by Sue Margolis
I explain that I can’t stop because I need to get to the supermarket. Mum has given me one of her lists. Not only is it very long, but it involves going to the regular supermarket for basics, then on to the kosher butcher—where there’s never anywhere to park—for meat and chicken fat. After that it’s another ten-minute drive to the only Jewish bakery that sells wholemeal matzos. “Oh, and get some bagels for the freezer,” she said as I left. Since Mum moved in, the freezer has become another mouth to feed.
Felicity says it’s a shame I can’t stay. “Maybe we could just have a quick natter.” She ushers me toward the staircase. “I just wanted to let you know,” she says, lowering her voice, “that I heard about what happened between you and Claudia and that I’m totally on your side. That woman needed taking down a peg or two, and by all accounts you did a great job. I just wish I’d been there.”
“I didn’t set out to put her in her place. She upset me, that’s all.”
“And you stood up to her. Good for you. Claudia will always have her fans and hangers-on, but you should know that there’s a significant minority that see through her.”
“Well, it’s good to know I’m not alone.”
“Of course Claudia isn’t the only problem. There’s been a lot of gossip about Tanya. I know she’s a friend of yours, but I thought you should know. The thing is, it’s not just the swearing… . It’s the drugs.”
“What drugs?”
“Tanya and Rick are known for it.”
“And you have proof of this?”
“You don’t need proof. They’re in the music business. They hang out with all these rappers. Come on … don’t be naive. Of course it’s Cybil I feel sorry for.”
We’re joined by another woman who has clearly been eavesdropping. “Me, too. It’s always the children who suffer. So sad.”
“And it’s not just weed,” Felicity says. “I heard they do a lot of coke, too.”
I’m about to express my views on malicious, unsubstantiated gossip, which I know for a fact was started by Claudia, when Tanya appears with Cybil. Felicity and her friend fall silent and exchange embarrassed glances.
“Please don’t stop on my account,” Tanya says as she directs Cybil toward Lilly and the untidy queue of children trying to hand over gifts. She offers me a thin smile. Crap. Does she think I’m part of this witch hunt?
“Sorry, ladies. Must dash. I’m meeting my supplier.”
She kisses Cybil good-bye and she’s out of the door. I chase her down the path. “Tanya, wait… . Please … I had absolutely no part in that.”
She stops and turns around. She looks shamefaced but at the same time close to tears. “It’s OK. I know you didn’t.”
“Thank heaven for that.”
“I thought the gossip had died down. But since this swearing thing, it’s all kicked off again.”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“Just because we’re in the music business, they think we sit around all day cutting coke or with needles in our arms.”
“Listen … would it help if I picked Cybil up from the party later and dropped her home?”
“Would you mind? That would be great. I’m not sure I can face those women again today.”
“Of course I don’t mind.”
I walk Tanya back to her car. “You going to be OK? I’d offer to come home with you, but I need to do a food shop.”
“Thanks, but Rick’s there. I think we might sit and watch a movie.” She pauses. “I hate these women. I hate the gossip. It’s like being in a Jane Austen novel. I’ve got this sudden urge to become an invalid and retire to my bed for a year or two.”
I tell her that I feel like doing the same—anything to avoid bumping into Claudia’s father again.
Tanya’s face brightens. “You were hysterical. I sensed there was something in the air. I was trying to tell you to shut up, but you weren’t getting it.”
“I know. I made an utter fool of myself and I could see I’d upset the poor man. It’s not his fault his daughter is so horrible.”
“On the other hand, you probably didn’t say anything he doesn’t already know.”
Then it occurs to me that since Claudia is away on her book tour, he might well be dropping Hero off at the party.
“I’m sure her dad will bring her,” Tanya says.
“Maybe, but I should scoot… . God, what if I bump into him later when I’m picking the girls up?”
“So what? Just go up to him and apologize.”
“But what if he starts yelling at me? I’ve caused enough drama lately. I don’t want to start any more.”
