The Mysterious Miss Mayhew

by Hazel Osmond

  A cheeky laugh. ‘Why, you got any? You would too, wouldn’t you, sub us? No, it’s OK. Be even better now you don’t expect Jamie at the magazine and he can concentrate on his own business.’

  Natalie wound herself down into a chair and tucked her legs beneath her. ‘Anyway … enough of that, how’s it going with our Fran? Oh, I see, big grin. That good, eh?’

  Tom tried to think what to say to do Fran justice. ‘She’s …’

  Natalie raised her hands when he came to a stop. ‘Oh, you men! Running away at the mouth about emotions all the time.’

  ‘Uh, Tom …’ It was Jamie, loitering about on the doorstep. Tom got the idea he always tested the water first to see if it was safe to speak. ‘Is it all right if I, you know, fight back? Nothing too physical, but can I, kind of, lift her up, move her around a bit?’

  ‘Yes. No problem. As long as you don’t drop her on her head.’

  ‘Great. Uh. Thanks.’

  When Jamie went back to playing, Natalie said, ‘He has the most beautiful manners, Tom. Asks nicely before he does anything.’ There was a raucous laugh.

  ‘Edward didn’t inherit them, then?’

  Natalie’s expression clouded. ‘That nobber.’ She cast a scornful look at the empty chair next to her as if Edward was sitting there, before giving it another last particularly antagonistic look and saying, ‘Don’t get me started on those hypocrites. Back to Fran … so it’s full steam ahead then?’

  ‘Keep your voice down. I’ve still not said anything to Hattie. I’m feeling bad about it.’

  ‘You mad? That’s your only option. Five-year-olds aren’t very good at keeping secrets. Shouldn’t even be asked to. So … shaping up nicely, then?’

  Tom got the feeling Natalie was digging. He let her talk, pretending he was engrossed in seeing if there were any letters from school in Hattie’s reading bag.

  ‘Only I think she’s a bit concerned about Steph,’ Natalie said. ‘You know, why she’s still in the picture.’

  Not in the picture. Just a faint outline where she used to be.

  ‘She hasn’t said anything, mind. I can just tell—’

  ‘Natalie. Are you trying to find answers to the questions you’ve always been dying to ask?’

  Natalie uncurled her legs and sat up. ‘Yeah, OK. But Fran and me are kind of family now, so just watch it, huh?’

  Outside there was a huge squeal from Hattie, and Tom saw that she was hanging upside down. Jamie, who was clinging on to her ankles, had the look of a fisherman who was attempting to land something that was too lively. Her squeals changed into, ‘Fran, Fran!’ and she was trying to turn round to look at the side gate.

  Tom headed out of the door, Natalie right behind him.

  ‘Look, Fran, I’m an Australian pirate,’ Hattie was shouting as Fran came into view.

  ‘Yeah, hi there, Aunt F,’ Jamie said. ‘I have my hands full.’

  Aunt F?

  ‘I just thought,’ Fran said, ‘warm afternoon … passing the icecream parlour … happened to have a cool box on the back seat … who would like an ice cream? And I said to myself, Natalie and Jamie, and what’s that child’s name?’

  ‘It’s me, it’s me,’ Hattie shouted and wriggled so much that Jamie had to lower her on to the lawn.

  ‘Oh look! Here’s Tom as well,’ Fran said, turning to him. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fantastic now.’

  ‘Did you know I’ve got monitors?’ Hattie said. She made it sound like a sub-species of head lice.

  Fran looked amazed. ‘Have you, really? What do they do?’

  ‘If I wake up and Dad’s gardening, he can still hear me. There’s one by my bed, and one wherever he is.’

  ‘And does your father do much night gardening?’ Fran gave the worn patches on the lawn a critical look.

  ‘Well, I’ve been putting a lot of work in on the beds recently,’ Tom said, before admonishing himself for doing the very fnarr, fnarr thing he hated in front of Hattie. He went to deal with the ice creams in an effort to cool off.

  ‘We need some little spoons,’ Fran announced and Hattie said she’d show her where they were kept. She held out her hand to Fran. ‘Come on.’

  Fran looked down at the hand and said, ‘Oh!’ in a small voice and then caught hold of it carefully as if Hattie’s fingers were made of glass.

  Tom had to concentrate on reading the information on the side of one of the tubs, because he, like the ice cream, was in danger of melting.

  *

  The ice creams had long been eaten and it was just when Natalie and Jamie were talking about leaving, that Tom heard a car pull on to the drive.

  ‘That will be your Auntie Kath,’ Fran said. ‘She can’t keep away.’ She was helping Hattie make a caterpillar out of the ice-cream tubs and some string.

  The side gate opened and Hattie glanced across and suddenly shouted, ‘Mummy, Mummy!’

  The four adults looked as if they were frozen into position.

  Hattie hurled herself towards Steph and Tom unfroze and stood up so quickly that he felt dizzy.

