A Perfect Life Read Free Page B

Angel’s ear commanding her attention, bringing a focus.
    â€˜Mummy, how much pocket money would it cost for me to buy hair straighteners? Will it be more than twenty-one?’
    Angel is never sure what currency or denomination seven-year-old Ruby works in.
    â€˜Um, I think that will be plenty. I reckon about seventeen would be enough.’
    Ruby leans forward from the back seat, much further than she would have been able to if she was wearing her seat belt, and waves a magazine picture. ‘I want to get this one. Can we go to Marshall’s on the way home?’
    â€˜It’s shut now. Please will you put your seat belt on? And Foss, you put yours on too, please.’
    Coral, Jem, Ruby, Foss. Girl, boy, girl, boy. Eighteen, sixteen, seven and four. It is so neat it belongs in a nursery rhyme. Angel can never quite get used to adding them all together and finding that she is a mother of four. Sometimes she is convinced that Ruby and Foss, separated from the other two by almost ten years and brought up by her with a different awareness, are her second chance. She is supposed to get it right this time. Even so, it has taken her until now to break the mould and leave her job at Fourply. And of course it isn’t really
leaving
to take a sabbatical, but maybe it will give her time to work out why her life has become overwhelming. She cranes to look in the rear-view mirror at Foss, but he is invisible behind her seat. He doesn’t often speak, so when he is with Ruby who is never silent, it is easy to forget about him.
    His voice rises from the back. ‘I’ve done my seat belt up already. I want some water.’
    â€˜Well, there’s some in that bottle.’
    â€˜No, not for drinking, it’s to wash the snails. They’re muddy and hot.’
    â€˜Oh. Good. I mean bad.’ Angel has no idea what the right response is.
    â€˜What exactly do you mean?’ comes Foss’s voice politely from behind her.
    â€˜Err. I don’t know,’ replies Angel, feeling mad.
    Ruby whacks something with her magazine. ‘Oooh, Mummy! He’s got insects too. I really hate woodlice. Why do we have to have them in the car?’
    Foss’s small voice is utterly reasonable. ‘I like them. I found them in the flower bed. Mummy, why is it called a flower bed not a flower table or a flower carpet?’
    â€˜I wonder?’ Angel muses. ‘Beds are nicer, I expect that’s why.’
    Bed. Yes. Bed. Lovely. Feeling slightly demented, and sure her brain is being burnt out by overexposure to children, Angel allows herself to go into a trance, abdicating responsibility for herself as she keys in her replacement Jake’s number on her phone, her heart slamming. It is so absurd; she bites her lip, smiling, thinking about Jake Driver. His copious aftershave, nice green eyes, engaging smile and short-sleeved yellow shirts are superficial guides to Jake. Thank God. Angel scratched the surface almost by mistake at first and found more in his lively voice, his enthusiasm and, most importantly, his toned athletic body. His promotion from first sales rep to head of marketing, even though it is only in Angel’s absence, has caused a rash of irritation through Fourply. Nick, who supported Angel in choosing Jake and worked with him to make the transition smooth, says he is riding it out well.
    â€˜Actually, I don’t think he’s noticed, which is thick-skinned of him, but good for his morale,’ he said to her last night. Angel has no excuse for ringing, so feeling like a naughty teenager with a crush, she has convinced herself to believe her own internal whisper that she is just checking he is OK and letting him know she is available if he needs her. Oops, no. Not available, but accessible. Yes, that sounds professional. Jake’s answerphone cuts in immediately. Relieved, Angel turns off her phone.
    â€˜Mummy, my verruca has grown and Jamie Matthews said I