Something Blue

by Rosie Orr

  Lips thinned to invisibility, ankle chains rattling with rage (or quite possibly envy of the stripey bows and matching make-up) Tina watched sourly as Sam nodded at something his father said and Lucy made some pleasantry to Tara-Louise. They were chatting together when Tina stalked over and attached herself to the group. Conversation stopped at once, and more introductions were made, a touch less enthusiastically this time. Anna could tell that the conversation was stilted and, from Tina’s body language, that she was being less than friendly to Tara-Louise, until suddenly Tony said something proudly to her and Tina reared back in surprise. She shook her head slightly as if to clear it – causing the Hat to wobble alarmingly – then engaged Tara-Louise in exaggeratedly animated conversation.

  Anna drained her glass again, and was about to accept another from a hovering waiter’s proffered tray in an attempt to raise her spirits, when a dessicated creature swaddled in bright orange fox furs caught her eye. It occurred to Anna with a pang of homesickness how much Roxy would love the fox furs, which were topped by a hat consisting almost entirely of plastic fruit. The wearer was so ancient she made Grandma Taylor seem a mere strip of a girl, so Anna was even more surprised to see her throw herself passionately at Tina in an apparent attempt to throttle her.

  Anna had long been surprised that Tina had survived so long without a contract being taken out against her. This development was a thrill. Anna grabbed another glass from the waiter, hoping very much that nobody would take it into their heads to intervene. She was disappointed when, after a short tussle, it became apparent that Tina’s assailant (from her mad banshee screeches, clearly a close relative) was simply drunk as a skunk and wanted Tina to lead her to another Pimms. fast.

  Evidently deeming that the wisest course of action was to mime tolerant understanding until she could have the old girl thrown into The Grand’s cellars for the rest of the reception, then taken out and shot, Tina waved a fluttering farewell to the surprised group. Then, pinning her still ranting relative in an armlock of steel, she scuttled away.

  Bugger. Still, Tina’s relative didn’t look one to be easily deflected, and would cut up rough when no more Pimms was forthcoming. Hopefully she had a sten gun concealed beneath the furs, or better yet, a grenade. Anna looked at the new bride, expecting to see her dealing with the situation with a shrug and a light laugh but Lucy’s attention was elsewhere. Clutching at Sam’s arm she was gazing with concern at someone on the edge of the crowd: her father. As Anna watched, Lucy said something politely to Tony and Tara-Louise, grabbed Sam’s hand and hurried off through the crowd towards him.

  Anna sighed. Was she ever going to get a quiet word with her son and her new daughter-in-law? She was about to go in search of Barbara again (hearing about the dope fiends always cheered her up) when she became aware that Tony was waving enthusiastically at someone in the crowd – so enthusiastically, in fact, that it was obviously some long-lost friend. Anna looked around, surprised; she hadn’t realised he knew anyone there. People were looking at her oddly. Why? Was there something wrong with …? Just a minute. She looked back at Tony; he waved with renewed vigour. Oh dear, it was her attention he was trying to attract. Nothing for it; better go and see what he wanted before he broke into an Australian version of a Maori haka.

  Trying to look amused in a sophisticated sort of way, and concentrating on not tripping over the mole hills that littered the lawn or stepping in the plentiful cat turds, she strolled over.

  ‘Hey, Annie. Just saying to Tara-Louise here, can’t be much fun having to stand around solo with an empty glass all day at your own son’s wedding. Let’s do the decent thing and call her over.’

  ‘Actually, I …’

  ‘So, you’re still living in Brighton then?’

  ‘Yes, I …’

  He flashed his teeth at Tara-Louise. ‘Strewth, you wouldn’t believe what a dump that place is, Princess. Practically still in the Dark Ages – most exciting thing you can do there is buy a stick of rock and visit the goldfish in the aquarium.’

  Anna was stung. ‘There’s the theatre, and the cinemas – and the sea …’

  Tony roared with laughter. ‘Jeez, pommie sea’d freeze the balls off a brass monkey. When we say sea we mean the good ole bright blue Indian Ocean, right, Tara-Louise?’

  Tara-Louise looked doubtful. ‘I guess, honey. I’ve never really been sure what it’s …’

  ‘Beach so hot you get a tan just by thinking about it, right, Tara-Louise?’

