the prestigious Dulwich Elementary, with its spacious playing fields so rare in London.
I open the black metal gate with the "Beware of the Dog" sign left by the previous owners, and rush up to the highly glossed front door in British racing green. Externally, everything about the house is conventional. Olivia's only nod to eccentricity is the tinny electronic doorbell that plays Anita Baker's "Ring My Bell." A mortified Michael disconnects it every time they have a dinner party.
As a computerized Anita warbles on, I peer in through the front window to see Matthew and four-year-old Emily glued to the television and completely ignoring the fact that I am hopping from one foot to another outside. Ah, the bliss of those selfish, guilt-free years. It's such a shame we don't appreciate them at the time.
"Hi!" Michael opens the door, smiling broadly. He looks smart in a black cashmere sweater and black trousers.
"Bloody hell, it's the Milk Tray man!" I tease.
"And this lady loves him." Olivia appears behind him and places her arms round his waist, squeezing tightly. Michael turns and kisses the end of her nose.
"Yeuch." I wrinkle my nose. "Book a room, will you?"
"We have." Michael looks at his watch. "Which reminds me, let's get going so we can make use of it before dinner." He disappears from view into the sitting room, leaving Olivia and me standing in the narrow hall whose walls are covered with family photographs.
"Right!" says Olivia in her best take-charge voice. "The kids are fed. So all that's left is bath, cocoa, and story."
"And what about them?" I quip. I know their routine inside out. "Leave it to me. You go and enjoy yourselves."
"Believe me, we will." Olivia's eyes were shining. "Just think, uninhibited sex without fear of interruption or being overheard by the rugrats," she says, using her pet term for Matthew and Emily.
"
Any
sex would be nice," I say ruefully.
"You'll meet someone soon, pumpkin." She ruffles my hair. "You'll see. It'll happen when you least expect it."
I look doubtful. "Maybe I should take up jogging. At least I'll get to hear heavy breathing again."
Olivia laughs. "An easier option would be to go out on dates. You never bloody do."
"Actually, I've already had thirty-seven e-mails answering that ad the dreaded Kara put on the Internet."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Really? Blimey, talk about instant gratification. In the old days, you had to wait for a bundle to be forwarded on from your PO box number."
I shoot her a cynical look. "As if."
"Yes, I
know
I've been lucky. But luck doesn't keep a marriage going. You have to work at it, particularly once you have kids." She bends down to scoop up one of Emily's headbands discarded on the floor. "It just depends on whether you both rise to the challenge. If it's too one-sided, that's when it doesn't work."
"Maybe one of the thirty-seven will rise to the challenge." I'm trying to sound positive. I follow Olivia through to the kitchen at the back of the house.
"Any of them look promising?" She looks at me questioningly.
"I haven't looked at them yet. It's a bit difficult at work. I've just looked at some of the ads placed by men on the general Web site. They're quite a mixed bag."
"Well, once you've got the kids to bed, don't forget Michael's computer is upstairs. You can peruse your thirty-seven potential soul mates without fear of being rumbled."
I smile appreciatively. "I might well do that."
"Ready?" Michael reappears, clutching a large black-leather overnight bag, his jacket slung over his arm.
Five minutes later, I'm standing at the door with Matthew and Emily, waving them off. Neither of the children seems the slightest bit perturbed at seeing their parents disappearing off into the sunset, and I feel a warm flush of love for them as I realize it's because I'm here. If it had been Juanita, their cleaning lady and erstwhile babysitter, Emily would no doubt have attached herself to Olivia's leg and been dragged up the garden path
I open the black metal gate with the "Beware of the Dog" sign left by the previous owners, and rush up to the highly glossed front door in British racing green. Externally, everything about the house is conventional. Olivia's only nod to eccentricity is the tinny electronic doorbell that plays Anita Baker's "Ring My Bell." A mortified Michael disconnects it every time they have a dinner party.
As a computerized Anita warbles on, I peer in through the front window to see Matthew and four-year-old Emily glued to the television and completely ignoring the fact that I am hopping from one foot to another outside. Ah, the bliss of those selfish, guilt-free years. It's such a shame we don't appreciate them at the time.
"Hi!" Michael opens the door, smiling broadly. He looks smart in a black cashmere sweater and black trousers.
"Bloody hell, it's the Milk Tray man!" I tease.
"And this lady loves him." Olivia appears behind him and places her arms round his waist, squeezing tightly. Michael turns and kisses the end of her nose.
"Yeuch." I wrinkle my nose. "Book a room, will you?"
"We have." Michael looks at his watch. "Which reminds me, let's get going so we can make use of it before dinner." He disappears from view into the sitting room, leaving Olivia and me standing in the narrow hall whose walls are covered with family photographs.
"Right!" says Olivia in her best take-charge voice. "The kids are fed. So all that's left is bath, cocoa, and story."
"And what about them?" I quip. I know their routine inside out. "Leave it to me. You go and enjoy yourselves."
"Believe me, we will." Olivia's eyes were shining. "Just think, uninhibited sex without fear of interruption or being overheard by the rugrats," she says, using her pet term for Matthew and Emily.
"
Any
sex would be nice," I say ruefully.
"You'll meet someone soon, pumpkin." She ruffles my hair. "You'll see. It'll happen when you least expect it."
I look doubtful. "Maybe I should take up jogging. At least I'll get to hear heavy breathing again."
Olivia laughs. "An easier option would be to go out on dates. You never bloody do."
"Actually, I've already had thirty-seven e-mails answering that ad the dreaded Kara put on the Internet."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Really? Blimey, talk about instant gratification. In the old days, you had to wait for a bundle to be forwarded on from your PO box number."
I shoot her a cynical look. "As if."
"Yes, I
know
I've been lucky. But luck doesn't keep a marriage going. You have to work at it, particularly once you have kids." She bends down to scoop up one of Emily's headbands discarded on the floor. "It just depends on whether you both rise to the challenge. If it's too one-sided, that's when it doesn't work."
"Maybe one of the thirty-seven will rise to the challenge." I'm trying to sound positive. I follow Olivia through to the kitchen at the back of the house.
"Any of them look promising?" She looks at me questioningly.
"I haven't looked at them yet. It's a bit difficult at work. I've just looked at some of the ads placed by men on the general Web site. They're quite a mixed bag."
"Well, once you've got the kids to bed, don't forget Michael's computer is upstairs. You can peruse your thirty-seven potential soul mates without fear of being rumbled."
I smile appreciatively. "I might well do that."
"Ready?" Michael reappears, clutching a large black-leather overnight bag, his jacket slung over his arm.
Five minutes later, I'm standing at the door with Matthew and Emily, waving them off. Neither of the children seems the slightest bit perturbed at seeing their parents disappearing off into the sunset, and I feel a warm flush of love for them as I realize it's because I'm here. If it had been Juanita, their cleaning lady and erstwhile babysitter, Emily would no doubt have attached herself to Olivia's leg and been dragged up the garden path
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