I took a moment, in the quiet hush of the tack room, inhaling the reassuring smell of leather and tack cleaner and all things horsey. Then I raised my head, gathered myself and walked back to the stable. Nutty was being led into it, having been washed down and given a feed, and Paddy was just filling a water bucket and delivering that, too.
‘What’s up?’ he said again, and I wished he hadn’t. My lip was quivering.
‘Nothing,’ I said. He waited. ‘Except … oh God, Paddy.’ I sat down heavily and rather abruptly on a hay bale outside the stable door. Put my head in my hands. ‘Everything, actually. I’ve been a bit of a fool, I think.’
He sat down beside me and I waited for him to say, ‘So what’s new?’ or something equally pithy, but he didn’t. After a bit he said, ‘Well, that happens to the best of us.’
I looked up, gratefully. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’
‘Course it does,’ he said gruffly.
I thought of him kissing me in the road the other day, no doubt to make me miss my train. Perhaps he was regretting it. It had been a bit childish. And Paddy was so resolutely grown up. Weirdly, despite its undoubted satirical intent, it had come back to me the other day, in a strangely erotic manner, but I couldn’t remember when. I racked my brains. Oh yes, when someone else was kissing me. Who? I couldn’t remember now. So many men. Perhaps they’d put that on my tombstone? The children. So many men. Probably. Except, if I lived till I was about ninety, maybe they’d forget these last few indiscreet weeks? Or maybe not, I thought soberly, heaving up a great sigh from my boots. My children couldn’t remember which buttons to press on the dishwasher, but their mother enjoying herself for the first time in five years? Oh boy, they’d remember that all right.
‘Define fool,’ said Paddy, breaking my reverie.
I turned to him. ‘Hm? Oh. Yes. Right.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Well, amongst many other things, many idiotic, thoughtless, stupid things I’ve done recently, I think I might have signed a document which relinquishes my claim to a very valuable property I’ve inherited, until such time as a healthy man of seventy-eight keels over and dies, which could be in about twenty years’ time. That’s what I think I might have done.’
Paddy frowned, clearly having trouble with this supposition. ‘Right,’ he said slowly. ‘Would you care to be a tiny bit more specific?’
I was, in that I told the story, but I kept it clean. Without any funny business on the Docklands sofa, or any hot sex afterwards in a minimalist bedroom. I skipped over all of that – which took some mental dexterity – and moved smartly on, until I woke up dazed the following morning.
‘In the spare room?’ asked Paddy.
‘Er … yes.’ I licked my lips. ‘No. In his room. But nothing happened,’ I said quickly, flushing to my roots.
‘Clothed?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I said were you clothed?’
I knew what he’d said. My flush deepened to a vintage claret. ‘Of course I was clothed!’ I spluttered. ‘What d’you think I am, Paddy?’
‘That ancient profession – I’m joking. No, I’m just checking, because from what you’ve said, it sounds like you might have been drugged, so it might not have been your fault if you were undressed.’
I leaped to my feet. Stared down at him, appalled. ‘Drugged? Do you think so?’
‘Well, I don’t know. Were you sleepy afterwards?’
‘Yes! Massively! Loads of times! In Lucy’s flat all afternoon and again on the train – oh Paddy, loads. So bloody sleepy. Drugged!’ I clutched my throat. ‘Paddy, I was naked!’ I gasped, sitting down again. ‘Completely starkers. Do you think he …?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said more curtly. ‘I said that. But anyone can get hold of things these days, and it doesn’t take much to knock a horse out, so a slip of a thing like you …’
I was very definitely not a slip of a thing, but I loved him for that, even if it was in comparison to a horse. ‘Oh Paddy, what are we going to do?’ I whispered, realizing I’d rather brazenly included him in this. ‘No one will believe me. And if I have signed it …’ I cringed, ‘the children will kill me. Really kill me.’ Unless I did it first, I thought. Took some pills. Evidently these things were readily available.
