by Cathy Kelly
‘I don’t have manicures unless I’m doing the show,’ I say to Lorraine, admiring my nails, a purple so dark as to be almost black. It’s funky and fun. It won’t last but hey, life’s for living.
‘Suits you,’ she replies, having left the office to assist with turning Chateau Kellinch into a bower of loveliness. ‘And you owe me some overtime.’
She’d gone to the flower market early and had enough flowers in Lexi’s favourite colours to organise a wedding.
Dan, who thought I was a bit mad what with all this dinner with the entire Markham clan malarkey, had gone off to work as usual, and had taken Liam, still discussing when we’d get our puppy from Patrick and Giorgio, and Teddy, discussing how guinea pigs could actually run very fast when you opened their cages, to their various camps.
Caitlin and Lexi were not, repeat not, going to ballet camp.
‘We want to help,’ said Caitlin, eyes shining, when I picked them up from ballet the evening before.
‘Yes,’ says Lexi, looking happier than she had in days.
I didn’t know what she’d been saying to my daughter, but I decided there and then that not only were they going to help Lorraine with the beautification, but Caitlin had to stay for the party.
Dan’s mother was in our house by the time I was back from all my errands, to help me organise the place.
Sweet, shy and clearly petrified of the wealthy Markham family, I have to sit her down in the kitchen and explain how it was all going to work.
‘Betty,’ I say, ‘you have two sons you love?’
‘Yes . . .’ says Betty nervously, twisting a duster in her hands.
‘They’re decent members of society, have good jobs and Zed’s going to get married one day and have beautiful children.’
‘I hope so.’ Betty crossed herself at this plan, which would clearly only work with Divine intervention.
‘Do you have any hopeless kids hidden away who’ve run off from their children and ignored responsibility all their life?’
‘Holy God, no!’
‘Great. Adele and William Markham have. And it doesn’t matter how much money they have in the bank or what sort of car they drive, they have that pain to deal with. That has kept Lexi out of their lives for years. So which of you have the most gifts in life?’
Betty smiled at me. She was a pale woman, gentle and often anxious and I could imagine her being terrified of the Markhams during the whole speed-wedding procedure all those years ago.
‘You’ve been Lexi’s gran, and Liam’s and Teddy’s. That’s not going to change. We’re opening the door a chink and . . .’ I put a pot of tea on the table in front of her, ‘we’re trying to make Lexi feel better about Elisa telling the world that she’s about to have her “first wonderful baby”. That is the aim of this. To help Lexi.’
‘Tell me what to do,’ says Betty firmly, taking a sip of tea, putting it back down and getting the duster out again.
I take it from her.
‘Drink that tea slowly and then go out to meet Scarlett. She’ll be here in a few minutes and she’s taking you to get your hair and nails done,’ I say.
‘I couldn’t.’ Betty’s worn hand immediately goes to her chest. There have been few manicures in her life. Not that my mother had been a great woman for the beautician’s either, but then, my mother chose not to go.
I should have arranged for Betty to have manicures before, I think guiltily.
You’re doing it now, Mildred points out.
Who are you and what have you done with Mildred? I retort.
By the time Dan brings Liam and a remarkably paint-free Teddy back, our home is utterly beautified.
Lorraine, who has had many careers in her time, did a bit of floristry once and can hand tie a bouquet – with a certain amount of swearing. Every bowl or cup not already in use has been pressed into service and is full of flowers, hiding all the bits of the walls where the plaster is gone and really transforming the place. I’ve even done a deal with the devil and risked using modern sticky things to hang heavy paintings.
‘This one takes four pounds’ weight,’ reads Lexi slowly.
I hold a giant poster from a Rothko exhibition in New York in one hand. The frame might be four pounds or it might be heavier . . .
You measure ingredients for a living, says Mildred. Are you kidding me?
Only for baking. I use great skill for cooking and measuring is only for the recipe books, I remind her as the Rothko goes into place, superbly hiding an ersatz Picasso lady with a giant nose and one eye that Teddy must have needed a chair to crayon onto the wall.
Lorraine takes over the hanging up once she’s flowered every surface and tells me to finish cooking.
