Private Lives

But his eyes kept being drawn back to her hands, so tanned and elegant on the steering wheel, the milky-white band of skin where her wedding ring had been only a few weeks earlier stirring up a range of emotions he knew he was unwise to dwell on.

‘Dad! Dad! Look, we’re almost there,’ said Jonas, spotting the Beaulieu Motor Museum sign at the side of the road. Carmad, he had been looking forward to the trip for months.

Carla parked up in the Beaulieu grounds and they went into the big hangar that housed one of the most impressive motor collections in Europe. Matt watched with delight as his son darted from one vehicle to the next, spouting impressive trivia on what he had seen.

‘Hey, look, Dad, the James Bond Aston Martin!’ he cried. ‘I think you should buy it.’

‘I don’t think it’s for sale.’ Matt smiled.

‘Well maybe buy one just like it. You’ve only got that silly motorbike.’

‘My bike is cool,’ laughed Matt, leaning over to tickle his son, loving the pure joy of just being with him.

‘The motorbike,’ said Carla with a touch of disdain. ‘And you say you’re not having a mid-life crisis.’

He let her comment pass; he wasn’t going to allow anything to ruin the day, especially as their trip to the New Forest had made such a welcome change from the snatched hour in Pizza Express, which was what had happened on Jonas’s birthday last year.

‘Mum knows all about cars; she can help you choose one,’ said Jonas.

‘You can afford it now,’ said Carla, looking as if she approved of the idea.

‘Think about it, Dad. Please, think about it. It would be so cool if we went out looking for sports cars together.’

‘Maybe,’ said Matt, beginnin

g to feel some discomfort.

They left the exhibition hall and went into the sweet-smelling manicured grounds. Jonas walked between his mother and father, holding hands with each of them, so that they formed a reassuring chain.

‘I’d love a stately home,’ said Carla wistfully, looking at Palace House, home of the aristocratic owners of Beaulieu.

‘Really? All those ghosts and draughts?’

Jonas ran off ahead of them. ‘I’m just going into that exhibition over there,’ he said excitedly. ‘It’s all about spying in the war. They’ve got guns and everything!’

‘Okay, we’ll wait for you here,’ said Matt, but Jonas had already gone, his trainers scuffing on the gravel path.

‘Well I think the birthday boy is enjoying himself,’ he said as they sat on a bench in the shade of a laburnum tree.

‘He just loves seeing you, us. Together like this, I mean,’ said Carla. ‘I think we underestimate how important it is to him. We should have done it more often.’

‘I would have been up for it,’ said Matt. ‘I never got the feeling you . . .’ He left the comment hanging in the air.

‘It was complicated, Matt,’ sighed Carla.

‘How was it complicated? I’m his dad.’

The twenty-four hours a week he had had with his son since the divorce had never been enough. Every weekend had been an exhausting round of the cinema, football and rugby in his effort to show Jonas a good time, fearing that his son might start comparing him to David. Every weekend they did something together, but there was never enough time to do nothing together. Walk, talk, watch TV. There was certainly never any opportunity to involve Carla, who always used to drop Jonas off at the flat with a polite wave before disappearing back to her Notting Hill life.

Carla looked embarrassed.

‘David didn’t like it. Didn’t like me spending any time with you. He always felt threatened by you.’

Matt looked at her over the top of his sunglasses.

‘David? Threatened? By me? Does he not remember that you left me?’

She laughed. ‘I think he was jealous.’