‘Well, I believe you,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘But, on the other hand, I know you. Others might not. Let me think about this. Felix Carrington, you say? An art dealer?’
‘No, artist, really. But … I haven’t seen much of his own work. He always seems to be judging competitions, abroad, that Venice bipolar thing, so I’m sure he’s huge.’
‘Biennale. Have you looked him up?’
‘What?’
‘Googled him.’
My entry into some areas of the technological world had been somewhat sluggish. ‘Oh. No.’
He whipped out his phone and did just that. Shrugged. ‘Well, he’s got a website, and there’s lots of pictures of his stuff, but he’s not exactly Jackson Pollock. No Wikipedia. And not much in the way of endorsements either, except from himself.’
‘Oh.’ I had a thought. ‘Paddy, look up Cuthbert Faulkner.’
He did. ‘OK, so his testimonials go on for ever. Patron of the Arts Council, on the board of the National Gallery, associate professor at the Slade, director of Christie’s, not an artist as such but a jolly revered art historian. Generous, too, loads of charitable institutions he’s chaired, and there’s a Wikipedia page.’
‘Right.’ My mind was quietly ticking over for once. ‘Paddy, I have got to get that document. Have to see what it says, and if I’ve signed it. And I’ve got to do it quickly. Like now, before he does something with it.’
‘OK, where is it?’
‘In his house. In Docklands. A terraced house near the river.’
‘Right. So, what – we break in?’
‘We?’ I seized on this, and his wrist, hard. ‘Oh Paddy, would you? Come with me?’
‘Well, you can’t do it on your own, you’re not to be trusted. You’ll end up dangling from a drainpipe with no clothes on.’
‘Drainpipe. OK. Then through the window. But Paddy – you’d go all that way—’
‘I have been to London before,’ he said testily. ‘Spent my teenage years in Kensington and went to Westminster and Imperial College. I wasn’t entirely born in a cowpat.’
I sat back, amazed. ‘No! I never knew that, Paddy – how cool! I thought you lived in Ireland?’
‘Only as a child.’
‘Where, exactly, in Kensington?’ I crossed my legs and if I’d had a cigarette, I’d have lit it.
‘Molly, can we get back to the matter in hand? Getting that document? Now what we’ve got to do is discover when he’s out.’
‘Yes. Good plan. But how the devil are we supposed to … oh!’ I had a sudden lightbulb moment. I seized his wrist again. ‘Oh Paddy, he’s out with his girlfriend tonight, at the theatre, and at lunchtime tomorrow – his father told me! He’s having lunch with him. He’s lovely, by the way, Robert. I don’t want him to get a flicker of this.’
‘Right. Well, tonight’s out of the question, but—’
‘Oh!’ I was shaking his wrist now with a shriek. ‘Oh God – oh God, Paddy, we don’t even have to break in! His cleaner’s lost her key and she comes tomorrow, he’ll leave one out – we can just walk in!’
‘Except the cleaner will be there.’
‘Oh. Good point, good point.’ I sobered down.
‘But not all day.’
‘No, not all day.’ I turned, excited.
‘But we don’t know when.’
‘Probably not in the afternoon?’ I hazarded. ‘Most work in the morning, and she’ll put the key back.’
‘Yes, but he might be back from lunch by then.’
‘True.’ I narrowed my eyes into the distance.
‘So maybe we have the key copied and use it when we know he’s out.’
‘Brilliant! You’re brilliant!’ I seized his poor bruised arm again. ‘But
isn’t that illegal?’
‘Of course it’s effing illegal but so is breaking and entering in the first place.’ He looked worried. ‘Have you got any better suggestions?’
‘No. No, I haven’t. Oh, thank you, Paddy. And you’re so straight, so law-abiding, I know you wouldn’t do this lightly. Thank you, thank you, thank you.’
‘Tomorrow it is then.’ He whipped out his phone and started texting.
‘Yess,’ I breathed happily. ‘Tomorrow it is.’ I watched his fingers move like lightning across the keyboard. ‘Can you really disappear at such short notice? Will someone cover for you?’
