‘Chum?’ said Shirlee.
‘I mean Edward – the guy I was at St Andrews with. Chum was his nickname at school, it’s stupid. Edward . . . he’s called Edward, and that’s his dog, Artemis . . .’
Oh, Lord, was this going to be a total nightmare? It was looking that way.
‘You said he wasn’t hot,’ said Shirlee, sounding outraged. ‘That guy is smokin’.’
‘I haven’t seen him in a smart jacket before,’ said Polly. ‘He’s normally really scruffy.’
No, no, there is no normally. Too much explaining. Shut up.
‘I’d better help the kids with Digger,’ she said. ‘I can see he’s going bonkers in the back of the car. He always gets excited coming here, and . . .’
She started to get out of the car before she could say anything else incriminating, but Chum was already there, opening the door.
‘Hello, Hippolyta,’ he said quietly, and Polly felt her stomach turn to liquid as she looked up into his face. She couldn’t think of anything to say – apart from ‘I want to kiss you now, all over’ – and was hugely relieved when Artemis tugged so hard on the lead that he was almost pulled off his feet.
‘Whoa!’ said Chum. ‘I think we need to let the dogs say hello.’
‘I’ll let Digger out of the other car,’ said Polly, very glad of an excuse to run away from Shirlee.
Before she could get over to her car, Digger was out of the driver’s door, nearly knocking Lucas over in the process, and the two dogs were leaping in the air. They took off, running around the monkey puzzle tree, then rolling over and over in the grass together.
‘Have they got rabies?’ said Lucas. ‘Digger started going mad before we even stopped the car. Does he know that dog?’
‘He sees her when we come here,’ said Polly lamely, ‘and you know how he gets on car journeys . . .’
But Lucas wasn’t listening; his gaze was fixed over her shoulder, his head on one side, a questioning look on his face.
Polly turned round to see Chum had joined them. Oh, why hadn’t she choreographed this better? Told him to meet them in the dining room or something? Or to pretend he didn’t know her? Or just not come at all?
‘Hi, I’m Edward Cliddington,’ he said, raising his hand in greeting to Lucas, then opening the car door for Clemmie, helping her out like Prince Charming.
‘You must be Clemmie,’ he said.
She nodded.
‘I’m Edward,’ he said. ‘That hell hound playing with Digger is my dog, Artemis. They go a bit crazy when they see each other.’
‘Hi, Edward,’ she said, glancing at her mother with a puzzled expression.
Polly felt something akin to pure panic. She had told Clemmie and Lucas other people were joining them for lunch, hadn’t she? Or had she just run through how she was going to tell them hundreds of times in her head and not actually said it? Like she hadn’t told Chum about Shirlee until they were nearly there. Oh, God. A few kisses with Chum and her IQ seemed to have evaporated. Digger was more intelligent.
‘Edward and his father are having lunch with us,’ said Polly, trying to sound as though it were the most normal thing in the world. ‘Bill and Daphne are friends here, and Edward and I were at St Andrews together, so we thought it would be fun if we all sat together.’
‘Will the dogs be sitting with us?’ asked Lucas, watching them run round and round the tree again, yelping.
Everybody laughed, and Polly was relieved to feel a release of tension – but not for long. She hadn’t noticed Shirlee coming up just behind her.
‘Well, hello, Chum,’ she said, looking up at him with narrowed appraising eyes, her mouth slightly open, pink tongue peeping out of one corner then running across her lips.
Chum put his right hand out towards her.
‘Edward Cliddington,’ he said, smiling.
Shirlee took hold of the proffered hand and didn’t let go of it.
‘Polly says your chums call you “Chum”, Chum,’ she said. ‘I’m Shirlee Katz, but you can call me Coco.’
He smiled nervously, glancing quickly at Polly with his eyes wide.
She was so appalled by what was happening she closed her own in horror. Coco?
‘Hi, er, Coco,’ said Chum, pulling his hand gently away. ‘Lovely to see you. Are you the one who helps Hippolyta with the yoga classes? She’s told me about you.’
