favourite dress and curled hair when everyone else is wearing jeans or tracksuits. Our table hasn’t been wiped down and we hover awkwardly while the waitress gathers as much of the burger detritus as she can in a napkin before handing us two laminated menus.
I take another napkin from the cutlery caddy and mop up the burger sauce she missed that is threatening to drip on to my lap. On the next table a toddler is whingeing to be let out of her highchair, her parents doing their best to placate her with a jolly cartoon playing on the dad’s phone. The mum catches me looking and I smile, hoping to convey sympathy rather than judgement. My smile is not returned.
Lewis taps the menu. ‘The chicken burger sounds right up your street.’
‘It’s Your Clucky Day,’ I read. ‘Right.’
‘I think I might go for the Cow-abunga.’ He furrows his brow. ‘Or the Pig Apple.’
Despite myself, I laugh.
‘There she is.’ Lewis tilts his head to the side. ‘You look amazing, by the way. You always look amazing in green with that gorgeous red hair of yours. Have I told you that?’
‘I’m not letting you off that easily.’ I raise one eyebrow, but already I can feel my mood lifting. Lewis might not have booked my dream dinner, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a good boyfriend. We’re just different, with very different views on planning. A fine-dining and champagne-on-ice set-up isn’t necessary to mark the occasion. We can celebrate here. There is lots to be excited about. I order a glass of fizz and as soon as it arrives I raise it towards Lewis’s beer. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers, babe. Happy anniversary.’
‘Can you believe it’s been ten years?’ I tap his leg with my foot.
He is looking at something over my shoulder. ‘Lew? A whole decade of us.’
His eyes return to the table. ‘I know, it’s mad. Ten years.’
‘I’d only just started at West Clyst when we met.’ I teach at a secondary school in Exeter, just down the road from where we live.
‘And now you’re the boss.’ He nods appreciatively.
‘Head of Maths,’ I correct him. Most days I don’t feel like the boss of anything, except maybe the refuse and recycling comms for our cul-de-sac. I was forced to take the reins after the woman at number 32 forgot to remind everyone about the extra bank holiday. It was bin bedlam. ‘You’re right, though. A lot has happened in a decade. You’ve been promoted, too.’ Lewis is manager of a local marketing agency. ‘This feels like such a moment, doesn’t it?’
‘Our anniversary?’
‘Not just that. How we’re on the cusp of new things. All these milestones seem to be coming at once. Ten years of us. My upcoming—’ I can’t bring myself to say fortieth out loud. ‘My birthday. The next chapter is our big one, isn’t it? Marriage, kids. If the fertility gods are on our side, that is. We definitely shouldn’t take it for granted.’ Since coming off the pill six months ago I have inhaled what feels like everything that has ever been written about conception, pregnancy and birth. It was supposed to make me feel more informed and better prepared for what’s to come, but the main thing I’ve learned is that the whole thing is a massive lottery and I’ve never been a fan of gambling. Maybe it’s years of teaching probability, but I simply refuse to bet big odds, which probably explains why I wasn’t invited back to Ladies Day at the races with the rest of West Clyst’s female senior leadership team. Limiting my stake to a bag of small change did nothing to boost my fun score. I take a sip of my drink and study Lewis carefully. ‘This is what you want, isn’t it? The next chapter?’
‘Yeah, of course.’ Lewis glances over my shoulder again, and this time I twist in my seat to follow his gaze, which is, to my dismay, fixed on a giant television screen showing football above the bar.
‘Seriously?’
‘Sorry, I was just checking the score. It was a very quick check. My eyes are firmly on you now.’ He gestures between his eyes and my face. ‘See.’
‘Right, well. I should think so. Big things ahead for us this year, that’s all I was saying. You’ve got three months, by the way . . .’
‘To put a ring on it, I know.’ He laughs. ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. ‘Engaged by forty. And already working on an army of little Jonis and Lewises.’ He mimes saluting. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘No one said anything about an army.’
‘At least three though, yeah?’
‘I’d be happy with one.’ I twist the ring on my thumb. ‘I know you think that’s crazy, but I was an only child and, honestly, it was brilliant.’
