A Friend of the Family

by Marcia Willett

  ‘Great!’ Suzy came in beaming. ‘He’s had a cancellation and he can fit you in at twelve o’clock. I’ll tell you where he is. You’ve simply got to stay positive! I remember when Jake had a thing with a violinist, I just kept going, did my own thing. He soon packed it in. You remember? That’s when we started Daniel. He was our reconciliation. I’m sure that this is just a flash in the pan. Don’t weaken. That’s the great thing.’

  Polly sighed. The last thing she needed was bracing talks and raspberry tea. If only there had been time to telephone Harriet or Thea. She stood up and collected her things. At least she might get a decent cup of coffee at the hairdresser’s.

  THE SALON WAS MORE like a bistro than a hairdressing establishment. The walls were whitewashed stone, the lighting flattering, and at one end people drinking coffee sat on painted wooden chairs at scrubbed pine tables. A large blackboard hung on the wall listing exotic dishes and there was a little bar in one corner.

  Polly announced herself to the receptionist, who looked about twelve, and the girl vanished through a curtain at the back, no doubt in order to summon Tony. Polly looked around; there were only two basins, cleverly concealed in an alcove, and two padded chairs, set at angles away from each other, before huge mirrors with heavy wooden frames.

  ‘You must be Polly!’

  Polly swung round. Tony was an old Harrovian, tall and tanned— he was just back from a skiing holiday in Austria—with blond hair cut short around his ears and neck but left long on top. He wore his old school tie round the collar of a cream raw silk shirt which was tucked into green cords.

  ‘Hello.’ They shook hands. ‘And you must be Tony.’

  ‘Absolutely. Suzy told me what happened and I think that it’s very brave of you to come.’

  ‘Suzy told you? On the phone?’ Polly was shocked.

  Tony ushered her to one of the chairs. ‘Certainly. Very sensible of her. Then we all know where we are, you see. The thing is to take your mind off things until you’ve calmed down a bit. Amazing the things that people do when they’ve had a shock. Now then.’

  He lifted bits of her hair and rubbed them in his fingers, staring at her in the mirror with narrowed eyes.

  ‘All this off, I think. Yes? Short, straight, sleek. Yes?’

  ‘My husband likes it long,’ protested Polly feebly, huddling nervously in her chair and still feeling unsettled by the fact that this stranger knew all about her private life.

  ‘My dear girl'—Tony bent close and their eyes met in the mirror-’does that matter in your present circumstances?’

  Polly stared at him mesmerised. He gave a sharp nod and called for a minion. Another girl appeared, looking even younger than the first. She was dressed from head to foot in black: black polo neck, brief black skirt, long black woollen legs, flat black pumps. She took away Polly’s jacket, wrapped her in waterproof garments and led her to one of the basins.

  ‘Lean back, that’s it. Head comfortable? Tell me if the water gets too hot.’

  It was impossible to nod so Polly gargled assent and closed her eyes. She loved having her hair washed: the warm water, the massaging fingers, the smell of shampoo and then the warm fluffy towels. Bliss. Far too soon it was over and she was sitting once more in the padded chair. The girl smiled encouragingly at her. ‘Coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, yes please,’ said Polly fervently, remembering the wild raspberry tea.

  Tony appeared. He combed her hair, picked up his scissors and smiled. ‘Ready?’

  Polly nodded.

  ‘Want to talk?’

  Polly shook her head.

  ‘Off we go then.’

  He snipped away, twisting great swatches of hair on to the top of her head and holding them in place with enormous, brightly coloured bulldog clips. Her coffee came. It was delicious and she drank it quietly, co-ordinating with his cutting so that she didn’t spill any. Presently he laid aside his scissors and went to work with a hairdryer and brush. A woman came to sit in the other chair and a very superior girl started to perform the same sort of rites upon her. It was all very peaceful and relaxing and, try though she might, Polly couldn’t bring her mind to concentrate on the disaster that had befallen her.

  ‘There!’ Tony laid aside the tools of his trade.

  Polly could barely believe her eyes. Silky shining brown hair fell smooth and sleek to her jaw line. She looked much more sophisticated but, oddly, younger. Tony swung a hand mirror to and fro behind her head so that she could see the back.

