by Claire Sandy
Fern wondered fleetingly if Adam had suggested the enhancement – he’d always been partial to her own bumps – but decided that she’d trained him too well; if Adam had ever suggested plastic surgery to Fern, she’d have throttled him with her bra.
There I go again. Fern introduced some avocado mousse into her mouth to interrupt the chain of wrong-headed thoughts. Adam is different now. She coughed; the avocado mousse tasted of dead things.
‘Daddy’s mean.’ Tallulah browsed the offerings. ‘He won’t take me to Hollywood with him.’
‘He won’t take me either,’ said Penny.
‘It’s just a quick trip,’ said Adam, beleaguered. ‘A couple of days.’
‘I want to meet the men who make films,’ said Tallulah, ‘and tell them to stop putting ladies’ chests in them for no reason.’
‘I’ll take you in the summer hols,’ said Adam. ‘We’ll do Disneyland as well.’
The promise was made so blithely; pre-Roomies, they’d saved all year for their annual fortnight in the caravan. Two weeks of Adam constantly expostulating how expensive everything was, finally erupting in a Llandudno mini-mart that he wasn’t ‘made of Cornettos’.
Tallulah tried to look as if she was above Disneyland, but nobody was convinced. ‘Remember, Mummy, when I wanted to be a Disney princess?’ She giggled. ‘Imagine waiting around for a stupid prince to save you! I can save myself.’
You clever girl. Tallie had already worked it all out. Fern would have to learn from her own child, and start saving herself: Adam was no Prince Charming.
‘May I say, Fern –’ Walter leaned over the island, his new tie trailing in the soft-shell crab – ‘you look especially delightful today.’
‘Do I?’ Fern, grateful for Walter’s olde-worlde gallantry – he noticed women – shrugged, playing down the careful blow-dry, the new top from Whistles, the smoky eye she’d achieved with the help of a YouTube tutorial.
‘Yes, you do look well,’ said Penny, evidently not able to stretch to ‘pretty’. ‘When you make the effort. Doesn’t she, Adam?’
‘Suppose she scrubs up nicely.’ Adam was newe-worlde; he took the piss out of women.
‘Mummy’s beautiful,’ said Tallulah, with the same certainty she quoted statistics. According to her, 104 per cent of people like meringue.
‘What about me, Tallie?’ asked Adam, woebegone.
‘You’re too thin,’ said Tallulah. ‘But I have to think you’re handsome ’cos you’re my dad.’
‘Well, that’s something,’ said Adam.
Covertly sneaking peeks at his midriff, Fern saw that Adam’s love handles were reasserting themselves. Was he smuggling calorific contraband into the apartment? A bag of Frazzles here, an iced bun there? He’d regressed to more comfortable clothing now that Kinky Mimi had been pronounced dead for the second time, looking more approachable in his Motörhead tee and his favourite jeans, which were easily as aged as the Parmesan.
That morning, while putting on and wiping off her make-up – there’s a knack to Adele eyeliner, and it took a while for Fern to perfect it – Fern had treated herself to another letter from the box. Or was it a punishment? After Evka’s revelation, Fern couldn’t be sure. Some clear water had to be put between her and Adam; but not yet, she’d begged, opening the letter to remind herself of happy if obsolete truths.
Dear Fern
You think you’re fooling me by not responding to my letters or my phone calls and stepping over my body when you leave your house. You’re not fooling anybody!!! You’re obviously DESPERATE to go out with me, so I have graciously decided to take you back.
There are CONDITIONS you must agree to before I take back your sorry ass.
1. Never ask me if you look fat
2. Never ask me what I’m thinking
3. Put a strict limit on the time you spend getting ready to go out (14 hours or so)
4. Never talk to my mum about me. You and my mum must not stop talking suddenly when I enter the room. You and my mum must not roar with laughter when I then leave the room.
5. Just ignore all this shit and come back please because I’m unravelling and I’m eating too many takeaways and I want to kiss you and I can’t watch films because suddenly every actress in the bloody world reminds me of you.
There was one, only one, un-chic detail in the penthouse. The primary-coloured plastic alphabet magnets on the fridge clashed merrily with the subdued colour scheme.
‘Are those your doing?’ Fern asked her daughter.
