Going Too Far

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘Pippa! I have not!’ I was pink with indignation now – this was outrageous.

  ‘Well, what’s with the hairy legs then?’ she persisted. ‘And,’ she added, peering with naked incredulity at the top of my head, ‘bloody hell, look at this, what about these dark roots? You wouldn’t have been seen dead walking around London like that in the good old days. Come on, Polly, it’s not like you to take your eye off the ball – what’s occurring?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I spluttered. ‘I haven’t taken my eye off the ball at all, it’s just that, well, in the country, people don’t worry about things like shaving their legs and touching up their roots. It’s all sort of back-to-nature here.’

  ‘Oh, so it’s the country’s fault, is it? You can’t live in the country and shave your legs at the same time, is that it? What utter drivel. The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know, I’m sure the village shop would run to a razor, or even a tube of Immac, and what’s all this back-to-nature rubbish? You always struck me as more of a back-to-the-wine-bar type.’

  ‘Oh, OK, OK,’ I said, caving in dramatically and reaching for a cigarette. ‘So I haven’t shaved my legs for a while, OK, Pippa, you win.’

  I was getting bored with this lecture and my argumentative powers were flagging.

  ‘No, it’s not OK!’ said Pippa sharply, suddenly thumping the arm of the sofa with her fist.

  I jumped in surprise. She glared at me.

  ‘If you must know, I’m really worried about you, Polly!’

  My mouth gaped in amazement. She … was worried about me? Wasn’t I supposed to be the one who was worried about –

  ‘I know exactly what you’re doing here,’ she snapped, ‘you’re sitting around on your bum all day, doing bugger all except eating chocolate, watching telly and waiting to get pregnant, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I spluttered. ‘I’m incredibly busy, and, anyway, since when have you been so keen on the puritanical work ethic?’

  ‘I’m not puritanical, I’m just living my life, which is more than you’re doing, and it’s a crime. You’re a beautiful girl, Polly, you’ve got it all and you’re wasting it. You’re piling on the pounds and going to ground down here, now why?’

  ‘If you must know,’ I snapped, ‘I have to eat as many calories as I possibly can – it’s part of my pre-conception diet. If I don’t keep my weight up, I won’t conceive; it’s a well-known fact. Haven’t you ever heard of child-bearing hips?’ I added wildly.

  ‘Balls,’ scoffed Pippa. ‘You’re eating out of boredom and you know it. You’ve got nothing to do and no way of occupying your mind. You’re bored out of your skull here.’

  I felt my fists clenching. ‘That’s not true!’

  ‘Of course it is, it’s written all over you – I’ve got my man so I don’t have to work and I don’t care what I look like – it’s as clear as day.’

  I felt my face flame. We stared at each other.

  ‘Well, if you think I’m so fat and boring, why don’t you just go?’ I snapped suddenly.

  There was a terrible silence. She gazed at me. I watched her face grow pale. Then she got shakily to her feet, gathering up her handbag from the table.

  ‘Right,’ she whispered hoarsely, ‘I will.’

  Chapter Three

  She walked unsteadily towards the door but didn’t make it through it. I was up in an instant, pulling her back, hanging on to her arm.

  ‘Oh God, Pippa, I’m so sorry, please don’t go, I – I didn’t mean it, really I didn’t!’ I cried.

  She hesitated, but only for a second. In a twinkling we were hugging each other and sniffing and snorting into each other’s hair.

  ‘Sorry,’ mumbled Pippa gruffly, ‘didn’t mean all that.’

  ‘No, you’re right, you’re right!’ I wailed. ‘I’m a fat slob! I’m a failure!’

  ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘I am!’

  ‘Of course you’re not a failure,’ she said, not disputing, I noticed, the fat-slob element, ‘but I’m so fond of you, Polly, and it upsets me to see you wasting yourself like this.’

  ‘I know, I know!’ I hiccuped into her sleek, recently highlighted hair. ‘I’m a mess, a bag lady!’

  ‘But it’s all superficial,’ she said, gently taking my shoulders and holding me away. ‘It’s all so easily rectified, just get yourself down to the hairdresser, have a few highlights, book an appointment at the leg-wax place and –’

  ‘No,’ I sniffed, shaking my head energetically, ‘it’s more than that – it’s deeper. I’m rotten, rotten to the core!’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘I am!’

  ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘Yes I am!’

  And thus Bruce found us as he wandered in, clinging to each other, arguing, shrieking and crying simultaneously.

  ‘Lordy-be,’ he muttered, raising his eyebrows to heaven as he tiptoed past, ‘I’m glad I’m a man sometimes.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I snuffled, grabbing a tissue from the dresser. ‘Pippa was just telling me some basic home truths, had to be done.’ I blew my nose hard. ‘God, what’s that?’ I wiped my nose and stared with astonishment at the bundle of skin and bone under Bruce’s arm, complete with red ribbon and mad, staring eyes.

  ‘This is Munchkin,’ announced Bruce proudly, stroking the pimple that passed as the chihuahua’s head. ‘I hope you don’t mind me bringing her in but she was crying her little eyes out in the car.’

  ‘I don’t mind at all, she can join in the waterworks in here, but I can’t vouch for Badger. He eats things that size for breakfast.’

  Right on cue, Badger miraculously appeared as if from nowhere, all thoughts of whiling away the morning rabbiting apparently quite forgotten. He stood to attention at Bruce’s feet, nose twitching, tail erect, quivering with excitement and shooting beseeching glances in my direction. Can I kill it? his brown eyes seemed to say, Can I kill it now?

  ‘Basket, Badge,’ I ordered sternly. He dithered. ‘Now!’

  He slunk away to his corner, giving me a reproachful look, but still keeping a careful eye out lest Bruce should accidentally let the bundle slip, in which case he’d be only too pleased to retrieve it. It would be the work of a moment.

  Bruce kept the terrified Munchkin clasped tightly to his chest and eyed Badger warily as he sat down at the kitchen table.

  ‘Marvellous house,’ he breathed, ‘simply marvellous. Would make a fabulous location.’ He eyed Pippa meaningfully.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Pippa. ‘Nick would never agree, would he, Polly?’

  ‘Not in a million years,’ I said, blowing my nose again noisily.

  I could just see Nick’s face if I so much as suggested a film crew run riot all over the house and garden; trampling the flowers, frightening the sheep and being all luvvie and artistic over his little patch of paradise.

  ‘We’d pay you,’ ventured Bruce hopefully. ‘Quite well, actually, and we’d only need to use the outside of the house and perhaps a soupçon of the kitchen …?’

  I shook my head firmly. ‘No way.’

  Bruce sighed heavily. ‘Shame. Great shame. The client would love this place; he’d go weak at the knees.’

  ‘Yes, well, forget it, the farmer would go ballistic.’

  ‘What would I go ballistic about?’ enquired Nick, breezing in through the back door, grinning from ear to ear.

  I swung round in delight. He looked divine as usual, his striking, angular face with its jutting chin and decidedly Roman nose already nut brown from the early sun, his straight dark hair slightly tousled and his brown eyes gleaming with health and the great outdoors. He was tall, broad and mine, I thought happily as he rumpled Pippa’s perfect hair.

  ‘Nick!’ she squealed, jumping up and throwing her arms round his neck.

  ‘Pippa, you’re looking as delectable as ever,’ he declared, kissing her mightily on the cheek. ‘Hang on a minute, I’ll just pop this in the oven.’ />
  He untangled himself and stooped down to deposit a new-born lamb in the bottom oven of the Aga. He stood up and smiled.

  ‘There!’

  Pippa and Bruce stared at him in horror. Bruce clutched Munchkin to his chest, his eyes wide with fear; Pippa gulped and backed away.

  ‘Jesus,’ she murmured, ‘that’s a bit primitive even for you, isn’t it? Aren’t you going to kill it first?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not cooking it,’ said Nick, washing his hands at the sink, ‘just warming it up. Don’t panic, I’m not going to shut the door, but I’ve got to keep it warm. It’s a sock lamb. Its mother died and it got a bit wet and cold in the field. When it’s warmed up I’ll give it a bottle.’

  ‘Bit late in the year, isn’t it?’ I said, peering at the little thing shivering away in the oven.

  ‘A bit, but these things happen. A late arrival.’

  ‘And an orphan already!’ Pippa looked stricken. ‘What will happen to it?’