  ‘Well I guess you’d have to actually take your clothes off if you –’

  He slapped her bottom hard. ‘Not that we bother to hit the beach much. Hell, why would you when you’ve got your own bloody great pool at the bottom of your yard. And when I say yard, I mean acres of it, lush green grass and massive palm trees and …’

  Droves of starving man-eating tigers and wild boar hunting in packs, hopefully.

  ‘Sounds great.’ Anna gripped her glass tightly. ‘Well, I really must be –’

  He shot her a look. It was another expression she recognised: the message was I’m going to hurt you now, but I’m going to pretend I don’t know I’m doing it.

  ‘Must say I was surprised to hear you were in – what was it? – yeah, catering, these days.’

  ‘I –’

  ‘Shame. You used to have such big ideas.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Guess there’s only room for serious talent out there these days.’

  ‘Look –’

  ‘Gotta say I’m glad I’m not chopping up cabbages for coleslaw all day in some tin-pot art gallery passing itself off as Brighton’s answer to the Albert Hall.’

  ‘Tate.’

  ‘Yeah. Feel real chuckered I’ve made it so big in graphics. Still, you know what they say.’ He shrugged. ‘Talent will out.’

  Anna thought of her starred first in fabric design and the stream of work offers he’d refused to let her accept. She gripped the glass harder.

  ‘Yup, got my very own chain of graphics agencies. Stretch right across Australia.’

  He puffed out his chest. Anna wondered if anybody had ever actually burst from self-regard. Still, no worries – Tara-Louise was on hand to stitch him up again.

  ‘Great.’ She began to edge away. ‘Well, I must be …’

  ‘And as for a relationship, hell, I guess Tara-Louise – world-class babe in anyone’s book, plus a shit-hot brain surgeon to boot – says it all about my prowess in that department.’ He ran a forefinger down the front of Tara-Louise’s ample chest. ‘Ain’t that right, Princess?’

  Tara-Louise had been gazing absently into the middle distance; she jumped as Tony pulled her close.

  ‘Betcha thinking about one your patients, aren’t you, Princess?’ He rolled his eyes at Anna. ‘Happens all the time.’

  Tara-Louise giggled self-consciously, and kissed him on the cheek; he made no attempt to wipe away the glistening pink smear of lip gloss.

  ‘See? Tony glared at Anna. ‘She certainly isn’t complaining about anything.’

  Anna thought about having sex with Tony. It didn’t take long; there wasn’t very much to remember.

  ‘And you’re here all on your lonesome.’ He smirked. ‘Now don’t get me wrong, but I figure you want to give a bit of thought as to why that might be.’

  Because sodding Jack couldn’t get a sodding late pass from sodding Ruth so he could come with me, OK?

  ‘Cos I reckon it’s the clobber. Your chassis’s not in bad shape, considering, but you wanna take a tip from Tara-Louise here. Go for a bit of glitz, a bit of colour …’

  I know everything’s going to go absolutely brilliantly, angel.

  Oh yes, brilliantly.

  Be thinking of you absolutely every second, darling.

  But that’s not enough.

  ‘… oomph that hair up a bit …’

  Jack … why aren’t you here?

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Well, I think her hair’s dinkum. And personally,’ Tara-Louise pulle
d away from her fiancé, ‘I think working in a caff’s neat, too.’ She directed a blinding smile at Anna.

  Willing herself not to cry, she tried to smile back. ‘Thanks. Really must be going now – things to do, people to …’

  ‘It’s Englebert, bejasus!’ With a glad but tremulous cry, one of the most senior of Eamonn’s business colleagues launched himself at Tony, seized his hand and began to pump it violently up and down. Pimms splashed over Tony’s white satin tux from the enormous tankard clutched in his assailant’s other hand. ‘Know yez anywhere! Bin me top favourite ever since Please Release Me! And to think O’Shaughnessy never gave us so much as a hint he was acquainted, much less said yez was attendin’ the nuptials, sly divil!’

  Pale with loathing beneath his tan, Tony began to back away, pulling the would-be fan with him since he steadfastly refused to relinquish his grip. Still pumping, he began to bawl questions about Englebert’s recent musical activities. Anna noticed with pleasure the sprig of mint dripping down her ex-husband’s bow tie, and the segment of satsuma lodged in his soaking lapel.

