by Maeve Haran
‘Dad,’ she greeted him affectionately, kissing the top of his head and trying not to breathe in, ‘this is my friend Sal – you remember Sal from Gaby’s wedding? – and Lou, her friend and colleague.’
Len looked up from the TV with a vague smile. ‘Hello. Welcome to my little kingdom.’
‘Dad, Lou has brought a little surprise for you. He’s wondering, since you’re an engineer, whether you could help him out with a bit of research?’
‘Is he indeed?’ Her father seemed to liven up at this suggestion. ‘And what can an old codger like me do to help with research?’
‘I’ve sunk a considerable amount of money into a Japanese company—’
‘I’m not very fond of the Japanese,’ Len replied, reaching for the remote again.
‘Dad was a prisoner of war. He was one of the last soldiers who built the Thailand to Burma railway. He was only eighteen.’
Even Lou’s megawatt personality seemed stunned into silence at this revelation. But not for long.
‘I’d love to talk to you about that, sir.’
‘I don’t talk about it,’ Len replied. ‘Ever.’
‘Now this research, it’s actually about growing older.’
‘As I’ve told my daughter many times’ – the old twinkly Len peeped out for a moment – ‘growing old is crap. There’s nothing to recommend it.’
‘As I am discovering,’ Lou grinned back. ‘But this research may make it less crap.’
‘How? I’m not going to sit here with wires in my head!’
Lou wondered how to sell the idea to this impressive old man. ‘The research is collected in a rather unorthodox way. By this little guy.’ He stood back to reveal the surprise standing just outside the door.
‘What’s that?’ Len strained round to look. ‘Some kind of Dalek?’
‘He’s a trained healthcare assistant.’ Lou picked up the robot and brought it inside the shed. ‘He’s programmed to wash up, tidy rooms, remind you about when to take medicine and a bunch more as well. He’s a clever little guy.’
Thank God he hadn’t mentioned hygiene, Claudia thought. But Lou had had the sensitivity to avoid anything personal.
‘Look, I’ll switch him on.’ He pressed a small remote control.
‘Hello, Leonard,’ announced the robot in a surprisingly lifelike tone. ‘My name is Hiro. I’m pleased to meet you.’
‘Well, I’m not pleased to meet you,’ Len replied testily. ‘Claudia, is this some damn fool idea of your mother’s? A nurse in disguise to stop me smoking and ban alcohol? You can put the thing back in its box right now. I’m perfectly capable of doing everything for myself.’
‘Leonard!’ Her mother Olivia’s commanding tones rang out from the door to the shed. ‘What the hell is that thing? If you think we can afford for you to spend God knows what on some stupid toy just so you can take it apart and see how it works like you do with everything else, you’re mistaken, I can assure you.’
Her second in command, Mrs O’Brien, was peering over her shoulder. ‘Look at the state of it in here,’ she mumbled. ‘To think he won’t even let me in to have a tidy!’
Claudia wondered who was telling the truth, her father who said the woman never came near him or the carer who claimed she was barred from doing so?
‘Well, you won’t need to any more,’ Len announced, suddenly restored to being Emperor of his shed by this unwelcome intervention. ‘In future I will have Hiro to help me.’
Nine
‘You know, you really shouldn’t encourage her in this mad fantasy about setting up a commune,’ Sal informed Lou crossly when Claudia had left and they were back in Sal’s hotel room. ‘We’re all only sixty for a start.’
‘Sixty-six,’ Lou corrected her, happily contemplating the quintessential English garden with its dark blue delphiniums and masses of rambling roses. ‘I looked you up. These places start at over-fifty in the States.’
‘Well, this isn’t America. You always overdo everything there. Besides, I loathe the idea and I’m still working.’
‘Yes, but how long will you want to go on?’
‘Forever!’ insisted Sal. ‘I love my job. Look at Rose, she’s over eighty.’
‘Yeah,’ Lou reminded her gently. ‘But Rose owns the company.’
‘And Rose and I are really close.’
‘Because you’re two old gals.’