‘That’s what I’m doing. It’s not ideal, but Poppy will have to. Actually it might do her good to be thrust in at the deep end.’ Poppy was his new assistant, young and slightly nervous.
‘Right.’ I leaned back on the stable wall as he rearranged his diary. ‘Gosh. Quite exciting, really.’ I was immensely bucked, particularly at having Paddy’s help. ‘Paddy, I am so grateful. I’d take one of the children but they hate me at the moment. All of them.’
As if on cue, Nico’s bedroom window flew open at the front of the house. Some very weird, very loud, thumping garage music pumped out and I caught a glimpse of Nico, puffing away on what I hoped was a very large roll-up. He glared pointedly at me and disappeared from view.
More music joined the unsteady rock beat, but from a different direction this time, and a different era. I turned. Coming down the lane and approaching the gate was a familiar ancient black Volvo. The windows were open and Boney M. blared as smoke billowed from the passenger side. Why did my family smoke so much? A tent and a battered suitcase were tied, rather precariously, to the roof. My parents, back from some whacky psychic festival in Wales, loomed into view. Mum, incongruously dressed in heart-shaped sunglasses and a headband with feathers sticking out of it, waved both hands madly from the passenger seat, whilst my father smiled weakly from behind the wheel, looking rather drained and tired. As I got up and walked across to open the gate it occurred to me that with no compliant children on my books at present I was going to need these two rather badly. And really quite rapidly. I smiled broadly at my guests. Never had I been so pleased to see my mother.
23
The car came to a juddering halt in the yard and the doors opened, disgorging its exhausted occupants. Looking like ageing hippies with back problems, my parents staggered from the car at an angle. My mother was definitely looking the part in yellow flares, an ethnic waistcoat, beads and what looked like tampons dangling from her ears, whilst my father looked like a man who’d reached his journey’s end. I went round and gave him a hug and I believe he almost sniffed the air as he released me, already scenting his old armchair, the Racing Times and a large whisky. I decided I’d leave him firmly out of tomorrow’s equation. He’d had enough fun for one week.
‘Darling!’ My mother and I hugged too and then she puffed hard on her Consulate Menthol, throwing her head back to release the smoke to the sky. ‘We popped by to drop off Nico’s tent, which was an absolute godsend. Although you might like to tell him it’s got the most terrific holes in it. Luckily it didn’t rain but if it does he’ll get drenched. I’ll patch it for him if he likes.’
‘You can tell him yourself,’ I told her as the boy himself climbed out through the kitchen window, followed by his disciples. Nico had his overnight bag in his hand and a defiant, truculent look on his face.
‘We’re off to Jake’s,’ he announced, as if my heart would break. ‘I’ve had it with you, Mum. I’m out of here.’
‘Oh dear, what a shame,’ I said, thinking, yippedy-doo-dah. ‘How long for?’
‘At least a week. No more animal husbandry for me.’
Why hadn’t I thought of this before? Obviously he’d been useful whilst I’d been away, but on a more general basis, want a clean, tidy house with no teenagers in it? Just strip to the waist and frighten them all away.
‘Er, well, mate, I think just tonight with my mum. Then to Derek’s,’ said the ever alert Jake.
‘Uh? Wha’?’ Derek somehow came to life, his eyes clearing. ‘Not sure … my mum can be a bit – you know … funny.’
‘She’ll come round,’ I assured him. ‘Don’t forget, I’m funny too.’ I smiled winningly. Turned back to my son. ‘Got all your dirty washing, Nico? Make sure you make a present of that for Mrs Harper. After all, Derek is quite welcome to bring us his. Try not to be sick, though, the Harpers don’t have dogs to clear it up like we do.’ Derek was prone to vomiting when drunk, usually outside, but on one famous occasion down my curtains from a top bunk, which had challenged even our terriers. Waiting until Nico had at least had the grace to greet his grandparents, I jerked my head towards his bedroom.