  Steph was down on her knees, arms around Hattie who was now squealing, ‘Mummy, Mummy. Look, it’s Mummy!’

  Tom imagined that anyone who didn’t know the person who had just arrived would think what a lovely mother – tears on her face, a huge smile – ‘My darling, my darling, it’s so lovely to see you.’

  But Tom saw a big, showy performance and smelled trouble with a huge T – as big as the Angel of the North with its wings outstretched. His heart was working hard, as if it had just helped him run upstairs.

  He checked on Fran. Her face looked fragile, as if she didn’t know what to do with it. He couldn’t even take her hand and give it a comforting squeeze, she was too far away.

  What would she be thinking? Here’s the wife back, how long before I’m not needed?

  ‘Look, Dad, look, Dad, Mummy’s here.’ Hattie was hopping out a dance of celebration. And that was the problem – if Hattie hadn’t been there, Tom would have said, straight out, ‘What game is this, Steph? You’re not welcome here.’ But to ruin Hattie’s delight … akin to kitten stomping.

  Steph stood up. If he could be objective he would say she looked great. Tall, narrow-hipped, dressed well – fashion was her job after all. He had no doubt that the shirt that she was wearing, over a pair of linen trousers, had been created by an artisan who survived on candle wax alone in some Parisian garret.

  She was not what Rob would call a stunner, and his mother always said her eyes were too small, but there was something exotic and glossy about Steph.

  Tom was no longer capable of objectivity, though. He could see the long, graceful neck and the fullness of her mouth, but now everything seemed too polished and her attitude too knowing. She was a woman so used to being the centre of attention that she had come to demand it by right. It was how she defined herself – the body count.

  He noticed Jamie taking it all in and Steph do her trademark little flick back of first one curtain of her straight hair and then the other – subliminal sexual semaphore.

  Natalie was taking it all in too and there was her vulnerability siphoned into a concerned look Jamie’s way. That’s what Steph did, zoned in on the one most likely to find her attractive so she could create a bit of discord.

  Steph turned her attention from Jamie to deliver a gracious smile. ‘Hello, everyone,’ she said. ‘And, Hattie, darling, what a welcome. She’ll have me tumbling over, won’t she?’

  So we’re getting the charming, light-up-the-room version of Steph.

  ‘This is my mummy,’ Hattie said.

  Tom knew Steph would be trying to work out which of the two women he had fallen for. She came further into the garden, Hattie leading her on.

  ‘Some introductions,’ Steph said. ‘I’m Steph.’ She held out her hand to a blushing Jamie who didn’t so much offer his, as plop it into hers.

  ‘Yeah, hi. Uh. Jamie.’

  ‘And I’m Natalie,’ Natali
e said, taking a big step forward. Steph let Jamie go.

  Natalie’s little spurt of jealousy would have told Steph that she and Jamie were a couple.

  Tom did not know how to introduce Fran, but Hattie did it for him.

  ‘This is Fran. She’s one of my grown-up friends. She makes things out of paper. She made me a hat. I was giving it a rest upstairs. Do you want to see it?’

  All of this was spoken in constant movement.

  ‘Yes, I would love to see it,’ Steph said, and Hattie sprinted away, only to come back before she’d reached the back door.

  ‘You won’t go away while I’m upstairs, will you?’ she asked Steph. Tom felt his guts twisting on Hattie’s behalf and there was a look about Fran’s eyes that suggested she was having a hard job keeping them under control.

  No one talked when Hattie went, until Fran said, ‘Pleased to meet you. As Hattie explained, I’m Fran … Fran Mayhew.’

  She held out her hand and Steph gave it the slightest shake. ‘Yes, good to meet you too. You’ll have heard a lot about me, I expect.’ Her eyes strayed to Tom.

  ‘I have,’ Fran said, jovially, ‘but I’m sure it can’t all be true.’

  Steph’s demeanour took the slightest hit. Tom could see her trying to work out if that had been a calculated slight. She obviously decided to ignore it. ‘I love your dress,’ she said. ‘Vintage?’

  ‘It was my mother’s and she won’t have bought it new, so I guess the answer to that is yes. Not everyone can wear it evidently – or so someone in Tom’s office said. Ridiculous, isn’t it, those pronouncements people who think about fashion too much tend to make?’

  As one of Fran’s tactless statements, it was up there with the best.

  Steph bridled but did not respond, which in itself was worrying. She turned to him.

  ‘Tom, you’re looking well.’

  ‘Am I? What, not looking pole-axed? Like I have no idea why you’ve pitched up out of the blue?’

  ‘Well I wanted to surprise Hattie. And that’s the thing about surprises – you don’t say you’re coming.’

  ‘Ta-dah!’ Hattie reappeared with her hat. It was looking a little worse for wear, having survived many sea battles.

  Steph studied it. ‘You must be very talented,’ she said to Fran, with the smallest of smirks.

  ‘Thank you. I am,’ Fran replied.

  Natalie didn’t exactly push Jamie out of Steph’s sightline, but there was a definite rounding-up. ‘We’re off,’ she said.

