Perfect Day
aren’t they? You know, mistletoe, and all that.’
‘Very understanding of you.’
Nell sighs.
‘Sometimes I think it would be easier if he was having an affair,’ she says.
Frances raises her eyebrows, but Lucy comes running back to them.
‘How many steps?’ Nell asks.
‘Two hundred million,’ Lucy says.
Most of the funfair rides are too old for Lucy, but there’s a shallow water tank with rubber dinghies floating in it, a child’s version of bumper cars. It’s the sort of attraction that Nell likes because Lucy is visible and safe, but it gives her a little bit of independence.
‘Would you like a go on that?’ Nell asks.
There are several younger children in the boats.
‘Yes, OK then,’ Lucy says uncertainly.
She gets in. A little boy in an orange boat bumps her. There’s a moment when she could either laugh or cry. She laughs.
‘She likes boys, doesn’t she?’ Frances observes.
‘Boys like her,’ Nell says. ‘Her friend Ben is completely smitten.’
‘Bless,’ says Frances .
They watch Lucy motoring around the tank, growing in confidence.
‘I read an article about the chemistry of love the other day,’ Frances says. ‘Apparently you display measurable physical changes when you fall in love. All these hormones are released. They wired these people up and showed them a picture of someone they loved and their brainwaves went crazy.’
‘Really?’
‘Someone could make a lot of money out of it,’ Frances continues, pointing at a kiosk that’s advertising computerized astrology charts.
‘You could call it the Love Test. You pay to have your man wired up and presented with a photo of you, and if the screen lights up, then you’re all right.’
‘The screen might light up when he looks at all sorts of different pictures,’ Nell points out.
‘I suppose you’re right. Like pornography, you mean? How come you’re so practical?’
Nell feels almost guilty for ruining Frances ’s wacky business venture. ‘So, how long does this chemical reaction go on for?’ she asks.
‘About eighteen months, apparently,’ Frances says. ‘And then you either split up or continue without the chemicals, which is not nearly so much fun.’
Nell laughs.
‘Another alternative is to have a baby. Apparently giving birth produces more or less the same hormones as falling in love. That’s why I’m thinking of skipping out the man bit altogether and going straight for the child...’
Nell’s not really listening. She’s thinking that the scientific explanation fits in more or less exactly with the history of her relationship with Alexander. Can love really be reduced to the flow of hormones? And if it can, where does that leave them now? Are those increasingly infrequent moments of sheer bliss just blips of oxytocin ? She can’t get her head round it.
‘Any chance of a lolly?’ Lucy says, when her turn runs out.
* * *
Nell’s relieved to see a Wall’s logo on the kiosk. Calippo is one of the few lollies that doesn’t carry a nut warning. She buys one for Lucy and white chocolate Magnums for herself and Frances.
‘So, tell me about this boyfriend of yours,’ Frances says as they sit down on a line of abandoned deckchairs on the east side of the pier which is sheltered from the wind.
‘Mummy, do I have to?’
It’s one of those phrases that Lucy’s heard older children saying but has not quite understood. She uses it brightly, at the beginning of explanations or stories as an alternative to ‘Well...’
‘He’s not really a boyfriend...’ Lucy continues.
‘No?’
‘A boyfriend is someone you marry, isn’t it, Mummy?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘So, who are you going to marry?’ Frances wants to know.
‘I want to marry Daddy.’
Frances laughs.
‘He’s not married, you know,’ Lucy tells her earnestly.
‘But you can’t marry your child,’ Frances explains.
‘I don’t mean when I’m a child,’ Lucy tells her, in a voice that’s at the very limit of patience, as if Frances is deliberately failing to grasp the simplest point. ‘I mean when I’m an adult.’
‘But you’ll still be Daddy’s child, and my child,’ Nell tells her.
They’ve had this conversation before, and she knows that Lucy’s convinced that there’s some trick involved.
‘Mummy is a mummy and a child,’ Lucy announces to Frances . ‘But Daddy is only a daddy.’
‘Not how I think of Alexander, somehow,’ Frances says to Nell across the back of Lucy’s
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