‘I’m so sorry, Magda. I promise I’ll talk to him and he won’t do it again. Please don’t leave.’ Magda had been with us for years. She was a life-saver – I’d die if she left.
‘I have husband in Poland. I no kissy-kissy other man. You daddy old and ugly. I tell him. He say, “I pay you for the sex.” I not prostitute. I good Catholic girl.’
Jesus, when had my father turned into a sexual predator?
‘OK, Magda, the next time he tries to kiss you, just hit him over the head with the brush. You have my full permission to use violence.’
There was silence.
‘Magda?’
‘I am already using little bit of violence today.’
‘Is he all right?’ I asked, suddenly worried. Magda was built like a shot-putter. My father was five foot seven and wiry. My money was on Magda in a fight.
‘Ya, he OK. He not jumping any more.’
‘Put him on to me.’
‘Hnnnlo?’
‘Charlie? What the hell are you doing, sexually assaulting my cleaning lady?’
‘Stupid cow doke my nobe.’
‘What?’
‘Stupid cow doke my nobe!’
I heard a scuffle and then Magda’s voice came back on the phone: ‘I think you come now. I give you daddy slap on nose. He not happy.’
‘I’m on my way,’ I said, sighing as I turned the car around.
4
I stormed into the house to find Charlie lying on the couch with a bloody towel held to his nose. Magda was sitting beside him, drinking a small glass of brandy. They were laughing.
‘What the hell is going on?’ I asked.
‘Magda and I had a small misunderstanding,’ said Charlie, sitting up to reveal his squashed nose.
‘I can see that,’ I snapped.
‘You daddy give me this for shock,’ said Magda, gulping the brandy.
‘I see,’ I said, trying to remain calm. ‘Charlie, can I have a word in private, please?’
‘Oh dear, Magda, I’m in trouble,’ he said, winking at her as she giggled. What had happened to the furious phone call about sexual abuse?
I dragged Charlie into the kitchen, leaving Magda to finish her drink. ‘What are you doing?’ I hissed at him.
‘I’m having a conversation with Magda. Did you know she comes from a small town two hundred miles north of Warsaw?’
‘Yes, I did. Charlie, I don’t want her ringing me in a state and breaking your nose.’
‘I don’t think it’s actually broken. Magda just got the wrong end of the stick. I asked her for sex, offered to pay for her trouble, and she thought I was accusing her of being a prostitute. When I explained that I hadn’t had sex in six years and was just desperate to get some action, she took pity on me.’
‘She had sex with you?’ I gasped.
‘Sadly, no. But she said she has a friend who might oblige.’
‘Charlie, you’re sixty-eight years old. You can’t go around propositioning women. You could get arrested.’
‘I may be in my sixties, but there’s life in the old dog yet,’ he said.
‘Look, I’m asking you as a favour to me – your daughter – to stay away from Magda and don’t give her any more drink.’ I looked at my watch. ‘I have to go now. I’m late for work. Just behave yourself and don’t grope Magda – or anyone else who happens to ring the doorbell for that matter.’
I went back to Magda, who was nestled into the couch with her feet up on the coffee-table, polishing off her brandy. ‘I’m off now, Magda. My father won’t bother you any more.’
‘It OK now, Ava. I understand. Poor Daddy marry bad lady who always drunk. He don’t have sex for long, long time. He is sad man. I help him.’
‘No, Magda, honestly, he doesn’t need to be encouraged. Thanks all the same, but please don’t help him. Just … ignore him.’
‘You daddy just lonely. I lonely, too. I not wanting the sex with you daddy, but I have friend who maybe have the sex. I ask.’
‘Please don’t ask your friend. My daddy needs to calm down. Look, I have to go. I’ll talk to you next week,’ I said, running out the door. ‘Oh, and, Magda, no more violence. If he starts acting up again, just lock him in his room or something.’
I finally got into work. Sally was on the phone, her long brown legs on the desk, berating one of our suppliers. She waved at me as I came in.
