Oh, and in a follow-up text, which I suspect is the one that really gets to the heart of the issue, And, as Tino’s godfather, I can’t imagine he’ll be too impressed by you trying to get him EXORCIZED, either.
I mean, I’m a bit screwed, aren’t I?
Because I know how much Ben listens to Elvira (the fact that he’s agreed to be her dog’s godfather should indicate just how much) and I also know that he has enough competing demands on his time to be perfectly happy to drop me like a hot brick if I’m looking to be more trouble than I’m worth.
It’s never felt like a better time to be seeing Nora this afternoon, I can tell you.
This is why I’m waiting outside Olly’s right now, in fact; sitting on the outside front doorstep, poring over Rightmove on my iPhone. I’m assuming they’ve just been a bit delayed on the tube journey from King’s Cross, where I know Olly was meeting them about an hour ago, because nobody answered my knocks at the door, and I can’t get hold of any of them on their phones.
So, Stevenage.
I’ve already spoken to a couple of estate agents there, in fact, with a view to going tomorrow and taking a look at some of the places I’ve seen on Rightmove. There’s a cheap-enough unit in a light industrial estate near the mainline station that I could use as a studio, and I might be able to rent a little flat to live in not too far away … And, I mean, it’ll be all right, won’t it? I can join a couple of things – a book group, maybe? A running club? – and make some new friends. The estate agent (who didn’t sound that desperate. Did he?) told me there are some really nice pubs, and a small cinema, and … I think he might have mentioned a Nando’s …
Not that I’ll be in the market for piri-piri chicken and chips, if I’m trying to keep fit for a running club, of course!
Who knows: maybe getting kicked out of my new flat, ditched by my investor and moving to Stevenage might just be the best thing that ever happened to me. That book group, the running club, clear water between me and Mum, some healthy distance from Olly …
I’m just trying to envisage my New Life in Stevenage – leaner; healthier; better versed in the classics – when my phone rings.
Bogdan.
I answer, immediately.
‘Bogdan.’
‘Libby. Am getting your message about what is happening with Aunt Vanya …’
‘Wait, before we get into that. Did it all go OK with Dillon this morning?’
‘At rehabilitation centre? Yes, is fine. He is being most grateful to you for encouraging him to return there, Libby. He is saying what fine human being you are. How thoughtful. How caring. What good friend—’
‘There’s no need to overdo it.’
‘All right. But am just wanting to be saying that am happy to be paying Aunt Vanya myself, Libby, as sign of remorse and regret for mistake.’
‘Wait. You actually think she’s still going to charge me?’
‘Be fair, Libby. She is trying to make a living. Is not easy being wife of senior council member for Haringey. Standards are having to be maintained. There are being official dinners, garden parties, all this sort of thing.’
‘She’s married to a councillor! She’s not the bloody queen of England! Nor is she a mystic, just FYI. She’s a bloody exorcist.’
‘This is being clear to me now. Am thinking that maybe am getting her muddled with family member who has similar talents. Now that am thinking of it, perhaps is Aunt Anya who is being the mystic. She is sister of mother’s cousin’s second wife. Completely different branch of family. And am pretty sure she is also living in London—’
‘No! No, Bogdan, I don’t want any more of your spurious relatives coming over to do anything with my sofa.’ Not that they would, probably, if it involved them getting a train all the way to Stevenage and back. ‘Mystics, or exorcists, or necromancers … none of them, OK?’
‘OK. Again, am so very, very sorry, Libby. Am hoping there is way you can be making this right with Elvira.’
‘I think that ship has sailed, actually, Bogdan,’ I say, with a sigh. ‘I’ve got to leave her flat, as a matter of fact, so I’d really appreciate your help getting everything—’
I suddenly tip backwards as the door opens up behind me.
For a moment, I lie there on the floor, gazing up at the lean, slender, golden thighs that are standing over me. Thighs that belong to …
‘Libby!’
It’s Tash.
She’s answered Olly’s door, wearing nothing but a short towelling dressing gown, fluffy slippers and a towel wrapped around her head.