  ‘Amazing!’ She shook her head, lost for words. ‘You’re brilliant.’

  ‘Well, we all know that, lovey.’ He took away the towels, brushed her off and gestured to his minion who hurried off to find Polly’s jacket. As she followed him to the reception desk, Cass emerged from the café corner, smiled at her vaguely and then stopped in her tracks.

  ‘Polly! It is Polly, isn’t it? I’m Cass Wivenhoe. Remember me? Harriet brought you over to lunch and then we met at Thea’s. And then at Hugh’s christening. How are vou?’

  ‘Not at all well at the moment,’ Tony answered for Polly. ‘Her husband’s run away with his assistant, silly man, and Polly’s all of a doodah, poor duck.’ Polly was horrified. She glared at Tony, who winked back at her as he passed her the bill. ‘She needs to be taken out and given a good lunch.’

  ‘My dear.’ Cass was staring at her in consternation. ‘I’m dreadfully sorry . . . ’

  ‘Please.’ Polly searched for her chequebook, blushing furiously. ‘Honestly . . . ’ She began to write the cheque as though her life depended on it.

  Cass’s eyes met Tony’s questioningly and he gave a little nod.

  ‘Well, look. Why not?’ Cass rose swiftly to the occasion. ‘I’ve had my hair done and now I’m at a loose end. I’d love it if you could spare the time. I’ve come all this way to let this terrible man have his way with my head and it seems such a pity to waste the result by driving tamely home again.’

  ‘The transformation I wrought on you definitely needs celebrating,’ said Tony firmly to Polly, who seemed to have lost her powers of speech.

  ‘He’s right!’ Cass was delighted at the suggestion. ‘And I’ve had another thought. I’m having a party tomorrow evening and it would be wonderful if you could come. Harriet and Michael will be there and Thea and George. All the old mob. We’ve been out in the States for the last two years and we’re belatedly celebrating our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. It’s a few months late but we haven’t been back long. It will be great fun! You simply must come. I absolutely insist. We’ll go and have lunch and talk about it.’

  Taking Polly firmly by the arm, lest in her despair she should fling herself beneath the wheels of a passing bus, Cass swept her off into the town.

  ‘THE TROUBLE IS, I can’t seem to take it in.’ Polly had drunk two large gins and she was feeling loquacious and even euphoric. ‘I can’t get it into my head that he’s gone. You know? It’s like trying to meditate. Or pray. Every time you start your mind slips off somewhere else. It’s like that.’

  ‘Well, I think that’s a very good thing. It means that you won’t be doing anything silly in a rush. And who knows? He may feel a bit silly himself in a day or two and come hurrying back to you.’ Cass set the menu aside and waved to a passing waitress.

  Polly examined this idea. To her surprise she wasn’t as pleased as she might have been at the thought of it.

  ‘He’s a pompous prick!’ she announced. The waitress looked surprised and Polly took another glop of gin. ‘Well, he is,’ she muttered defensively.

  Cass gave their order, unmoved by this somewhat public revelation. ‘D’you know, I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you drive over this afternoon and stay with us for the whole weekend? Well, as long as you like. I think it’s a bit much for you to be stuck waiting for Paul to deign to contact you. It’ll be horrid for you. We could drive down in tandem when we’ve finished shopping. We’ll go back to your place, pick up your car and drive dow
n to the car park to fetch mine. You can come home again when you feel like it, when you’ve pulled yourself together and got a plan of action. I don’t see why he should have it quite all his own way. Now, why don’t you? You’d be among friends and I’d love it. It’s such a dreary time of year to be on your own. What do you say?’

  ‘Sounds wonderful!’ Polly finished her gin and grinned broadly. She didn’t mean to but she couldn’t control her face. She could feel the grin plastered there but could do nothing about it. She rarely drank spirits and generally behaved badly when she did.

  ‘Good,’ Cass exclaimed. ‘Now what sort of dress for the party, I wonder?’ She looked at Polly appraisingly. Polly continued to grin. ‘Something long and elegant, I think—and stunning. Yes, definitely stunning.’

  Polly pondered this suggestion but before she could ask Cass to elaborate the food arrived and the moment passed. To Polly it seemed as if they were eating for hours. Delicious food came and went and, after a bit, she felt more normal as the effect of the gin wore off. Before she could pass into the maudlin state that so often follows, however, Cass had whisked her off again.

