by Emma Morgan
‘You’re looking peaky. I know a great spa. It’s pricey but they’ll give you a discount if you say you’re my sister. Augusta! Augusta! Damn that child. She’s still in the car. Can you go and get her out, Grace? She’s sulking.’
She grabbed Tess before she could protest and hurled herself through the door in her high-heeled boots. The twins trailed them. Bella rushed about as though busy was an ideal to live up to. To think she used to be so laid back, so can’t be arsed. Grace went and opened the passenger door. Augusta was still strapped in. Grace kissed her. On one cheek only. She needed normal influences. Augusta scratched at the tight plaits on her head (Grace expected the nanny did them). She had her grandmother’s sly grey eyes and it always disconcerted Grace to see them in the face of a child. Augusta started to pick at the back of the seat in front of her.
‘I’ve got cellulite,’ she said sadly.
‘You are eight years old.’
‘On my leg. Look.’
She pulled up her trousers to above the knee.
‘That’s not cellulite, that’s your thigh. It’s a normal eight-year-old thigh.’
‘I’m fat, like Daddy.’
‘You are not fat.’
‘I’m nearly the most popular girl in my class. Heidi Fairshield is first most popular because she has an indoor and an outdoor swimming pool. We only have an outdoor one. It is heated, though. Have you got a swimming pool?’
‘No,’ said Grace.
Augusta looked at her with great pity. Bella was a vet in York and so was her husband Ray, and they must have been loaded but it didn’t seem to have done this poor child any good.
‘Why haven’t you got any children?’ said Augusta. ‘Did you forget?’
‘No, I didn’t forget.’
‘Perhaps it’s because you don’t like boys very much. You need a boy to have one, Mummy told me. I don’t know why you need one but you do. I don’t like boys either.’
‘I don’t dislike boys.’
‘But you haven’t got a boyfriend, have you?’
‘This is very true.’
‘Why haven’t you got a boyfriend?’
‘Perhaps you should ask Mummy.’
Augusta reached her hand out and put it on Grace’s cheek and patted it softly in the manner of a friendly grandmother.
‘Never mind. I drew you a picture,’ she said. She handed Grace a piece of paper. ‘It’s you.’
A wiry scarecrow with articulated limbs like a puppet and tangled hair stood in the centre of a field surrounded by a flock of crows. Another crow was sitting on the figure’s head. Grace smiled.
‘I like it,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘I didn’t get the hair right,’ said Augusta, ‘but I ran out of brown felt pen and then I scribbled on it too much to change it.’
‘I see. Let’s go inside, shall we?’
‘Is there Diet Coke?’
‘I doubt it very much.’
Augusta got out of the car and Grace closed the door. Augusta put her hand in hers. She loved Augusta far more than Rowan and Linden and frequently felt guilty about this. She would never tell Tess and certainly not Bella, who was likely to boast about it as if she had won a best child competition. They climbed the steps. This was the nearest she would ever have to a child of her own. The thought made her sad. At least there were children in her life, that must count for something. Many people didn’t even have that. But what if she had been straight – would she have been a mother by now? Would she have expected to have a child because that was the natural order of things? Would she have imaginary baby names like some of her friends had? Would she be considering calling a child Tiberius or Fluella? These were thoughts she had had more than once. The other day she had found an old book from her childhood with the alphabet spelt out with animals. The twins and Augusta were too old for it now. It would have been nice to have someone to read it to. And all for want of a boy.
‘Am I too fat to have a piggyback?’ asked Augusta.
‘You are not fat!’
Grace crouched down and Augusta climbed on top of her back. Grace stood up. Augusta was, it had to be said, a solid child.
‘It’s a secret.’
‘What is?’
‘That you’re my favourite aunty.’
Grace felt very, very pleased. Augusta interlocked her hands around Grace’s neck and Grace slipped her hands under her knees.
‘Tally ho!’ said Grace.