‘What do you mean you don’t have thirty-four Spiderman chair covers? I need them for Saturday at two o’clock so you’d better bloody find them. Don’t even think of calling me back. If you have to paint them yourself, just do it.’
‘Welcome back!’ I said, leaning over to hug her. ‘You look amazing. You’re as brown as a berry. God, I’ve missed you – I’m no good at doing the books and dealing with grumpy suppliers. Besides which, Charlie’s lost the plot completely.’
‘Tell me all!’
‘He just sexually assaulted Magda.’
‘Jesus Christ! My money’s on Magda. I bet he didn’t get very far.’
‘He got a bloody nose for himself.’
Sally threw her head back and whooped. ‘Good old Magda.’
‘What am I going to do with him? I found Viagra in his bedroom.’
‘Come on, Ava, he’s had a miserable twenty years. He needs to let loose for a while.’
‘I’m all for him enjoying life, but he has to calm down a bit. I don’t want him rushing into another relationship, like he did with Catherine.’
‘He’s nearly seventy, I doubt he’s looking to fall in love. He just needs to get laid. How does Paul feel about Charlie living with you?’
I sank back into my chair. If I was to be honest, I didn’t know. Paul and I never seemed to chat any more. It was always just swapping information about the girls or work or who was picking up the dry-cleaning/dinner/weed-killer/light bulbs … We needed some time to ourselves, but there never was any.
‘He seems OK about it. Since they added the fancy beer garden in May, the pub’s been getting busier and busier, which is great, but it means he’s always at work. He’s very tolerant of Charlie – they’ve always got on well – and it’s only for a couple of months.’
‘And the girls?’
‘They adore him, of course, but I’m not sure he’s a very good influence on them. He’s constantly complaining about not having any sex.’
Sally sighed knowingly. ‘Well, that’s what happens when you don’t get any action. It starts to consume you.’
‘What about Spain? Did you meet some hunky Spaniard to share your sangria with?’
‘No, no hunky men for me, I’m afraid. I did meet a lot of short, sunburnt Irish and Englishmen, most of whom were married and those few who weren’t were far more interested in their golf game than dating a woman. I’m telling you, Ava, if I don’t meet someone soon, I may end up in bed with your dad.’
‘Oh, God, don’t even joke about it.’ I giggled.
‘Needs must!’
‘So, no action?’
‘If they’re not freaks, they’re married. I’m telling you, it’s slim pickings out there for a forty-three-year-old woman. I should have got married young like you. I’ve missed the bloody boat, train and bus. My smugly married sisters helpfully remind me on a regular basis that it’s my own fault because apparently I was too picky and fussy when I was younger and now all the good guys are gone.’
‘They don’t really say that, do they?’ I asked, pouring us both a cup of coffee.
‘Thanks.’ Sally helped herself to some milk. ‘I swear, Ava, they’re so smug with their husbands and their two-point-four children and their ridiculous four-by-four jeeps that they insist on driving to ferry their kids down the road to school and back. All I ever hear about are little Johnny’s ear infections, or the hilarious thing he said to his teacher, or the fact that Philip’s mother looks like she’s had Botox. Jesus, they’re so insular and boring.’
‘Maybe it’s because they don’t work. When the girls were s
mall I didn’t work and I was terrified of becoming boring. The kids do become your sole focus and it’s scary. You talk about your children all the time because they’re both your job and your personal life. That’s what drove me back to work!’
‘I don’t go out and bore people about my job or my personal life.’
‘I know, but I think sometimes it’s insecurity that does it – a lot of full-time mothers feel undervalued and unappreciated.’ I took a bite of my chocolate biscuit.
‘Bullshit. It’s smugness. They don’t like successful single women. They think we all want to shag their husbands.’
‘Because they’re insecure!’
Sally threw her hands up in the air, knocking some files off the table. ‘About what? I’d love to be married to a millionaire and swan around all day having facials and playing tennis.’
‘No, you wouldn’t, you’d be bored silly, and you don’t like children.’
‘Whoever said anything about children? I just want the man and the money.’ She chuckled.