‘Oh, “Hippolyta”, is it?’ said Shirlee, poking Polly in the ribs with her finger. ‘So Chum has privileged naming rights, does he? He’s one of the chosen few who can call you by your one true name. How very interesting.’
‘It’s just what everyone called me at St Andrews,’ said Polly, trying to sound less fraught than she felt, ‘because I thought it made me sound posher. And everybody called him Chum, because that’s what he was called at school. It’s just old habits. Everyone else calls him Edward and me Polly these days.’
‘So you just have your cute little name game together,’ said Shirlee. ‘Isn’t that adorable? Chum and Hippolyta, sitting in a . . .’
‘That’s right, Coco,’ said Polly, cutting her off sharply. ‘Or should I call you Roger?’
To her great relief, Shirlee threw back her head and laughed heartily, then she linked her arm through Chum’s and smiled up at him.
‘OK, Edward,’ she said, ‘show Shirlee the way.’
Chum looked over at Polly again and she nodded very quickly, hoping he’d understand her message: Just get her away from me.
‘I’ll mind the dogs,’ said Lucas. ‘I’ll exercise – and exorcise – them before we come in.’
‘You’re a brave man,’ said Chum, tossing him Artemis’s lead.
‘So are you,’ said Lucas quietly, as Chum turned away and walked Shirlee towards the entrance.
Polly stood for a moment, frozen with tension, not knowing whether to stay outside with Lucas and the dogs to recover herself, or follow Chum and Shirlee into the building for damage limitation and was still undecided when she felt Clemmie’s arm go round her waist.
‘Come on, Mum,’ she said, ‘let’s go inside and find Granny.’
Polly started to walk with her and then thought better of it.
‘Actually, Clems,’ she said, ‘you go in with Ch . . . Edward. I just need to get something out of Shirlee’s car. Hey, Shirl! I need you to help me out with something here.’
Shirlee turned round and Polly gave her a very hard stare.
‘I need something from your car,’ she said, trying to sound natural while also conveying the importance of it. ‘Can you open the boot, please? You go in with Edward, Clemmie.’
She practically pushed Clemmie towards him and was very relieved when the two of them disappeared through the door into the reception area together.
‘Come here, quickly,’ she hissed at Shirlee, sticking her head into the car boot as it opened.
Shirlee’s face popped up next to hers.
‘What gives?’ she said.
‘Very quickly,’ whispered Polly. ‘I don’t want Lucas to hear. The thing is, Ch . . . Edward—’
‘Chedward,’ said Shirlee, grinning at her own joke.
‘Whatever,’ said Polly. ‘That man.’
‘The tall handsome one with the adorable smile and the incredibly strong arms I was secretly feeling up through his jacket a minute a go?’ said Shirlee. ‘That one?’
Polly nodded, tightly.
‘Anyway. Like I told you, I was at St Andrews with him and we met up here a few weeks ago by pure chance, and the dogs just took to each other, and we’ve been going for walks, and . . .’
Tears filled her eyes and her voice cracked. Shirlee put her arm round her.
‘It’s OK, bubs,’ she said. ‘You like the guy, right? I don’t blame you, he’s seriously toasty. Go for it, girl. He’s much better for you than Guy – and I can tell you, he’s seriously got the hots for you.’
‘Really?’ said Polly, unable to help herself.
Shirlee chuckled.
> ‘Oh, you have got it bad,’ she said. ‘It’s just what you need, like I was saying on the way up here – get yourself laid, Polly.’
‘I want to,’ she said, ‘believe me and . . . well, if you can promise to keep this to yourself, Shirlee. Do you promise?’
‘Yessir,’ she said.
‘Well,’ said Polly, taking a deep breath. ‘I’ve decided to tell David it’s over. I want a divorce. I can’t ever take him back after this.’
‘Way to go, girl,’ said Shirlee. ‘I am so glad you’ve got to that place.’
‘You think I’m doing the right thing?’ asked Polly,
‘No doubt – and a victory roll around with a guy as cute as that one is the perfect way to celebrate it.’