This is Annie and Laurence on their mini-break
‘Annie,’ said Laurence, ‘I’ve got that money I owe you. Sorry about the delay.’
He handed her a cheque. It had only been two weeks since she had lent it to him and she was surprised to get it back so quickly.
‘I didn’t know people still had cheque books,’ said Annie.
She felt a surge of satisfaction. It wasn’t the money that mattered, it was the principle of it. He was a man to be trusted. She had been right all along and now she had the proof in paper form. Perhaps she should frame it. She kissed him hard on the mouth.
‘Don’t worry, it’s not going to bounce. And I was thinking, perhaps we should go away for the weekend. Would you like to?’
‘Yes,’ said Annie decisively, still relieved by the cheque and not considering the full implications of this, ‘I’d love to. But only if we can go Dutch.’ How modern I am, she thought, and how much that would annoy my mother.
‘Are you sure? I don’t want you to think that I am taking advantage of your generosity.’
‘Where are we going?’
It was Annie’s first ever romantic mini-break. Michael Wrigley had once taken her to a Harry Ramsden’s in Wallasey but that hardly counted. He had wanted to take her away to Blackpool for what he termed a ‘dirty weekend’, but the words ‘dirty weekend’ offended her and she had rejected the offer. Her world was different now. Sophisticated. Exotic.
‘Paris? Rome?’ he asked.
Annie imagined herself in a Parisian café sipping Sauvignon Blanc or perhaps champagne, wearing Dior. She imagined herself sitting in a Roman piazza sipping Chianti wearing Armani. She didn’t want to tell him about her fear of flying and how, on her only ever flight to Amsterdam with Violet, she had been sick.
‘Or we could rest chez nous. The Dales? The Lakes? I know, how about Edinburgh? We could drive. The borders will be beautiful this time of year.’
‘Yes,’ said Annie, ‘yes please.’
She wanted to ring her mother to tell her but after the lunch success knew that this was a very bad idea. Every time her mother rang she asked after ‘that Laurence’. She knew exactly what her mother would say. ‘He’s a nice young man but he hasn’t asked you to marry him yet so just you make sure he keeps his hands to himself.’ She knew, without anything being said, that Violet wasn’t keen on Laurence, and her reaction to the mini-break idea was disappointingly muted. Annie decided, for once, not to get into a discussion about this, it would only ruin the experience. She was very excited, and she didn’t do very excited as a rule. She splashed out on a new extremely tight dress in which her cleavage protruded as if she was a figurehead on a ship. She looked all va-va-voom. If this time he did ask her to marry him, she would be prepared for it sartorially at least. This dress would not need to be Photoshopped. She had also now completed her mental Excel spreadsheet with, at the very top – to be trusted. If he asked her she would at least now be able to consider it with logic on her side.
Edinburgh, as it turned out, was more beautiful than she had expected, all hills and secret alleys, and Annie might have loved it but it was also grey and cold and very wet. Oh well, you can’t have everything, thought Annie, who was trying not to be annoyed about having to wear her coat over her new dress and getting her shoes splashed. I should have worn my Burberry and my boots. I forgot we are still in the north. There was no sitting outside to be had unless you wanted to drown. Her dream of a sunny square had perhaps been unrealistic. All right, stupid. She was peeved, which wasn�
��t a good start.
‘I was going to make a reservation,’ said Laurence as they left the hotel, which at least was a decent hotel with a superior brand of shortbread next to the kettle, to go to what he called ‘supper’ and she called ‘tea’, ‘but I thought this would be more fun.’
They turned up a side street, hardly able to see in front of their faces because of the drizzle. They had had to borrow an umbrella from reception and it had giant scottie dogs on it, much to Annie’s annoyance. Her mood was not improving.
‘Here we are,’ said Laurence.
It was a fish and chip shop.
‘Wonderful place,’ said Laurence, ‘you’ll love it.’
