by Anna Maxted
‘I’m afraid not,’ is the polite reply, ‘because you’re adopting the species rather than the individual. So no name would appear on the board. You could name it privately though.’
What’s the point in that! I thank the zoo man for his time and replace the receiver.
The rest of Wednesday comes and goes and Tom doesn’t call. I am tempted to call him on Thursday but can’t as I am out of the office for most of the day accosting women in the street for an eight-page section Laetitia has commissioned entitled ‘The Worst Way I Dumped Him’. I know exactly why she’s commissioned it. Counts are in short supply and Laetitia has been stepping out with a banker. His family bought their own furniture and – even though Laetitia’s did too – it grates and she’s looking to punish him. Poor man. I’m stuck with doing her research. I skid back into the office at five thirty. ‘Did anyone ring?’ I enquire hopefully.
‘Your mother,’ replies Laetitia shortly. ‘How did it go?’
I nod, ‘Fine, fine, I got some great quotes.’ Laetitia ignores me. I trundle wearily to my desk and call my mother.
‘I saw my male nurse from the clinic today,’ are her first words. Heaven help him, so she did.
‘How was it?’ I ask warily, then add, ‘Actually, don’t tell me now, tell me later – I’ve booked the restaurant for twenty past eight. Are you and Nana still up for it?’
My mother replies in her best teachery tone: ‘Good thank you, and if by “up for it” you mean are we still planning to join you for dinner, the answer is yes.’
I giggle and say, ‘Don’t be pompous, Mummy. I’m not one of your children. I’ll see you later.’
I’m about to put the phone down when she squeaks, ‘Is it smart? What shall I wear?’ I pause and recall that I told her the restaurant was in ‘Islington’ when to be accurate I should have said ‘Holloway’.
‘It’s smart-casual,’ I say evasively. ‘See ya!’ I sigh with relief and dig out my tape recorder.
I am looking for an excuse to postpone transcribing when – hallelujah – the phone rings. ‘Hello!’ I say merrily, praying it isn’t my mother again.
‘Helen?’ says Tom.
‘Hiiiiiiiiii!’ I say. When he asks how I am I can tell from his voice that he’s grinning. Wolf teeth. Rrrrr! ‘Fine,’ I say, wondering if calling a woman two days after a date classifies a man as wet. ‘And you?’
He tells me he’s well, and he wondered if I was free sometime over the weekend. This is annoying. Can’t he be more specific? I mean, if I say I’m free on Saturday night and then he says actually he meant Sunday, what kind of a loser does that make me? But, at the same time, he’s so patently keen. It detracts from his allure. I can’t help but find it offputting. I am hit by a brilliant idea.
‘Are you free tomorrow night?’ I say. ‘A bunch of us are going out for a drink. Tina will be there. You remember Tina, don’t you?’
I can hear the smile again, as Tom replies: ‘Tequila Night. How could I forget?’
For the second time in five minutes I replace the receiver, relieved. Safety in numbers. But I am also disappointed. Why didn’t he have the decency to wait a few more days and make me sweat? It’s highly unsettling and I brood about it until I realise it’s six thirty and way past going home time. I lock my tape recorder in my drawer. ‘I’ll start transcribing first thing tomorrow,’ I shout to Laetitia on my way out. She ignores me.
I pull up to my mother’s house bang on eight and see Nana Flo nosing from behind the net curtain. I hoot and wave. A good ten minutes later she and my mother bustle out. Nana is wearing a faded purple coat that may well be made from thistles. Her grey hair is high and brittle under her thin headscarf. My mother is powdered and lipsticked and carrying a shiny black handbag. I wonder how long it’s been since my grandmother ate in a restaurant. ‘You both look nice!’ I say, hoping to set the tone.
Nana grunts. My mother says ‘Do I?’
I tell them the place we’re going to is called Nid Ting. ‘What kind of name is that?’ says Nana Flo.
‘A Thai name,’ I reply, wondering why I bother. I park round the corner.
‘Grotty round here, isn’t it?’ says my mother loudly.
‘But wouldn’t it be boring if everywhere was like Muswell Hill!’ I say cheerily, through gritted teeth.
We plod in and – to my relief – are given a cosy table in the corner. Nana Flo looks at the red patterned carpet and the pink tablecloths and the windowsill buddhas and purses her lips. When the waitress offers to take her coat, Nana clutches it to her and snaps ‘No thank you!’ She sniffs suspiciously at the complimentary bowl of prawn crackers. ‘They’re Thai crisps, Nana,’ I say, ‘prawn cocktail flavour.’