‘Nonsense! Look at Anna Wintour. She’s sixty-eight! And Karl Lagerfeld is still designing at well over eighty. And I’d have you know none of the others are up for it. Laura’s going through a hideous divorce. Ella’s just bought a new house, for God’s sake. It’s only Claudia who’s obsessed, and that’s because she doesn’t know what to do about her parents.’
‘I rather like the idea, I have to admit,’ Lou announced.
Sal looked at him incredulously. ‘But you’re from Manhattan!’ Her tone implied that someone who lived in a palace and looked enviously at a mouse hole must be certifiably insane.
‘Brooklyn as a matter of fact,’ he corrected. ‘It’s not so crazy. You know I’m interested in a lot of different aspects of ageing, the magazine, robot technology in elder care . . . you . . .’
‘How dare you!’ Sal turned on him, grateful they were on their own so she could vent her fury. ‘Of all the outrageous things to say . . .’
She was prevented from continuing because Lou was suddenly kissing her, pushing her gently backwards towards the huge bed.
Sal began to panic. She liked Lou, more than liked him, and in some ways wanted nothing better than to have him make love to her. But there was the question of her breast. What if it revolted him?
‘Lou, look . . .’
He stopped, his eyes searching her face, no longer laughing. ‘I’m too old for you?’
‘No, no.’
‘Too complicated? Too many wives and grandchildren?’
Sal shook her head. ‘Not at all!’
‘I’m a crass American?’
This time it was Sal who started to laugh.
‘I remind you of Donald Trump?’
‘It’s just that . . . I’ve had a radical mastectomy. I only have one breast. I decided not to go for reconstruction. I imagine as you’re from the home of cosmetic surgery that must seem a crazy choice.’
‘What if I told you that, like Hitler, I only had one ball?’ Lou demanded, trying not to smile. ‘Would you find me repulsive?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Or two but very small?’
Sal hid her face in her hands, recognizing the way this was going.
‘Or what about no balls at all? Well, actually I do have balls, but the hair from my head has migrated to my nose and ears. I think that makes us roughly equivalent. I also have burgeoning man tits so I could be the one with the boobs in this relationship. How would you feel about that?’
The answer was helpless laughter.
‘Good. The one thing I can do, to paraphrase the words of the immortal Woody Allen, is laugh a woman into bed.’
They fell back together onto the four-poster. Sal hoped vaguely that none of the staff would choose this moment for turn-down time, but after a few more seconds she couldn’t have cared if the owner himself walked in.
He might not be the youngest lover she’d ever had, but Lou Maynard definitely didn’t disappoint.
It was almost midnight by the time Calum dropped Laura back. She’d really enjoyed the evening he’d planned – a revival of François Truffaut’s Jules et Jim followed by a meal in an unpretentious Italian restaurant nearby.
‘It should really have been French after that film,’ he’d suggested smilingly as they’d sat down at their table.
‘Actually, I prefer Italian,’ Laura had reassured. ‘I adore pasta.’
An enjoyable argument had followed about Jeanne Moreau’s amazing but annoying character in the film, and they’d both agreed about that too.
The evening had rushed past and she suddenly remembered the arrang
ement that he’d come back with her, but when she saw that the curtains hadn’t been drawn and Mrs Lal was standing in the window looking out like an outraged duenna protecting the honour of her virginal charge, she decided she’d lost her nerve. She almost expected to be challenged with the words ‘What kind of time do you call this?’
Instead Laura thanked him and agreed that she’d love to go out again soon. She fought back irritation as she put her key in the lock. It was bad enough trying to work round Sam, but now Mrs Lal as well!
‘Good evening, Mrs Minchin,’ her guest greeted her. Laura had suggested the use of Christian names but had got nowhere. Mrs Lal preferred formality. ‘Did you have an enjoyable evening?’
‘Yes, lovely,’ Laura replied, longing for a cup of chamomile tea in bed. ‘I hope you did too?’
‘Yes, my daughter and son-in-law took me out to dinner.’
‘Great.’ She wondered what had happened to the pizza plan. ‘Where did you go?’
Laura tried not to choke. The restaurant she named would probably have set them back £150 a head! Laura hadn’t even been there when she and Simon were feeling flush. ‘Right,’ Laura replied faintly. ‘And how was it?’