The table was Formica and the seats were plastic and bolted to the floor. There was one of those tomato-shaped ketchup bottles in front of her and white pepper and salt in shakers the shape of men in kilts. It was a disaster. She’d never get the smell out of her hair or her clothes. The food would be awash in grease. The waitress brought them cod and chips. On a plate, so Annie supposed that was something. And then, to her surprise, the waitress plonked down a bottle of champagne on the table with two glasses. Laurence grinned.
‘Only in Edinburgh,’ he said and poured her a glass. I am being a stuck-up cow, thought Annie, and took the glass he offered her.
‘To us,’ he toasted.
The fish and chips were delicious, Annie hadn’t eaten them in years. She began to feel better. There were people in proper evening dress coming up to the counter. It’s all a bit of fun, she thought, he just wanted to surprise me.
‘My mum does a good chip,’ she said, tucking in.
‘I bet she does,’ said Laurence. ‘They also do the famous deep-fried Mars bar in here.’
‘They do what?’
‘Deep-fried Mars bars. Bloody fantastic.’
I do like this man, Annie thought.
‘I love you, Annie,’ he said, and reached across and took her greasy hand in his greasy hand. Annie had never known what to say to that. She knew what was requisite obviously, but since that was out of the question, how did you respond? The best she could think of was, ‘Right you are then, I’ll just get back to my chips,’ and he didn’t seem offended but smiled and started to eat his too.
This is how Violet met the woman (II)
It wasn’t too cold in the park and the sky was blue. Violet and Annie were eating barley sugars from a paper bag. Annie called them shirley buggers. Annie looked extremely happy as she sucked on a sweet and swung her bag. All she had said about her weekend to Violet was that Edinburgh was beautiful, and frankly Violet wasn’t interested in hearing about Laurence anyway.
In a nearby flowerbed there was a gardener digging, her T-shirt stuck to her back, her hair to her forehead with sweat.
‘Hi,’ said Violet, blushing.
The woman unbent herself, dropped her spade on the ground and came over to Violet and kissed her on the cheek.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m all sweaty.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Violet, ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Just as well,’ said the woman with a huge grin, ‘I’m like this a lot,’ and she wiped her face with the sleeve of her T-shirt.
‘This is Annie, she’s my flatmate, you know, the person who I said was my girlfriend only she isn’t that kind of girlfriend,’ said Violet.
‘I’m Sam. Pleased to meet you, I won’t shake hands.’
‘No,’ said Annie.
‘This is where you work then,’ said Violet, thinking that Sam was a nice name.
‘Yeah,’ said Sam.
Then they stood there staring at each other and grinning. Annie stood there too, one hand on her hip, the other one swinging her handbag, watching them.
‘Do you want to do something later?’ asked Sam.
‘Yes, I mean, yes,’ said Violet.
‘What would you like to do?’
‘I don’t really mind. You can choose.’
‘I’ll have a think. I think better when I’m digging. I’ll give you a ring later. What’s your number? You forgot to give it to me. Have you got a pen?’
‘No,’ said Violet, ‘but Annie will. Annie is really organized.’
Annie reached into her bag and got out a fountain pen and a leather-backed notebook.
‘Annie always has a pen,’ said Violet, ‘and paper. Not any old biro either.’
‘I’m impressed,’ said Sam.
Violet went to give Sam the piece of paper but Sam said, ‘Put it in my pocket,’ and Violet did. Violet went back to where Annie was. Annie swung her bag and looked at the trees.
‘I’d better go probably,’ said Violet.
‘See you later,’ said Sam. ‘Enjoy your walk.’
‘Thanks,’ said Violet.
‘Nice to meet you, Annie.’
‘That was Sam,’ said Violet.
‘Yes, I got that,’ said Annie, striding across the park, which meant that Violet could hardly keep up.
‘So?’ asked Violet.
‘So?’
‘What did you think? And could you slow down a bit? Why are you marching so fast anyway?’
‘Tall. Blond. Female. Dirty. Has the hots for you.’
‘Really?’
‘Which piece of information are you saying “really” in relation to?’
‘Annie.’
