‘I’m sorry.’ I bite my lip miserably. ‘Dan, I’m so sorry. This is a horrible breakfast. Don’t eat it.’
‘It’s not horrible!’ says Dan at once.
‘It is.’
‘It’s just …’ He pauses to choose a word. ‘Challenging. If you’re not used to it.’ The colour has returned to his face and he gives me a reassuring hug. ‘It was a lovely thought.’ He picks up an idli and nibbles it. ‘And you know what? This is good.’ He takes a sip of the artichoke tea and winces. ‘Whereas that’s vile.’ He pulls such a comical expression that I can’t help laughing.
‘Shall I make you some coffee?’
‘I would love some coffee.’ He pulls me tight to him again. ‘And thank you. Really.’
It takes me five minutes to make some coffee and spread marmalade on two slices of toast. As I get back upstairs, Tessa and Anna have joined Dan in bed and the tray of food has been discreetly placed in the far corner of the room, where no one has to look at it.
‘Coffee!’ exclaims Dan, like a man on a desert island seeing a ship. ‘And toast, too!’
‘Surprise!’ I waggle the plate of toast at him.
‘Well, I’ve got a surprise for you,’ rejoins Dan with a grin.
‘It’s a box,’ puts in Tessa, in a rush. ‘We’ve seen it. It’s a box with ribbons on. It’s under the bed.’
‘You’re not supposed to tell Mummy!’ Anna immediately looks distraught. ‘Daddy! Tessa told!’
Tessa turns defiantly pink. She may be only five, but she has mettle, my daughter. She never explains, apologizes or surrenders, unless under severe duress. Whereas Anna, poor Anna, crumples at first glance.
‘Well, Mummy knew already,’ Tessa asserts boldly. ‘Mummy knew what it was. Didn’t you, Mummy?’
My heart flips over, before I realize this is just Tessa being Tessa and inventing an instant, plausible defence. (How are we going to cope with her when she’s fifteen? Oh God. Better park that thought for now.)
‘Know about what?’ I sound totally fake to my own ears. ‘My goodness, a box? What could that be?’
Thankfully Dan has leaned under the bed and can’t see my substandard acting face. He hauls out the box and I unwrap it, trying to pace my reactions, trying to look genuine, aware of Tessa watching me beadily. Somehow my children’s little penetrating eyes are a lot more unnerving than Dan’s trusting ones.
‘Oh my GOD!’ I exclaim. ‘Wow! Cashmere? Is this a … cardigan? It’s just … Oh my God. And the colour’s perfect, and the belt …’
Too much?
No, not too much. Dan looks replete with happiness – and the louder I exclaim, the happier he looks. He’s so easy to fool. I feel a fresh wave of fondness for him, sitting there with his piece of toast, unaware that I’m lying through my teeth.
I honestly don’t think it could go the other way. Dan is transparent. He’s guileless. If he were lying through his teeth, I’d know. I’d just know.
‘Tilda helped me choose it,’ he says modestly.
‘No way!’ I gasp. ‘Tilda? You and Tilda were in league over this? You!’ I give him a little push on the arm.
Too much?
No, not too much. Dan looks even more delighted. ‘You really like it?’
‘I love it. What a brilliant surprise.’
I give him a huge kiss, feeling satisfied with myself. We’re doing it! The plan’s working! We’re spicing up our marriage. OK, so the breakfast was a slight misfire, but otherwise, bullseye. I could easily face another sixty-eight years of marriage if every day started with Dan giving me a cashmere cardigan.
No, OK, rewind, obviously I don’t mean that literally. Dan can’t give me a cashmere cardigan every day, what a ludicrous idea. (Although – every six months, maybe? Just a thought. Just putting it in the mix.) I suppose what I mean is, I could easily face another sixty-eight years of marriage if they all began like today has. All happy and connected.
So. Actually, I’m not sure where that gets us, but I feel as though I’m Thinking Through Our Issues, which has got to be a good thing, no?
‘So.’ Dan drains his coffee cup and puts it down with a dynamic air. ‘I must get going. I have a mystery errand to complete.’ His eyes flash at me, and I beam back.
‘Well, I have a mystery task, too. Will you be back for lunch?’ I add casually. ‘I thought we’d have pasta and pesto, nothing fancy …’
Ha! Ha! Not.
Dan nods. ‘Oh, sure. I’ll be back by noon.’
‘Great!’ I turn my attention to Tessa and Anna. ‘Right! Who wants breakfast?’
Saturday morning is when I catch up with boring household tasks, while Tessa and Anna play with all the toys they don’t have time for during the week. Then we have an early lunch and I take the girls to their 2 p.m. ballet lesson.
But not today!
The minute Dan’s left the house, I get cracking. I’ve been meaning to change the kitchen curtains forever, and this is my perfect excuse. I’ve also bought a coordinating tablecloth, some new candlesticks and a lamp. I’m giving the kitchen a whole makeover, like in that interiors show I always watch in bed when Dan is downstairs watching the rugby. Our new-look kitchen will feel bright and fresh and new and Dan will love it.
I’m hot and sweating by the time everything is done. It’s taken a bit longer than I expected and I’ve resorted to letting the girls watch CBeebies, but the place looks amazing. The curtains are a really funky print from John Lewis, and the neon rubber candlesticks add a pop of colour. (I got that from the TV show. It’s all about ‘pops of colour’.)
When Karen our nanny arrives, I lean nonchalantly against the counter and wait for her to exclaim in admiration. Karen is quite into design and stuff. She always has interesting-coloured trainers or nail polish on, and she reads my Livingetc after me. She’s half-Scottish, half-Guyanese, and has lots of dark curly hair which Anna loves decorating with hair slides. Sure enough, she notices the makeover at once.
‘Awesome!’ She looks around, taking in all the details. ‘I love those curtains! Really awesome!’
Karen’s thing is that she adopts a word and uses only that word for about a week and then moves on to a new one. Last week it was ‘trashy’, this week it’s ‘awesome’.
‘Awesome candlesticks!’ she says, picking one up. ‘Are those from Habitat? I was looking at those last week.’
‘I think they add a pop of colour,’ I say casually.
‘Awesome.’ Karen nods and puts the candlestick down. ‘So, what exactly is happening today?’
She sounds a bit puzzled, and I don’t blame her. We don’t normally employ her on Saturdays, nor do I normally send her texts beginning Don’t tell Dan I’m texting you!!
‘I wanted to give Dan a surprise,’ I explain. ‘Take him out somewhere special.’
‘Right.’ Karen opens her mouth as though to say something – then closes it again. ‘Right. Awesome.’
‘So, if you could give the girls lunch, take them to ballet and then maybe the park? We’ll be back at fourish.’
‘OK,’ says Karen slowly. Again, she looks as though she wants to say something more, but isn’t sure where to start. She isn’t going to ask for a change in hours or something, is she? Because I really don’t have time.