  Shopping with Cass was an experience Polly was unlikely ever to forget. In and out of shops they whirled and Polly undressed, tried on and re-dressed until, finally, Cass was satisfied.

  ‘You’re so slim! I really can’t think why you wear those floppy, baggy clothes. So unflattering.’

  Polly stared into the looking-glass at her new image clothed in a long soft clinging garment. ‘Are you sure it’s me?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘Absolutely certain!’ cried Cass firmly. ‘And while we’re here . . . ’

  They left with bulging bags and took a hopper back to Polly’s house so that she could pack. She was, by now, subject to severe twinges of guilt, quite certain that this was not how abandoned wives behaved. Cass, sensing her change of mood, clung to her side barely giving her a chance to pack and reminding her to cancel the milk and papers.

  After telephoning Mrs Bloge and Suzy, Polly picked up her case. ‘I’m ready,’ she said. ‘Suzy, my friend up the road, will keep an eye on things. She’s got a spare key.’

  She looked round the hall—what on earth was she doing?—and then at Cass. Alarm seized her.

  ‘Splendid!’ Cass beamed at her. ‘Then all you need to do is look forward to a jolly weekend. I really don’t see why you shouldn’t have some fun, too.’

  It was the ‘too’ that decided Polly. After all, who knew what Paul and Fiona might be up to, going off into the blue, while she had to sit alone waiting to hear her fate? Panic receded and defiance returned.

  ‘Neither do I,’ she said firmly.

  Twenty-two

  POLLY HAD NO IDEA where Cass lived on Dartmoor. Had she been visiting Harriet, she would have taken the A30 to Okehampton and turned on to the Tavistock road across the moor. As it was, Cass left the city and drove to the A3 8 where she followed the signs to Plvmouth.

  Polly, sticking firmly on her tail, was terrified lest she should lose sight of her rear lights and wished she’d asked Cass for directions. In the gathering gloom it was difficult to distinguish one car from another and Polly heaved a deep sigh of relief when the indicator light on Cass’s car started winking and she followed her off the main road. Through Ivybridge they went, past the farmland behind the town and, finally, on to the moorland road.

  Now Polly was well and truly lost, her headlights showing up stone walls, stunted trees and the white coat of the occasional sheep. Just as she had decided that she and Cass would be crossing the moor for the rest of their lives—rather like two terrestrial flying Dutchmen—the indicator in front of her started to wink once more and she found herself passing between two stone pillars and following Cass up a bush-lined drive. Cass drove past the house where the light over the door glowed welcomingly after the endless darkness of the moor and round to some outbuildings where she parked. Thankful, Polly pulled in beside her and switched off the engine.

  Cass was already out of her car and hurrying round to Polly shouting words of praise and encouragement, as though Polly had been first past the chequered flag at Le Mans instead of having driven probably less than forty miles in fairly normal conditions. Polly liked it. Rarely did she have her achievements viewed with anything more than a tepid tolerance and Cass’s approbation was a very pleasant change. She preened a bit and shrugged off her cleverness.

  ‘It was nothing,’ she said modestly. ‘I just followed your rear lights.’

  ‘Even so'—Cass was helping to gather her case and belongings— ‘some people are very nervous of driving on the moor in the dark if they’re not used to it. No street lights and the narrow roads, not to mention the sheep and the ponies leaping out at you. You were rattling along behind me like an old hand.’

  Polly felt that perhaps, on reflection, she had been rather brave. Fearless, even. Her spirits rising, she followed Cass down the path and up the steps of the large Georgian house.

  ‘It used to be the Rectory'—Cass opened the front door which didn’t appear to be locked-’but the Church Commissioners sold it off and the Tanners live in a ghastly modern place in the village, poor old things. I feel really sorry for today’s clergy. The only perk they had was being able to live in lovely old houses. Now they live in horrid modern boxes.’ She shut the door behind them. ‘It’s a bit big when all the children are away but when everyone’s at home we really need the space. It’s a devil to heat, of course. I hope you’ll be warm enough.’

  Polly, still feeling rather brave, took in the square hall with its well-proportioned staircase and murmured that she was sure she would be.