‘You weren’t an only child, though. You’ve got siblings.’ Our burgers arrive, and Lewis begins picking everything that isn’t the burger out of his burger. I can’t help but feel this defeats the point of coming to a burger place.
‘Well, no, because Nick and Cate aren’t my siblings.’ I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve tried to explain this over the years. ‘We’re not related. It’s nowhere near the same as having brothers and sisters.’
‘Plenty of people have step-siblings they would count as siblings,’ Lewis says. ‘I’m just saying. Particularly if they’d lived together for a big chunk of time like you guys did. But I get it. In your case, it’s complicated.’
‘Exactly.’ Complicated doesn’t cut it. Nick and Cate moved into ours with their mum the year after my mum died. It was the worst time in my life and a period I avoid thinking about at all, if
I can help it. I hold the brioche bun down so I can cut my burger in half. ‘Besides, you know we don’t get on. That’s why it’s best for us just to steer clear.’ I do talk to my dad on a how’s-workgoing-and-isn’t-it-muggy type of phone call every few weeks, but I have no interest in hearing about what the others are up to, even though he insists on providing me with updates, as if I care. Nana was the link to that part of my life and the lynchpin of the family. With her gone, I’m struggling to feel a connection to any of it.
‘You always wear the same face when you talk about them, do you know that? Nick, in particular.’
‘I do not wear a face,’ I say. When Lewis laughs, I add, ‘Which face?’
‘The scowly one.’ He mirrors my frown, two lines appearing between his eyebrows. ‘Which is why I can’t believe you’re actually considering going this weekend.’
‘We’re considering going,’ I correct him. ‘You’d already booked the long weekend off for Nana’s ninetieth birthday, remember?’
‘Right, but that was months ago. Before—’ He nods his head to the side. ‘You know.’
‘Before she died. I know.’ Nana had been so excited about turning ninety and extremely annoyed that she was going to die before getting there, not least because she’d gone to the trouble of borrowing a throne left over from the village’s am-dram performance of King Lear to sit on during her party. We’d always been close. I miss her frequent phone calls and lengthy emails filled with village gossip so much. ‘It clearly meant a lot to her, this week she planned. What can I do?’
‘I get that it meant a lot, but orchestrating a compulsory week of activities with everyone’s inheritance at stake? I’ve never heard anything like it.’ Lewis reaches for a sweet-potato fry. ‘It was pretty badass of your nana to organize it all, to be fair. Nothing but respect. Maybe you’ll get financially rewarded for each task. Or maybe one winner takes all.’
‘We’re not doing tasks,’ I say. ‘There won’t be a winner taking all.’
‘That message you read out definitely said something about tasks . . .’
My stomach lurches. ‘Well, whatever Nana planned, I don’t feel like I’ve got much choice. Money issues aside, if everyone else agrees to go except me, her ashes won’t be scattered and it would be my fault. Emotional blackmail or not, that doesn’t feel right.’
‘It’s one of the most insane things I’ve ever heard, but I suppose it’s only one week.’ Lewis shrugs. ‘You can grin and bear it.’
‘Exactly. And you’ll be there, too. We can hide from everyone together. You were right, by the way.’ I point to what’s left of my chicken burger. ‘Not quite fine dining, but It’s Your Clucky Day is indeed decent. Happy anniversary.’ I angle my phone above our table and lean in towards him as I take a selfie of us clinking glasses. ‘Here’s to the next ten years.’
Usually the start of the school holidays is my deep-clean and sortout week, when I hire a carpet cleaner and upholstery steamer and give the whole house a thorough onceover. There is nothing more satisfying than getting everything washed and out on the line to dry while I set to work bagging up clothes and books for the charity shop. For a short while, I tried to sell book bundles on Facebook Marketplace, but after encountering time wasters, idiots and one actual criminal, I decided £1.50 for a couple of John Grishams wasn’t worth the hassle. The first week of the holiday is also the week I pop into my classroom to get stuff ready for the next academic year. I hate leaving it until the end of the holiday and knowing that my house is clean, my drawers have been decluttered and that I’m all set for September at school is, for me, the most relaxing start to the six-week break. Unfortunately, my week-one plans this summer have been hijacked by our upcoming trip, which is why, instead of cleaning cupboards and pegging sofa cushions on the line, I find myself packing cases for a week of whatever awkwardfest Nana has mapped out for us.