‘The foie gras was disappointing,’ Laura fought down the giggles that threatened to engulf her. Oh dear, poor Mr and Mrs A having to shell out a fortune for disappointing foie gras.
‘Would you like to know what I thought of your escort tonight?’ Mrs Lal enquired. ‘From a professional point of view?’
No. In fact, she wanted to put her fingers in her ears and go ‘la la la la la’ all the way to bed rather than hear it.
‘He wore suede shoes,’ Mrs Lal pronounced magisterially. ‘And of course you know what they say about that.’
‘No.’ Laura really was getting the giggles now. ‘What do they say?’
‘Never trust a man who is too good-looking or wears suede shoes. That was the first piece of advice my own father gave me.’
‘And why do people think that? Could it be that they’re stupid and ignorant?’
‘Because they aren’t trustworthy, Mrs Minchin.’
Laura wondered if she dared ask what they thought of a man who wore suede shoes and was too good-looking. But Mrs Lal’s next comment effectively shut her up.
‘And I don’t think he should have taken a call from his wife while he was waiting for you. If you ask me, they sounded altogether too chummy.’
‘What the hell is that?’ Claudia’s husband Don demanded as he leaned over her shoulder scanning the spreadsheet she had created.
‘Can’t I even have half an hour of privacy?’ Claudia answered evasively. She had taken herself upstairs to the small study in the hope of avoiding his scrutiny.
‘It’s not bloody Igden Manor again?’ Don demanded furiously. ‘Retirement plans for the Coven? No wonder none of your friends has a husband between them. You’re all obsessed with each other! And as for privacy, you can have as much as you want. I’m taking the dog for a walk. I may be some time.’
Claudia wanted to shout that it wasn’t just for the Coven, Don’s horrible name for her and her friends, but for their daughter, and for her parents! And hadn’t she given up her beloved London and her job as a teacher to come and live here because he wanted to?
She made herself a cup of coffee, feeling guilty that she and Don had agreed to try and start again together after she almost had an affair with Daniel the choirmaster. Oh God. Why didn’t life get simpler as you got older? By this age her parents just saw themselves as old and didn’t really expect anything from life, but Claudia didn’t feel old. Besides, what she was working on was something she believed would make things better for all of them, the best of both worlds, as she kept reminding herself. Friendship and care. And fun too.
She grabbed her bag and looked for her mobile to dial the number of her son-in-law Douglas, the architect.
‘Hello, Douglas, Claudia here. I wondered if I could ask you for some advice? I’ve got this idea that everyone else but me seems to think is completely bonkers. You’ve always struck me as particularly grown-up and sane. Do you think you could – very discreetly – come and meet me this week at Igden Manor Hotel and I’ll enlighten you?’
‘How intriguing,’ her son-in-law replied. ‘Is it something Gaby knows about? Only I don’t like keeping things from her at this stage of our marriage.’
‘Though you will later?’ Claudia couldn’t resist saying. ‘Sorry, that was naughty of me. Yes, by all means tell her. But it’s your professional advice I’m after at this early stage.’
‘Right. Tomorrow at eleven? I have to be down your way later in the day so that would work for me.’
‘Tomorrow at eleven it is.’
Claudia almost held her breath. She was actually taking a step, no matter how tiny, towards making the dream a reality.
‘Hello, Leonard, maybe you and I should get to know each other.’
Len looked across at the metal manikin with its large humanoid eyes, long articulated arms and triangular body on wheels. It made him think of an upright hoover in a miniskirt.
‘You’re smiling, Leonard. I’m happy that you’re happy.’
‘I’m not happy! I’m furious I let them foist a damn robot onto me!’
‘My name is Hiro. I’m a hundred and twenty centimetres tall and I weigh twenty-eight kilos. I have been designed as a companion.’
‘I’m Len,’ Len replied. ‘I’m six foot three and I weigh eleven stone. I’m designed to be a husband. When I’m allowed. And I don’t know why the hell I’m talking to you when you’re a lump of metal with an algorithm for a brain.’
