“Thank you,” said Rich.
“Stand tall. Wear well-cut suits. And say nothing. You’ll rule the world. Look at me. I retired on a two-thirds final salary pension scheme as vice president of public affairs to the second-largest medical equipment importer in the country.”
“I’d better get on and help Mum.”
“You do that, my boy. And if those sausages are ready I’d be happy to test drive a couple or three.”
Rich crossed the hall to the kitchen, where Sue Prior, immense and imperturbable, was grilling sausages and baking potatoes.
“Not time yet, is it?” she said.
“No. Not yet.” He sneaked a sausage.
“You leave those alone.”
His father’s sister, Mary Harness, found him there.
“Rich,” she whispered, beckoning him into the passage. “I have a very special present for Mum, but I don’t think she’ll be able to work it on her own. It’s a Bose sound system. Between you and me it cost £650, so I want to make sure she understands what to do with it. When is she going to be opening her presents?”
“After lunch, I think,” said Rich.
“Peter and I simply have to be off by four. The truth is I shouldn’t be here at all. I’m missing the first day of the company retreat, which raised quite a few eyebrows, believe me. And Peter’s never got a spare minute as usual.”
John Staples, a cousin of sorts, a man of indeterminate age, was loitering by the back door.
“I say, Richard,” he murmured, his eyes drifting from side to side without ever quite settling. “What’s your parents’ line on smoking in the house?”
“They don’t really like it, I’m afraid.”
“Very understandable. I’ll pop outside. Pain relief, you know. I get these spasms of pain.”
Peter Harness, Mary’s husband, was sitting before the unlit fire in the front room grimly reading the newspaper. In the schoolroom Rich’s mother was playing the piano and rehearsing the Tiny Footsteps in their song for one last time, watched by a smattering of parents. Kitty was at work painting a birthday card on the schoolroom table. Geoffrey and Carol Mudford, friends and contemporaries of Gran, sat side by side on the bench in the hall so as not to be in anyone’s way. Gran herself had not yet come down.
The doorbell rang. Geoffrey Mudford opened the door. It was Maddy Fisher.
“I’ve come to help,” she said.
Kitty saw her through the schoolroom door and stared with unabashed curiosity.
“Rich!” she yelled, not leaving her paints.
Rich appeared.
“Thank God you made it,” he said. “It’s murder here.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“The party’s not supposed to start for at least another half an hour. You know what would be really helpful? Talk to the ghastly old relatives. Keep them off Mum’s back.”
“Okay. I’ll do my best.”
Rich’s father, Harry, came down the stairs from his first-floor study, accidentally treading on Carol Mudford’s foot as he passed.
“Me and my big feet,” said Carol Mudford with a tinkly laugh.
“Hello,” he said to Maddy. “I expect I should know you but I don’t.”
“Maddy Fisher. I’m a friend of Rich’s. I’ve come to help.”
“Oh, good. I’ve been told to make a speech. I’m not to mention Sparta.”
Geoffrey Mudford nodded at Maddy in a friendly way.
“Known Dorrie since I was your age,” he said. “She was such a pretty girl.”
Carol Mudford laughed her tinkling little laugh again.
“Geoff would’ve married her if she’d have had him,” she said. “But she told him no thanks, so he had to make do with me.”
The Tiny Footsteps came trooping by to be let out into the garden to run about. John Staples was stretched out on a garden chair smoking an odd-shaped cigarette.
“Pooh! Pooh!” cried the Tiny Footsteps. “There’s a funny smell out here.”
Rich’s mother smiled inattentively at Maddy.
“I’m Maddy. A friend of Rich’s?”
“Oh, yes. He said. It’s so good of you to help out. Harry, we’re going to have to move the piano. Maybe you and Peter could manage it between you.”
Mary Harness intercepted Rich’s mother.
“Joanna, about the presents. Will Mummy be opening them as she gets them or later?”
“I’ve really no idea.”
“It’s just that I’ve bought her something that will need some explaining, and we have to be on the road by four at the absolute latest.”