‘I want a doggy bag of the scallops to take home,’ she says later, peering into the fridge, where scallops lie ready to be sizzled briefly in butter before dropping into lamb’s leaf salad with honey dressing.
‘Stay,’ I say. ‘The more the merrier. It’s not as if we don’t have chairs.’
As we’ve never had enough room to open up our huge leaf dining room table fully, we never had enough chairs but Lorraine, used to organising shoots, has called in French restaurant ones along with glassware, flatware, candelabras, ice and magnificent ice buckets that look as if an antique shop will be screaming soon that they’ve been robbed.
‘Oh, do,’ says Lexi, who is flushed from her efforts. She and Caitlin are dancing round now, delighted with their party, adjusting the pink lemonade just so in the ice buckets, giggling and discussing the music.
‘Yes, do,’ I say. ‘You’ve made this special.’
Lexi isn’t panicked about Elisa anymore – this is her party. Elisa’s just one of the guests.
‘But don’t bitch at her.’
‘Moi?’ Lorraine does her picture-of-innocence face.
‘Yeah, you.’
At half six on the nail, the Markhams arrive en masse.
First in the door are Adele and William with Coco, the spaniel, who immediately gets taken upstairs by Liam and Teddy with a tin of biscuits.
‘She may never come down,’ I say.
‘Don’t care,’ beams William, waiting for his turn to say hello to Lexi and Caitlin.
‘This is my new granddad, William, ‘ Lexi is saying. ‘This is my best friend, Caitlin, and she’s a ballerina like me.’
‘I can tell,’ says William gravely. ‘You both stand in first position. My sister danced.’
‘So did I, but I was very bad,’ says Adele, her eyes brimming as she hugs Lexi. ‘Darling, we are so honoured to be here.’
‘Don’t cry, Grandma,’ says Lexi, who has clearly decided that since she has plenty of Grannys, she now needs a Grandma. ‘Come and see what we did. We’ve been working all day.’
And the two girls drag Adele off and I stare at her departing form and realise that yes, she is wearing jeans. They are Armani, but still.
‘Betty,’ says William, stooping to kiss his daughter’s one-time mother-in-law. ‘You look charming.’
Betty pats her hair which has had the whole works done, with instructions from Scarlett. ‘Oh, you know, got to make a bit of an effort, William.’
I wink at her and she winks back.
Before long, the place is full of people: Tony and Marcus, who are Elisa’s brothers, and who look so normal and non-nightclubby-fake that I am astonished they are related to her. They are just as lovely as their father.
Twins Michael and Cooper, eleven, a broken window waiting to happen, somehow find a ball, join forces with Teddy, Liam, the dog and the biscuits, and eventually are dragged downstairs to bash balls into the net in the garden, with Coco doing her best to burst said ball.
Jo, their mother, is fanning herself with an actual fan and hugs me, saying: ‘ I love your show, Freya. It’s so cool – this house, so cool
. . .’
‘But you’re hot?’ I venture.
‘Bloody menopause,’ she says. ‘It’s killing me.’
‘You’ll have to meet Maura, my sister,’ I say, bringing her to an open window and handing her some iced water. ‘She says rage is the number one symptom.’
‘OmiGod, yes!’ Jo screeches. ‘Yes!!’
Jo is a screecher and loves jokes.
Lois, who is younger, married to Marcus, and is so pregnant I think we ought to have the ambulance on speed dial, appears mid-joke and asks where the loo is. She also loves my show but says she can’t make bread.
‘Comes out like cement,’ she says sorrowfully.
‘Wrong flour?’ I suggest.
The only out-of-place person is her son, Joshua, who is very shy, so I show him into the room with the Super Mario yoke and tell him to have a go at it.
‘Really?’ he says, blinking long eyelashes, as if he can’t believe his luck.
‘I’ll call you for dinner,’ I say, ‘but the talking bit can be hard, can’t it?’
He nods seriously. ‘Thank you so much.’
Dan is having great fun as he remembers both Tony and Marcus from school, and soon insults are being traded.
