by Claire Sandy
Hal! was Fern’s first electric thought. Then, When did he become so interested in multivitamins?
‘Did you want to enquire about a house?’
The estate agent man-child sounded sarky as Fern scuttled to the other window to keep track of Hal. ‘No, um, I just . . .’ she said.
Hal stopped to sling a coin in a cup, bending to share a word with the lady begging by the Pound Store. Fern studied him. Hal didn’t look happy or unhappy. He looked calm, a little bored; he looked like himself. Fern was gripped with envy, an unusual emotion for her. She generally took care not to compare her inside with other people’s outsides. Hal’s ease, his obvious peace of mind, shook her.
Such a prize, such a beauty, yet I kept him in the shadows. Hal had accepted the secrecy without a murmur. He’d been a gent. Fern, however, was only now able to face the real reason for the secrecy. I didn’t want to scupper any tiny chance I had of getting back with Adam. Hal deserved more than keeping somebody’s seat warm.
‘Thank you, bye,’ gabbled Fern, darting out of the shop, watching Hal’s retreating back. She wanted to run up to him, wanted to kiss him. Do I still have that right?
The answer to that could only be ‘no’, so Fern turned sharply on her heel, slapping straight into a man who turned out to be Adam.
‘I wasn’t doing anything,’ said Fern compulsively.
‘OK,’ said Adam, puzzled. He took her arm. ‘Here. Come and help me choose a book.’ He steered her into the independent bookshop that served excellent coffee and displayed handwritten staff reviews. It was sunny but cool in there, and Fern drifted towards the ‘just published’ table as Adam gravitated to the thriller section. A gentle man, he nonetheless loved a paperback with a bloodied knife on the cover. As if reading her mind, Adam held up a book called Death is my Friend, featuring a severed hand lying in the snow.
Fern held up a ghosted autobiography of somebody who’d been kicked off Hollyoaks for being drunk on set. They both giggled.
There’d been another sea change; the receding tide had taken with it the recent animosity. There were no snipes, jibes, sudden huffs. Fern and her ex were cordial, chummy even. Back in harness, they did their best for their extended family. Both had modified their behaviour: Adam no longer chucked money at the children or undermined Fern; Fern no longer misconstrued every second word Adam said.
The agreement not to discuss Penny was unspoken. Fern heeded the old saying; she couldn’t find anything nice to say, so she said nothing at all. In his turn, Adam was sensitive about family gatherings, only bringing Penny now and then. She never turned up unannounced any more; words had evidently been had.
Working in well-oiled harmony, Fern and Adam were excellent co-parents. She was proud of this and saw it as a real achievement. Sidling over to the thriller section, Fern brought him up to date on the studio’s refurbishment to granny/mad aunt annexe. ‘The little bathroom’s just been tiled. The oven for the kitchenette arrives tomorrow.’ Money truly did talk when it came to building work; it said ‘hurry up’. The job would be done and dusted in a matter of days. ‘Nora will have somewhere to entertain Walter.’
‘That’s still going strong?’ said Adam, amused, adding a Patricia Cornwell to his pile.
‘Auntie’s resigned from her dating sites. Three weeks in and everything’s peachy. They’re off to his wife’s grave this afternoon.’
‘And I thought I knew how to show a girl a good time.’
‘Where’ll you get the time to read all those?’ Fern only ever snatched a few pages of her current book at bedtime. It was always the same few pages; she fell asleep and couldn’t remember what she’d read. At this rate, she’d finish it just in time for her telegram from the Queen.
‘I’ve got all the time in the world.’ Adam coughed, as if making an important statement. ‘Kinky Mimi is no more.’ When he saw Fern’s face go very stupid, he clarified, ‘The band’s broken up. Again.’
‘Aw, no. Why?’
‘It’s been on the cards for a while. Keith’s heart was never in it, and now that he’s got gout . . .’
‘I thought only Tudor monarchs got gout?’
‘So did I. With that, and Lemmy transitioning to a woman, there didn’t seem much point carrying on.’
Fern did her scuse me? face. Lemmy as a woman was a worse thought than, well, Lemmy as a man. ‘Blimey.’
‘Blimey indeed. So I’m at a bit of a loose end. Might nip over to L.A. for the Roomies live episode.’