‘Ninety-nine per cent of women are not married to millionaires, Sally. And stay-at-home mothers do not have an easy time of it. They spend all day cooking, cleaning, washing and dealing with tantrums and melt-downs. No one ever tells them they’re doing a good job. There are no promotions, no wage hikes, no union rules. I have to be honest, as jobs go I found it thankless drudgery.’
‘Fine, but why bore everyone to death about it when they go out?’
‘Because they’re trying to justify their existence.’
‘What about single women’s existence? How do we justify ours? Apart from work, we have a pretty thankless life, too – no one to share good or bad news with, no one to snuggle up with on rainy Monday nights when we’re feeling miserable, no one to rely on financially. If we lose our jobs or get sick, we’re screwed. And as for holidays, they’re a minefield. You either go on your own or with a single friend who may be fine to go out with on a Saturday night, but not to spend two weeks sharing a hotel room with. Or your third choice, which is to latch on to one of your siblings’ family holidays where you have to be “fun” Aunt Sally and end up looking after the kids while the parents just “pop out” and come back four hours later reeking of wine.’
I sighed. There was no easy answer. ‘You’re right, that is awful. I just don’t think anyone has it easy. Please feel free to call over to me any Monday night. You can snuggle on the couch with me and Charlie. Paul’s always out, so we’d welcome the company.’ I fiddled with a paperclip.
‘So Paul hasn’t cut back on his hours, then?’ Sally asked.
‘If anything, he’s working more. But I’ve got Charlie so life is never dull.’
‘And how are the gorgeous girls?’
‘Are you sure you want to know about my kids?’
‘Come on, you know I love them. Toddlers I don’t do, but teenagers I can at least relate to. Let’s face it, I’m a teenager in an old woman’s body.’
‘Remind me again why you co-own a children’s-party-planning business?’ I laughed.
‘Because my wonderful partner deals with the children and their neurotic mothers while I deal with the money and the fathers.’
‘How come I get lumped with the kids and their psychotic mothers?’
‘Because you can handle them. I’d just be rude and that wouldn’t be good for business. So, how are the girls?’
‘Ali’s in amazing form – she’s totally in love. It’s still going strong with David.’
‘Good for Ali. Oh, to be seventeen again!’ Sally stood up to pour herself more coffee – she always drank at least four cups in the morning while I could only ever manage one.
‘I know. I’m a bit worried, though. It’s only been eight weeks and she’s completely besotted with him. You know Ali, she wears her heart on her sleeve. I just hope she doesn’t get hurt.’
‘It’ll do her the world of good to focus on men rather than school books for a while. She should be having more fun.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. When I think of myself at seventeen, sneaking out the bedroom window and cycling off to parties, I can’t believe I have a daughter who is so well behaved. Mind you, Sarah’s the other extreme.’
‘She’s not really that bad. She just likes to push the boundaries.’
‘And my buttons. She really knows how to wind me up.’
‘That might have something to do with the fact that you’re very alike.’
‘Me and Sarah?’
‘Come on, Ava, you’ve mellowed a bit over the years, but you were a live-wire in your day.’
‘I never spoke to my mother the way she speaks to me.’
‘That’s because you were too busy sneaking around behind her back. At least Sarah talks to you and tells you what she wants.’
‘I suppose that’s something. All the parenting experts say that communication with your kids is vital and she’s certainly good at communicating. Sometimes, though, I wish she’d put a sock in it.’
‘She’ll be fine, she’s just lively.’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘So, what’s been happening since I’ve been away?’
‘The Brown-Kennedy party went well, but they haven’t paid the bill, so I need you to call the dad and sweet-talk the money from him.’ I handed her a Post-it with his number on it.
‘No problem, leave it to me. He’ll have a cheque in the post today.’
‘Great.’ I opened one of the files on my desk. ‘Now, we’ve got the Mallow twins’ seventh-birthday party in two weeks. They want a crocodile cake that spurts blood when you cut it. Helen reckons she can work something out with raspberry coulis for the blood. They want a small marquee decked out in jungle style. The mother wants safari outfits for the twins and their dad. She also wants an outfit for herself, but not shorts and a jacket. She wants us to source a sexy safari dress.’