• • •
I decide to get a cup of coffee before hitting the supermarket. I head for the new café-boulangerie in the high street. For once there’s a parking spot right outside. I order a large cappuccino and—as a treat—a slice of coffee and walnut cake. There’s an empty table for two in the window. I sit facing the street, gazing at the chichi flower shop over the road. Oversize containers full of spring flowers are arranged on the pavement. Some tulips the color of cantaloupe catch my eye. When I’ve finished my coffee I will award myself another treat and buy a bunch.
After a while I turn away and start stirring the cocoa into the cappuccino foam. In my head I tell Brian that I’m feeling a bit blue and could do with cheering up. I’m worried about Sam. I’m worried that Rosie still isn’t sleeping. I hate the way they’re fighting. I still haven’t come down from my contretemps with Claudia or the fact that I upset her father. And now I’m worried about Mum being jealous of Estelle Silverfish. I use my coffee spoon to skim some thick coffee butter icing off the slab of cake. As it dissolves in my mouth, I imagine Brian telling me that everything will sort itself out and there’s nothing to be gained by worrying.
“You always say that,” I inform him aloud. “But what if it doesn’t sort itself out?”
That’s when I hear the voice. Only it isn’t Brian’s. He never speaks, other than in my imagination. “Did you know,” says the voice, “that talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity?”
I give a start and look up. It’s Claudia’s dad. Of all the café-boulangeries in all the neighborhood, he has to walk into mine. What do I say? I settle for “Mike, hello. Well—this is rather embarrassing.”
“Why? Because I’ve discovered that you are sliding into insanity?” He has a nice smile.
“Partly that. I was talking to my late husband. I do it a lot—mainly in my head, I might add. And for the record I make up his replies, which are based on my having known him for over thirty years.” I pause. “I’m Judy, by the way.”
“I know. Ginny told me.”
“Ah.”
“Don’t worry. We weren’t gossiping. I was curious to find out what happened between you and Claudia, that’s all. I am aware that she rubs some people the wrong way.”
I decide not to rub salt in the parental wound by expounding any more of my opinions on Claudia. Instead I insist that I behaved badly, too. “After Ginny told me who you were, I should have come after you and apologized. Claudia’s your daughter and whatever my feelings are toward her, you don’t deserve to be privy to them. My only excuse is that I was terribly cross.”
“I understand. You really don’t have to apologize. I know what Claudia’s like. It’s not news to me. I’m sure she should be the one saying sorry.”
At that moment two boys come ambling over from the direction of the loo. “Granddad. Please can Josh and me get milk shakes and cake now?”
I don’t recognize either of them, but I assume the one campaigning for shakes and cakes is Mike’s grandson, Sebastian.
“Seb, I’m in the middle of a conversation. Don’t they teach you anything at that posh school of yours? Don’t you know it’s bad manners to interrupt?” His tone is jolly. Nevertheless he makes his point. Sebastian apologizes.
“But the thing is, Josh and me are hungry and you’re busy talking. So if you give us the money
we can buy what we want on our own.” Sebastian is tall like his mother and he has her green eyes, but that’s where the resemblance ends. I’m assuming that with his brush of red hair and a face full of freckles he takes after his dad. He reminds me of that kid in Happy Days. What was his name? Went on to be a film director. It’ll come to me. Ever since menopause I’ve had a problem remembering names—nothing else, just names. I often wonder if there’s a link between lack of estrogen and identity recognition. I should get Mum to Google it.
“All right,” Mike is saying to Seb, “you can buy your own drinks and cake. But be careful. Make sure you get a tray. Oh, and if you can manage, would you be kind enough to get me a latte?” Mike reaches inside his jacket, takes out his wallet and hands Sebastian a twenty-pound bill.
“Thanks, Granddad.”
“Yeah, thanks, Seb’s granddad.”
The two friends head to the counter. “So, are you helping with the children while Claudia’s away?”