‘How’d you know?’ giggled Tallulah.
‘Because you’ve spelled “patriarchy” wrong.’ Fern could taste Penny’s desire to get rid of the gaudy letters.
‘How about,’ said Penny, ‘this?’ She pushed her hand through smAsh thE paytriarchY and rearranged the magnets to spell Congratulations.
Penny’s ability to get everything so perfectly right and yet so arse-throbbingly wrong confused Fern. Didn’t the woman notice Tallie’s expression as she demolished the child’s favourite slogan? So keen on detail, Penny missed the big picture.
‘Have you found new job yet?’ Evka, encouraged by the flagons of Prosecco she was downing, was blunt. ‘Because no Kinky Mimi, no manager.’
‘I already have a job.’ Penny managed – just – to avoid sounding defensive. ‘I manage Adam’s life.’
Fern and Evka would go over that and enjoy it later; for now, they carefully ignored each other and relished the thought of Adam’s life needing ‘managing’.
‘What exactly do you manage?’ When Evka sounded that friendly, she was at her most dangerous. ‘His socks?’
‘I’ve set up a number of meetings with big cheeses in L.A.’
‘Cheeses?’ queried Evka.
‘Important industry people. I’m making sure he capitalizes on Roomies. He’ll score films, collaborate with the greats. Adam’s going to be a colossus. He could be world-famous.’
Adam rocked on his heels, staring into the depths of his beignet.
A phone was passed round so everybody could examine shots of the flat that Ollie and Donna were in the process of buying.
‘Blooming screen’s so small,’ grumbled Nora, bringing the phone right up to her nose.
‘The pictures are actual size,’ said Ollie. ‘Seriously! We can’t swing a kitten, never mind a cat.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Donna with relish. ‘Our own four walls!’ She turned to Fern. ‘No offence,’ she said quickly, her hands to her lips.
‘None taken.’ Fern wasn’t offended, but she couldn’t turn off the part of her brain that emitted a fug of wistful nostalgia whenever the new flat was mentioned. It was right, it was proper that children grow up, become independent and move out. But this feels too quick. She’d only just got used to Ollie catching a bus on his own. ‘There’s no feeling in the world like having your own house. Do you remember, Adam?’ She turned to him. ‘When we got the keys to Homestead House?’ When we got the keys to the house that ultimately came between us.
‘It feels like a thousand years ago,’ said Adam. ‘And it feels like yesterday.’ He clinked glasses with Fern.
The crystal rims pealed like tiny bells. Fern buried her face in her drink. When Adam spoke that way, invoking their past with an intimate edge to his voice, she felt his power, a power over her that couldn’t fade, no matter how much she judged him and found him wanting. No matter how many other women sidled in between them.
Wanting to say something, desperate to express herself but unable to capture the words, Fern opened her mouth, hoping providence would provide, just as Ollie tapped on her arm.
‘Any chance,’ he said, holding out the baby, ‘of changing Amelie? She’s done something truly impressive in her nappy.’
‘Oh God!’ Adam bent double. ‘What are you feeding that child?’
‘I’m suffocating.’ Tallulah feigned a faint.
Holding her nose, Fern took the toxic child, who was gurgling happily, unaware she’d just become a major
factor in climate change.
‘Use the master en suite,’ said Adam, backing away. ‘You’ll have loads of room in there.’
Again, a frisson from Penny as Fern passed her. I’m encroaching on her territory.
‘Don’t get too accustomed to this level of luxury, Amelie,’ said Fern as she changed the baby’s nappy – somewhat recklessly – on a white satin chaise longue. ‘You’ll soon be back to Homestead House.’ She picked her up, holding Amelie’s warm body close, smelling the back of her neck, feeling the baby’s wholesome strength; this was a girl built on adoration and milk. ‘I love you, beautiful.’ Babies have the power to squeeze feeling out of their servants. As Fern drank Amelie in, her mind hopped to Layla and she held the baby even tighter, forcing a little burp out of her.
The offending nappy neatly bagged, Fern looked around for the bin, all the while studying the bathroom the way forensic officers examine a psychopath’s lair. Each costly tub of face cream was noted, each quirkily shaped bottle of perfume, all the Mac/Bobbi Brown/Chanel eyeshadows and foundation and primers and under-eye lighteners and mascaras and BB creams and pore minimizers. Fern checked out the back of the door and felt the fabric of the silk robe between her fingers. Everything seemed new; even the towelling slippers were pristine.