My mother munches away happily and says, ‘Do you know, I think I’ll have a glass of wine!’
Nana surveys the other diners and tuts, specifically at a skinny man sporting a pierced chin and baggy jeans. ‘Ruffian!’ she hisses. ‘It’s a disgrace! And would you look at his trousers. I wouldn’t mind but I never saw such a waste of material! Puts me in mind of that ragamuffin who showed up this morning, Cecelia.’
Refreshing though it is to hear Nana Flo’s radical opinions I seize at the chance to shut her up. ‘What ragamuffin?’ I say, addressing my mother.
‘My nurse!’ she replies.
‘Ohhhh!’ I say, which is all the encouragement she requires to embark on a monologue as long as the history of the world. My mother’s nurse is not at all what one would expect. In fact, when he rang the doorbell she assumed he was ‘a thug’. Only after inspecting his ID and ringing the clinic to check his authenticity did she let him in. (Luckily for him, when he arrived Nana Flo was at Asda.) But you could hardly blame her. A goatee and long sideburns! An earring in his ear! A rucksack! Army trousers! How was she to know! She’d expected a lady in a white uniform! And his name was Cliff!
Surprisingly, Cliff was ‘charming’. Extremely chatty, very concerned, sorry to hear about the razor incident and interested to know what happened and how my mother feels now and to see the wound and inspect the special box she bought to keep her pills in. Eager to be shown photographs of Morrie, intrigued at how they met (Cliff knows people who met at a dance too – at a dance hall called The Ministry), and so understanding about the horrors of car maintenance (Cliff also knows nothing about cars, prefers to cycle, lets his partner deal with all that, how does one manage when that person is gone?).
Cliff can’t imagine how hard it is for my mother to cope on her own, tell him, how did she manage before she met Morrie? Captivated to hear about the tiny room she rented after leaving home and how she painted it herself – quite a thing in those days, although these days, absolutely, anything goes. He suspects she’s being modest – she sounds so resourceful! Totally impressed to hear about her newfound financial prowess – what an achievement! But still, must be difficult not to feel resentful towards someone for dying – how does she feel? Asked to be shown around—
When my mother says Cliff asked to be shown around, Nana Flo – who has been quietly yumming down her steamed fish and plain rice while affecting huffy dislike – snaps, ‘Casing the joint!’
My mouth drops open. ‘I’m sorry?’ I say.
‘Florence watched Starsky & Hutch on satellite this afternoon,’ explains my mother. ‘You enjoyed it, didn’t you, Florence?’
Nana Flo shrugs and says grudgingly, ‘Not bad, compared to some of the modern rubbish.’
All of which keeps you pinned to the sofa, I say in my head. Aloud, I say, ‘He does sound a bit nosy, Mum. Are you sure he’s okay?’
My mother is most defensive. Cliff is a lovely boy.
‘He smoked drugs in the house!’ bawls Nana Flo.
I frown at my mother who says pityingly, ‘Florence, they’re called rolos. They’re normal cigarettes, but homemade. And he asked my permission.’ My mother looks beseechingly at my grandmother but – to quote my old form teacher – no answer is the stern reply.
So we hear m
ore about Cliff. He is what you’d call headstrong, now she considers. Rushed her, when she was talking about how it’s harder for a young woman to meet a young man at an organised dance nowadays, it’s all raves and lap-top dancing, isn’t it? – he hurried her along at that point – but otherwise, a pleasant young man. Keen to hear about you, Helen. He said it would be nice to have a chat with you so I gave him your number. He’s not suitable as a boyfriend, although if he shaved and removed the earring and ironed his shirt perhaps—
‘What!’ I shout, loudly enough for the couple at the next table to start eavesdropping. ‘Why should this do-gooding trendy wendy want to call me?’
My mother looks uncomfortable. She twiddles her noodles round her fork and says, ‘To talk about me, probably.’
I sigh and say, ‘Oh, okay,’ although secretly I’m not convinced.
There is silence while my mother clears her plate. Then she says, ‘He said he imagined that one reason I’d want to stay well was because you depend on me.’
I nearly spit out a prawn: ‘That’s a laugh – he doesn’t even know me!’ I squeak.
My mother replies excitedly, ‘Exactly! That’s what I said! I said you were very independent.’
I nod, pleased. My mother takes a sip of water and clears her throat. She carefully blots her mouth with her pink napkin. Then she says shyly, ‘Helen, if you need any money you know you can ask.’