“I am. Laurence—he’s my son-in-law—isn’t great at coping on his own, so he tends to rope me in. Not that I mind. I love spending time with them.”
I notice that Josh is holding a strange multipropellered flying machine with a small camera attached.
Mike catches me staring. “It’s a drone. We’ve been flying it on Hampstead Heath.”
I tell him I’ve never seen one before. “So, what were you doing? Spying on the likes of Harry Styles and Boy George?”
This makes him laugh. “No, just filming the landscape. Seb and his friend took it to two thousand feet—quite illegal, I might add—and got some astonishing footage.” He hesitates. “Would you mind if I joined you?”
“Not at all, please do.”
As he pulls out a chair, he offers to get me another coffee. I thank him and tell him may be later, as I’ve hardly started the one I’ve got.
“You know,” I say, “you really don’t have to apologize for Claudia. She may be your daughter, but she’s an adult. She isn’t your responsibility.”
“You’re right. But I can’t help it. Parental responsibility tends not to wear off. It lasts until you die.”
“You may have a point there.”
Sebastian appears with a latte in a tall glass cup. His hands are shaking. A good deal of coffee has spilled into the saucer. He places it carefully on the table and presents his grandfather with his change. Mike thanks him, tells him well-done and doesn’t mention the spilled coffee. I can’t help wondering how Bogdan would react in such circumstances.
“Is it OK if we go and sit over there?” Sebastian says, pointing to a table by the door. Josh is already there tucking in to chocolate fudge cake. “Then we won’t be in your way.”
I tell him that he and Josh are more than welcome to pull up another table and sit with us. “I’m Judy, by the way. My grandson, Sam, is in the year below you.”
“Hi, Judy. Pleased to meet you. I’m Seb.” He turns back to his grandfather. “The thing is that Josh is already there now.”
Mike says it’s fine for him to sit with Josh and shoos him away.
“What a self-possessed, well-mannered lad,” I say when he’s out of earshot.
“Isn’t he? Claudia does manage to get some things right.”
“Well, I guess his father must have some input, too.”
“True.”
Mike sips his coffee. He looks thoughtful. “Claudia doesn’t mean to upset people, you know.”
“I’m sure nobody sets out to offend.”
“She had a rotten childhood.”
Oh, please. I can’t believe he’s playing the crap childhood card. “Maybe she did, but so have millions of people and they turn out OK. And anyway, you really don’t owe me an explanation. We barely know each other.”
“I know. But I’d like to explain—give you a bit of background … if you’re happy to listen.”
Frankly I’d rather not. I don’t give a damn about Claudia’s childhood. But Mike is a nice man and I don’t want to appear rude. “Sure.”
“OK … So, when Claudia was five, her mother left me for another man. He was a bully and he insisted she leave Claudia with me. Eventually they went to live in Paris. After a few months he made her cut off all ties with Claudia. My ex did as she was told and didn’t see Claudia for twenty years. She abandoned her only child.” He pauses. “Actually that’s not quite true. She made contact when Claudia was accepted at the Royal Ballet School. It was something to brag about. But when Claudia grew too tall and lost her place, she disappeared again.”
“Good God. That’s appalling. I’m so sorry.” Now I don’t know what to think. Have I been too hard on her?
“These days, she has a tentative relationship with her mother, but it’s still not great. She still has a lot of issues.”
“That’s pretty obvious.”
“So it’s not hard to understand why she threw herself into becoming a parenting expert and why she has the overwhelming need to rescue people.”
“I get all that. But what I don’t understand is why at the same time as wanting to look after people, she manages to be so unkind and manipulative. She’s been spreading rumors about people taking drugs when they’re not. She also seems hell-bent on making it appear that my grandchildren are suffering separation anxiety while their parents are away—the insinuation being that I’m not coping.” I realize I’m getting worked up again. I’ve still barely touched my coffee and cake and walnut is my favorite.
Mike puts down his coffee cup. “She would never admit it, but she’s unhappy. Unhappy people behave badly. It’s the only explanation I can offer.”
