About Last Night . . .

by Catherine Alliott

  Minna, I could see, though, was not keen to continue this line of sociological chat, or indeed any kind of chat for that matter. I knew the rules: the other, mother and daughter ones. If all was misery and despair my ear was needed every waking minute. But the moment all was rosy, I must disappear. Vanish. Become invisible. So I went to shut the chickens up. Although of course Ted had already done it, and when I came back, she’d gone to bed.

  I turned out all the lights and went up myself, marvelling at the piles of ironed clothes on the table on the landing and wondering if he’d tidied my bleeding knicker drawer. He hadn’t. Hadn’t been in my bedroom, which was as chaotic as I’d left it. He had tidied Nico’s, though, but not Lucy’s. I wandered around in a daze. Clean sparkling baths! Shiny taps! I stroked them, then wiped the fingermark away with my sleeve. I hadn’t had a cleaner for two years. I had now. I peered in the loo. I wasn’t convinced I could live with that blue water, but I wouldn’t hurt his feelings and take the funny plastic thing out of the cistern. Just live with it, Molly. Blue bog water is a small price to pay. Shattered, I went to bed.

  The following morning I very definitely overslept because when I awoke and went to the window to open the curtains, Moira Grundy was coming down the caravan steps, looking very pleased with herself. Ah. Good moment. I seized it. Throwing on some clothes, I went outside. The day was cooler than the preceding ones had been, perhaps heralding the end of the heatwave, but the bright blue sky highlighted the green of the garden beautifully. I hurried up the slope to the terraced lawn and mounted the steps. Inside the caravan I found Mum tidying up the predominately pink interior. Radio Two was on and she was humming away happily to Diana Ross, but not dressed as a gypsy, just in a patterned skirt and top. We hugged each other warmly and I thanked her for everything.

  ‘Another satisfied customer?’ I asked, nodding in the general direction of Moira’s retreating back down the lane.

  ‘Oh, very. She found her reading glasses last week as I told her she would. And she’s getting on much better with her brother.’

  ‘I thought she wanted him to move out?’

  ‘She did, but she knows she’d miss him, so she’s agreed not to mention the fact that he tries on all her clothes when she goes out. A bit of harmless fun is how I put it. And so what if he’s getting his private part pierced? It’s his private part, isn’t it?’

  I smiled. ‘It is indeed, Mum.’ Nico was right. She was more agony aunt than anything else. ‘And what’s in her stars for this week?’

  ‘This week she’s going to be reunited with an old friend. I had Avril Hutchinson in yesterday and her sister’s visiting from Glasgow on Tuesday, who I know Moira gets on very well with. They grew up next door to each other in the village, of course.’ She smoothed down the throw on the sofa then turned and beamed. ‘I say, what d’you think of darling Ted? Isn’t he something?’

  ‘Well, he certainly seems to have undergone a miraculous transformation, that’s what I came to ask you about.’ I sat down at her table with its fringed cloth. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘Well,’ she said importantly, perching on a chair next to me and clasping her hands. ‘All I know is I came back and found him here, as I told you, and then the next time I came, to tell him to vamoose like you said, it was as if Mary Poppins had been. I had mentioned I was up to my eyes with your dad – yes, right as rain –’ she waved away my enquiry, ‘doesn’t want any more fuss and wishes I’d never mentioned it – and that what with business hotting up here, which it is, blimey, I had the entire village in yesterday – I might be a bit pushed, but I never expected him to jump into the breach like that. And did you notice all the soap had gone?’

  ‘God, no, I didn’t. But now you mention it … where is it?’

  ‘In a loose box. And he walked Nutty for me to stretch the tendon. Mucked him out, too.’

  ‘And it’s all for Minna?’

  ‘Totally. He came in here a couple of days ago and we had a nice chat – I didn’t charge him, of course – and he said he’d been an idiot and he missed her. Said he’d lost her to London and the bright lights. He admitted he’d never been there in his life. He said that all the other girls were nothing compared to her and he wondered if he’d lost her for good.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘Well, obviously I read his palm.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘And I said I could see calmer waters ahead, but only if he really mended his ways. Put his philandering days behind him. Then I furrowed my brow and asked if he knew anyone called Adam. He said no, so I said I thought Minna might and he went away in a bit of a lather. Then I rang Minna and told her I’d dropped her in it but with very good reason, and that her stars said she should stay up in town for another night, have her highlights done, get a St Tropez tan, not answer her phone, and sashay down here yesterday, which she did.’

