by Jane Moore
Faye knew Alice’s childhood had been less than idyllic, but although she’d touched on the subject a couple of times before, they’d never talked about it in depth. If she was honest, Faye, hadn’t been that interested because she wasn’t the subject. But now she was keen to know more.
“How was it miserable?” she said quietly, stealing one of Alice’s french fries and dunking it in a ramekin of mayonnaise.
Alice pulled a “now you’ve asked” expression. “Oh, mainly because my mother and sister left me in no doubt that they found me irrelevant and irritating. I spent most of my childhood feeling like I was in the way.”
“God, no wonder you went for the first man who showed an interest in you,” said Faye. That was all she knew about her father.
“Yes,” said Alice. “There was an element of that in it. I’d never really been shown any love before, so David bowled me over . . .” She stared at her plate. “I was besotted by him. Of course, I now know it had nothing to do with love. It was just sex, as far as he was concerned.”
Faye rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t worry, you don’t hold exclusivity on that scenario. But it’s a little easier on the soul to have meaningless sex these days.”
Her mother shrugged. “That was half the trouble, though. It wasn’t meaningless to me, just him. To me, it was the best thing that had ever happened. I was finally the center of someone’s attention, albeit fleetingly.”
Faye lit a cigarette, ignoring Alice’s disapproving look. “So, did you just . . . you know . . . have sex once?’ She could hardly believe she was discussing sex with her mother.
“A few times.” She popped a chip into her mouth. “Well, for as long as it took me to realize I was pregnant anyway.”
“How did he react when you told him?”
“He didn’t say much at all, really, which I took to mean he was OK about it. We slept together that night, then he got up to leave and said he’d call me the next day. I never heard from him again.” Alice leveled the sugar bowl with her teaspoon.
“What, never?” She had asked her mother the question before, but she still didn’t quite believe the answer. “Not even a message through friends?”
“No. Nothing. Someone once gave me a forwarding address for him in Portsmouth, and I wrote to him a few times there, but I never received a reply.”
“So, when you realized he’d disappeared, did you contemplate getting rid of it?”
“Getting rid of you, you mean?” said Alice softly. “No, not for a second. I knew that I had someone I could pour all my love into, someone who was all mine and no one could tell me what to do.” She leaned across the table and took her daughter’s hand. “You were the making of me.”
“But it must have been difficult for you, bringing up a child alone in those days.”
“We did have electricity, you know,” said Alice, mockingly.
“You know what I mean.”
“It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure, but the rewards far outweighed the drawbacks. As I said, you transformed my life. I finally had someone who needed me.”
“And still needs you.” Faye withdrew her hand and sat back in her chair. “On behalf of Faye Parker, former selfish little madam of this parish, may I thank you profusely for all you’ve done for me.” She clinked her glass against her mother’s.
While Alice perused the dessert menu, Faye stared out of the window again at the Saturday-afternoon shoppers. It was at times like this that she felt totally insignificant. Until recently it had bothered her: she would have wanted to run outside and make them all take notice of her. Now she relished being freed from the constraints of social expectation.
So what if she wasn’t at the latest première or wearing the new collection from Gucci? Was her life going to fall apart? Since France she’d grasped that if she wasn’t happy in herself, the latest Jimmy Choo or Alexander McQueen creation wouldn’t change anything.
Alice’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Do you ever think about him?”
“Who?” Faye was puzzled.
“Your father.”
“No, never.”
“You’ve never thought about trying to trace him?”
“No. What on earth would be the point?” She lit another cigarette.
“Well, curiosity I suppose. If you think about it, there’s half of you biologically that you know absolutely nothing about.”
“I’ve never thought of it like that.” Faye took a drag of her cigarette. “I suppose if I needed a life-saving bone-marrow transplant, I’d try to find him. But apart from that, I have no desire to do so. He’s never been part of my life.”