‘Don’t suppose you could have turned that thing off before you left?’ The walls were still throbbing, a relentless bass note pumping out.
‘What? Oh, no, I left it on for Ted. He’s still up there.’
I stared at my son for a very long time. ‘Ted is?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Toxic Ted?’
‘Yeah. He came round last night, looking for Minna. Brought some booze.’
‘Quite a lot, actually,’ Jake put in. ‘Bottle of Gordon’s and a six-pack. Seemed rude not to ask him in. Nice bloke.’
‘Nice …’ I resumed my contemplation of Nico.
‘Yeah, he’s all right actually. But we had a bit of a session, so I thought I’d let him sleep it off. Don’t worry, I didn’t use the spare room, he slept on my floor.’
‘Darling, we’ll be away, we’re a bit bushed,’ called my mother as Dad, having removed the tent from the car and set it down in a corner of the yard, dusted his hands down wearily. ‘Thank you, Nico, frightfully useful.’
‘Glad to be of service, Granny,’ grinned her grandson. ‘How were the mystics?’
‘Oh splendid, although a little alternative for your grandfather’s tastes.’
My father rolled his eyes meaningfully at Nico. ‘And not that psychic either. We followed signs to the festival – why? Why do they need signs?’
Nico sniggered.
‘Tutty-bye, darling, speak soon,’ warbled Mum.
‘No – no, don’t go, not yet. Yes, you go, Nico – but Mum, could you possibly wait one sec? I won’t be a mo.’ I turned to my veterinary surgeon, whose skills I was testing in all sorts of ways. ‘Paddy,’ I hissed, ‘chat her up. We need her.’
I dashed inside, rolling through the kitchen window commando-style, and took the stairs two at a time. I flew down the corridor and through the open door at the far end into the loudly pulsating room. Sure enough, there on Nico’s floor was a comatose Ted in a sleeping bag, mouth open, blond hair tousled. The music was deafening. I snapped it off.
‘Ted!’
Nothing.
‘Ted!’ I shook him. Then I shouted in his ear. In desperation, I poured a handy glass of water from Nico’s bedside table on him. Not much, but I did.
‘Eh? Wha’? Wha’s happening?’ Ted spluttered and sat up, fine young torso dripping.
I put my face close to his. ‘Ted, you have precisely five minutes to get your things together and to get out of this house, do you understand?’
He gazed at me uncomprehendingly through half-closed, heavy-lidded eyes.
‘TED!’ It was no good. Moments later those eyes had given way to gravity and he’d lain down again, snuggling into his bag. Glancing out of the window I saw Paddy talking to my parents, who were being polite, but clearly keen to be away. Dad was very much on the back foot, reversing towards his car. I flew downstairs, thinking ‘priorities’ and rejoined them in the yard.
‘Mum, Dad, I know you’re exhausted, but would you do me the most humungous favour?’
‘Depends,’ said my father warily, up to here with favours.
‘Actually, not you, Dad, but Mum – could you possibly house-sit for me from tomorrow? Just for one night? Paddy and I have to go to London.’
‘Paddy an
d …’ My mother looked from me to Paddy. Her face cleared and the sun came out. ‘Oh darling, of course!’ She became wreathed in delighted smiles as she puffed excitedly on her ciggie. She loved Paddy Campbell. Let’s face it, she loved all vets, medics, doctors, lawyers, professional men. For an ageing hippie she had remarkably bourgeois views on what would suit her daughter.
Valiantly resisting giving her a withering look, I ploughed on. ‘I know it’s horribly short notice, but we have to be there by lunchtime tomorrow.’
‘Lunchtime! Of course! Where are you taking her, Paddy? For lunch?’
‘Oh, well—’
‘Mum, Dad wants to go home,’ I said firmly, cutting through any more embarrassing chit-chat. I hustled her firmly away and she complied, although she couldn’t resist throwing over her shoulder, ‘Stay as long as you like, Paddy, Frank and I will be fine.’
About Last Night . . . Page 26