Hell Hath No Fury by Michelle Morgan

Author:Michelle Morgan [Morgan, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

A week later and Simon arrives at my door to take me and Tom out for lunch. My son wasn’t in the least bit happy when I told him that I’d be coming too – apparently Charlie the parenting guru says that Tom should have alone time with his dad – but tough luck. The only time Simon has seen his son is in assembly and on our driveway, and I can’t imagine he has any knowledge of how kids work. So, for now – and maybe forever – they’re both stuck with me.

Simon hovers in my hallway, shuffling from one foot to the other. Is he nervous? Is that even a thing in his world? Seems it is.

‘Tom is just brushing his teeth,’ I say. ‘He’ll be down in a minute.’

‘That’s fine,’ Simon says. ‘The table is booked for one, so we have plenty of time.’

My ex-lover has a George Michael stubble thing going on, smells of Kouros aftershave, and wears a shirt and tie. Who dresses that way for a Sunday lunch with a child? He does apparently.

‘Where are we going?’ I push my hair behind my ears, as if I don’t care, but deep down I’m intrigued in spite of myself.

‘I thought we could go to La Petite,’ he says, and I laugh a little too loud.

‘La Petite? That posh place next to The King’s Head in Boughley?’

‘Yes. Do you think that’s too much? I’m not used to eating Sunday lunch with a kid.’

You don’t say. The fact that La Petite sells nothing but pretentious seafood and posh pastries, is lost on my ex-lover. Tom would throw up as soon as he saw the starters, and I’d do the same when I saw the bill.

‘It’s a little too much,’ I say, and Simon’s shoulders sag. In spite of everything that has happened in the past, he’s trying his best to make today perfect. And it would be if Tom was a twenty-five-year-old, easily-impressed bimbo. But he’s not.

‘Doesn’t Tom like fish?’

‘Well, yes, if it’s dipped in batter and wrapped in newspaper.’

‘Got it.’

I can hear Tom clomping around in his bedroom. He’ll be sorting out the Minecraft characters that he wants to show his dad – so he can be just like Charlie. I can imagine the raised eyebrows if he pulls those out of his backpack in La Petite.

‘Look, why don’t we just go to the Mistletoe Inn. He likes the chicken kiev and the pasta in there, and he’ll appreciate that they’ve got their Christmas tree up so early.’

Simon runs his fingers through his hair, and then admires himself in the mirror.

‘Okay, I’ll see if I can book us in.’ He reaches for his phone, but I wave him away.

‘Don’t worry. They don’t take reservations in there. It’s first come, first served.’

Simon stares over my shoulder, and I can hear the thud of Tom’s shoes, clumping down the stairs.

‘Hey, Scamp.’

I turn to see how my son reacts to Simon’s attempts at being familiar, and as predicted, he’s scowling.

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