Alice stared at her for a few seconds, her brow furrowed. “Would you like me to tell you a bit more about him?”
“We talked about him before, and you said all you knew was that he was twenty-three, tall with blond hair and blue eyes, and that his family came from outside Reading.”
“There’s a bit more to it than that.”
“Go on, then.”
For the next half-hour, Faye sipped her coffee and smoked while Alice talked her through the brief relationship that spawned her. She described her father as handsome and charming, someone who could light up a room with his presence. It was abundantly clear that she still couldn’t believe such an interesting, vivacious man could be interested in the little church mouse she had been. “I was not the type of girl he would have taken home or made a future with. I was far too ordinary,” she murmured. “I was probably one of several quiet ones whose life he lit up briefly before moving on.”
“Don’t do yourself down, Mum. I’m sure it wasn’t like that at all,” said Faye, not masking her disapproval.
“Oh, I can assure you it was. I stopped kidding myself about that years ago.” She looked straight at her daughter. “The weird thing is, they talk about nurture rather than nature, but you are so like him. It’s uncanny.”
“In looks?” There was no denying that Faye didn’t resemble Alice, and she’d always assumed her looks came from her father.
“You certainly look like him, but I meant your personality too. He was gregarious like you, very take me or leave me.” He wouldn’t take any nonsense from anyone. In a way, it’s a shame you don’t know him, I’m sure you’d get on well.”
“Hmm.” Faye was doubtful. “We’ll never know, because I’m not looking for him. It crossed my mind recently that if I had a relationship with my father it might stop me being so difficult with men, but then I realized there was too much ground to make up. Instead I decided to embark on a little self-therapy and instigate the change myself.” She waved at the waiter to bring the bill.
“So what are you up to tonight?” said Alice, picking up one of her gloves from the floor.
“Absolutely nothing, my favorite pastime.” In the old days, I would have felt I was missing out if I wasn’t at the latest party. Now I couldn’t care less.”
“But you won’t meet Mr. Right sitting at home,” said Alice.
“True, but it’s not the be-all and end-all, is it? If I meet someone, then great, if not, so what?” She grinned.
They parted company with a hug, and Faye watched Alice walk off towards the bus stop on the Strand. It struck her that although her mother seemed happy with her life, it wasn’t what Faye wanted for herself—despite her own claim to be happy sitting home alone at night.
To her, the ideal was to have a child or children in a loving relationship with a man who was your equal, one who could help you take the strain occasionally. She knew there were no guarantees, but since her near miss with Mark, she felt better equipped than ever to make the right choice.
Friday, July 18
8 p.m.
“Hmm, that smells good.” Derek leaned forward and dipped a teaspoon into the saucepan.
With a mock scowl, Jean watched as he tasted her homemade Bolognese sauce. “Is it up to my usual standard?” she inquired.
“Of course.” He planted a peck on her cheek. “And may I also
say that you look rather beautiful tonight?”
“Oh, nonsense.” She blushed, clearly delighted by his remark. Taking off her apron, she smoothed down her skirt, then glanced at the kitchen clock. “They’ll be here in a minute.” She let out a long sigh of contentment. “You know what, darling? I have a good feeling about tonight.”
Derek tutted. “Now don’t start all that again. Let’s just have a pleasant evening without any pressure about you-know-what.”
“A mother can dream.” She pouted, and dried her hands on a tea towel that had been hanging over the Aga rail.
“Yes,” he said, ominously, “but sometimes that dream can turn into a nightmare, as we know to our immense cost.”
Jean raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, God, you’re not going on about that fifteen thousand pounds again, are you? I refuse to listen.” She put her hands over her ears and started humming loudly.
Derek grabbed one of her wrists and pulled her hand down. “Oh, go on. Please listen.”
“Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “That was then, this is now. And I don’t want anything to spoil this evening.” Hearing the crunch of car tires on the gravel, she turned to look out of the latticed window. “They’re here, so that’s enough of your negative nonsense!” A car door slammed and, seconds later, Mark burst in through the backdoor. “Hi, folks!” He had a deep suntan and was grinning from ear to ear. Dropping two overnight bags on the floor, he enveloped his mother in a bear hug.
“You look so well, darling!” said Jean. “Good holiday?” Her face glowed with pleasure at the sight of her younger son.
“Fantastic, thanks.” Mark brushed his hair off his face. “We did absolutely nothing for the first week, then rested for the second.”
Jean took a step back to study him more closely. After a few seconds, she looked over his shoulder. “So where is she, then?”
“Just popped into the loo.” He grimaced. “It was a long journey.”
The sound of flushing could be heard down the hallway, followed by rapid footsteps. Kate walked into the kitchen, her mid-brown hair streaked dark blond by the sun.
“Hi!” She walked across to Jean and kissed her warmly on both cheeks, then repeated the process with Derek.
“You look utterly gorgeous, darling,” enthused Jean, admiring Kate’s clinging black dress.
“Yes, she dresses to kill and cooks the same way.” Mark grinned.
Kate punched him playfully. “Talking of cooking, something smells good.”
Jean went to the Aga and gave the sauce a final stir. “It’s Mark’s favorite.”
“Baked beans on toast?” said Kate, straight-faced. “Because that’s all he ever cooks for me at home. It’s only paying customers who get the benefit of his culinary skills.” She reached over and tweaked his cheek.
“Ah, yes,” said Derek, looking at his son. “I was going to ask you, how is the restaurant going?”
Mark was thrilled that his father had brought up the subject first, rather than him. It was a major breakthrough in that he had accepted his younger son was never going to get “a proper job.”
He gave Derek a thumbs-up. “Good, so far. But if you don’t mind, I’ll give the full update over dinner when Tony’s here. That way, I don’t have to go through it twice.”
Derek glanced at his watch. “He should be here at any moment. He called from the car about twenty minutes ago. Glass of wine, anyone?”
Five minutes later, they were all standing in the middle of the room, with glasses of a particularly fine Chablis premier cru that Derek had been keeping for a special occasion.
“Lovely to see you both.” Jean smiled. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’re back together.”
Mark looked at Kate, and they both laughed. “We know, Mum, you told us that at Christmas, and all the visits since then.”
“Try being me,” muttered Derek. “I hear it a hundred times a day.”
A horn sounded outside. “Aha, it’s big bruv,” said Mark.
Tony burst in through the door looking unusually flustered. “Sorry, the traffic was murderous. Have I kept you all waiting?” He kissed Jean and slapped Derek’s shoulder.
“No, we haven’t been here long,” said Mark.
Tony gave him a hug, then walked across the kitchen to give Kate a loud smacker. “How’s my favorite girlfriend-in-law?”
“You mean your only one.” She laughed, blushing. “I’m just dandy, thank you for asking.”
“Dinner’s ready!” trilled Jean and lifted the pan from the hob. “Go and sit yourselves down.”
They trooped through to the dining room where Jean had laid the table as if it were Christmas. Two vast silver candelabra dominated each end of the table, which had been covered in a Stuart tartan cloth with matching napkins, and the best china was on full display. Keeping up appearances was important to Jean. Until he’d gone to college, Mark had never seen a milk carton on the table, always a Wedgwood china jug.
“This looks wonderful . . . as usual,” said Tony, loosening his tie and taking the seat next to his father’s usual place at the head of the table.
“Oh, it’s nothing special,” said Jean. It was so rare to have both her boys at home that she had wanted to make it a memorable evening. “It may look grand, but it’s rather thrown together actually.”
She began to serve the spaghetti and pour over the sauce. “So, darling, have you got over the shock of being back in the UK yet?”
“Ask me again in the winter,” said Tony, taking a swig of his wine, “but it’s nice to get a decent pint again.”
