Divorced

Lisa leaps up when she hears the front door open, pulling her reluctant daughter into a hug as soon as she steps foot inside the house. Becky stands in the doorway, plonking Betsy’s rucksack down on the floor for her.

“Right then, one daughter delivered, I’ll get out of your hair. Come here you,” Becky says, gesturing for Betsy to hug her.

“You got any plans tonight?” Lisa asks.

“I’ve got a hot date with some rubber gloves and a bottle of oven cleaner. What are you two up to?”

“Takeaway?” Betsy asks hopefully.

“Yes, go on then, since it’s Saturday,” Lisa replies, eager to make her daughter happy. “You fancy joining us, Becky?”

“Oh I don’t want to intrude.”

“She’ll stay,” Betsy announces, pulling her inside eagerly. Still not entirely happy with her parents being divorced, Betsy tries to get the three of them together at any given moment.

“Guess I’m staying then,” Becky laughs as the door slams shut behind her.

“Right, what are we getting then?” Lisa asks as she leads them into the kitchen.

“Pizza?”

“Fine with me. Bex?”

“Sounds good,” Becky confirms. “I’m fine with the usual.” The usual being half pepperoni - Becky’s favourite - and half Hawaiian - Lisa’s favourite. They’ve been ordering it since they first got together, and although they were worried they would have to change the order when Betsy came along, it turned out Betsy liked both pepperoni and Hawaiian, so the tradition continued.

“And garlic bread. And chips,” Betsy adds. Lisa hands Betsy her phone, figuring it’s probably easier to let her add what she wants.

“You want a drink?” Lisa offers, opening the fridge. Becky peers over her shoulder.

“God, your fridge is a mess.”

“Rude,” Lisa says. She starts to close the fridge door but Becky stops her, opening it wider so she can properly judge its contents.

“Can’t believe you still insist on having emergency lagers in there. You know, it’s amazing how much more food you can fit in when you don’t have to keep a 12 pack in at all times,” Becky jokes.

“You want a drink or not?” Lisa shoots back.

“I’ll have a lager.”

“See. Useful,” Lisa says, vindicated. She pulls a can out for Becky, pausing to count how many she has left. “Hold on second. There were 10 in here the other day, there’s only 6 now.” Lisa closes the fridge and shoots a look at a very guilty looking Betsy. “Have you been drinking these young lady?”

“No,” she lies, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

“Well they didn’t drink themselves, did they?”

“Yeah, the other downside of keeping so much lager in the fridge is that grabby little hands take them,” Becky cuts in, shaking her head at Betsy.

“Well in my defense, I thought she was past the grabby little hands phase,” Lisa reasons.

“Well she never grew out of any of her other toddler phases.”

“Uh, I am still here you know,” a horrified Betsy interrupts.

“Apologise to your mum for taking her lagers, you never know what sort of emergency she could’ve been caught short in,” Becky says, her tone making it clear that despite her jokes she’s not impressed.

“Sorry mum,” Betsy mumbles, handing Lisa her phone back.

“We should probably tell your mum about what happened in the precinct too,” Becky prompts, letting Betsy recount the tale of her confrontation with Carla.

“It was that woman from the cafe the other day,” Betsy adds after she’s finished.

“Carla?” Lisa asks, earning her a shrug from Betsy, who flounces off into the living room to put the TV on.

“Dark hair, cheekbones, well dressed?” Becky prompts.

“Yeah, that’s her,” Lisa sighs. “I seem to have made a bit of an enemy of her.”

“DS Swain makes a lot of those, doesn’t she?” Becky says, her tone teasing. She’s seen first hand how Lisa winds people up at work.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lisa sighs, leading Becky into the living room to join their daughter.

Betsy’s on the sofa, texting. Becky flops down next to her, leaning in to look at Betsy’s phone screen. She quickly angles it away - but not fast enough.

“Who’s Mason?” Becky asks.

“A mate,” Betsy shrugs. She’s trying to be nonchalant, but Becky sees right through it.

“Well you add a lot of kisses to your messages to someone who’s just a mate,” she teases, earning her an eye roll from her daughter.

“I put kisses on all my messages,” she protests, turning red.

“No you don’t,” Becky points out, her amusement at her daughter’s embarrassment growing with every second. “So go on then, who is he?”

“Mason Radcliffe,” Lisa says simply, watching as Becky’s face falls.

“Those Radcliffes?” she asks. Like Lisa, she had encountered the family numerous times over her years in the police.

“He’s not like his family,” Betsy interrupts, observing the non-verbal communication going on between her mothers.

“Yeah, well, be careful please,” Becky warns, exchanging another glance with Lisa that makes it clear they need to discuss how they’re gonna handle this at a later date. “I don’t want you going over to his house, ok?”

“Right then,” Lisa declares, swiftly moving the conversation onwards when she senses an argument from Betsy brewing. “Are you gonna pick a film for us to watch?”

After eventually settling on a double Richard Curtis feature - Notting Hill to start, followed by About Time - and tucking in to their pizza when it arrives, Betsy falls asleep on the sofa, her head resting on Becky’s shoulder. Lisa can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy when she looks over at the pair of them. Of the two of them, Becky has always been more tactile, more touchy-feely, and as a result she seems to get the most physical affection from Betsy. Lisa always hugs and kisses her daughter goodbye when she drops her off with Becky, but she can’t remember the last time that Betsy initiated any kind of physical contact with her.

As the film comes to an end, Becky gently disentangles herself from Betsy, causing her to stir from her slumber. “Are you leaving?” she asks sleepily, moving her head to rest on the back of the sofa as Becky stands.

“Yes, I’ll see you on Wednesday. You be good for your mum,” Becky says, leaning down and planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Always am,” Betsy mumbles back, causing both her mums to snort in response.

“Love you,” Becky whispers, ruffling Betsy’s hair.

“Hmm you too,” Betsy responds, pushing Becky’s hand away.