  A door opened and a man emerged into the hall. ‘So there you are!’ he exclaimed. ‘I was beginning to worry.’ His eye fell on Polly. ‘Hello, there,’ he added in a different tone. ‘Who’s this?’

  He came forward and Polly recognised the dark, rather stocky man she had met at Harriet’s wedding and again at the christening.

  ‘It’s Polly.’ Cass made it sound as if she had produced a delicious delicacy for his tea. ‘You remember, Harriet’s friend. I met her at Tony’s. She’s all on her own for the weekend so I persuaded her to come to the party. Isn’t that nice?’

  ‘It certainly is!’ Tom took Polly’s hand and smiled at her. ‘D’you know, I couldn’t place you for a moment.’

  ‘That’s because she’s had her hair cut and she looks quite different,’ explained Cass. ‘Now she’s got to unpack her things. No, I’ll take the case, Tom. You go and put the kettle on whilst we sort out a bedroom and then we’ll have some tea.’

  Tom gave Polly another smile. ‘See you later,’ he said and she followed Cass up the stairs.

  ‘In here, I think.’ Cass opened one of the doors on the large landing and, going into the bedroom, turned on the bedside lamp. ‘It’ll probably be the warmest one and you’ve got the bathroom next door. You’ll have it to yourself. We turned one of the small bedrooms into a connecting bathroom for ourselves and Gemma’s got a tiny one off her room. Well?’ Cass looked round the room. ‘What do you think?

  ‘I think it’s lovely.’ Polly spoke quite truthfully. The room glowed with warm soft colours: the velvet curtains a dark ruby, the carpet a mixture of faded blues and reds, the patchwork quilt thrown across the wide bed a brilliant spot of colour. Old, well-polished wood gleamed dimly and the brass bedhead shone in the lamplight. ‘It’s really super. And it feels quite warm to me.’

  ‘You’re above the kitchen, vou see.’ Cass crossed the room and pulled the curtains across the blackness of the night. ‘We never let the Aga out so this wall is always warm. I’ll get you an electric radiator, though, just to give it a boost. Shall I leave you to unpack?’

  ‘Thank you. Cass?’ Polly hesitated and Cass paused at the door. ‘Shall you tell Tom about Paul?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want me to,’ replied Cass promptly. ‘But if people know what’s happened you won’t have to behave as though nothing’s wrong.�
� She smiled. ‘Everyone will be nicer to you. And if you behave badly, they’ll make allowances.’

  Polly began to smile, too, remembering the gin at lunchtime. ‘What makes you think I’ll behave badly?’ she asked.

  ‘My dear!’ Cass looked shocked. ‘I don’t think anything of the kind. I just believe in leaving all one’s options open.’ She gave Polly a tiny wink. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. OK. I’ll leave it to you.’

  ‘You can trust me. Come down when you’ve finished and we’ll have tea by the fire.’

  The door closed quietly behind her and Polly slipped off her outdoor coat, heaved her suitcase on to the bed and snapped open the clasps. As she passed between bed and wardrobe she caught sight of herself in the looking-glass inside the wardrobe door and experienced a little shock of non-recognition. Going close, she peered at her hair, turning her head from side to side. Yes, it certainly suited her and she wasn’t at all surprised that Tom hadn’t recognised her. She put the empty suitcase in the bottom of the wardrobe, picked up her sponge bag and towel and, opening the door, stepped outside. The landing stretched away, dim and shadowy: the closed doors blank-faced and secretive. All was quiet. Slowly she became aware of the stately ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall below and some measure of panic returned. She went into the bathroom, laid her things out, had a pee, washed her hands and hurried downstairs.

  COLD EARLY-MORNING LIGHT POURED into Harriet’s bedroom where she lay dreaming. Max had just had puppies. He was staring in consternation at these bear-cub-like creatures—they all seemed to have been born at a full six weeks old—and then turned a reproachful gaze upon her.

  ‘You should have warned me,’ he seemed to say, ‘that this sort of thing could happen to an elderly dog.’

  ‘It’s amazing!’ Harriet said to Michael, who had now appeared in the dream with them. ‘Max has had babies! It’s incredible! Fancy us not realising after all this time that Max is a bitch!’