When the daylight has faded

Making it work

He opens the fridge halfway.

"Sorry. Old habits die hard," he says, before shutting the doors again.

I sigh, my frustration rising.

"Sit down, Pete!" My voice remains friendly, though, while I fix Pete's coffee. 'You're a little early!' nearly escapes my mouth, but I manage to change it to, "Christine is running a little late."

"Coffee is nice."

I rub my ears in disbelief. No angry words from him for inconveniencing him. For being disorganised, irresponsible, a bad mother.

Praying that I'm doing the right thing, I place my own cup on the table and sit down, deliberately choosing the seat where Christine usually sits, while he is sitting where he always sat.

"I like the new wallpaper."

"Thanks." I don't know what else to reply, not sure whether this is some sort of trap.

An awkward silence. Then we both begin to speak at the same time.

"You first!" I had nothing of importance to say anyway. I just wanted to fill the silence.

"No, you go first." Pete and my thoughts seem to coincide for the first time in more than five years.

"Did you have so much rain, too?"

The weather, a neutral and safe subject, I think, but immediately kick myself. He only moved to a neighbouring town, so he will most likely educate me now that the climate where he lives is the same as here and that my question therefore is stupid.

"Yes," he answers. "And I'd love to try out my new balcony."

I stare at him, wondering who this person is that is drinking my coffee, looking a lot like my ex-husband but not sounding like him at all.

"Christine told me that the balcony has a breath-taking view."

He nods. "I was really lucky with the flat."

"I'm glad, Pete." As the words leave my mouth, I'm shocked to realise that I actually mean it. When he finally moved out a year ago, I called on all the higher powers I knew to make him end up in a mould-infested flat with neighbours from hell. I should have taken into account that my daughter would be staying there every second weekend, but to my utter shame I have to admit that that didn't even register.

"Oh, I ordered a new set of chairs. I'll bring yours back next time I pick Chrissy up."

I almost choke on my sip of coffee.

Too exhausted to fight, I had let Pete take my mother's old chairs when he left, convinced that I'd never see them again.

"That's really nice of you, Pete."

Pete suddenly smiles at me, for the first time in roughly five years. His whole face transforms, and I'm reminded of the man I fell in love with.

"I know it will be difficult, but I've decided to work on myself. Chrissy deserves parents that can sit down and have a coffee together. If I promise to let the anger go, do you think we can make this work?"

I'm not sure that I'm awake, but I nod enthusiastically.

"I'll be more understanding, too, Pete. We can make this work."

Just then Chrissy opens the front door. Her water bottle shatters on the tiles when she spots us sitting at the same table, both smiling. Then she starts to cry.