And the smell! The room was a medley of feminine scents, a pink and gold gossamer wrap of jasmine and rose and vanilla.
It bore no relation to Fern’s bathroom, which smelled of Head & Shoulders and usually featured a pair of Tallie’s knickers on the (warped) floor. This room confirmed something for her. Something about Penny.
It wasn’t right to peer through the concealed door into the master bedroom. ‘Don’t judge me, Amelie,’ whispered Fern as she gently toed open the door.
There it was. The immense master bed. A crime scene, according to Fern’s feverish imaginings and Evka’s reportage.
A desire to hurt herself, a rabid sadomasochism, made Fern savour each detail slowly, almost lovingly. It must be faced. Adam was Penny’s now.
Her stinging eyes found the bedside table. And stopped there. She looked for an age, taking in what she’d found there, weighing it up. Just a small object, it punched above its weight. It changed everything. The voice that Fern had lost when Adam had clinked glasses with her had a lot to say.
‘Amelie,’ she said. ‘I need to talk to your grandpa.’
The search for the bin revealed it hiding behind a mirrored cupboard door. Its lid snapped open to reveal, lying atop discarded cotton-wool balls, a small white plastic wand with a story of its own to tell.
Just as Evka had said.
Fern stared at it and was certain, full of purpose as she rejoined her family, catching the tail end of Walter’s anecdote, which ended, as his stories tended to, with ‘and then, oh, hang on, what was I saying?’
In a chef’s hat, Adam ferried more goodies to the island.
Swaying on a stool (it had taken three people to get her up there), Nora groused, ‘Why aren’t we using the dining table instead of standing about like beggars?’
‘This is casual dining,’ said Penny. ‘It suits our vibe.’
‘I don’t have a vibe,’ grumbled Nora. ‘But I do have a sore bottom from this stupid stool.’
‘Dining tables are so out,’ said Penny, with a shake of the head for anybody who might labour under the misconception that they were in. ‘The buzzword is informality.’
Swamped by his family, Adam was in his element, slapping Tallulah’s greedy mitts away from the plate of sausage rolls (surely not supplied by the A-list caterer?) and challenging Ollie to eat a whole chili. His light burned brighter; he was at one with himself when the children were around. When I’m around? Fern wasn’t sure, but her resolve redoubled.
Offloading Amelie onto Penny, Fern whispered to Adam, ‘I need a word with you.’ No time like the present. She felt carbonated, like a shaken can of lemonade.
‘In a sec. I’m on duty.’ Adam pointed to his chef’s hat.
‘I need to speak to you, Adam.’ Fern leaned in.
Adam leaned out. ‘It can wait until we’ve all eaten. Here.’ He shoved the cheeseboard her way. ‘Get stuck into that.’
The wooden platter was a work of cheesy art. A runny one. A hard one. A goaty one. Grapes and crackers. A knoll of pickle. Even a woman on a mission must eat. Fern scooped up the almost liquid Brie with a poppyseed biscuit.
‘Ye Gods, that’s good!’
‘But so fattening,’ said Penny, holding Amelie away from her as if the baby might explode.
‘If Mummy wants to be fat,’ said Tallulah sternly, ‘that’s her preroga-thingy.’
‘Thank you, darling. I think.’ When Fern compared the delights of cheese and the delights of abs, cheese always won. Cheese didn’t play fair, lying wantonly on the board, flashing its fat content at her. ‘Excellent selection, Adam, as usual.’
Buying the cheese had always been his job. Adam used to love sitting back, watching his wife lay waste to his masterpieces. Fern could remember being massively pregnant with Tallulah, and Adam saying in wonder, ‘I’ve never known anybody who ate Stilton in bed before.’ At least, she hoped it was wonder.
I need to say my piece. Fern felt like a clean sheet of paper; she wanted Adam to scribble on her. With her new clarity, Fern saw Hal for what he was; a diversion. A lovely, exciting diversion with added orgasm, but a diversion all the same. The age gap was a red herring; Fern had the imagination and the courage to make it work with Hal, but she hadn’t wanted to make it work, because what Fern wanted was Adam.