The more I think about it, the bigger the knot of dread in my stomach grows. There are lots of parts I’m dreading – playing happy families when we don’t get on, for a start – and that dread has only been compounded by the fact that Sue has refused to tell us what the week has in store. How am I supposed to pack
accordingly? The best I can do is put together a few different outfit styles and plenty of clothes that can be layered. I’m grateful for the packing cubes I ordered for our holiday to Greece last year when one of Lewis’s cousins was getting married. One cube per outfit. It was on that holiday that we’d had The Chat about trying for a baby, and now here we are. It was also on that holiday that Lewis and his cousin drank so much ouzo that they ripped their shirts off and pretended to be Stavros Flatley, resulting in Lewis Greek-riverdancing into a door and knocking himself out. I still cringe when I think about my own drunken misdemeanours from decades ago, but Lewis never seems to get embarrassed by stuff. Everything just becomes another funny story. Maybe that’s easier to do when you’re super chilled out, like he is. I’m seriously lacking in chill. I wonder if that’s related to my fun shortage.
By the time Lewis gets home, I’ve finished my packing cubes and made a start on his. His eyebrows shoot up when he comes into the bedroom and I worry for a second that I’ve overstepped the mark. I do usually pack for both of us, but I didn’t ask whether that was all right and I do tend to go overboard with my sorting.
He pecks me on the cheek. ‘Is that my stuff?’
‘It is. I thought it would save you time.’ I take a step closer to him. ‘But you can unpack and repack it all if I’ve picked the wrong stuff. Or tell me if I’ve missed anything.’ I nod towards the second checklist I’ve written, for him. ‘Chargers and toothbrushes will need to go in our bags tomorrow morning, obviously. That’s why they’re in their own column.’
‘Joni—’ He puts his hand up, but it’s hard to stop me when I’m in full flow. Where other people secure their dopamine hits through exercise or alcohol, I feel the buzziest when I’m in full organization mode.
‘Your favourite hoody isn’t quite dry yet, so it’s still hanging up downstairs,’ I continue. ‘I’ve circled it on the list, so we don’t forget to pack it. The only thing I wasn’t sure about was whether
you’d be taking your electric razor or just a packet of disposable ones. I’ve charged the electric one just in—’
‘Babe.’ Lewis takes hold of both my hands. ‘I’m not going to be able to come with you this week after all.’
‘What?’ I untwine my fingers from his. ‘Why not?’
‘I’ve double-booked myself.’ He places his palm against his forehead. ‘I’m such a plank.’
‘With work? But you said you’d sorted your annual leave months ago.’ I stare at his half-packed case. ‘And that you wouldn’t cancel it, so you’d be free to come.’
‘I didn’t cancel it, but I’d completely forgotten that Hinchy was down.’ He shakes his head, as though the circumstances he is describing are way outside his control. ‘Nightmare timing.’
‘You forgot that Hinchy was down.’ My dopamine rush is rapidly evaporating. ‘You can’t come with me for a week I’ve told you I could really use moral support for, organized by my recently deceased grandmother, because Boner’s brother is visiting.’ I pinch the bridge of my nose. I can’t believe this. Except, well, I can. We have been here before.
‘He hasn’t been down since last year,’ Lewis says. ‘And the whole gang hasn’t been together for even longer than that. The last time was probably Gaz’s stag do.’
‘So what have you got planned, exactly?’ I begin unpacking his cubes. ‘A week in the pub?’
‘Not just that, no. We’re playing golf on two of the days. I told the lads ages ago that I would be around for the whole week. You know, after I knew your nan’s party wouldn’t be happening.’ The lads are four men who have unironically named their WhatsApp group Ladz Bantz. ‘I really wish I could do both, babe.’
‘You never mentioned Hinchy coming down. It wasn’t on the calendar.’ I hand him his electric razor. ‘I’ve told Sue you’re coming with me now. It’s embarrassing to turn up without you.’