‘Nip over? Get you,’ smiled Fern. ‘That’ll be a blast. Lincoln Speed – you know, your bestie – is a hell of a risk for a live episode, don’t you think? He’s bound to swear or something. Be prepared for Tallie to beg to come with you.’
‘It’s term time,’ said Adam, no longer the flash, spoiling daddy. ‘I’ll make it up to her. Here, let me get that for you.’ He took a cookery book out of her hands as they joined the queue for the till. ‘Fondue?’ he smiled. ‘Bit Seventies, isn’t it?’
‘It’s a way of getting more cheese into your system, so I’m all for it.’ Fern hesitated. ‘Sorry about the Mimis, Adam. You gave it your best shot.’
‘And failed again. No accidental pregnancy to blame this time.’
It was a throwaway comment, but it hit Fern hard.
‘Ancient history. Sorry,’ said Adam as she dipped her head.
Recently, life had ganged up on Fern, breaking through her careful defences and holding a mirror to her folly. She’d been carefully avoiding the legitimacy of Adam’s anger about Ollie’s conception, but now it sank its teeth into her. ‘I’m sorry, Adam. I shouldn’t have done it,’ she said, a hint of sob in her voice.
‘Hey, listen, shush, stop,’ garbled Adam.
‘No, you were right. Nobody should foist parenthood onto somebody else.’
‘But I wasn’t just somebody. I was your partner.’
Confusingly, Fern and Adam seemed to have swapped sides. ‘I’m trying to apologize. Stop making excuses for me.’
‘Sorry,’ said Adam again.
‘I was blinded back then. Young people always feel that they’re running out of time when really they have acres of it. We could’ve waited.’ This alternative universe wouldn’t have Ollie in it; that didn’t sound like a universe Fern wanted to live in. ‘I should have consulted you. We should have discussed it.’
‘Yeah, but . . .’ Adam shrugged. ‘I would’ve said no and I would’ve been an idiot and we wouldn’t have Ollie, which means we wouldn’t have Amelie, and it all works out in the end.’
‘So I don’t need to be sorry?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. I was quite enjoying it.’
Fern wiped her scarlet nose. She’d never perfected pretty crying. Is Adam truly forgiving me for one of the main reasons we split? Where, then, did that leave them? ‘I interrupted you. About Kinky Mimi.’
‘Nothing much left to say. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, Fern, when you do your best and it’s not good enough. Nobody to blame except myself this time around.’
‘This isn’t like you.’
‘It is. It’s just like me. What does my life amount to?’ Adam’s mood had performed a faultless handbrake turn.
‘Adam, watching Nora has taught me something. And it’s not just that after seventy you need a damn good bra. It’s taught me that all we leave behind us is love. You have tons of that, Adam.’
‘I do, don’t I?’ Adam brightened. ‘That’s a lovely way to put it.’ He reached out and they embraced warmly, naturally, with minimal body contact, like fond friends. Not at all like ex-lovers who’d broken sundry promises.
As they pulled apart, Adam pushed Fern’s hair out of her eyes. It was an old gesture, one she’d thought he’d never make again, and they both smiled goofily at it.
Grateful for the new rapport, Fern knew it was only possible because they’d sucked all the romance out of their connection. Looked at that way, this warm and sunny friendship was a horribly sad thing.
Raising his hand in farewell, Adam turned away as he smiled, ‘Good thing we never got married, eh? No divorce to negotiate!’
‘So,’ began Tallulah, smug at having her mother’s full attention. ‘I’ve written it all down for my biography.’
Passing by as Tallulah opened a lined pad, Ollie said, ‘Autobiography, idiot.’
‘Whatever.’ In her best reading voice, Tallulah began, ‘That morning I woke up at seven as usual. Or maybe seven-oh-four. I got out of bed and—’
‘Could we cut to the bit about Lincoln, darling?’ Fern, stirring a risotto, could feel herself ageing; Tallulah’s anecdotes were dreaded for their length.
‘OK. Umm . . .’ Tallulah traced a few lines with her finger, then started again. ‘I was a bit upset at break time because I’d lost my Quavers. I wandered about on my own a bit. Carey was on her own too, but she wouldn’t look at me. I really wanted to play with her. And I missed my Quavers. Suddenly somebody shouted “It is Lincoln Speed!” We all ran over to the fence. On the other side was my brother Ollie and the huge massive star Lincoln Speed.’
‘Ollie was there?’ interrupted Fern, as the arborio rice plumped up in the pan.