  ‘To play chess.’

  ‘He’s teaching her. His dad’s a grandmaster.’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘Swear to God. Eileen Price told me. Don’t be such a snob, darling, you know nothing about his family.’

  ‘True.’ I narrowed my eyes thoughtfully. ‘But one swallow doesn’t make a summer.’

  ‘I agree, but it’s a start. And he’s got to be the most delicious-looking young man for miles around, don’t you think? Have you ever seen such a specimen?’

  ‘Who’s a specimen?’ said a familiar voice. We both turned as Lucy put her head around the door. She looked beautiful, blonde hair piled on her head in a messy bun, her face lightly made up. She came up the steps, followed by Robin, who looked tanned and well and was smiling broadly.

  ‘Oh! Darlings!’ I got up to hug them both, as did Mum. ‘What a surprise! I had no idea you were coming!’

  ‘Bit of an impulse decision, to be honest, we haven’t actually been to bed,’ said Lucy, rolling her eyes. I realized she was still in evening clothes, an old coat over the top. ‘Robin heroically drove and I slept on the way. But who’s the specimen?’

  ‘Toxic Ted, who’s undergone something of a dramatic sea change – I’ll explain,’ I said quickly, seeing her face darken. ‘Only don’t go in there as I did and question her about love rats and a new boyfriend in London. She doesn’t need it from both of us.’

  ‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t do that, I do have some tact and subtlety. And actually today …’ Her face lightened and a broad smile broke out like sunshine across her face. ‘Today I’m prepared to love anyone. Even Toxic Ted.’

  I suddenly realized her eyes were unnaturally bright and her cheeks were flushed.

  ‘Why today …?’ I asked, floundering. She reached out her hand to Robin, beside her. He took it, beaming. They gazed at one another.

  ‘Well, Robin wanted to ask you, but I said we weren’t really that kind of family and that it would be fine if we did it together. It is fine, isn’t it, Mum?’ She turned to me. ‘If he doesn’t ask? If we just tell you’ – she glanced up at him again – ‘that we’re going to get married!’

  29

  As I told her, later, over champagne in the sitting room, I’d never seen her look happier or lovelier. We’d hugged and cried out there in the caravan – well, I’d cried, obviously – but such joyful tears, such overwhelming emotion, to see my darling daughter, my eldest girl, so obviously happy. Yes, they were young – or she was, Robin was five years older – but she knew he was right, I could tell. And he knew she was right, too. And they were very much in love.

  ‘So why delay?’ she asked brightly, waving her champagne glass about in the sitting room – immaculate, for once, thank God – where we’d all gathered around the bottle I’d thrust quickly in the freezer for two minutes and which Nico poured: yes, Nico arriving from Jake’s in the nick of time, in his spluttering old Fiesta, chugging into the yard as we waved madly from the open window. ‘Why wait any longer when we’ve been going out for years?’

  ‘Why indeed,’ I agreed, thinking she deserv
ed this: this happiness, this security, this love, and that Robin was a good man. He’d give it to her in spades. And yes, she might well give him the runaround, I thought, looking at his adoring eyes as they shone down into hers, but I had a feeling he had a bit of steel to him too. I’d recently witnessed him simply ignore her when she went into a huff, something the rest of us found hard to do, always rising to the bait. It had worked a treat. She’d had to seek him out later, apologize, when she’d calmed down, which of course he’d given her time to do. No, he wouldn’t be a pushover, but he’d deal with her intelligently. And now that he too felt secure in claiming her, his confidence would grow. Not that she needed dealing with, I thought guiltily, but – you know. You know your children. I sipped my champagne, still blinking my watery eyes a bit. I watched the happy couple chatting with Minna, Nico and Mum, discussing venues, dates.

  ‘You must have it here,’ Minna insisted. ‘In the long meadow.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to! I couldn’t get married anywhere else. I want a proper country wedding, with bunting and orange blossom and hay bales – the whole bit. We won’t have moved by then, will we, Mum? Late summer?’