Rich’s mother moved on, distracted.
Mary Harness’s thwarted gaze fell on Maddy.
“You can’t imagine how much trouble I had persuading Peter to come today. At times like these you can’t afford to take your eye off the ball for one second.”
The back door opened and closed, letting in a sweet smoky smell. John Staples hovered before Maddy, one hand stroking his long graying hair.
“Don’t mind if I pop outside from time to time,” he said. “I get these spasms of pain. Have done for years.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Doctors can do nothing, of course.”
“Is it very bad?”
“Like having six-inch nails hammered into your skull. Just about here.” He indicated his temples.
Rich and his father passed by on their way to the schoolroom to move the piano. Rich threw Maddy a glance that said, Can you bear it? She smiled back.
Great-Uncle Freddy ambled into view.
“Hello, John,” he said. “Hello, young lady. Don’t tell me who you are, I’ll only forget. I’m Fred, Dorothy’s baby brother. I’m told there are sausages. Have you seen them?”
“No, not so far. Do you want me to go and look for you?”
“Maybe it’s too early. One has to go by the house rules, you know. Tell me, my dear. Would you say I was overdressed?”
“No. Not at all.”
“I thought I should fly the flag. But casual’s the word these days. Of course, you do have to have the figure for it.”
Maddy looked blank.
“For tailoring, I mean. I’ve been the same weight for fifty years. Nothing to boast about, just one of those things. But it does mean, whatever else I can’t do, I can wear a decent whistle and flute.”
Rich reappeared and squeezed his way between Uncle Fred and the Mudfords.
“Mad, come and help carry chairs. All the chairs in the schoolroom are tiny.”
Maddy helped carry chairs. The Mudfords found they were in the way and went into the schoolroom to stand unobtrusively in the place where Maddy needed to put down chairs. Then she and Rich pinned up a banner made of fuzzy felt that said: DOROTHY—80 YEARS YOUNG.
The schoolroom was bright with primary colors. The paint-spattered creations of the Tiny Footsteps pinned to the walls gave the room an air of childish chaos.
The Mudfords retreated to the corner where the larger stuffed animals were heaped.
Kitty finished her card.
“What on earth is it?” said Rich.
“It’s Gran’s six suitors,” said Kitty. “Look. It’s obvious. And that’s Gran, picking the winner.”
The figures were all simplified versions of fashion models, so both Gran and her six suitors were tall and slender. Gran was pointing to the winner with a long stick.
“I couldn’t make her arm long enough to reach,” said Kitty.
Now that her birthday card was done Kitty attached herself to Maddy.
“I’ll tell you who everyone is,” she said. “The one with the shiny face is my aunt Mary. We have to call her just Mary.”
Mary Harness took Maddy to be the hired help.
“You see the man reading the newspaper? That’s my husband Peter. Get him some sausages, will you? He gets so grumpy if he doesn’t eat at one o’clock sharp.”
“Right away,” said Maddy.
“So, Kitty,”
said Mary Harness. “You must be very proud of your grandmother.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I expect it gets to be a bit of a nuisance sometimes, having her live with you. But then, Harry and Joanna have got the house. There’s no way you could afford a house this size on Harry’s salary.”
“It’s okay,” said Kitty. “We love Gran.”
Gran herself now descended in her stair-lift, wearing a maroon wool dress and a pearl necklace. The local guests were starting to arrive. It was party time.
Rich’s mother unlocked the back door and let the Tiny Footsteps in from the garden. John Staples followed, feeling the walls. Rich’s father was found to have gone back to his first-floor study and had to be fetched. Sue Prior declared the baked potatoes cooked. Rich and Maddy and Kitty carried the sausages and potatoes through to the schoolroom.
Gran sat in the only armchair nodding and smiling as her presents piled up on one side. The Tiny Footsteps lined up in front of the piano. Geoffrey and Carol Mudford sat down in children’s armchairs so as not to get in the way. Great-Uncle Freddy gave Gran a birthday kiss.