Polly smiled, although it didn’t remotely reflect how she felt about him. It would be much more than a roll around to her.
‘But it’s the kids, Shirlee. I’ll have to tell them my decision about their father and it doesn’t seem fair to introduce the new man in my life at the same time – I have to think about their feelings. It’s not just me.’
‘Do they need to know?’ asked Shirlee.
‘Well . . .’ said Polly.
‘You’re an adult,’ continued Shirlee, ‘and entitled to a private life – emphasis on the word “private”, as in no one needs to know, except me, of course, ha ha, and I do promise I won’t tell anyone. You might find it hard to believe, but I can actually keep a secret if I’m asked to.’
Polly just looked at her, taking it all in.
‘And your kids are adults too,’ said Shirlee. ‘They’re not in kindergarten any more, Polly, they’re grown-ups, and you don’t have to keep your life on hold for them now. They wouldn’t want you to.’
Polly thought for a moment longer, then she flung her arms round her.
‘Thank you, Shirlee,’ she said, hugging her tight. ‘You’ve made me feel so much better about it all.’
‘Happy to help,’ said Shirlee, who was now reaching into the back of the boot and pulling out a large bulging shopping bag.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘I brought Easter eggs. I wasn’t sure how many we’d need, so I got ten big ones. Do you think that will cover it?’
Polly laughed. ‘When have you ever under-catered?’ she said. ‘That was so kind of you – but can I just say one more thing about the, er, Chedward issue?’
‘Shoot,’ said Shirlee.
‘Can we be cool at lunch?’ asked Polly. ‘I really wanted the kids to meet him, to see if they get on, but – for the reasons just discussed – I don’t want them to know there’s anything between us. Not yet. So none of your usual antics, OK? No more K.I.S.S.I.N.G.-ing or any of that nonsense.’
‘I swear,’ said Shirlee, chuckling. ‘Now, you get in there and lust after that guy.’
FragrantCloud.net
The scent of . . . Easter
When I was a kid we always had a special lunch on Easter Sunday, with the traditional leg of lamb, followed by rhubarb crumble.
My favourite ones were when we went up to Scotland and I’d get to spend it with my huge tribe of cousins – heaven for an only child. There would be cinnamon-y hot cross buns on Good Friday and fish for dinner, then the next day we would dye and decorate hard-boiled eggs with my granny.
On the morning of Easter Sunday we would climb up a hill near my grandparents’ house and then roll our decorated eggs down it. The person whose egg rolled the furthest was the winner and they got the biggest chocolate egg.
I’ve kept those traditions going with my own family, and although my kids are grown up and at uni now, they still love it and both came with me this year to have Easter lunch with my mother at the retirement village where she lives.
We joined up with some friends, which made it so much more fun – family gatherings are always better when there are ‘orphans’, not just the nuclear family group in a claustrophobic bubble.
We took our New Yorker friend Shirlee and linked up with Edward, who is an old friend of mine from St Andrews days, and his dad Bill, who lives at the same place as my mum.
Bill surprised each of us with a beautiful hand-painted wooden Russian Easter egg and we had such a laugh rolling them down a hill – a very small one – in the grounds.
Lucas and Edward were neck and neck winners with their eggs, so we had to have a replay, but that went horribly wrong when I got overexcited and accidently let go of Edward’s dog Artemis and she ran in and ‘retrieved’ his egg.
Then my daughter let our dog Digger go – deliberately for the sport of it – and it was absolute pandemonium with the dogs running around with the eggs in their mouths and the two chaps chasing them to try and retrieve them. I haven’t laughed so much for years.
In the end Bill declared it a draw and the champions shared the biggest chocolate egg – which was funny in itself because they both have crazy sweet tooths.
To keep it ‘fair’ they sat opposite each other across a coffee table while they ate it, matching each other, piece for piece, while my daughter and my friend Shirlee, adjudicated.
I felt queasy just watching them eat so much chocolate, but they loved it, declaring they were ready for more at the end. I had to intervene when they started talking about having a ‘choc off’.