  ‘Oh, it’ll grow big and strong, lark around in the fields for a few months, and then I’ll transfer it to the top oven and surround it with roast potatoes.’ Nick grinned wickedly.

  Pippa and Bruce did a collective gasp.

  ‘The brute!’ murmured Bruce with a touch of awe.

  ‘Nick, how can you?’ wailed Pippa.

  ‘But you like roast lamb, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but –’ Pippa looked seriously upset.

  Nick took pity. ‘OK, just for you, Pippa, I’ll spare this one and let it skip in the fields indefinitely – Christ, what’s that?’ he said, spotting the mess under Bruce’s arm and simultaneously holding out his hand to Bruce. ‘Nick Penhalligan,’ he muttered, keeping an incredulous eye on the dog.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Nick,’ I said quickly, ‘this is Bruce. He works with Pippa – they’re location-hunting – and this is Munchkin.’

  ‘Is it indeed?’ Nick looked at Munchkin as if he’d like nothing better than to pop her in the top oven right now and close the door firmly.

  He smiled at Bruce, who was gazing at Nick with wide eyes, the power of speech having apparently completely deserted him.

  ‘Been boring you with girl talk, have they? Polly’s rather starved of female company down here so she’s probably got verbal diarrhoea already. Anyone offered you a drink? Beer?’ He opened the fridge door, pulled out a can of lager and waggled it in Bruce’s direction.

  Bruce, looking thoroughly bigot-struck now, simpered a negative response before backing away and draping himself decoratively over the Welsh dresser. There he posed, arms outstretched, head flung back and cocked to one side to display his profile, smouldering away at Nick through his lashes.

  Nick looked momentarily alarmed, then recovered himself quickly. He’d been in advertising long enough to recognize the Bruces of this world, and also the devastating effect he seemed to have on them. He kept the beer for himself and backed hastily in the opposite direction, positioning himself firmly in the girls’ camp next to Pippa, who was perching on the back of a chair.

  ‘Let’s have a look at you then!’ he said, hauling her to her feet.

  She grinned and gave a twirl.

  ‘I must say, the world of film production seems to be suiting you down to the ground,’ he said, marvelling. ‘You look fantastic! Gosh, you’re slim. Look at that for a figure, Polly!’

  ‘I know,’ I said enviously, ‘you’re going to have to let me in on the secret, Pippa.’

  ‘Stress,’ said Pippa proudly, smoothing her minuscule skirt down over her pencil-thin thighs. ‘Having a proper job with real worries is the best diet in the world, you know. I had no idea it could be so effective.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ groaned Nick, running his hands through his hair. ‘I wondered why I was becoming a shadow of my former self. This place is obviously taking pounds off me, not to mention years.’

  ‘But I thought it was going really well? I thought when you sold the agency you had bags of money to pour into this place?’

  Nick sighed wearily and flopped down into a chair. ‘I did, but unfortunately it got swallowed up by a series of disasters. Too much rain last year so we lost a lot of the hay, bad lambing the year before that, then there was that storm which took the roofs off most of the outbuildings – I tell you, I could do with a couple more advertising agencies to sell; I need miles of new fencing and every day some piece of badly made farm machinery seems to conk out on me.’

  ‘It’s not as bad as all that,’ I said soothingly. ‘Nick’s exaggerating.’

  Nick shook his head grimly. ‘I wish I was, darling, but I tell you, unless something happens pretty damn quickly, next quarter’s farm accounts aren’t going to look too attractive.’

  ‘You’ll have to send your wife out to work again,’ said Pippa with a mischievous grin.

  ‘Ha! That’ll be the day. I think Polly’s retired for life, haven’t you?’ He leaned back in his chair and tugged teasingly at my T-shirt. ‘I must say, you’re looking particularly fetching today. Will we have the pleasure of seeing you in that little number for lunch as usual?’

  ‘Oh, Nick, that’s not true! You know jolly well I normally get dressed by lunch time!’

  ‘Nip and tuck some days though, isn’t it?’ he said with a grin. ‘Not that I mind, of course, I like to see you wafting round in that sexy négligé all ready for action – makes me feel like the milkman.’

  I aimed a sharp cuff to his head and he caught my hand, laughing. ‘Careful! Mind my curls! What’s for lunch, by the way? I’m starving.’