  ‘Cripes!’ Tara-Louise looked fearfully at Anna. ‘You reckon he’s escaped from some loony bin?’

  ‘Hell, no. No need to worry. The old boy’s just Irish – pretending to think they know you is a tremendous compliment. Tony’ll be thrilled.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ She still looked alarmed.

  Panicky yelps now punctuated the eager inquisition taking place a few feet away. Anna smothered a grin – keep talking. ‘I must say your work sounds absolutely fascinating, Tara-Louise. As a matter of fact I was watching a documentary on television a few weeks ago about brain surgery. Amazing, the advances they’re making. Everything’s so hi-tech – I couldn’t believe the microsurgery stuff. There was a studio discussion afterwards. You know, experts arguing about the pros and cons of new treatments, patients who’d actually had the operations …’

  The debate had been riveting, and Anna had been genuinely interested. As she outlined the gist of the programme, and the questions and issues raised, Anna found herself sincerely wanting to hear Tara-Louise’s views. ‘Seems to me it’s impossible for a lay person to decide, so I’d be really interested to hear your opinion.’

  Tara-Louise gazed at her. If she hadn’t known she was an expert, Anna would have said she looked bemused. It must be because she was concentrating.

  ‘Uh …’

  Anna looked away, so as not to distract her. Tony had somehow managed to manoeuvre his would-be fan close enough to them to overhear the conversation; he looked none too pleased at what he’d heard. Well, bugger that; she’d show him there was more to her than coffee machines and coleslaw. She turned back to Tara-Louise. ‘The latest treatment mimics a cardiac angioplasty, apparently –’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Only here they thread a catheter through the body’s arteries and introduce it into the brain aneurysm …’

  ‘Uh huh?’

  ‘Yes, and then they fill it with pliable …’

  ‘Uh …’

  ‘… coils, made of some sort of material developed in the space race, I think they said.’

  ‘… huh?’

  ‘And sort of seal it.’

  ‘Wow.’

  Tony gave a strangled squawk. Wresting himself from his admirer’s grasp, he leapt to Tara-Louise’s side and smiled fiercely at Anna. ‘Doncha just love the way she’s so cool?’ He grabbed his fiancée’s elbow. ‘Nobody’d guess in a million years you were a brain surgeon yourself, Princess.’ Twisting round smartly, he zapped Eamonn’s colleague with the smile. ‘Just got to have a word with my backing group here, grandad. Be over to autograph your pension book in two shakes of a dingo’s twat, OK?’

  Satisfied, the old man trotted away.

  Ignoring Tony, Anna continued to talk about the programme. Galvanized into action by her fiancé’s presence, Tara-Louise began to nod or shake her head interestedly at frequent intervals, occasionally repeating something Anna had said with an earnest expression.

  ‘… patients’ blood pressure, but they said that hasn’t been quantified yet.’

  ‘Cripes no, mate.’

  ‘So what kind of post-operative complications would you expect, then?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I was wondering what problems might arise after the op.’

  ‘Problems? … After the op?’ Tara-Louise was staring at her like a rat in a trap.

  Tony jabbed her hard in the ribs.

  ‘Oh, you mean like after the op? Well, let’s see …’ Frowning, Tara-Louise nibbled at a perfectly French-manicured fingernail. Suddenly her face lit up. ‘Hey. Bet you’d have the bastard of a headache.’

  ‘Oh, for chrissakes!’ Tony clapped his hand to his forehead with a strangled scream.

  Tara-Louise bit her lip. ‘Screw, did I get that wrong, Tiny?’

  ‘Wrong? Wrong? Bastard of a headache? What the fuck happened to all the frigging medical terms we practised on the frigging plane?’

  Hmm … call her picky, but it had occurred to Anna that ‘bastard of a headache’ wasn’t exactly the response you’d expect from a brain surgeon.

  ‘And it’s Tony! Tony! How many times have I got to tell you, you stupid frigging cow?’ He saw Anna’s expression, and attempted a laugh through gritted teeth.

  In fact, now she came to think of it …

  She began to put two and two together, and she was opening her mouth to ask some searching questions when she saw Sam and Lucy approaching, holding hands and positively glowing with happiness.