‘Keep it down,’ says Lorraine, who is passing, ‘Betty gets upset if she hears shouting.’
‘Sorry,’ they all murmur, like schoolboys.
‘You’ve still got it,’ I say.
There is no sign of Elisa but nobody, least of all Lexi, notices.
At seven fifteen, I decide we’ve waited long enough, tell everyone where to sit and with a few helpers, start dishing up my speedily cooked scallops or cheesy garlic bread for anyone young who thinks shellfish is gross.
‘I love scallops but I can’t have them now,’ says Lois miserably. I hand her a plate containing a tiny smoked salmon quiche, small enough not to over-fill a heavily pregnant person.
‘You are an angel,’ she says, sighing.
By half seven, the plates are clean and my Lebanese shredded chicken salad with pomegranate, and a whole feast of Lebanese sides are on the table. I have made everything myself, put in plenty of simpler stuff for the younger people, and there’s even a pile of my own sausage rolls because Teddy thinks these are the last word in entertaining.
There’s pink lemonade, sparkling water, wine and orange juice, and Dan clinks his glass for a toast.
‘This is for Lexi, our darling girl who has so many new people to love her,’ and everyone cheers. ‘And to Caitlin, Lorraine, my mother, Betty, and finally, and most of all, to my beloved Freya, for cooking this delicious feast to bring us together.’
We all raise our glasses and toast. Then dig in.
Lexi finally raises the knotty issue at pudding.
It’s my masterpiece, the thing Lexi asked for: a huge Black Forest meringue tower filled with chocolate ganache, non-alcoholic cherries for the children’s sakes, marscapone cream and dusted with sparkling edible golden dust.
‘Where’s Elisa?’ she asks loudly, as I’m about to cut into it.
The table falls silent.
‘Dearest Lexi,’ says William and he sounds so sad. ‘Your . . .’ He casts an apologetic glance at me. ‘Elisa did phone to say she might be late but she’d be here about an hour ago. I have rung but nothing. I am so sorry.’
‘I’ll kill her,’ mutters Marcus.
Can we all watch, murmurs Mildred.
‘Thank you, Marcus,’ says a high, wobbly voice and there’s Elisa, in through the unlocked kitchen door and looking less than her best. ‘My Wearable Chanel Wallet fell into a drain so I had no phone! And everyone laughed.’
She begins to cry and against all my better instincts – OK, against the screeching of Mildred: Leave her alone! She’s a nightmare! – I bring her into the dining room and sit her down in a chair. She has a scrape on one leg, her mascara has run to panda level, something dark and, from the smell, alcoholic has been spilled on her leopard wrap dress and the carefully tousled hair now just looks tousled.
‘I didn’t mean to be late. I was in town, the heel on one of my shoes went and I fell, and the damned wallet fell. It’s a collectable!’
‘Why were you in town when you were supposed to be here?’ demanded Jo, although I can tell Lorraine was just itching to get there.
I hand Elisa some orange juice thinking that she needs sugar and she drinks it down.
‘I was meeting Etzu and he was late, and it was so noisy in the pub that I went outside to ring him and then everything went wrong. I had no money then, so I walked here.’
I hear a snort of laughter and just know it’s Dan, so I turn and glare at him.
‘Come with me and let’s get you something to wear,’ I say.
I can’t hate her, I tell Mildred as we climb the stairs, with Mildred still ranting, and Elisa going on about how far out we lived and how no taxi would take her.
I feel sorry for her.
OK, she has a Chanel wallet and I don’t, but apart from that, I am blessed and she is not. She has great muscles, a yoga body, and simply the wrong priorities in life.
In Dan’s and my bedroom, I find an old sweatshirt and sweatpants because I know that whatever I give her, I will never see it again.
She changes in front of me, almost forgetting I’m not one of her crew, and she struggles out of her Spanx-style sucker-in garment, leaving her in bra and knickers. Without all the effort, she’s got a normal body for a woman of her age, a woman my age.
‘Thanks,’ she says, balling up her dress and holding it under her arm. ‘Er, do you have any tampons . . .?’
I blink. ‘I thought you were pregnant?’ I say bluntly.
