Well Groomed

by Fiona Walker

  ‘We’re going for a co-ordinated look,’ Niall said lightly. ‘They match our cast-iron constitutions.’ He seemed tremendously relieved suddenly, his whole mood lightening.

  ‘I doubt you’ll need that tonight,’ Matty said cheerfully, watching Zoe as she moved a vast foil package from top to bottom oven. ‘Something smells delicious.’

  Tash noticed that her brother was looking fatter than usual, which seemed remarkable given the fact that Sally continually referred to him as being miserable these days. In her experience, Matty had only ever run to fat when he was happy and contented, which was so seldom that he was usually as gaunt as a male ballet dancer – all angry, tensed sinew and tendon. He looked tougher and more robust, had colour in his cheeks for the first time in years, and reminded Tash strikingly of their father. The illusion made his crocheted cap and ethnic waistcoat look even more ridiculous than usual, like dressing up a Power Ranger in the seventies tuxedo belonging to Barbie’s boyfriend, the thatch-haired Ken.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked cautiously. ‘You look incredibly well.’

  ‘I am.’ He smiled his nervy smile – another rarity. ‘I’ve finally got a couple of good commissions this week and, better still, I’ve secured a co-producer on both deals who lets me do what the hell I want so long as it’s brilliant, which it will be.’

  ‘Christ, that’s excellent – Jesus!’ Niall bounded up to him and shook his hand vigorously, slopping yet more drink on Wally. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘A guy called John Merchant.’ Matty smiled cautiously, backing off slightly under his friend’s high-spirited congratulations. ‘He’s a great bloke – been in the business for years. I’ve been chasing him for almost as long, and he finally caved in last week.’

  ‘You’ve waited ages for a break like this!’ Tash smiled at him in delight. ‘I’m so pleased for you. Sally must be over the moon – I mean, it really takes the pressure off you both.’

  But Matty looked uncomfortable. ‘She doesn’t know yet.’ He grimaced. ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell her – it’s partly why I came down here tonight, to tell her face to face.’

  ‘She’ll be chuffed to bits,’ Tash assured him, certain that Sally would cartwheel with relief at the end of the prolonged stale patch in Matty’s career.

  ‘Well, we’ll see.’ He glanced briefly at Zoe again, clearly doubting the wisdom of coming to the farm at all. ‘I gather you’re doing pretty well too,’ he told Tash, not sounding particularly interested.

  ‘Not bad.’ She shrugged, helping herself to a handful of crisps from a bowl on the table. She was amazed that she felt so calm and relaxed when Zoe, Niall and Matty were all as jumpy as coins on a spin dryer. She’d decided that she was going to do it once and for all tonight. However much Niall wanted to keep it covered up, she was going to come clean about the wedding. She’d go crackers if she didn’t. If it meant selling Snob, then she’d just have to accept it, however agonising the loss. Instead of feeling panic-stricken, she was washed with relief. She just wanted to get it over with. But she knew she had to wait until everyone was gathered first – especially Lisette. Until she and Hugo had arrived, Tash had to keep coasting. She knew that tonight was a perfect time to do it; Lisette would have no choice but to come to some sort of compromise with so many people around. If that compromise was for Niall to sell Snob and pay her off then the obvious buyer was at hand – Hugo had been wanting to get his hands on Tash’s talented red rebel for years. He’d have his chequebook out within minutes, thus saving the day as she’d predicted, only not with the impassioned declaration of love she’d allowed herself to fantasise in her more deluded moments of day-dreaming.

  The thought made her throat cramp with a sudden, unexpected burst of emotion, and she had to turn away from Niall and Matty so that they couldn’t see her fighting to get a grip on herself. But Zoe saw her face and her own blue eyes seemed to fill with tears too. Blinking, Tash looked at her in confusion, not understanding why she seemed to be so overwrought.

  ‘Film going well, is it?’ Matty was asking Niall.

  He nodded. ‘Bloody rushed. We’ve only got two weeks on this location, then we’re breaking for a fortnight and shooting in London after that.’

  ‘And you’re both still set for the seven-year hitch?’ Matty gave him a pointed look. ‘Or are you planning to make this particular marriage last longer?’

  Thankfully Rufus loped in at that moment to ask if he would be allowed a rare can of lager as it was a special occasion. He was wearing a pair of high-fashion checked yellow trousers that made him look like Rupert Bear, particularly as he’d had his sleek blond hair shaved into a fuzzy crew cut that week to look like Ted’s.