‘Oh, my God, were you knocking? I’ve been in the shower …’ She leans down and puts her hands under my armpits to haul me to my feet. ‘I’m so sorry! Come on in, and don’t sit there freezing on the step, for heaven’s sake!’
‘I wasn’t freezing, honestly, it was quite pleasant … oh, I’ll call you later, Bogdan,’ I add into my phone, which I’m still holding.
‘Hi, Bogdan!’ Tash calls, in the direction of the phone. ‘Aw. He’s always such a sweetheart. It’s so good to see you, Libby,’ she goes on. ‘How have you been? What’s been going on?’
‘Oh, er, you know. The usual … sorry, Tash, I had no idea you were coming down today …’
‘Oh, well, I have you to thank for that, actually!’
‘You do?’
‘Absolutely.’ She leads me towards the kitchen, settles me in her rather no-arguments manner at the kitchen table, then goes to pop the kettle on. ‘Olly Skyped me the other night and told me you’d been telling him to get his act together. You know, about not spending enough time with me.’
‘Er, I don’t think I put it exactly like that …’
‘So after that, I just decided I’d surprise him and head down here with Nora and Mark this afternoon to stay for the weekend! It was win-win for everyone, really, because Nora and Mark got some help with Clara on the flight, too … they’ve all just popped over to see Jack and his family in Stockwell for a quick cuppa, actually, let the cousins meet the baby for the first time. Lovely children, Jack’s are, but they were ever so raucous at Nora’s wedding, so I thought I’d keep the numbers down and stay well away! Do you know them at all?’
‘Jack’s children?’ Jack is Nora and Olly’s older brother; I’ve known him, therefore, since I was thirteen. ‘Yes, I know them. They always seem like really nice kids.’
‘Oh, absolutely! I think maybe we just have different parenting styles.’
‘But … er … you’re not a parent.’
‘Yet!’ she says, with a wink and a smile. ‘How do you like your tea, Libby?’
‘Oh … actually, Tash, you know what? I’d really like a glass of wine.’
She glances, just for a moment, at the bright yellow clock on the kitchen wall.
‘I’ve had,’ I explain, ‘a really, really shit day.’
‘Oh, then of course.’
My heart breaks a little as I watch her bustling proprietorially around Olly’s kitchen, getting wine glasses and a bottle.
Even in her dressing gown, with her wet hair now tumbling over her shoulders, she looks gorgeous. Clear-eyed and dewy-skinned and – despite having just got off an EasyJet flight from Glasgow – a little bit like she’s just stepped off the kind of mountain you might find Heidi and her goats living on.
‘Well,’ she says, sitting down at the table opposite me, putting the glasses down on the wooden top, and pouring us each a glass of wine, ‘if you’ve had a bad day, then seeing Clara is going to be such a tonic!’
‘Yes, I can’t wait.’
‘I mean, you’ve no idea how heavenly she is at the moment, Libby! She’s started laughing, and she’s found her toes … honestly, you just want to eat her up with a spoon. I mean, you’ll notice the difference from the last time you saw her, because it’s been … how long?’
‘Three months.’
‘Oh, my goodness, she’s a completely different creature! Of course, I get to see her almost every day, so I don’
t notice the changes all that much, but you’ll be blown away by it!’
Is it just me, or does this sound like Tash is trying to rub in the fact that she gets to spend so much time with Nora and the baby?
No. It’s probably just me. After all, I’m the one with the jealousy problem here. She’s not jealous of me. Why would she be, when she’s got everything I could possibly want in life?
‘And of course, Nora’s such a natural mother,’ Tash is going on. ‘I tell her, every day, how important I think it is that she has another one sooner rather than later. After all, she and Olly are so close, wouldn’t it be lovely for Clara to have a wonderful brother, too? And we all have to keep our eyes on the ball on that front, don’t we?’
‘Sorry – on what front?’
‘Babies, Libby! I mean, these things don’t just happen. They have to be planned, strategized, thought through. What are you doing about all that, by the way?’
‘Er … what am I doing about having a baby?’