Two hours later, I drop them off and heave a sigh as Nana’s purple coat disappears into the house. In my grandmother’s own words, the evening ‘wasn’t so bad, considering’. At one point I tempted fate by observing, ‘I see you’ve eaten all your fish and rice, Nana.’ To which she replied tartly, ‘I don’t like to see food go to waste.’ She then gave me a look which said ‘even if it is foreign muck’ but I appreciated the effort it took to stifle the words. My father was mentioned once. My mother cried suddenly, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if Morrie was here too – then we’d be a family!’ I didn’t like to say that if my father was here too, we’d all be out the door and up to the Savoy Grill in a shot. Or, more likely, we wouldn’t be out together in the first place. So I said nothing.
Nana Flo said curtly, ‘Please God he’s looking down on us’ – a curiously sentimental comment. No one mentioned him again. I am so surprised at having enjoyed myself – even if it was in a masochistic way – that when I return to the flat I slam the front door and wake up Marcus. I know this, because as I stand in the bathroom wiping off the layers of make-up, he bursts from his bedroom and storms pettishly down the hall to get a glass of water (I hear the furious whoosh of the tap.) The perfect end to a not so bad considering night.
Chapter 24
SOME DAYS I think I may as well be fifty. I’m constantly tired. I haven’t been to a club in about twenty years. And I’ve gone without sex for so long I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s closed up. I see Friday night as a chance to remedy two of these complaints.
The evening kicks off when Tina, Lizzy and I pile out of the office and into the loos to tart up at 6.01 p.m. ‘Strictly speaking,’ I say to Lizzy who feels guilty about quitting on time, ‘we did an extra thirty-one minutes, so I’d feel good if I were you.’
Tina regards me smugly: ‘The rabid ambition wore off then,’ she says.
I retort, ‘It’s not what you do, it’s what you’re seen to be doing. And when Laetitia left the office at five forty-five I was slaving over my desk.’
I smirk and dig my eyelash curlers out of my hotchpotch of a make-up bag (my eyelashes are unnaturally straight and if I don’t curl them I look bald.) Lizzy opens a metal case that looks like it might contain a gun, retrieves a paintbrush from one of its compartments, and fluff-wuffs a waft of powder all over her face. Tina starts from scratch – carefully wiping off the day’s shine with cotton wool pads and cleanser. A mere touch-up isn’t good enough for our lord and master Adrian, I think sourly. I know it’s mean of me but she’s so precious about him.
‘I’m looking forward to meeting Adrian,’ I say, in an attempt to combat my own nastiness.
‘Good,’ says Tina. She adds lightly, ‘Do try not to say anything offensive.’
I widen my eyes as far as they’ll go and say, ‘Cheeky cow! How about you try not to say anything offensive to Tom. No weeing jokes, okay?’
Tina smiles, says ‘deal!’ and turns back to the mirror.
‘You’ll like Tom,’ I say, addressing Lizzy, ‘I’m sure you will.’
Lizzy beams into the mirror and says earnestly, ‘I can’t wait to meet him, he sounds lovely.’
I smile my gratitude, finish my patch-up job and am instantly bored. ‘How’s the new flat?’ I ask Lizzy, who has just bought an airy loft apartment in Limehouse.
‘Oh!’ she says, ‘wonderful! The view of the Thames! I could look at it for ever. It’s so beautiful.’
I was under the impression that the Thames was a stinky brown river, but I simper, ‘How lovely.’ Maybe it looks picturesque from a distance. And anyway, what am I carping about? My bedroom overlooks the driveway and Marcus’s metallic blue RAV 4. I wonder if there are any flats for sale in her block. ‘Aren’t you nervous about having a mortgage?’ I say.
Lizzy tilts her head to one side and says, ‘Not really. Mum’s a financial advisor. She helped me plan for it.’ Of course she did.
‘And have you got much furniture?’
No, not yet. Lizzy wants to take it slowly. She’d rather build up a select number of ‘signature pieces’ (whatever they are) than a hoard of clutter. Last weekend, she tells us, she saw a brilliant ‘Line chaise’ (again, search me) for £650 from the Conran Shop.
‘Six hundred and fifty squids!’ shouts Tina. ‘Are you mental?!’
Lizzy knows it’s a tad indulgent but it is ‘So sleek.’ And it would look sensational against the maple wood flooring.
I tell her if she wants a line chaise she should go for it and skimp on other luxuries – a bed, for instance. ‘And what are the neighbours like?’ I say.