  ‘No I – hope not.’ But everyone looked a bit sad suddenly, as if a damp tea towel had been thrown over proceedings.

  ‘Well, if necessary we can always have it at Rutsham,’ volunteered Robin.

  ‘Oh yes, how lovely, Robin,’ I said quickly. But I saw Lucy envisage this: Robin’s grand ancestral home, with the mile-long drive, the imposing turrets – she’d shown me a picture – private chapel, too. With his parents at the helm instead of us. Charming, Lucy had said, but – you know. Quite grand.

  ‘Or London,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Exactly,’ I agreed, equally quickly, but we all took a huge slug of champagne. Minna drained her glass in one and mine spilled and went down my chin.

  It wasn’t going to be easy, this move, I reflected, and the closer it got, the more difficult it would become. But then, nothing ever was, was it? Easy? Certainly in my life. It didn’t help, of course, that it was the most glorious of days with the sun shining down on the buttercup meadow outside the bay window where we’d gathered, freckled with ewes and lambs, which was where she’d want to put the marquee, bunting fluttering, framed by the smoky blue hills beyond. Buddy munched happily out there now in the paddock, avoiding the ragwort, which no matter how much I pulled it up, still sprouted away joyfully, and quite prettily, I thought. Shame it was poisonous. In the distance, last year’s boy lambs grazed peacefully, bound for market soon, and quite rightly, someone had to keep this place afloat, but at the moment, they were sweetly oblivious to their fate and merely adding to the sylvan scene. Where the land sloped gently up and away from the river towards the hills beyond, the grass was already too rich for the horses, too full of clover, and I resolved to move Tufty later, bring him in with a hay net. For the moment, though, his dear little white face and round tummy and gently floating mane and tail added a touch of nostalgia to the picture. I remembered Lucy as a little girl, bouncing around on his back, squealing with glee: Nico and Minna too. No, none of that helped either.

  Lucy came across. ‘I just want you to be happy too, Mum,’ she said softly, perhaps seeing my face. She gave me a hug. ‘It doesn’t matter where I get married. Doesn’t matter a bit. It’s your life that needs sorting now.’

  For some ridiculous reason I couldn’t speak. I gave a quick nod and blinked some more.

  ‘She needs a man,’ put in Minna helpfully. Heroically, I managed a hollow laugh. ‘I do not need a man.’

  ‘Come on, Granny, what’s in her stars?’

  ‘Ooh, well, now you’re talking,’ began my mother enthusiastically, pausing to light a cigarette for extra oomph – an error. I seized my chance and raised my hand.

  ‘Or not, Mother!’

  ‘Oh, but darling, I was only going to—’

  ‘I know you were, but this is Lucy’s day, Lucy’s and Robin’s. And if you don’t mind, we’ll keep it that way and refrain from talking about me for a change.’ It got the laugh I was hoping for and everyone fell to chattering about dresses and bridesmaids instead.

  ‘Jake’s uncle fancies you, Mum,’ Nico told me, shuffling across. ‘Jake told me.’

  ‘Thank you, Nico,’ I smiled. Then screwed up my nose as if considering. ‘But not really.’

  ‘And not just because you’re the only single woman in the village, Jake said. Which you’re not, obviously. There’s Batty Brenda and Mrs Higginson at the butcher’s.’

  ‘Well, quite.’

  ‘And now Jake’s aunt’s buggered off with Joe Sutcliffe, he’s on his own. You’d have to get over his beer belly and his gambling habits – his aunt couldn’t, obviously – but Jake said he’d happily buy you a port and lemon at the Nag’s Head.’

  ‘Thank you, darling, I’ll bear that in mind.’

  ‘Just – you know. To get you out a bit.’

  ‘Except, I’ve been out rather a lot, recently, don’t you think?’ I grimaced. ‘With mixed results. Now, a toast, don’t you think?’ I raised my glass.

  ‘Oh yes, a toast!’ agreed Mum, refilling everyone’s glasses. I waited until everyone had a full one, and in a vivid moment, clear as day, had a vision of David doing this. It rocked me dramatically: almost took my breath away. But I powered on.

  ‘To Lucy and Robin.’