‘So did I. Probably why Etzu did a runner. He’s safe now,’ she says with bitterness. ‘It came on this morning.’
I hand her tampons and let her into the unused avocado suite off the landing.
‘This is soo cool,’ she says, sounding happier. ‘Green is really in. Who did it for you?’
‘Andy Warhol,’ I reply.
‘Is he local?’
‘Nah. Not anymore.’
A noise makes me look around and Lexi’s creeping up the stairs, eyes wide.
‘Is she all right, Mum?’ she says, cuddling into me outside the door, as if a monster’s inside.
‘Fine.’ I don’t add all the other things I think – that she’s silly, interested in all the wrong things. I wonder why I was ever so scared of her?
‘Mum, I don’t want her to say she’s my mother anymore. Is that OK?’ Lexi’s big brown eyes burn into mine.
‘Whatever you say, darling. But you know she’s there if you ever wanted to talk to her again.’
She makes that teenage gesture that says ‘yeah/no/whatever’ and I grin.
‘I love our party,’ I say. ‘You and Caitlin were brilliant helping Lorraine with the flowers and making places pretty.’
‘I know.’ Her smile gleams at me. ‘Can you do that as a job?’
‘I think so,’ I say. ‘You can do whatever you want. Now, get something nice for Elisa to eat. Some of our chocolate cake?’
Elisa sits on the bed and with her feet curled up around her, almost licks the plate clean.
‘You can really cook,’ she says to me.
‘Mum’s a brilliant chef,’ corrects Lexi.
‘I never eat stuff like this,’ Elisa says. Then adds: ‘I’ve probably put on five pounds from just eating it. I’ll be fired . . .’
Her face falls.
‘The contract with Surella . . .?’ I ask, somehow knowing the answer.
She nods. ‘Stupid bas—’
‘We don’t swear in this house,’ I interrupt just in time.
‘Sorry, Lexi. Sorry Freya. They want someone younger for the second wave of publicity, whatever that is.’
Lexi’s eyes widen.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, and sits on the bed beside Elisa and hugs her.
I sit on the other side and put my arm around Elisa too.
‘You’re so nice. I wish I had friends like you,’ says Elisa and tears start to fall down her face, not helping the dripping mascara situation at all.
‘You do,’ I say. ‘You have me and Lexi.’
‘Yeah,’ says Lexi.
‘I’m going back to Spain, next week.’
‘You can visit, stay with your mum and dad,’ Lexi says. ‘The house is so big, they’ve loads of room.’
‘Suppose,’ agrees Elisa.
And I realise that Lexi has a look of both her birth mother and darling Dan but that her spirit is all her own.
24
This is the beginning of the life you want
It’s the Monday after our successful dinner party and I am walking on air.
All the Markhams have been phoning to say hello, they adore Lexi, the party was gorgeous and they’re really sorry about Elisa.
Oh, and can we do it again soon.
That night, everyone’s asleep except Dan and me, and I have a pain inside me at what I must do next. How can I tell him? That I haven’t been slowly getting off sleeping tablets, that I’ve been lying, that I feel devastated sometimes but have hidden it because . . .? Because of what? Because I was afraid of letting all the balls drop?
We clamber into bed and he’s about to do what he does many nights, which is hug me, plant a kiss on my mouth, then roll over and say, ‘Love you, honey, night night.’
I don’t give him the chance.
‘Dan, I have something to tell you.’
He sits up and stares at me, those dark eyes watchful in the dim light of the landing, which must be kept on for the children.
He says nothing and I know I’ve got to come out and say it straight up.
I gulp: ‘I’m still taking sleeping tablets and I need to come off them. I need you to help. I’ve been lying to you. I’m sorry.’
And then he holds me tight, and I’ve never felt more loved – or more of a betrayer. Sleeping with an entire philharmonic orchestra wouldn’t be as bad as hiding this from him. Sure, all partners have secrets, but small ones – how they really look so good (moustache bleaching), that their old girlfriend always asks after you when they bump into her at work events (she says, ‘Are you still with what’s her name? I know you’re not over me’). Secrets that are unimportant to a real partnership.