‘At least it’s reciprocated,’ said Annie, who had speeded up if anything. Violet had always envied Annie her purpose on outings, her straight and directional lines in contrast to her own easily distractible meanderings, but it did make her feel like a snotty child trailing after a parent on an urgent errand to somewhere important.
‘Is it? I mean, do I?’ she asked.
‘Why are you asking me? Don’t you know? You nearly kissed her back there.’
‘Did I? What did you think of her then?’
‘I told you.’
Violet was running now, only to collide with the aggressive swing of Annie’s handbag. It was shiny like a chestnut. Did she polish it? With shoe polish? The kind that came in a squeezy bottle or the retro kind that came in a tin and you had to apply with a duster?
‘Ow!’ Violet was winded and stopped. ‘I mean, did you like her?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’ asked Violet, who tried to keep the look of hurt off her face and failed.
‘She’s only after one thing,’ said Annie, who kept going.
‘You sound like your mother!’
‘But I’m right.’
Annie was getting further and further away.
‘How can you possibly know that? You met her for two minutes.’
Violet was incredulous, not for the first time, about Annie’s ability to make up her mind.
‘Trust me, I know. Call it the voice of bitter experience.’
Annie stopped and turned around. She wasn’t even out of breath. Violet found that she had sagged, that her back was arched like an old woman’s. She tried to stand up straight and had a sudden flashback to her two whole lessons of ballet aged four. She’d hated ballet. Annie snapped her fingers at her and Violet came to.
‘I’m sorry, Violet, I know you want a different answer from me but I can’t give you one. You like her. I don’t. I don’t need to like her because I don’t want to go out with her. You do. That’s fine. We have a difference of opinion. End of story.’
‘You never like anyone I go out with,’ Violet said.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Do you want to know the truth?’ asked Annie with a sigh so tired it made an immediate nap seem like a good idea.
‘Do you ever tell me anything else?’ Violet asked.
‘No.’
‘What’s your answer then?’
‘Because I think they’re all twats.’
There wasn’t a lot you could say to that, Violet found, although she searched for adequate words. Meanwhile Annie strode off. Violet wasn’t going to run after her, she wasn’t goi
ng to go back to Sam. She was at an impasse. She sat down on a bench to wait for help that was completely unlikely to come. A number of dogs came up to sniff her before deciding she wasn’t even interesting enough to use as a pissing post. In the end, she got up and went to the car park but of course Annie’s car wasn’t there. God, she must be in an even fouler mood than I knew, thought Violet. She began the walk home and started to sing a song her mother had used to sing to her about maresy doats and dozy doats. A date, she remembered, an actual date. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper one. Let alone one with a woman. She was surprised to find that she didn’t feel scared but instead had a buzz of excitement. Curiouser and curiouser. She sang all the way home.
This is Grace and her family at Ravel Corner
‘How wonderful to have you all here,’ said Beatrice as she presided over the dinner table.
Eustacia had cooked the supper, having brought the ingredients with her, for fear of the sell-by dates in the pantry and the resulting salmonella. She had also got her sisters to help her to disinfect the kitchen. There was far too much feral cat hair on the surfaces for her liking.
‘Too many women at this table,’ said Bella, ‘and yes, Augusta, you are eating that and no, it’s not fattening. Jesus. Will one of you please tell my daughter that she needs to eat because she certainly doesn’t want to listen to my advice on the subject.’
She bit on her knuckle and leant back in her chair. You’d think it would be good to see the chinks in a person’s armour when they are that together, but mostly it was sad, Grace was surprised to feel.
‘Augusta,’ said Eustacia, ‘eat your food please,’ and miraculously Augusta did.
‘I have to disagree with you, Bella,’ said Linden, eyeing his carrots with distaste. ‘I’m male, Rowan is male, Cyril is male, Kite is male.’
‘Kite is a dog,’ said Rowan, who had pushed his carrots to the rim of his plate.
‘That’s Aunt Arabella to you,’ said Bella.