  ‘Lucy and Robin!’ everyone roared and then there was lots of whooping and clapping and Minna, ever her mother’s daughter, burst into tears. Then Mum rushed to the phone to ring Dad, shrieking about why she hadn’t thought of doing it before, and then everyone proceeded to get really quite pissed and no one had had breakfast, so I went into the kitchen to rustle up some blotting paper.

  It was as I was cracking eggs into a pan to scramble them, humming along happily to the radio, full of joy and warmth and champagne for Lucy, who I could see through the open door in the sitting room, laughing with Robin, one arm round her grandmother’s shoulders, her eyes shining, when something else caught my eye. Not in the sitting room, but outside the kitchen window. I moved closer, eggshells in hand. Stared. Across the yard, the stable door was open. Nutty’s. And I knew he’d been in there, I’d seen him earlier. He wasn’t now. Where the hell was he?

  In one fluid movement I’d abandoned the eggs and flown through the back door and across the yard. The stable was very definitely empty, just the shavings on the floor, a water bucket and a broody chicken sitting on some eggs in the corner. I spun about. Shit. Where the hell had he gone? Back to the fields for company, in the shape of Buddy or Tufty? Or Monty, perhaps, the goat, who he whinnied for most, stuck as he was all day, in splendid isolation, in his cell. I raced to the paddock. But Monty had been put in with Buddy and the geese for company: he’d long ago forgotten Nutty, and there was no sign of his erstwhile friend clamouring to be let in at the gate, or even leaping it, as we now knew he could. Who did he whinny for next? Or what? Food, damn it. I caught my breath then ran like the blazes, back down the track, across the yard, and round the back of the stables to the feed shed. A large, dappled grey bottom blocked my entrance.

  ‘Nutty!’ I shrieked, squeezing past him, my cry jerking his head out of the feed bin. He started in surprise to see me. I stared into the bin. Empty. And I’d filled them all before I left, made sure the lids were on to stop the mice getting in. Empty, apart from a few … I reached in and pulled out the last remaining nuts, except they weren’t nuts. Because this wasn’t the pony nut bin. It was the sugar beet bin. Sugar beet, which had to be soaked, for twenty-four hours, in a bucket, or in this case, Quick Beet, for ten minutes. During which time it would swell to six times the size. I swung around to Nutty in horror. His replete, brown eyes gazed back.

  ‘Oh God, Nutty, what have you done?’ I whispered. ‘You are going to explode. You are literally going to explode!’

  I grabbed a head collar, shoved it on him and getting in front of his broad chest pushed him bodily, in reverse, out of the
shed. My heart was racing as I turned and trotted him smartly back to his stable. At least he could move, that was something, but for how much longer? How long had he got?

  With trembling fingers I pulled my mobile from my pocket and ran to the house. Obviously I had Paddy’s number on speed dial but not Poppy’s, and with him in London, I’d have to look it up. No point ringing the surgery, the receptionist was fierce and only took messages, never put you through to an actual vet. Poppy, Poppy … I riffled through my address book in the kitchen and was just punching in her mobile number when the children descended on me from the sitting room.

  ‘What’s wrong? Why did you charge out like that?’

  ‘Nutty got into the feed bin. Eaten a ton of sugar beet.’

  ‘Dry?’ gasped Lucy.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Oh God, that was me!’ breathed Minna, putting her hand to her mouth in horror. ‘I put him away. I took him to his stable – didn’t I bolt it properly?’

  ‘I don’t know, darling, all I know is he was out and – hello, Poppy?’

  I turned away as Minna burst into tears. Mum went to comfort her as Nico muttered, ‘Dickhead.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to, Nico!’ she wailed.

  I spun around, removing myself from the noise, putting my finger in my other ear. ‘Poppy? It’s Molly Faulkner here.’ My breath was coming very fast but I knew I had to be clear. ‘Nutty, my horse, has got in the feed bin and eaten dry sugar beet.’

  There was a pause. ‘How much?’

  ‘A lot. I don’t know exactly but I’m pretty sure the bin was full.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Just now. I’ve just dragged him away.’

  ‘Quick Beet or twenty-four-hour?’

  ‘Quick Beet.’

  ‘Shit. I’m on my way. I’m at Baldwin’s at the moment so I’ll be five minutes. Keep him in his box and keep him standing up, Molly. Don’t let him go down.’

  ‘Right.’