“There, big sister. From your little brother.”
Mary Harness counted the presents and looked at her watch. “Shouldn’t we be starting, Joanna?”
“Have we got everyone? Where’s Peter?”
“Oh, he’s perfectly happy reading the paper. You know he hates parties.”
Sue Prior was summoned from the kitchen. John Staples sat down and put his arms round a large white teddy bear. The Mudfords discovered they were wedged in their undersize armchairs but said nothing, not wanting to make a fuss. Rich, Maddy, and Kitty stood by the door.
Mrs. Ross called out in a clear and sprightly voice, “Ready, children?”
She struck up the introduction on the piano and the Tiny Footsteps started to sing.
“I love you, a bushel and a peck
A bushel and a peck
A hug around the neck
A hug around the neck and a barrel and a heap
A barrel and a heap and I’m talking in my sleep
About you—about you—”
As they sang they mimed the words, pointing to themselves for “I,” to their hearts for “love” and to Gran for “you.” The shrill voices, the flurry of gestures, and the largely unintelligible words baffled the audience.
“A what and a what?” said Mary Harness.
The chorus consisted mainly of “Doodle-oodle-oodle” and did not make matters clearer. But Gran and the Mudfords adored it, their lips moving with the familiar lines.
Maddy watched the cluster of infants gesturing “I love you” so fiercely and felt a pang of nostalgia for her own childhood. When you were little it was so easy to say “I love you.” So easy to feel.
The song ended. The audience applauded. John Staples cried out, “Spiffing! Spiffing!” Great Uncle Fred offered to make a speech of thanks. “Just a few words, you know. Used to be rather one of my things, speeches.”
“Rich,” said Mrs. Ross, “I’ve got some little presents to give the children as they go.”
“Boys and girls!” proclaimed Great-Uncle Fred. “Your charming young voices do honor to my dear sister. I’m sure that if she could find the words, allowing for the sad nature of her illness, and let no one deny …”
The Tiny Footsteps, their homage paid, were filing out of the room, taking their presents from Rich as they went.
“Best if I pop out too,” said John Staples, standing up and fumbling in his pocket.
“Mummy darling,” said Mary Harness, “would you like your presents now?”
“First Harry has to make his speech,” said Mrs. Ross. “Then Gran has to cut her cake.”
“A speech and a cake!” Mary Harness looked at her watch.
Maddy took round more sausages. Rich refilled empty glasses. His father made a speech.
“Happy birthday, Mummy,” he began.
“Dear Tom,” said Gran.
“Eighty years today,” went on Harry Ross. “We’re all so proud of you. I’ve been told not to mention Sparta, but the Spartans do come into it in a way. They were the first mature society to educate girls as well as boys. As you know, Mummy read History at Girton just after the war.”
“Quite true,” said Great-Uncle Fred. “Dorothy was the brains in the family.”
“The brains are still there,” said Harry Ross, smiling at his mother. “You may not be able to find the words anymore. But I know Mary would agree with me on this. You’ve been our role model. We’ve followed where you led. You’re a very great lady, Mum. And we love you.”
After a short surprised silence everyone clapped.
“First class, Harry,” said Mary Furness. “Short and to the point.”
“Perhaps this is the moment,” began Great-Uncle Fred.
Sue Prior entered bearing the birthday cake, all aglow with eighty shimmering candles. The party cheered.
Gran blew out the candles and cut the cake. Peter Harness appeared and said to his wife in a voice of barely controlled savagery, “If you don’t come now I’m going without you.” Mary Harness hurriedly unwrapped her present herself and thrust it at Gran, saying, “It’s a sort of a radio, Mummy. It’s madly expensive so do take care of it. You‘d never believe how much it cost.’
The Mudfords, who had been trying furtively for some time now to get out of their chairs, suddenly toppled over sideways, one after the other, blocking the doorway. Mary Harness stepped over them, waving her farewells as she went. In the hall, John Staples was slumped in Gran’s stair-lift, fast asleep. Great-Uncle Fred found his way to the kitchen where Sue Prior was washing up and told her what he would have said in honor of his sister had the moment ever arisen.