‘Who’s Sue?’
‘Nana’s friend. The chatty one who tried to interrogate you at the funeral.’ Lewis and I no doubt raised eyebrows by leaving Nana’s funeral straight after the service, but I wasn’t about to head to the village hall to pretend that everything was fine while people I hadn’t seen for years swapped stories about Nana, who wasn’t there to hear them. Besides, the order of service had confirmed that the wake’s catering would be a buffet arrangement, and everyone knows that buffets turn people into monsters. At our end-of-year staff party, I witnessed Mr Gordon eat a cocktail sausage, lick grease off his fingers, then lower the same fingers back into the bowl. Where there’s risk of double dipping, it’s safer to just say no.
‘Maybe when you get there you’ll find out you don’t have to stay for the whole week?’ Lewis says. ‘And you can come back after a few days.’
‘Well, no, because I’ve said I’m going for the week.’
‘Why does that matter?’
‘Because plans have been made, that’s why. If people just went around changing plans willy-nilly, everything would go to shit.’ I remember our other plan for the week and stick out my bottom lip. ‘We’d made plans too, remember. This week is supposed to be a good week for, well, you know.’ I step back from him and, unable to come up with a better signal, point towards my crotch.
‘I’ve been tracking my cycle on the app and, though it’s still a bit all over the place, if my calculations are correct, my fertile window is coming up. It’s not an ideal time to be spending a week apart.’ I look sadly at my suitcase, where one of the packing cubes houses my most expensive underwear and the satin slip dress I know he likes, though I guess getting in the mood under my late Nana’s roof with my dad, stepmum and step-siblings close by might have been a challenge.
‘Do you know what’ – I pull my T-shirt over my head – ‘we can do it now.’
‘Now?’ He looks stunned.
‘Let’s be spontaneous.’ I undo the button of my shorts. It feels unnatural, being spontaneous. Even the word spontaneous sounded alien, coming out of my mouth. I prefer an idea of when sex is on the cards so all necessary prep work can be done. I don’t tell Lewis that, obviously, it just means there are certain times when I’m more likely to instigate things, such as the night before I am planning on changing the bedsheets. I’m sure it makes me a terrible feminist, but I also like a chance to attack my stubbly bikini line and choose a nice pair of knickers. I shake that thought away. Our master plan is more important than all of that. Every other day is how often we should be doing it, according to the extensive research I’ve done online, and I’ve got nowhere near enough good pants for that. I’m going to need to lower my sex expectations. My sexpectations. It’ll be good for me. It might even make me more fun. I reach for Lewis’s belt.
‘Babe,’ he laughs. ‘I’ve just got in. I haven’t had a shower.’
‘I don’t mind. Let’s just get it—’ I stop myself. ‘Get it on.’
He puts his hands on my shoulders and tilts his head to one side. ‘You were about to say “Let’s just get it over with”, weren’t you?’
‘Absolutely not,’ I say, though I can’t meet his eye. ‘No way.’ ‘Joni.’
‘OK, fine, but I didn’t mean it like that.’ I poke one finger under the waistband of his trousers. ‘I’m just excited about us trying for a baby. That’s a good thing, surely?’
Lewis cups my chin with his hand. ‘It’s actually kind of hot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this urgent side to you. What else have you been hiding?’
‘What else have I been hiding?’ I know this is the part when I should say something sexy, tell Lewis that I’m a very bad girl who likes doing very bad things, but my brain is now doing the ovulation maths. I’m no good at dirty talk at the best of times, let alone when I’m calculating. ‘Oh, so much stuff,’ I manage. ‘There’s lots you don’t know about me.’
My brain is whirring. How many days can sperm survive in the fallopian tubes?
‘Tell me.’ He presses his mouth against my ear. ‘Tell me exactly what you’re thinking about, right now.’
‘I can’t,’ I say.
Four days? Or was it five? I must be due to ovulate in the next day or two.
‘Is that right?’ He unbuttons his shirt. ‘That shocking, huh?’
‘Really shocking,’ I manage. ‘Outrageous.’