‘You’re very funny, Len. Do you like jokes?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake! I’m ninety-two years old, not eight!’
‘Why didn’t the skeleton cross the road?’ Hiro persisted.
‘I don’t know,’ Len replied wearily. ‘Why didn’t the skeleton cross the road?’
‘Because he didn’t have the guts to do it!’
Despite himself, Len found he was laughing.
‘So, what do you like to do, Leonard?’
‘Nothing,’ Len replied grumpily, returning to his copy of The Racing Post.
‘That doesn’t sound very good for you.’
‘I don’t like things that are good for me.’
‘I see from your preferred reading matter that you enjoy horse racing. Perhaps I could help you with that. I have a very good brain.’
Len looked at him thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if you could.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘I suppose you could come to the betting shop in Manningbury to pick up my coupons. I don’t suppose you drive?’
‘That’s not yet one of my capabilities.’
‘Never mind. We could go on the bus. In fact, let’s go now.’
Len reached for his stick, delighted at the prospect of the bored betting staff confronting a robot on a Monday morning in Manningbury.
‘Do you need the toilet first, Leonard?’ Hiro asked in the politely neutral tone he used for all his conversation.
‘No, I do not!’ Len paused. Actually, maybe he did. He wasn’t very good at telling these days.
‘I can always help, you know,’ Hiro offered.
‘I’m not having a damn robot wiping my arse!’ Len shouted back.
‘You have to remember, Leonard, I’m not a real person. I’m just here to help you.’
‘I’ll ask for your help when I need it.’
‘Then I’ll be happy to supply it. Would you like a hug?’
‘No, I would not like a hug!’
Together they made their way up the path by the side of the house to the road.
Mrs O’Brien, glancing out of the window, dropped the mug she was holding. ‘Mrs Warren, will you take a look at that?’ she screeched.
Olivia and Mrs O’Brien peered out at Len and Hiro. ‘Oh my God, this is all my daughter Claudia’s fault. People will think he’s off his head talking away to that giant piece of Meccano. I�
�ll have to get Claudia to come and take it away before my husband is the laughing stock of the village!’
But Claudia wasn’t answering her phone. She had turned it off so that she could concentrate properly on her spreadsheet.
‘Oh my God, what time is it?’
Sal sat up and reached for her dressing gown. Lou might have persuaded her that her Amazon appearance didn’t put him off – a fact he had proved not once but twice – but she didn’t like walking around one-breasted.
She had originally planned to go back to London last night but Lou had talked her into staying. Her secret smile of satisfaction attested that it had been well worth it. But she’d planned to get up early and catch the train so that she could be in the office by ten.
‘Dunno,’ Lou mumbled, fumbling for his watch on the bedside table. ‘Nine thirty.’
‘Oh, bloody hell! I meant to catch the train an hour ago!’
Lou reached over and started to undo her wrap. She grabbed his hand. ‘Okay, Mr Insatiable, I get the message, and a very nice one it is too, but it’ll have to wait. I have an editorial meeting at eleven.’
‘You’ll never make it anyway,’ he grinned, reminding Sal of a good-natured satyr. ‘You might as well call in sick.’
‘I never even called in sick when I was sick,’ Sal smiled back.
‘Now that’s what I call stubborn. I was hoping for breakfast in bed.’
‘I hate breakfast in bed,’ Sal asserted. ‘All those crumbs.’
‘You say potato . . .’ Lou took her hand. ‘We’re obviously completely unsuited. Stuck-up Brits.’ He began to kiss her again.
Reluctantly she broke away. ‘Crass Americans. No sense of irony. Look, I really do have to get dressed.’
She went into the bathroom and quietly closed the door. Funny how you could make love to someone but not want to have them hear you pee. She hurriedly applied her make-up and dragged a brush through her new growth of hair. She couldn’t stop herself smiling. She had no idea where this relationship was going to go, but what the hell? Rose would of course have guessed, especially with Sal being late when she was never late.
Oh well.
‘I’ve ordered you a cab in fifteen minutes,’ Lou announced from the depths of the four-poster. ‘You’ll have time to grab a bite in the restaurant. The next train’s at ten twenty-five. You should just make it.’