My mum had a lovely time, relishing the company and highjinks, seeing her grandchildren, and being spoiled rotten by Edward and his father, who both have those old-school manners she loves, pushing in her chair for her, standing up whenever she did and all that caper.
Lucas was fascinated by it and told Edward he wants to have lessons in how to be an ‘uppy downy’ man, as he called it.
All in all it was the best Easter I can remember since I was a kid.
My Easter smells are the cinnamon and mixed spices in the hot cross buns, and the rosemary and mint sauce with the roast lamb. The grassy tang of rhubarb and real muddy wet grass from the egg rolling. And of course, lots and lots of milk chocolate.
My scents for Easter are:
Angel by Thierry Mugler
Anima Dulcis by Arquiste
Musc Maori by Parfumerie Générale
Blue North by Agonist
Opium by Yves Saint Laurent
English Pear & Freesia by Jo Malone London
La Tulipe by Byredo
COMMENTS
LuxuryGal: This is so cute. But who was the Easter Bunny?
FragrantCloud: That is catching on here now, but we didn’t have that tradition when I was a kid, I think it’s more of a US thing.
WhirlyShirlee: I’m never going to eat chocolate again. The Easter Bunny is a creep sponsored by dentists.
AgathaF: In Germany we also paint eggs and on Easter Sunday we light bonfires. This is also good fun. I love the smell of a bonfire. You should write about that.
FragrantCloud: Smoky perfumes are very interesting, I really like all the Comme des Garçons fragrances for that element.
PerspiringDreams: I loved this. It sounds like you had a great Easter. Has Clemmie talked to you about doing an event at our college?
FragrantCloud: She hasn’t, but I’d love to.
EastLondonNostrils: Sounds like you had a great time. Well thanks for inviting me . . . NOT.
Thursday, 31 March
Polly was standing just off a busy London street, staring at a strip of buzzers next to a heavy double door. All of them had names next to them except one, which just said ‘Flat Seven’.
That was David’s flat, where they’d lived together until just before Lucas was born. He’d always kept it anonymous like that – which made her think it was very likely that he still had the lease.
She wondered whether she should press the buzzer and see if he answered, but then, remembering how he’d behaved when they’d arrived at his office, decided he’d probably leg it out via the fire escape if she announced herself. So she put the key into the lock and opened the door.
How lucky she’d kept those keys all these years. It had been such a big deal when D
avid had given her a set of keys to his flat, the first place they’d lived together, and when they’d moved to their house, she hadn’t been able to part with them. She’d stashed them in the box where she kept his love letters and other mementos, still on the Big Ben key ring he’d given her.
She stepped into the lobby, which seemed pretty much the same as it had the last time she’d been in it. The carpet was different, but the mail boxes were still there, and the smell . . . The smell was exactly the same: other people’s cooking, a top note of cabbage and a distinct hint of garbage brought down in the lift. Polly had never got used to that smell.
She started up the stairs to the fourth floor, remembering how she used to carry heavy bags of shopping up there – and baby Clemmie – without a second thought. But then nothing’s a problem when you’re young and in love . . .
She got to the door of Flat Seven and hesitated again. What if someone else lived there now and she just walked in on them? Knowing it was moronic, she put her eye to the peephole, and of course couldn’t see a thing. Then, after glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she put her ear against the wood of the door to listen for any sign of life inside. Nothing. She thought about knocking, but if David looked out through the peephole and saw her she knew he wouldn’t let her in. There was only one thing for it.
Taking a deep breath, she tried the key and it slid in smoothly, but the door didn’t open because she’d forgotten about the deadlock below. Shuffling the keys, she found that one, unlocked it, then turned the upper key again.
The door opened.
With her heart hammering, she stepped inside and stood very still, listening for any sound of occupation. Nothing. She closed the door as quietly as she could behind her and looked around.
It didn’t look the same, but how could it have? They’d emptied it when they moved, taking all the furniture from this flat to the house where they lived now – well, where she lived. So how could she know if this new stuff was his or if she had just let herself into a complete stranger’s home?
The Scent of You Page 33