Pride and hurt and anger had ganged up together, creating enough noise to obscure the love. A love that had sputtered and wavered, like a candle in a draught, but had never gone out.
I can forgive him. He can forgive me. It can still be all right.
Describing her wedding dress, Nora sketched it on her body with her hands. ‘I want frills here,’ she said. ‘Straps here. A bit of embroidery. Buttons all down the back. Chiffon-y sleeves. Pearls on the hem. A detachable capelet.’
‘You’ll be a right bobby dazzler,’ said Walter.
‘I’m not so sure,’ mused Penny, looking as if she’d heard a sick joke. ‘Why not pop along to Sarah Burton at Alexander McQueen? She made Kate Middleton’s wedding dress and her signature silhouette is simple and chic.’
As Nora’s signature silhouette was lumpy and bumpy, Fern took another scoop of Brie to stifle her impulse to make a stinging retort to Penny. Whatever Nora wanted on her big day, Nora would get; she didn’t have to live up to Penny’s narrow notion of good taste.
‘I’m making the dress meself,’ said Nora complacently, and Fern died a little inside, knowing her house would be knee deep in 100 per cent viscose white fabric for the next few weeks.
Champing at the bit to say her piece, Fern plotted where to begin as she cosied up to the cheddar. She and Adam had ventured further and further into the maze. It was time to start following the trail of breadcrumbs back out into the open air.
‘Adam . . .’
‘Hold on, love.’ Adam was riveted by Ollie’s re-enactment of a dance-floor fight during his last DJing stint. Adam was embedded in the party, wrapped up in the hubbub as drinks were poured, plates passed around, stories swapped. If only I could talk secretly with him.
Leaning against the fridge, Fern squirmed as the plastic letters dug into her back. She turned and rearranged them. Rooting through the red and blue and green magnets, she found an exclamation mark.
adAm!
Positioning herself carefully – and awkwardly – so that nobody except Adam would be able to see the fridge, she poked him in the ribs.
Wheeling round, Adam saw his name and cottoned on. Swiftly, taking advantage of the fact that everybody else was engrossed in Ollie’s mimed punches and kicks, Adam pushed three letters together and borrowed Fern’s exclamation mark.
Wot!
Like a magician’s assistant, Fern moved her fingers deftly. Some letters were mi
ssing, and for some reason there were four ‘x’s. It was tricky to encapsulate what she wanted to say but she hoped he’d catch on.
i no aBouT PeNi
Enjoying the game while still pretending to hang on Ollie’s every word, Adam screwed up his face, unable to fathom her meaning until she enlarged with more magnets.
U & PeNni
Adam swiped all the letters to the floor, where they clattered around Fern’s feet.
Interrupted at the climax of his story – the bit where one hipster threw an organic beer in another hipster’s face – Ollie said, ‘Dad?’
‘Mum and I need to step out onto the terrace for a second.’ Adam took Fern by the arm, as if making a citizen’s arrest.
Nora called after them. ‘It’s raining. You’ll catch your deaths.’ Despite her recent reincarnation as a smokin’ hot bee-atch, she retained her spinsterish preoccupation with colds.
Pulling the glass doors shut, Adam asked, ‘Are they all staring?’ without looking back at the party.
‘Yes.’ Fern huddled over in the spitting rain. ‘Act normal.’
‘I am,’ said Adam. ‘Take your own advice. Penny was right next to you.’
‘She couldn’t see. I made sure.’
‘What did you mean, “I know”?’ Adam made sarky quotation marks in the air. ‘What do you know?’
‘I know that you and Penny—’
‘Would you like to hear what I know?’ Again with the air quotation marks. ‘About you? Or u.’ He drew the letter in the air.
‘You know a lot about me, Adam.’ The conversation was unfolding all wrong. Fern blamed herself for barging into such a delicate subject; this was not the poignant turning point she’d envisaged. I should have planned this, got him on his own. ‘None of it matters. What matters is the here and now.’
‘Pardon me for daring to have an opinion,’ said Adam, his face neutral for the benefit of their audience, ‘but I’d say that your affair with a guy half your age matters a great deal.’