She nods. ‘Please don’t become one of those women who hit thirty-five, Libby, and then suddenly realize time is running out! It’s so much better to stay on the ball about this stuff. Are you seeing anyone?’
I’m so confused: is she asking if I’m going out with anyone, or if I’m booked in with a fertility specialist? I mean, two minutes ago, I was lying flat on my back accidentally looking up Tash’s dressing gown, and now I’m here being given what feels like a lecture about my declining fertility levels and my upcoming descent into menopause. I mean, I know she’s a doctor, and this sort of brisk, unsentimental talk about the human body and its limitations is the way she earns her living … but it’s yet another thing that makes it hard to gel with her.
‘I mean,’ she’s going on, ‘I know that Nora’s always desperate for you to find the right man and settle down.’
‘Hey, I was going out with Dillon O’Hara for months!’ I say, defensively. ‘It’s not like I’m some permanently single saddo.’
‘Oh, well, yes, but he wasn’t at all the kind of guy you’d have settled down with, was he?’
‘He might have been,’ I mutter, conveniently ignoring the fact that less than twenty-four hours ago, Dillon was throwing up in my toilet, and that he’s now cosily ensconced in rehab for the second time in a year. ‘You never know. And anyway, I am seeing … someone. As it happens.’
‘Good!’ Tash reacts to this with her usual no-nonsense lack of romance. ‘Name?’
‘Joel.’
‘Age?’
‘Thirty-eight. But you know what, Tash,’ I add, ‘it’s really early days, and I’d rather not—’
‘That’s an OK age gap. I mean, he’ll be wanting to have children before he’s too far into his forties. And you’ll be needing to get on with all that side of things, as we’ve already agreed.’
‘Um, no, we didn’t, actually!’
‘And obviously, as things go further with him, you’ll really need to clarify your plan.’
‘Plan?’
‘Plan.’ She nods. ‘You must have a plan. Like, I want two children, and obviously it’ll be best for me to squeeze them in as close together as possible – I mean, twins would be really ideal, if there was any way I could legislate for that – so that I can keep the hit to my career to an absolute minimum. And you know, there’s an awful lot you can do even before you have the children – even before you conceive them – to make things go more smoothly when you actually have them. I mean, my cousin planned out all her children’s first five birthday parties before they were born. She’s a lawyer, so it really made sense.’
‘How could that … possibly make sense?’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Tash stares at me, as though I’m the one saying bonkers-sounding things rather than – surely? – the other way around. ‘Do you have any idea the length of time it takes to properly organize a child’s birthday party? Huge amounts of it can be done well in advance, if you’re on the ball. Ordering the supplies – balloons, banners, napkins, whatnot – and doing your research on a good local baker to make the cake …’
‘Wow.’ I swallow, hard. ‘You could save yourself … literally an hour for each birthday.’
Her eyes narrow, just for a moment. ‘Do you not agree with me,’ she asks, rather sharply, in a voice quite unlike her usual hearty tone, ‘or something?’
‘I just … it all seems … is Olly on board with all this sort of stuff?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I don’t know.’ I can feel myself getting rather warm, and I wish I’d just kept my opinions to myself. ‘I mean, it does all sound quite mapped-out.’
She puts down her glass. ‘You’re saying Olly prefers to be a slacker?’
‘What? No! No, I’m not saying that for a minute. I was just wondering whether he’s – uh – aware that you’re thinking this way. All the specifics, I mean, about when you want to have children, and—’
‘Yes, Libby. He’s aware. I mean, you may find it hard to believe, seeing as you obviously think you know Olly better than I do, but—’
Thank God – thank God – there’s a noise from the front door as it opens, in the hallway, and Olly and Mark and Nora and, of course, Clara, arrive home.
I say of course, partly because Clara’s obviously the main attraction, but also because as they all head inside, she’s screaming fit to burst a lung or two. I mean, seriously, you’ve never heard a racket like the one coming out of this child right now. She’s purple-faced with fury and scrabbling at Nora’s chest like exactly the sort of demonic creature Aunt Vanya was trying to exorcize out of my sofa earlier this morning. Nora is the eye of the storm, all serenity and calm – while around her Mark flaps and Olly stresses out – and gestures for me to come upstairs with her to the spare bedroom as she carries the flailing bundle of rage that is my beloved (and, right now, pretty terrifying) goddaughter with her.
