Perfect People

72

Luke and Phoebe were kneeling on the kitchen floor, totally absorbed with their two guinea pigs.

Fudge had beige and white stripes, Chocolate was dark brown and white; they were cute, with their sleek coats, their black, hairless ears, their tiny paws, and the strange little squeaking sounds they made.

Naomi lovingly watched Luke and Phoebe play with them, each feeding them a carrot. It was the first real affection she had ever seen from the children, although she worried how long it would be before they got bored with them.

Five weeks to Christmas. She loved Christmas, loved putting up the tree and the decorations and preparing all the food that went with it, and buying and wrapping presents. And this year, Luke and Phoebe were old enough really to start appreciating what was going on.

She hoped it snowed, a white Christmas out here would be awesome. Her mother and Harriet were coming down on Christmas Eve and staying until Boxing Day, and John’s mother was coming over to stay from Sweden for the whole of Christmas week. Carson and Caroline and their children were coming over for a boozy Swedish Christmas Eve dinner, and Rosie and Gordon and their children as well. It was going to be great – chaotic, but great!

As she sat, some of the anger that had been boiling inside her, since their meeting with the child psychologist Dr Michaelides this morning, was now starting to simmer down.

She felt belittled by the woman. In the car afterwards John had told her she was being over-sensitive, but she disagreed. She had felt that she and John were on trial. OK, of course they’d said nothing to her about Dettore but Her thoughts were interrupted by John arriving back, hot and sweaty in his tracksuit after a long jog up on the Downs. He’d stayed at home this afternoon after they got back from Dr Michaelides, and she was glad to see him go on his run; he’d been working crazy hours recently and doing much less exercise than he used to.

‘Hi, Luke! Hi, Phoebe! Hi, Fudge! Hi, Chocolate!’ he said, sounding puffed. The children ignored him.

‘Good run?’ she asked.

‘Six miles! Wonderful!’ He wiped his brow and sniffed. His face was glowing red from exertion, and his hair was awry. Naomi liked him looking rough like this. ‘Fifty-two minutes, but that includes over half a mile vertical ascent.’

‘Not bad!’ she said. ‘You had three calls – one from Carson, and a couple of others from your office – I put them on your desk.’

‘Thanks.’ He glanced at his watch, then stared down at the children. ‘How’s Fudge, Phoebe?’ There was a long silence. Then, without looking at him, Luke said, ‘Fudge is my ging pig. Phoebe’s is Chokkit. ’

‘OK, right, Daddy got muddled. So how’s Fudge, Luke?’

Luke was teasing the guinea pig with a food pellet tied to a length of cotton, constantly pulling it just beyond the creature’s reach. The frustrated guinea pig made a squeaking sound like glass being polished. Luke laughed and tugged the cotton again.

John knelt beside him, pushing aside a book that was lying on the floor. ‘You should let him have a reward sometimes, otherwise he’ll get bored and stop playing.’

The guinea pig advanced and Luke tugged the cotton again, totally ignoring his father. Then again. Phoebe wound a length of cotton around another pellet and began teasing Chokkit in the same way.

John felt excluded. The children had put up that damned wall between them and himself and Naomi once more.

‘Time to put them to bed now, darlings,’ Naomi said.

No reaction at all from either Luke or Phoebe.

‘Get them ready for bed, Luke and Phoebe, then you have to go to bed, too!’ Naomi said.

Phoebe reached into the hutch, took out the drinking bowl, went over to the sink, stood on a chair and ran the tap. She tested the water with her index finger, waiting until it was cold, then filled the bowl for the animals and placed it in their hutch.

Despite his anger of a few moments ago, John watched proudly. This was his daughter, caring for her pet, all by herself!

Luke picked up the box of food, and poured pellets into their plastic tray. Then he knelt down, scooped Fudge up and placed him on the straw-covered floor of their hutch. Phoebe tempted Chocolate with one more pellet of food then picked her up, kissed her on the mouth and placed her, as gently as if she were laying a priceless china ornament, on the straw inside the hutch.

Together John and Naomi bathed the children and John put them to bed.

‘Will you say g’night to Fudge?’ Luke said.

‘Sure.’

‘Will you say g’night to Chokkit?’ Phoebe asked.

‘Of course, sweetheart.’

John left the room and closed the door, beaming. They had asked him to do something! Wow! Progress!

He skipped down the stairs, went into the kitchen and knelt down in front of the hutch. Both of the creatures were curled up on the floor.

‘Luke and Phoebe said to say goodnight!’

There was a great smell of cooking. Naomi was standing over the Aga, stirring a pan. She gave him a bemused look.

‘I’m starving,’ John said. ‘What are we having?’

‘Our special today is pan-fried guinea pig on a buckwheat pancake, served with a side order of child psychologist’s sweetbreads,’ Naomi replied. ‘I had intended making a goulash of her brain, but there wasn’t enough of it to make it worthwhile.’

John put an arm around her. ‘Don’t be too harsh on her – at least she’s going to give them another chance at playschool.’

‘She was a bitch,’ Naomi said.

‘Put yourself in her position.’

She stared at him. ‘Yes?’

‘We’re keeping stuff back from her.’

‘John, she was accusing you and I of being responsible for the way they are. She didn’t tell us in so many words, but she was implying that all the problems with Luke and Phoebe stem from us being crap parents. That’s not true and you know that.’

‘They’re getting better. They are also talking a bit more as well. Maybe we don’t need a psychologist, maybe all we need is time. Look at them – you saw the way they played with their guinea pigs – how much they adored them. Right?’

‘It’s nice to see it. It would be quite nice if they showed us that much affection, too. I know they have got a little better as they’ve grown older. It’s a shame they don’t smile more – they have such lovely smiles.’