  ‘What’s so special about it?’ Zoe watched him plunder the fridge for a can before he joined Tash in the crisp corner, begging a fag on the way. He ogled her jeans excitedly.

  ‘Well, it’s a dinner party, isn’t it?’ He made an expansive gesture, slopping lager over Wally, who was now looking like a shaggy sponge. ‘We don’t have too many of them. A motorbike and a car have just arrived, by the way, and Penny’s still in the bath. She keeps complaining that you nicked all the hot water.’ He lit the cigarette inexpertly, yelping as he burned his nose with the lighter flame.

  Zoe was gazing out of the window. ‘Oh – it’s only Stefan on that ridiculous bike of Hugo’s. And that looks like Sally getting out of the car. Gosh, she looks lovely. Who’s that with her?’

  Niall, who was standing at her shoulder, squinted out too.

  ‘Shit and Christ alive!’ His eyes went wide with fear. ‘It’s my mammy.’

  Tash felt her face drain to an unattractive washed-out grey, and listened as Ma O’Shaughnessy’s booming, merry voice floated in from the yard, punctuated by her industrial-waste hacking cough.

  ‘No, Sally child, I will not be helped from a car like an old crock – I have the strongest legs south of Dublin, and a bloody great arse to land on if I fall, so I do. Now where’s that son of mine?’

  Moments later she was almost filling the room, not simply with her enormous bulk but also the ringing, musical tones of her loud voice, her frizz of unsculpted black hair and the overpowering waft of lavender oil, which she always wore as a perfume.

  ‘There you are, boy!’ she cried, pressing down on Niall with a hug of such power that his spinach jumper almost fell apart. ‘Christ, but you smell of the drink, just like your Godforsaken father. So, are you pleased to see your old ma?’ She let out a volley of high-tar coughs.

  ‘Ecstatic.’ Niall finally extricated himself and straightened up to look at her, groping for a platitude. ‘Whatever brings you here?’

  ‘You’re too thin.’ She regarded him slyly for a moment before scanning the room for Tash, saying, ‘I’m staying with your Aunt Maria in Liverpool this week – she’s having her gall bladder out on Monday, so she is – and I decided to visit my son for an evening to check out what was going on about this wedding thing. Ah, there’s the child!’ She lumbered forward to crush Tash in her embrace. ‘I don’t trust those two silly girls you have organising this thing – a right pair of eejits, if you ask me. One of them’s your mother, is it not, Tash? Bejasus, you’re too thin too. It’s like hugging a bar stool, so it is.’

  ‘You should know, Mother,’ Niall said unkindly, still white beneath his stubble.

  Free at last, Tash brushed down her rucked-up shirt and regarded Ma O’Shaughnessy with a mixture of fear and astonishment.

  ‘What a wonderful surprise,’ she gulped. ‘When did you get here?’

  ‘Sure, I rolled up at that posh eejit’s hotel just an hour ago. Jesus, what a fool the man is!’ She sat heavily at the table, causing one of the Moncrieffs’ old wicker chairs to groan like a ship in a storm. ‘Now, who’s going to get me a drink, or must I get it myself?’

  While Niall dashed off to fetch his mother a family-sized scotch, Tash sat dutifully beside Ma and listened as she rambled on in her husky baritone, floridly describing the snooty loca
l hotelier who had refused to carry her bags when she’d arrived.

  ‘He sounds like Basil Fawlty,’ sympathised Tash.

  ‘I’ve never met such a rude young tearaway in all my days,’ Ma sniffed. ‘I didn’t tip him, you know.’

  Known simply as The Ma to everyone of her acquaintance, she was well over fifteen stone, although most of this was pure muscle, not fat. Despite her vast frame, wild hair and drinker’s nose, she was a powerfully attractive woman, with the same huge, dark liquid eyes as her son, cranberry red cheeks and gloriously pale, freckled skin, as smooth as bone china. Her laugh was famously raucous, and she claimed to be the best cook in all Ireland, a fact which Niall was fairly hasty to dispute when he and Tash had visited the family the previous year. Tash had left the house almost half a stone heavier with an intimate knowledge of the multifarious uses of the common potato.

  ‘Where is this hotel you’re staying at?’ she asked when Ma finally paused for breath and a tot of scotch.

  She pulled a face which clearly said the whisky was appalling, and nodded towards Sally and Stefan, who were creased up with laughter by the door.

  ‘Same place as these two youngsters are staying, am I right?’