“But what she’s done to this other couple—accusing them of taking drugs—is far worse than what she’s done to me. It’s hateful. And I know it’s not true.”
“I think Claudia spends her life petrified that her friends are going to abandon her. She creates juicy gossip to keep them close.”
“But she has a doctorate in psychology. It seems crazy that she can’t see what she’s doing.”
“It is crazy. I’ve told her. Laurence keeps telling her. Funnily enough, he and I are the only people she doesn’t try to manipulate. She knows we wouldn’t put up with it. No matter how often we try to make her understand, she refuses to admit she has a problem. It doesn’t help that she’s surrounded by all these groupies who think she’s some kind of guru and hang on her every word.”
There’s a commotion coming from the boys’ table. Sebastian is holding a piece of drone and Josh is bent over him, trying to offer comfort. “Oh God. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it.” Sebastian gets up and comes tearing over to Mike. Josh hangs back—possibly because he wants to avoid any flack.
Sebastian is almost in tears as he hands the broken part to his grandfather. “I didn’t mean to break it. It was an accident. I’m so sorry. I’ll pay you back out of my pocket money… .”
“What, all two thousand pounds?”
“Excuse me—you’re letting nine-year-olds play with something that cost two grand?” It’s none of my business what Mike does with his drone, but I’m so shocked that the words fly out of my mouth before I have time to think.
“It didn’t cost me anything,” Mike says to me. “I’ve got it on loan from the manufacturer.”
“Granddad’s a tech journalist,” Sebastian says, brightening between sniffs. “He gets to try out all this really cool stuff and then he writes about it in the newspapers.”
“So I’m guessing,” I say, “that so long as the drone people get a good write-up, they won’t mind too much if it’s damaged.”
“That’s right. They might even send me a spare part if I ask nicely.”
“Really?” Sebastian says with wide eyes. “You mean they won’t be cross? But if they are, you will tell them it was an accident, won’t you? I really didn’t mean it.”
“It’s OK, Seb. It’ll be fine. I promise.” Mike turns to me. “Seb’s a bit of a worrier. Aren’t you, son?” He smiles and pulls the l
ad in for a hug.
“Granddad, stop it. Not when there are people.”
Mike rolls his eyes and lets him go.
“You know,” I say, feeling I should step in and ease the familial tension, “I’m not sure I’d spend two grand to spy on Boy George.”
“There are fans that might,” Mike says, smiling. “Right, I think I’d better get these boys home. I told Seb’s dad we’d be back by four.” He gets up and asks Sebastian to fetch Josh. “It was great to chat, Judy. Thanks for letting me explain everything. I know it doesn’t help, but I like to think of Claudia as a work in progress. One day she’ll fathom it all out.”
“I hope so. And my apologies again for being so rude the other day.”
“No problem.”
I wave him and the boys off.
“Granddad,” Sebastian says. “Who’s Boy George?”
By now I’ve calmed down. I start tucking into my cake. Then it comes to me: Ron Howard.
CHAPTER
ten
“Grandma, if I’m still living at your house when it’s my birthday, can I have a Cinderella party?” Ever since she got home from Lilly’s party, Rosie’s been busy planning her own—which isn’t for six months. Last night she wanted a Frozen-themed bash, but by bedtime she decided against it because lots of girls were doing Frozen.
“Of course you can have a Cinderella party. That’s a great idea. You can invite all your friends over to clean my house.”
“Hang on … what about mine?” Ginny says. “I’m guessing your house is spotless. It’s my place that could do with a once-over.”
I’m laughing, but Rosie doesn’t get the joke. She wants to know why having a Cinderella party would mean her friends having to clean Ginny’s house.
It’s school pickup time and Ginny and I are hanging around outside, shooting the breeze. Ivo and Rosie have emerged, but it seems like Sam’s class hasn’t been let out yet. Rosie says they’re probably still tidying up after art class.