‘Which is what, exactly?’
‘She’s thinking tight leopard-print minidress with a sun-visor to match.’
Sally stared at me open-mouthed. ‘But she’s fifty … and fat.’
‘Harsh.’ Mrs Mallow was actually forty-seven, and while she wasn’t fat, she definitely didn’t have the figure required for tight minidresses.
‘She looks like a transvestite,’ Sally said. ‘Look, I’m no one to slag off someone for getting work done, but she needs to stop the Botox – her eyebrows are disappearing into her hairline. If I ever get like that, tell me.’
‘OK, I will, and you must tell me when I look like a hag and need to have something done. Now, I’ve actually sourced the dress already on the Internet. There are – would you believe? – ninety-five thousand nine hundred Google results for sexy safari dresses. The one I’ve gone with is very revealing so I think she’ll like it. I’ve worked out the costs for the party, but Helen reckons the price of making the cake and the hundred chocolate snakes, lizards, scorpions and terrapins could be higher. She’ll give us a final price tomorrow.’
Sally looked at the numbers. ‘Thank God for parents with too much money and no sense! Now, show me this dress.’
I pulled it out of the bag and Sally screeched, ‘You cannot be serious – it’s obscene!’
I grinned. ‘Sally, may I remind you that the client gets whatever the client wants and this little number is what Nancy Mallow is looking for.’
‘All that money and no taste, it’s a travesty.’
I glanced at my watch. ‘I’ve got to run. I’m going to drop into Nancy later on my way to collect the girls from school.’
‘OK, see you tomorrow. I hope she likes her stripper dress.’
5
Unfortunately, Nancy Mallow didn’t like the dress I’d found because it wasn’t short enough, apparently.
‘Come on, Ava, I’m in my forties, not sixties. My legs are still in good shape so let’s show them off.’
I tried not to look as shocked as I felt. ‘OK, Nancy. I’ll try to get something shorter for you.’
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br /> ‘Good. Now, about the food for the adults. I think sushi and some nice canapés will do. We’ll be spending the afternoon in the house and popping down to see how the boys are getting on every now and then. I don’t want them in my house, so please make sure they’re contained in the marquee and the garden. I’ve just had new carpets put down and I don’t want twenty-five mucky boys running about.’
‘In that case, maybe having it outside the home would be easier?’ I suggested. ‘We could hire somewhere for you.’ Clearly this woman didn’t want any children within a mile radius of her house. I was surprised her own kids were allowed to live in it.
‘I wish I could, Ava, but Dan said, “What’s the bloody point in having a big house if you can’t have a party in it?” ’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Men just don’t seem to mind mess and dirt. Now, regarding toilets, they can use the one at the back of the garage.’
I was surprised she wasn’t going to make them pee in the bushes – it would have been in keeping with the jungle theme.
‘I hope you have lots of activities planned for them. I want them kept busy so we adults can have a few drinks in peace.’
Why do people like this have children? I wondered. As if on cue, the twins came charging into the kitchen and proceeded to have a wrestling match.
‘Stop it, you two, you’re going to break something,’ Nancy snapped.
They stuck their tongues out at her and continued to beat each other up until one of them fell against the dresser, knocking over a large bowl that smashed on the floor.
‘GET OUT!’ screamed Nancy, and the boys fled. I bent down to help her clear up the mess. ‘That was a wedding present from my godmother.’ She shook her head. ‘Do you have children, Ava?’
‘Two girls, but they’re teenagers now.’
‘God, I wish I’d had girls. Boys are a nightmare – I just can’t understand them. I had three sisters and we never behaved like that. All they do is fight and break things. I have no control over them at all. They never listen to me and their father is away all week. When he gets back he just wants to be a “fun” dad so he wrestles with them. Honestly, I feel as if I have three sons, not two.’
Pieces of My Heart Page 3