  Sally, speechless with giggles, could only nod. She had yet to say ‘hello’ to Matty, Tash noticed. Instead she was leaning against Stefan and chewing her knuckles with glee.

  ‘Beauchamp Towers.’ Stefan had pulled himself together and was nodding sincerely. ‘It’s not in the tour guides, but its reputation is well known around here.’

  ‘Well, I ’clare, I won’t be suggesting it to me friends now,’ sniffed Ma, her voice pure gravel. ‘I can’t understand why your dear mother recommended it to me, Tash. To be sure, it’s a terrible place. And he’s a horrible fellow who runs it. I mean, I’ve only come from Ireland, but this young man is on holiday from Sweden, are you not?’ She nodded at Stefan, who collapsed into laughter again.

  ‘Are you telling me that you’re staying at Hugo’s place, Mammy?’ Niall was aghast.

  ‘If that’s the fellow, then yes – until I can make other arrangements, for I won’t be staying long.’ Ma took another slug of scotch and again pulled a face. ‘Jesus, that’s a rough mouth o’ malt. Not only are the rooms appalling,’ she went on, ‘but they seem to be filming some sort of advert for the place – there are lights and cables all over the floor, so there are. It’s a Godforsaken health hazard.’

  Niall shot Sally an exasperated look. ‘Haven’t you explained to her then?’

  She wiped her eyes and fought for breath through her laughter. ‘Believe me we’ve tried. Boy, have we tried. She thinks Lisette’s the receptionist.’

  ‘Oh, Christ, Mother!’ Niall sighed.

  ‘Don’t blaspheme, lad. I’m allowed to do it as I have a spotless soul and go to mass. You may just be struck down as you stand there like a great lump of sin, so you may,’ she snapped, patting Tash’s hand. ‘Now, I want my future daughter-in-law to tell me all about the wedding. I don’t trust her idle lump of a betrothed to know a thing about it.’

  Tash winced and caught Niall’s eye, but he was looking towards Zoe and trying not to laugh himself.

  ‘I’m having a bloody great drink,’ he sighed, heading for the scotch bottle. ‘I need one.’

  Zoe’s face tightened, but she said nothing.

  Taking a deep breath, Tash decided that it was now or never. They’d just have to break it to Lisette when she arrived. If Niall got pissed, she’d have no hope at all. They had to face this thing together.

  ‘The thing is . . .’ she tried to make herself heard above the babble as Gus wandered into the kitchen, announcing loudly that he’d asked Ted in for a drink. They were followed by India, packing the kitchen into a tight party of people like a London Underground lift.

  ‘Are there any more crisps, Mum?’ Rufus was shouting.

  ‘The thing is . . .’ Tash tried again.

  ‘Can I have a spritzer as Rufe’s on lager, Mum?’ asked India. ‘You look fantastic, Tash. I love those jeans.’

  Ted and Gus were arguing loudly about whose turn it was to check the horses, and Stefan was trying to talk over them as he told Niall that one of the camera cranes had collapsed on Hugo’s conservatory that night.

  ‘Niall and I have decided that perhaps . . .’

  ‘Can everyone get out of here while I cook!’ yelled Zoe. ‘It’s a mad-house. I can’t even reach the Aga.’

  Moments later, Niall was ushering everyone, including Tash, out of the room.

  ‘I was trying to tell them,’ she hissed as he pushed her out.

  ‘Jesus, not now – not tonight!’ He looked horrified. ‘We’ll have enough of a job on our hands trying to explain that Hugo’s place isn’t a hotel. For Christ’s sake don’t complicate things more. For my mother’s sake, Tash, I’m begging you!’ He sounded absolutely desperate.

  Tash had little chance anyway, as Ma marched into the Moncrieffs’ messy sitting room and immediately settled herself between India and Rufus on the best sofa, delighting them with outlandish and much-embellished tales of Niall at their age. Tash was glad that he wasn’t around to listen in. She had heard most of the stories before on their visit last year, and they were grossly unflattering and largely untrue. Mercifully, Niall appeared to have stayed in the kitchen with Zoe, and wasn’t around to hear.

  Matty had cornered Sally by the long dresser at the gloomy far end of the room and was conducting a low, animated conversation with her as he told her his news. From her roaming eyes and bored expression, Tash had a feeling that Sally wasn’t as delighted by the break as her brother had anticipated. She looked mildly put out, if anything.