“It sounds like the traffic’s driving you mad, though,” said his father. Like most middle-aged men, Derek could talk for hours on the intricacies of any car journey.
Tony had moved back to London the previous month. His company, Jam, had wanted him to head up its New York division, but he was adamant that he should return home. Rather than lose him to a rival, they had created a powerful new role for him in London.
He’d been anxious to return for some time, but since the non-wedding in France he’d found himself unable to settle back into his work routine in New York, let alone any semblance of social life. He had kidded himself that he was worried about Mark and how he was coping in the aftermath, but in fact he was tired of the ruthless commercialism of corporate America and needed an excuse to give it up.
To Tony, just throwing up his hands and admitting he didn’t want to do it anymore would have seemed weakness. He’d learned many lessons in the past few months, but he was still working on being able to show vulnerability.
The relocation negotiations had taken a few months and then he’d had to wait for his New York replacement to bed in. By June, he had been on his way to his new flat in Mayfair, one of London’s most exclusive areas. A penthouse, it occupied the entire top floor of a newly constructed building with floor-to-ceiling windows, underfloor heating, and an integral stereo system in every room.
Tony had little or no interest in interior design, so he’d employed a specialist to furnish the flat from scratch in time for his arrival. She’d done a good job, equipping the place with state-of-the-art lighting, modern paintings, and lots of stone-colored suede furniture with dark gray throws and rugs. It was masculine but warm.
He hadn’t established much of a social life yet, but felt good to be back—not least because he could spend some time with his family. When he was younger, he couldn’t wait to get away from home and stretch his legs in the world, but now he had mellowed a little and enjoyed being with them.
On his return, one of the first projects he’d set in motion was a business idea he’d been mulling over for some time: to invest in a restaurant with Mark. In other words, Tony would put up the capital, and Mark would do all the hard work. He had probably made the offer partly through guilt, but he rapidly dismissed the thought, telling himself it was merely a shrewd business decision.
Looking across the table at Mark now, he’d never seen hi
m look so content. The business was up and running, and it clearly suited him to be his own boss. So did being back with Kate.
Mark caught his eye. “I know what you’re thinking.” He smiled.
“You do?”
“Yes, you’re thinking, How are Mark’s profit margins?”
“Er, something like that.” Tony blew out cigarette smoke. He had resumed the habit full-time since returning from health-obsessed New York.
“Well, the good news is that they’re great.” Mark stood up and adjusted the position of his chair.
“And the bad news?”
Mark looked puzzled by his brother’s pessimism. “There isn’t any. The place is pretty much packed out every night, and I’ve now installed another chef so I can take the occasional night off—and the well-deserved holiday I’ve just had.”
“Good.” Tony nodded. “But don’t take your eye off the ball too much. Staff will always take the piss when the boss is away.” Even now, he couldn’t resist preaching to his brother.
“They’re very loyal, and they won’t take the piss,” said Mark, firmly.
“Mark!” admonished Jean. “Don’t swear!” She was too intimidated by Tony to chastise him, but she’d never had any such inhibitions with her younger son.
Mark ignored her and gave Kate a small smile. “Now we’ve got the business bit out of the way, I think it’s time, don’t you?”
Kate’s eyes were shining.
“Listen up, everyone.” Mark knocked on the table. “We’ve got some news.” He leant over and clasped Kate’s hand.
Jean glanced at Derek. “Oooh, what is it?”
“Well . . .” Mark paused for a few beats “. . . we’ve decided to get married!”
For a couple of seconds, the only sound was the grandfather clock ticking in the corner, then chaos erupted.
“Darlings! I knew it!” Jean leapt up and enveloped Mark in a hug. “I said to your father I had a good feeling about tonight, didn’t I, dear?”
“You did indeed.” Derek kissed Kate. “Congratulations! That’s fantastic news.” He paused. “And what’s even better is that it spares me having to listen to Jean going on about it all the time.”