‘Yes, Mum, Ollie, please shush,’ said Tallulah severely, as if she was reading out a will. ‘Girls were screaming and I almost did a wee when Lincoln shouted “Where is Tallulah Carlile?” Everybody screamed even harder. I said “Here I am” and stuck my hand through the fence but Lincoln said . . .’ Tallulah looked up. ‘Do I have permission to say a swear?’
‘No.’
Sighing, Tallie carried on. ‘Lincoln said eff that and climbed over the fence. Ollie was saying not to but then he laughed and climbed over as well. Lincoln Speed gave me a huge hug and even kissed me on the cheek and one girl fainted and a prefect was sick. He said really loudly in his fantabuloso accent, “I hear you and your friend aren’t hanging out any more. Where’s Carey?” And Carey said “Here” and put her hand up as if she was in Maths, and Lincoln pulled her into the hug and said “You two are pals, so behave like it, dodos. Carey, do you dig Tallie?” Carey said she did. Everybody was laughing and shouting. I said I digged Carey so Lincoln Speed made us shake hands and he said “I don’t want to hear no more of this, umm . . .”’ Tallulah eyed her mother. ‘“Male cow poo. From this moment on you girls are blood sisters, got it?” And then Sister Mary Augustus came out and she was all red and she was going on about smoking and she made Lincoln go away. Ollie winked at me and then he ran because Sister Mary Augustus is much bigger than him. She’s much bigger than most people. Me and Carey were like celebrities after that. All the girls followed us around. We promised never to not talk again.’ Tallulah slapped her book shut. ‘By the way, Mum, Carey’s coming over later. Is that OK?’
‘Yup.’ Fern stared into the risotto as her daughter flew out of the room. ‘Hey, mister,’ she called as Ollie passed, out to a bar job or a DJ job or maybe a supermarket job. ‘Thank you.’
‘Shut up, Mum.’
‘You’re getting kissed whether you like it or not.’ Spoon aloft, Fern chased her son to the front door, where she pulled down his beanie and kissed his nose. ‘I thought it was all Adam’s doing. How on earth did you convince Lincoln Speed to go to Tallie’s school?’
‘I got chatting to him at the after-party. He’s into the same bands as me. He’s cool.’ Ollie shrugged. ‘Guess he was bored, waiting around until he flew back to the States, so I asked him if he’d play fairy godfather and he said yes.’
‘That was a very special thing to do for your sister.’ Fern laughed at Ollie’s discomfort. ‘Can’t you be mushy with your poor old muvver for once?’
Ollie’s arms went round her, very tight, for a split second and then he was gone, but Fern was left with a radioactive stripe where he’d touched her.
‘Make them sexy.’
‘They’re eyebrows, Evka. How can I make them sexy?’ Poised with her tweezers, Fern looked down at Evka’s brows, two swooping, malevolent bats. Each time there was a cancellation at the Beauty Room Evka seemed to sense it on the wind, and in she’d dash to throw herself on the treatment couch.
‘I clean penthouse today,’ said Evka, as Fern got down to business. ‘Why Penny still there? What is job now that Kinky Mimi is dead? I tell you,’ said Evka, who liked to answer her own questions. ‘She wants job of Mrs Carlile.’
‘Hold still.’
‘Thank baby Jesus that you have revenge sex with stud.’
‘He wasn’t a stud, it wasn’t revenge—’ Fern gave up. Evka never listened. ‘That’s all over, anyway.’
Pushing the tweezers away, Evka sat up, trembling with annoyance. ‘Why? Are you super-crazy? You are heroine of own story, Fern, but book of your life is more dull than bus timetable.’
Pressing Evka back down, Fern muttered, ‘Whereas yours’d be on the top shelf.’
‘I live for adventure.’
‘Really?’ Fern had noticed that Evka went out less these days and showcased fewer love bites. ‘Nothing adventurous about ensuring Nora takes her dysphagia meds or helping her into the shower, or building a cardboard castle with Tallulah.’
‘I enjoy these things.’ Evka was defensive.
‘It shows. That’s when you look happiest.’ Fern had noticed that Evka’s tales of her sexual exploits were lobbed like grenades, but when she described what she’d been up to with Amelie and Tallie and Nora, the girl’s face shone with an ordinary happiness that subverted the hard glamour of her make-up. ‘Do you miss your own grandmother? Your little sisters?’