Lizzy pulls a funny face. Some of the neighbours are friendly, she tells us. She had a long chat with Number 28 only yesterday. Number 28 told her that Number 26 was ‘a dealer’. ‘Oh!’ tinkled Lizzy, ‘an antiques dealer?’ No, replied Number 28 kindly, ‘a drugs dealer’. By the time Tina and I have stopped sniggering, we’re at the pub.
Brian is the first man (if he qualifies) to arrive. He dutifully pecks Tina and me on the cheek and then turns to Lizzy. He gazes on her like an art lover looks at a rare painting and lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it. Lizzy giggles and tucks her hair behind her ear. I can’t help smiling, even though the gallant gentleman is wearing a patterned jumper and grey shoes. Tina also looks. She obviously regrets the ‘Brian’s an arse!’ remark because she leaps up and asks him, ‘What can I get you?’ But Brian insists on buying. He walks to the bar to purchase a still mineral water, a Becks, and an orange juice (‘Tina, aren’t you feeling well?’).
I look at Lizzy and she seems visibly to swell with pride. ‘Aw!’ says Tina – lighting her fifth cigarette in ten minutes – ‘young love!’ I shoot her a fierce glance – Brian’s knocking on eighty! – but neither she nor Lizzy notice the blunder. Brian returns from the bar and I am limbering up to despise him for being teetotal when I see he’s bought himself a pint. I glance at Lizzy for signs of disapproval but there are none. She strokes his arm lovingly. ‘You two!’ says Tina, ‘get a room!’
Brian laughs. To my surprise he has a deeply dirty boyish laugh. He settles down close to Lizzy and addresses the table in general: ‘So, how’s work?’
Happily, we are whisked from small talk hell by the arrival of the Messiah, aka, Adrian. Tina jumps up to greet him so fast she spills her drink. ‘That’s a first,’ I say snidely. She ignores me.
‘Everyone,’ she announces formally as if she’s introducing him at an AA meeting, ‘This is my boyfriend Adrian. He’s an architect.’ Adrian smiles a shiny white smile and shakes everyone’s hand. Mine is suddenly sweaty so I w
ipe it on my trousers before my turn.
‘Hello,’ I say, thinking, wow. I take it all back. He is the Messiah.
Adrian is exceptionally easy on the eye. Exceptionally! He is wearing a tailored navy suit, crisp lilac shirt, and deep pink tie. His golden blond hair is as curly as a cherub’s and you expect blue eyes but his are brown with long, girlish lashes. His smile is bright and wide against his light tan. ‘Oh Tina!’ I say approvingly, ‘I believe the hype!’ Adrian laughs and so does Tina. She then speeds off to fetch him a red wine.
Lizzy nuzzles closer to Brian and chirrups, ‘We’ve heard so much about you!’
Adrian smiles at her and says, ‘All good, I hope?’
Lizzy giggles and says, ‘Aha!’
Tina rushes back with Adrian’s red wine which she places lovingly before him. Jesus, it’s like The King and I.
‘So,’ jokes Adrian, slapping a hand on Tina’s Miu Miu clad thigh and giving it a fond shake, ‘what have you been saying about me?’
Tina looks up startled and says, ‘Nothing! Why?’
Adrian replies teasingly, ‘Apparently, you’ve been telling your friends all manner of secrets – and I’d very much like to know what they are.’ He lifts his hand from her lap and starts gently massaging the back of her neck and she shivers with pleasure. I don’t wish to sound like Mother Superior but it’s obscene. Flaunting themselves! Can’t they wait? I decide to cut short the public foreplay session.
In a firm loud voice I say, ‘She’s told us you’re handsome, successful, witty and all, but she’s been most disappointing and hasn’t revealed anything in the least bit private. So you’re safe!’
I expect Tina to be irked at my grinchlike behaviour but she beams at me. So does Adrian. He rewards Tina with a kiss and murmurs, ‘The truth will out!’ Cultured too, it’s sickening.
‘Alright,’ I say, ‘enough of that!’
By the time Tom turns up – soon after seven thirty as promised – the conversation has turned to Lizzy’s bizarre biscuit habit. Lizzy doesn’t like to eat ‘empty calories’ (even though I reasonably argue that you could justify eating ‘empty calories’ by substituting them for ‘boring calories’ – just replace your green salad with a chocolate Hobnob and large multivitamin). Oh, no, Lizzy would never do that. Although she does surrender to the occasional craving. In which case she goes to the remarkable trouble of ‘breaking a plain digestive into eight pieces and eating one piece per hour’. We are agog. ‘What, on the hour?’ asks Tina, fascinated.