  ‘Mum!’ Letting go of Lucy’s hand, Sam put his arms round her and hugged her. ‘Didn’t get a chance to say it earlier, but you look fantastic. Can’t tell you how… how …’ His voice thickened. Holding her away from him, he looked directly into her eyes. ‘Just want to say thank you.’ He hugged her again. ‘For … you know …’ His grip tightened. ‘Everything.’

  Anna ruffled his hair, painfully aware that it was probably the last time she’d ever make that small, maternal gesture, and hugged him back so hard the starch in his snowy shirt front crackled.

  Then she put him gently away from her.

  Lucy held out her hand to show Anna her ring as Sam approached Tony, who’d been watching the little scene, scowling. ‘Dad?’

  His father eyed him warily.

  Sam took a deep breath. ‘Just want to say how glad – no, how proud I am that you’re here.’

  Anna willed herself not to look away. She was to be glad for the rest of her life that she didn’t, as Sam slung his arm round his father’s shoulders and made the leap from child to man in front of her eyes.

  ‘Better late than never, eh, Dad?’ he grinned.

  Relief flashed across Tony’s face and was gone. ‘Good to be here, sport – son. Say, heard the one about the lady photographer in the jungle …?’ Clapping Sam heartily on the back, he launched into a long and involved joke about the sexual predilections of gorillas.

  Declan clicked the shutter, thanked the smallest bridesmaids for being so patient, handed out the pink sugar mice he kept in his pockets for rewards on such occasions and looked after them, grinning, as they scampered away. He caught sight of the Woman in Blue, as he’d come to think of her. Saw the pain on her face as she gazed at a young man – hey, wasn’t that the groom? – and a tall blond bloke who had the groom in fits.

  He raised the camera and took yet another shot of her.

  ‘Honestly, Anna, Sam’s father coming to the wedding really has made his day, you know.’ Lucy gripped Anna’s hand, eyes shining, then turned to Tara-Louise. ‘And Mummy thinks it’s super, having a real surgeon in the family!’

  Still laughing (Anna dreaded to think what the joke’s punchline had been) Sam gave his father a friendly shove, reached for Tara-Louise and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘Well, I’ll know where to come now, won’t I?’ he grinned. ‘Lucy – my wife – is always telling me I need a brain transplant. My wife … Mmm. I rather like the sound of that
…’ Reaching out, he drew Lucy to him and kissed her.

  As Tony looked away, he caught Anna’s eye; she looked back at him levelly. Tara-Louise looked from one to the other, biting her lip and plucking at her hair extensions with an air of desperation. Suddenly she took a shaky step forward and tapped Sam on the shoulder. ‘Look, mate, I gotta tell ya …’

  The trials and terrors, the frequent despair and constant deprivations of the last twenty-five years rocketed though Anna’s head like a tape on fast-forward.

  How glad I am. How proud I am. For you know, Mum … Everything.

  She swallowed hard. If she loved her son, she’d give him this last gift.

  Keep what she’d just learnt to herself.

  Laughing lightly, she slipped her arm round Lucy’s delicate, lacy waist. ‘Hey, don’t worry – he’s only kidding.’ Looking directly at Tony, then at Tara-Louise, she emphasised her next words. ‘You don’t have to tell him.’ She managed another laugh. ‘I’m pretty sure Sam knows brain transplants aren’t possible.’

  ‘Huh?’ Tara-Louise’s brow furrowed; clearly this was news to her. ‘They …’

  Grabbing a canapé from the tray of a passing waiter with a cry of ‘Great tucker, sport!’ (and ensuring forever Australians’ reputation for ill-breeding with the staff of The Grand) Tony shoved the delicacy between his fiancée’s perfect, glossy lips.

  Sam glanced at his mother uncertainly, clearly hoping she wouldn’t be upset by witnessing what was clearly some private love game peculiar to his father and his fiancée. Seeing his anxiety, Anna responded with a radiant smile. Then, restraining herself from seizing the tray and braining her ex-husband with it and throttling him with his bloody luminous kangaroo hanky, she made her final effort for her son. Gritting her teeth, she slipped between Tony and Tara-Louise and linked arms tightly with them both. ‘I just want you to know,’ she smiled sunnily up at each of them in turn, ‘that I think it’s great you’re both here, too.’