‘I leave it all behind.’ Evka was brusque. ‘I am new me.’
Having tried becoming ‘new’, Fern wasn’t sure she believed in the notion. ‘And what happened to the old you?’ Laying a hot flannel over the pink and punished skin of Evka’s eyebrow, she dared, at last, to ask, ‘Evka, what did your boyfriend actually do that was so terrible?’
‘He asked me to . . .’ Evka pressed the flannel into her eyes. ‘To . . .’
To what? Bugger him? Fern romped through various possibilities. Rob a bank? Give up sugar?
‘Patrik asked me to marry him.’ Evka was as still as a stone martyr on a tomb.
‘That’s all? That made you flee the country and start shagging the entire UK in alphabetical order?’
‘He want me to be downtrodden housebitch,’ said Evka, adding, ‘Like you,’ because she was unable to leave a sentence without a sting in its tail, even when visibly upset.
‘So you didn’t love this Patrik?’
‘Love is cobblers,’ spat Evka.
You loved him all right.
‘It does not matter to me. I do not talk of him.’ Evka sprang to her feet. ‘We are done.’
‘But I’ve only finished one eyebrow,’ protested Fern. ‘You only look half sexy!’ She followed her lodger out into the hall, where Nora and Walter stood, taking off their jackets, beaming from ear to wrinkled ear.
‘Hang about, love,’ said Nora, her dark glasses almost tumbling off her nose as Evka whistled past her. ‘Me and Walter have an announcement.’
All the inhabitants of Homestead House were winkled from their hidey-holes: Donna in a onesie, Ollie half asleep, Tallulah in a This is what a feminist looks like T-shirt, Amelie mewling, Evka scowling. They all waited to hear the proclamation.
‘We’re getting married!’ said Nora.
It took a second to sink in, then Nora was mobbed by her family, who took care to mob Walter as well.
There was only milk to toast the happy couple, and soon they all had matching white moustaches around the kitchen table.
‘Where did you pop the question, Walter?’ asked Donna.
‘At the grave of my beloved first wife,’ said Walter, somewhat pooping the party until Nora trilled, ‘She gave us her permission!’
‘Sweet,’ said Donna.
‘And creepy,’ growled Evka.
Nora didn’t think so. ‘Walter really loved his Fanny,’ she said with feeling. ‘Today she handed him
over to me so I can look after him.’
Everybody knew who’d actually need looking after as they toasted generous, dead Fanny. Nora had been frank with Walter, laying out her prognosis in all its ugly glory. It had made no difference to his feelings.
‘It’s never too late to find happiness,’ Nora was saying. Her dark glasses were still firmly on; today must be a wobbly eye day, thought Fern tenderly. ‘Walter’s the love of my life. He’s Heathcliff and Terry Wogan rolled into one.’
‘That good, eh?’ said Ollie.
‘What’s more,’ said Nora proudly, ‘he’s the best kisser in the south-east of England.’
The house was festive, filled with a dancing light that seemed to shine out of Nora and Walter and their excitement.
‘What sort of wedding will you have, Auntie?’ asked Tallulah.
‘White, of course!’ said Nora.
‘But of course,’ smiled Fern.
‘I want bridesmaids, doves, a Rolls-Royce, a marquee, a veil, a band, vol-au-vents, confetti, temporary toilets. All the bells and whistles.’
‘Are you sure, Auntie?’ Fern knew how much energy it took for Nora to accomplish an ordinary day; the stress of the most wedding-y wedding ever might kill her.
‘I’m only doing this once,’ said Nora, pulling a sniffy face. ‘Don’t fuss, Fern. I’ll cope.’ She began ostentatiously to count. ‘Twenty, nineteen, fifteen, umm, twelveteen . . .’
Fern put down her milk.
‘Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen!’ Nora threw back her head. ‘Your face, Fern!’
‘She’s a minx,’ guffawed Walter. ‘I can’t wait to carry my Nora over the threshold.’
A man designed for matrimony, Walter warmed Fern’s heart with his old-fashioned gallantry, his talk of ‘my’ Nora, although she seriously doubted his knees would stand up to carting her aunt over his threshold. Fern thought of the refurbished annexe, almost completed; it would stand empty now. As would the spot in Fern’s heart that Nora had hollowed out and furnished.
Evka spoke in Nora’s ear. ‘Why you leave us? You don’t need man for security.’