“We’ll be out of the house all week. Also working.” (She’d be staying late in the office every single day and making sure Antoinette knew about it.) “This has all been arranged with Oneal!”
“Your choice,” he said grimly. “Your choice!”
•••
Over the courseof the weekend, she realized once and for all how pivotal the shape of a dwelling was for making the people inside it feel okay. With her pointless mocked-up, temporary first-floor half-kitchen, there could be no long, luxurious stirring of onions in a pan, where she could complete a discrete task (gaining a sense of achievement), simultaneously zoning out as Zora drew or played on the iPad (feeling pleasantly companionable) while also producing “the family meal” (the fact of it benefitting others placing her beyond reproach). There was nowhere to simplybe. When Zora came into their room, she felt self-conscious and smothered. When she went into Zora’s room, she felt dominant and overweening, as though her physical presence was promising a level of personalized attention and face-to-face engagement on which she couldn’t follow through.
Adam seemed to have adopted the top-floor spare room as his own, reams of research and transcripts spread out across the bed. “Less than a month till the election, less than two months till deadline,” he muttered again and again. When she brought him a cup oftea, he said, “Thanks.” When she paused, waiting for a more effusive response, he said, “Just leave it there.”
“Okay, Tolstoy,” she said in a nasty voice.
Just got to get through it!
On Saturday evening, late enough for Coralie to be in her pajamas, Adam received a call fromThe Spectator. Someone from theNew Statesmanhad dropped out of a podcast live-record. Could Adam please come on as the Labour-leaning guy? There’d be great promo in it for theYoung Countrypod and his books—and a case of Pol Roger? It would take up the entire Sunday morning she’d hoped to spend sourcing taps. “Of course you must,” she said dully as he set his alarm for seven.
By lunch, he still wasn’t back. They were due to drop Zora off at four. She couldn’t be in the house a moment longer. “Let’s go for a walk!” She could hear her own desperation. “We’ll go to Victoria Park Village! We’ll have some fish and chips! Daddy’s on his bike; he’ll meet us there!”
“I don’t want to walk.” Zora was mutinous. “Walks are for adults and creatures.”
“What, then?”
“Stay inside. I know, I’ll FaceTime Mummy and Tom!”
Coralie was too beleaguered to interface with those two. “You’re going to see them this afternoon.”
“Please.”
“Okay.” She couldn’t come between a child and her mother. “I’ll text.”
By the time Tom replied, Adam had returned, packed up Zora’s bags, and headed out toward the station, promising hot chocolate on the way.
Change of plan!Tom’s message to Coralie said.Marina’scontractions have started and we’re on our way to hospital! Can you keep Zora? Geraldine’s flight was canceled and we don’t have backups. Perhaps you can extend the drama club? With thanks, Tom.
Change of plan! With thanks, Tom!
She rang Adam in the hope he hadn’t got on the train. “Where are you?”
“Outside the Iceland at Hackney Central.”
“Good. Well, change of plan. The baby’s coming. Tom says, can we keep Zora for a while?”
“Zora!” she heard Adam call. “Stop!”
“Love to get a bit of notice.”
“I know,” Adam said. “And I’m off to Manchester tomorrow.”
“What?”
“I’m off to Manchester tomorrow? Manchester? For the Labour manifesto launch?”
“And when do you think you’ll be back?”
“I don’t know, Wednesday? I didn’t think it mattered. I was going to see what Ed was doing.”
Coralie hung up.
•••