In the quiet time that followed, Mrs. Ross sat herself down at the piano and began to play Gran’s old favorites from memory.
“Come along, Harry. You know this one.”
She and Harry sang together, both very well. They sang “Danny Boy,” knowing how much Gran loved it, and Gran sat nodding and smiling with tears in her eyes. Then Rich and Kitty joined their parents at the piano and they all sang “My Curly-Headed Baby.”
Maddy watched in wonder. There was no self-consciousness in their singing, for all the old-fashioned and sentimental words. It was obviously something they’d done many times before. They all sang well in their own way.
“Oh my baby, my curly-headed baby
I’ll sing you fast asleep and love you so as I sing
Oh my baby, my curly-headed baby
Just tuck your head like little bird
Beneath its mammy’s wing …”
Maddy found herself studying Rich’s face as he sang. He seemed to her in this moment to be so true and so good that she wanted to hug him. The whole family party in all its confusion and absurdity touched a deep emotion within her. It was something to do with the wordless old lady at the center of it all, and with the way everyone was so nice to her; and something to do with human frailty and the way life went on anyway. It felt like some kind of love. But what? This family was unremarkable, much like any other. Except they sang together.
“So lulla lulla lulla lulla bye bye
Does you want the moon to play with
Or the stars to run away with?
They’ll come if you don’t cry …”
24
A father’s love
When Maddy got home she found her father out on the shop forecourt painting a new coat of gold paint onto Cyril the camel.
“Have to keep him smart,” he said. “Cyril’s our best salesman.”
Maddy thought of Joe and how he had asked after Cyril. That at least had been real. The memory hurt her.
“I’ve been at an eightieth birthday party,” she said.
“Eighty, eh? Were there eighty candles on the cake?”
“Actually there were.”
“There, now. Soon Cyril’ll be almost as good as new.”
Maddy’s mother
was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea before her. The mug was full, the tea untouched.
“Mum?”
Mrs. Fisher looked up. Her cheeks were shiny.
“Have you been crying?”
“Just a bit.”
She looked down again. Maddy felt a cold falling sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“Is it Dad?”
Her mother nodded her head. With the fingers of one hand she rubbed at the back of her other hand as if to erase some invisible stain.
“There’s another woman.” Her voice came out small and low. She didn’t want it to be real. “In China. A Chinese woman.”
I don’t want to grow up, thought Maddy. Everything just gets worse.
“But he’s outside. Painting Cyril.”
Stupid thing to say. As if that meant he wouldn’t leave them.
That’s what men do. They don’t care. They only think of themselves. Men don’t do love. Not even Dad.
She found she was crying too.
Not even Dad. Dad who swung her up in the air and carried her on her shoulders. Dad who smiled and called her his little Madkin and made her feel as if all the world was bright. Oh, Dad.
“He says he wants to go back to China.”
“Well, he can’t. Tell him he can’t.”
She put her arms round her mother and hugged her like a child.
“What I mean is, he won’t. He’s only saying it. He won’t leave us. You’ll see.”
“Oh, Maddy. Darling. Oh, darling, darling. I’m so tired.”
“He’s a monster. How can he do this? I hate him.”
“No. Don’t hate him. I don’t want you to hate him. I shouldn’t have told you. It’s just all got on top of me, somehow.”
“Has he done this before?”
“Not like this. Not saying he wants to go and live with someone else. I expect there’ve been others. I don’t ask. He’s away such a lot. You can’t really blame him.”
“I blame him. I blame him totally.”
“All I do is nag him about money, and the business. It’s such a long journey. When he gets home he just wants to rest and be fussed over, and I go on at him about the overdraft and bank charges and unsold stock. Of course he wants to be back with this woman.”
“No,” said Maddy. “No. He hasn’t the right.”
Rich and Mad Page 16