  Tash busied herself helping Gus to get everyone drinks, and finally settled beside Stefan who was lounging like a long piece of string on the broken-legged sofa, with an adoring Wally washing his hands. Enid was no doubt hiding in the bathroom, her favoured retreat during social gatherings.

  ‘I thought Kirsty would be here,’ he said sadly. ‘But Ted says she’s gone out for a pizza with Franny tonight.’

  ‘I don’t think she fancied seeing Hugo and Lisette, to be honest,’ Tash whispered, knowing exactly how the buxom Scot felt.

  ‘Whyever not?’ Stefan looked confused, pale lashes batting.

  Tash bit her lip, remembering that Penny had been gossiping only that morning about the fact he had a huge crush on Kirsty at the moment. ‘Oh, no reason.’ She watched as Sally started to snarl something to Matty in an undertone.

  ‘You got back okay today, huh?’ He smiled at her.

  ‘Oh, yes, fine.’ Tash dragged her eyes away from her brother and sister-in-law’s argument and felt her face colouring. ‘So – er—’ She searched around for a change of subject, watching as Matty stormed out of the room to fetch another drink, his face set with irritation. ‘What do you think of Niall’s mother?’

  ‘She’s totally mental,’ said Stefan simply, adding in an undertone, ‘Hugo thought she was a stray loon, or some sort of practical joke set up by the film crew, but she’s completely convinced the place is a hotel. Is the rest of the family like that?’

  ‘Mostly.’ Tash nodded.

  He started to giggle delightedly. ‘Your wedding is going to be hysterical.’

  ‘Hugely funny, yes.’ Not noticing how closely he was observing her face, Tash watched as Sally wandered over, looking surprisingly perky despite her husband’s recent huffy exit. Her usually scruffy hair had been slicked back into a satin clip, emphasising her merry eyes and shapely neck, already glowing pinkly from several gin and tonics at Haydown. Her soft, angora dress – absurdly fashionable – was far too hot for the close summer evening, making her cheeks flame with colour like a naughty schoolgirl who’s just hidden a toad in her room-mate’s sock drawer.

  ‘Darling Tash, you look as overdressed as me – and almost as trendy. We must both be sweat-shopaholics.’ She perched on the arm next to Stefan and scratched Wally’s nose. ‘We never see you at the shoot –
I thought you’d be up every day checking that Niall’s behaving himself, which he isn’t, as always.’ She winked cheerfully. ‘Always sloping off to see you instead. Lisette’s furious.’ She brushed a few imaginary dog hairs from Stefan’s shoulder. It was a curious gesture, which Tash couldn’t quite figure out – part habit, part mother, and yet indicating a flirty intimacy that surprised her.

  But she was too distracted by what Sally had just said to dwell on it long.

  Half tempted to say that Niall had not been sloping off to see her – to the pub was far more likely – she buttoned her tongue and offered Sally another drink.

  ‘Wine, please – and could you check that Matty’s okay? He was in his usual stinky mood just now.’

  ‘He seemed quite cheerful earlier,’ Tash said in surprise.

  But Sally was already distracted chatting with Stefan and sliding in beside him on the sofa now that Tash had stood up and released a space. ‘Did he?’ she muttered vaguely, long after Tash had left.

  In the kitchen, Niall was sitting at the table with a now furiously moody Matty and the scotch bottle whilst Zoe chopped up salad beside the sink, cursing Hugo for being so late.

  ‘What are he and Lisette up to, for Christ’s sake?’ she moaned. ‘I said eight at the latest – does your mother have a large appetite, Niall? Only I’m going to have to stretch the salmon.’

  ‘Huge, she’ll think it’s a whitebait.’ Niall smiled up at Tash. ‘Okay, angel?’

  ‘Fine.’ She headed for the fridge to fetch more wine, longing to corner him and demand that they make an announcement together.

  ‘Knowing Hugo and Lisette, they’ll be in bed,’ Matty said acidly, his earlier good mood absolutely shot to pieces now.

  Her head in the fridge, Tash found her nose pressed to a very musty cauliflower, heart racing.

  ‘Rubbish!’ Niall scoffed. ‘He and Lisette aren’t involved – I should know.’

  ‘Really? So you keep tabs on them throughout the working day, do you?’ Matty muttered, anger coming to the boil. ‘Come off it, Niall, it’s not as though you have a claim on her anymore. Like you keep saying, you’re marrying Tash in a fortnight. And I get the impression from Sals that Lisette’s finally got her claws into Hugo’s back each night and is drawing blue blood.’