It takes about five seconds, once in the bedroom, for Nora to expertly unbutton her top, clamp Clara on to her boob, and the screaming stops.
My ears are still ringing, to be honest with you, but Nora just beams at me, beatifically, pats the little double bed she’s sitting on with her free hand, and says, ‘God, it’s so great to see you, Libby.’
‘You too! And Clara—’
‘Oh, don’t lie. That screaming fit horrified you just now, Lib, I can see it!’
‘Don’t be si … well, OK. That was a tiny bit horrifying. But I’m sure she was just hungry.’
‘You’re right. At all other hours of the day – and night – she’s nothing but a ray of sunshine.’
‘Really?’
‘No, not really. She’s been in a bloody awful grump the entire journey. I think her first teeth are starting to make their way through. Either that or she was just pissed off that we flew crappy old Ryanair when she thinks of herself as more of a private jet passenger.’ Nora grins down at Clara’s little bald, gently bobbing head, and kisses it. ‘You OK there, old buddy?’
‘Well, not entirely … oh.’ I stop. ‘You were talking to Clara.’
‘I was.’ Nora transfers her smile to me. ‘But I’ll probably get better conversation out of you, for now. What’s up? You look a bit shell-shocked. It’s not still the racket she was making, is it?’
‘Oh, God, no. It’s just been a weird day. Profoundly weird. You don’t want to hear about it.’
‘Trust me, Libby, when your usual day is filled with wheels on buses going round and round, bobbins being wound up, and asking inane questions of talking black sheep, I most certainly do want to hear about it … oh, but before you start, can you just reach into my bag –’ she indicates her shoulder-bag, dropped by the door –‘get the KitKat from the zip pocket and break a bit of it off for me? Breast-feeding makes me starving. But please,’ she adds, in a bit of a whisper, as I do as she asks, ‘don’t mention this to Tash. I’ll only get a bit of a lecture about how I should be eating nothing but green veg and Brazil nuts, or something. And honestly, I d
on’t have the energy for her right now. I mean, for that,’ she corrects herself. Because Nora is never unkind about anyone. Ever. It’s one of the things I love most about her. ‘She means really well, obviously, and I know she only has Clara’s best interests at heart! But still. I’d rather avoid the issue altogether, and just, you know, enjoy the KitKat.’
‘No arguments from me,’ I say, handing her a bite-sized piece of KitKat to eat.
‘So really. What’s up?’ Nora eats the KitKat, then holds out her hand for more. ‘Is it work or – um – love life?’
I know why she’s hesitating before the words love life. Olly. It’s supremely awkward for us to talk about, mostly because of how horrendously guilty she feels, now, for never mentioning anything to me about his feelings.
‘Work,’ I say, firmly, before adding, ‘I mean, I am seeing a guy, as it happens—’
‘Lib!’ Happiness and something else – relief? – flood over her face. ‘That’s terrific!’
‘Yes, though why does everyone have to act as though I’m announcing that I’m Lazarus arising from the dead, or something?’
‘Sorry. I’m just pleased. So pleased. You have to tell me more about him!’
‘Well, I don’t know all that much about him yet, except that he’s a personal trainer, and he’s half-Brazilian, half-Slovakian …’
‘Wow.’
‘… and we’re going out on our second date on Thursday night. Although, come to think of it,’ I go on, this only just occurring to me myself, ‘it’s going to put a real spanner in the works if I have to end up moving to Stevenage.’
‘Why on earth,’ Nora asks, staring at me, ‘would you have to move to Stevenage?’
‘It’s a long story.’ I lean, wearily, against the pillows. ‘But if you want the short version – the version that doesn’t involve street fights, exorcisms and the false accusation of industrial espionage—’
A Night In With Grace Kelly Page 13