Sperm dies quickly outside of the body; I remember reading that. It could only be a matter of seconds before it’s game over for those little guys, which is why it’s all about keeping them in there, where the conditions are just right.
‘Go on, say it.’ Lewis drops the straps of my bra. ‘Surprise me.’
Cervical mucus, that’s the game changer.
It takes me a moment to realize that he has moved his hands away from my bra.
‘Oh God.’ I said it out loud.
‘There was me thinking you were about to reveal your dirtiest secrets and you come out with “cervical mucus, that’s the game changer”?’ Jesus Christ. What even—’ He shakes his head. ‘Do you know what, I don’t want to know.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Shit. ‘That was an inside-head thought.’ Being spontaneous has once again led to disaster.
‘It’s all right.’ We move apart from one another, an agreement that the moment has well and truly gone. Lewis’s penis is visibly offended by the mucus mention. I never knew they could go down so quickly.
‘Sorry, again.’ I redo the button on my shorts.
‘It’s all right.’ He reaches for a T-shirt from the case, then kisses the top of my head. ‘It’s lucky you’re already in my good books, for being so cool.’
‘Cool?’
‘About this week and the change of plan. I told the boys you wouldn’t mind. Not like Sophia. Honestly, she’s proper high maintenance.’ Sophia is Gaz’s wife, who has, whenever I’ve seen her, always seemed a perfectly reasonable level of maintenance in proportion to Gaz’s Hopeless Dad act. Gaz thinks he’s doing Sophia a favour by looking after their son so she can go to Big Tesco.
‘It’s fine.’ I pick up the packing checklist I wrote for him so I can dump it in the recycling box downstairs.
It’s not fine, not really. But I hate the thought of Gaz or Boner or Hinchy telling their wives or girlfriends that I’m high maintenance. Besides, it might be easier this way. Nana’s week of fun is going to be stressful enough without taking along a partner who wants to be there even less than I do. At least this way I won’t have to worry about him as well.
‘Only if you’re sure, babe?’ He takes the toiletry bag I’d packed him out of the case.
‘It’s fine,’ I say again. ‘You enjoy yourself.’
Friday Sue Morning, everyone. Today’s the day!
Allie Morning, Sue.
Michael Morning, Sue.
Nick
You can just give Sue’s message a thumbs-up or a heart. We don’t all have to say good morning separately.
Allie added a memoji.
Michael Who’s that in the baseball cap?
Cate
That’s Mum’s memoji, though it’s a surprise she’s got one. Christ knows why she’s got a hat on. Also, aren’t you two at home together?
Allie
Yes, love, we’re in the kitchen. Bracken’s here too, under the table. He’s hoovering up the breakfast crumbs.
Nick
Why don’t we get Bracken added to the chat, too?
Sue
I don’t know how to add another person unless my grandson is here. He’s added Joni back in now. I think she must have left by accident.
Sue added a wink emoji.
Nick
I was joking about the dog . . .
Sue
Now then. A table has been booked for 7 p.m. at the pub. Tony is expecting you and has something to give you all, from Phyllis. I’ll try to pop in myself too, after line dancing. I must say I’m feeling quite emotional today. Phyllis would have been delighted to know all those months of planning are finally paying off. She’d be very proud of you all for saying yes, too.
Cate
No wasn’t really an option, was it . . .
Allie
Have you heard anything about the giant vegetable competition drama, @Sue? I popped into the post office this morning and Mrs Tucker mentioned that there’d been a bit of a controversy. She wouldn’t tell me what had happened.
Sue
Well, as you know, I’m not one to gossip. But I have it on good authority (from my Gerry) that there was a break-in to Derek Frost’s greenhouse late last night. He woke to find that all his giant cucumbers had been snapped off. Suspected sabotage.
Michael
Gosh, what a shock. Is he all right?
Nick
As this is in NO way relevant to our upcoming ‘week of fun’, I’m heading off to the shop now. I’ll see you all later.
Allie
Bye, love.
Michael
See you later, Nick.
Nick
We’ve learned nothing, I see. That’s good.
Cate Laters, losers.