  God, Attila the Hungry was back in my kitchen being all forceful and demanding again. For better, for worse, but not for lunch, I decided grimly for the umpteenth time.

  ‘Lunch?’ I shrieked. ‘What, now? Don’t be silly, I’ve only just had breakfast!’

  ‘Well, I had mine six hours ago and it’s damn nearly twelve o’clock.’

  ‘Is it?’ I swung round in amazement and looked at the clock. ‘Gosh, so it is.’

  ‘What were you planning on giving Bruce and Pippa then?’ went on my spouse, who was getting less adorable by the minute.

  ‘Well, let me see …’ I said, flinging open the fridge door and improvising wildly. ‘There’s some bread, and – and some cheese … at least I think it’s cheese,’ I said doubtfully, picking up a piece of extremely sweaty Cheddar. Damn. I’d planned to go into Helston before they arrived and pick up some cold meat. How on earth had it slipped my mind?

  ‘Oh, we’re not staying for lunch,’ said Pippa quickly. ‘We really must get back and report our findings to Sam. We spent the whole of yesterday down here and we said we’d be back by tea time today.’

  ‘Don’t want to get our botties spanked,’ agreed Bruce, looking as if nothing would please him more.

  ‘Oh, Pipps, I thought you were staying a while!’ I wailed. ‘Don’t go yet, I want to hear all the news. I want to know what Lottie’s been up to, who’s been doing what to whom. Please stay. I’ll rustle something up, really I will. I’m sure I could do something with this,’ I ventured brightly, holding up the sad piece of Cheddar, ‘make a pie or something. I’m quite big on pies.’

  A stunned and disbelieving silence greeted this little announcement.

  ‘Only porkie ones,’ muttered Nick, rather disloyally I thought. I glared. At least Pippa had the grace to turn her incredulous guffaw into a massive coughing fit. I was beginning to feel more than a little inadequate here.

  Pippa jumped up. ‘Don’t bother about food,’ she said, slipping her arm through mine. ‘Bruce and I had an enormous breakfast at the hotel this morning. Tell you what, let’s just grab that bottle of wine I spotted in the fridge and take it out to the garden. We can leave the boys to man-talk in here.’

  With a wicked glance at Nick, who looked horrified, she seized the wine and a couple of glasses, and with a wink at Bruce, who flushed with pleasure at the thought of being left alone with Nick, steered me outside.

  We wandered arm in arm to a sunny spo
t in the middle of the lawn and sat down on the grass. I lit a cigarette.

  ‘Still smoking then?’ enquired Pippa with a wry smile.

  ‘Pippa! You haven’t given up …?’

  ‘You bet I have. It’s too expensive now, and I’m damned if I’m going to kill myself. It’s a vice, Polly.’

  Somehow this piece of news shook me more than anything. Pippa and I had chain-smoked our way through the last seven years together. As we’d skipped our way through parties, jobs, love affairs and trouble, we’d always had our trusty packets of twenty by our sides. She was changing. For the better, of course, but it depressed the hell out of me.

  ‘It may be a vice to you, but it’s a hobby to me,’ I said grimly, ‘and you must admit it’s got staying power. I’ve been doing it since I was sixteen. All my other hobbies turned out to be nine-day wonders – brass-rubbing, tapestry, they all ended in tears. Except sunbathing, of course, that’s always stayed the course, but now the bloody sunbathing police are out to ruin that for me too. Why can’t people just mind their own business? If I want to smoke and tan myself to death, I will. at least I’ll look good in the coffin against all that white satin.’

  I took a huge, defiant drag of nicotine, right down to my bootstraps. ‘And anyway,’ I said with an uncharacteristic glimmer of perception, ‘I bet the only reason you’ve given up is because Josh doesn’t like it.’

  ‘Well, there is that,’ admitted Pippa grudgingly. ‘He’s very anti.’

  ‘You see! God, you must be smitten to give up for a man! It’s never happened before, has it? Charles hated it and you wouldn’t give up for him.’

  Pippa said nothing. She pursed her lips and decapitated a daisy. I studied her closely.

  ‘And when am I going to meet this boss of yours, eh? And how come you’re not living with him yet? I thought you’d be well ensconced by now. How come you haven’t got your bras hanging over his bath tub?’