  ‘None of your family here, Tom?’ Steph asked, pulling Hattie in to her when Jamie and Natalie had gone.

  ‘No. Kath’s due very soon. Natalie’s taken over picking Hattie up from school on a Thursday.’

  ‘It’s going to be a boy,’ Hattie said, looking up at Steph.

  The side gate opened and Natalie came back. ‘We’re blocked in,’ she said to Steph. ‘Want to move your car?’

  The absence of any ‘please’ told Tom everything about what Natalie thought of Steph.

  ‘Of course.’ Steph gave Hattie a little pat. ‘I need to unpack some presents for a special girl, anyway. I’ve brought you a genuine gondolier’s hat from the men who row the boats in Venice.’

  ‘Really? Wow!’ Hattie looked towards Tom to confirm that this was the most brilliant news. ‘Is it made of paper?’

  ‘Oh no, darling. It’s a proper one.’

  When Steph had gone, Hattie reached up, took the pirate’s hat off and put it down on the lawn.

  Tom couldn’t bear to look at Fran’s face. He went and picked up the hat and placed it on the table.

  When Fran said she’d better go too, he assured her that there was no need.

  ‘I’m going, Tom,’ she said, softly, ‘not leaving. The two things are different.’ She turned to Hattie. ‘Well, what a lovely surprise for you, your mother popping by? I will see you again soon, no doubt.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Hattie said, looking towards the gate, and Tom had to remind her about her manners and to say thank you for the ice cream. Fran waved the stilted thanks away and Tom wanted to kiss her, but felt inhibited by Hattie and the prospect of Steph reappearing.

  When Steph did return, hands full of carrier bags, her path crossed with Fran’s.

  ‘Oh, are you going?’ she said. ‘You don’t need to. She doesn’t need to, does she, Hattie?’

  Hattie made no reply and Tom saw Steph’s smile at that. He looked at the half-made ice-cream-carton caterpillar and the plank on the lawn, and it seemed like they belonged to a different world. Everything had changed now. He remembered that look on Fran’s face when Steph had walked through the gate.

  Steph settled herself in a chair, Hattie next to her, and arranged the bags. This was what she did best – the Lady Bountiful approach to motherhood. Each parcel offered to Hattie came with a commentary bigging herself up. ‘I had to go to a tiny shop on the outskirts of Milan to buy this,’ and, ‘I spent a lot of time persuading the designer to make this in a child’s version.’

  Hattie, perhaps sensing that she was required to perform to some specific script, did not do her customary ripping at the paper, but picked delicately at Sellotape and tried to unknot ribbon.

  ‘Good girl,’ Steph said. ‘We’ll save the ribbon for your hair, shall we?’

  Hattie nodded enthusiastically and Tom wanted to throw up. If he’d gone anywhere near Hattie with a ribbon she’d have done one of her karate moves on him.

  He thought of Fran’s face again and picked up the pirate’s hat from the table and went into the house.

  As he kept an eye on Hattie through the window, he got through to Fran’s voicemail. ‘Please believe me,’ he said, ‘I had no idea Steph was coming. Look, if you can, would you pop round after Hattie’s in bed? We can talk. Please.’

  God, did he sound too desperate?

  He went back to the garden and watched the great present-opening ceremony again. Hats, bangles, necklaces, a swimsuit, a T-shirt, a skirt with a frill, a glittery watch, a ceramic pot with a rose on top, some Italian sweets.

  He could tell Hattie liked the hat and the sweets best, but there was a ‘Thank you, Mummy’ after each present. Steph took it as her due, while checking her phone.

  He collected together all the wrapping paper and carried it to the recycling bin. When he returned, Hattie was wearing her hat, holding it on with one hand, while she struggled to get into the sweet packet. He took it from her, opened it and doled out a few bits of candy into her open hand.

  ‘Oh come on, Tom, don’t be so mean.’ Steph swiped the packet from him and poured a lot more sweets out.

  ‘She’s already had ice cream,’ he said, knowing as he did that he was coming over as Mr Grouch vs Ideal Mummy.

  ‘Oh listen to Daddy!’ Steph picked up one of the sweets from Hattie’s hand and fed her it. ‘It’s a special occasion and it’s not going to do her any harm, Tom. Lighten up.’ She popped a sweet into her own mouth and the two of them did synchronised chewing which made him feel as if he was on the other side of a plate-glass window looking in.

  ‘Now, Hattie,’ Steph said, when she had stopped chewing, ‘why don’t you try the T-shirt on and the skirt?’ She pulled them out of the pile of presents. ‘Off you go and then come back and give us a twirl.’

  With Hattie upstairs, Tom said, ‘Your sudden onrush of maternal love hasn’t got anything to do with the phone call the other night?’

  Steph was collecting up the ribbon, winding it round her fingers. ‘Phone call?’

  ‘When I told you I wasn’t bothered what you do any more. Where I mentioned someone else?’

  ‘Oh, that phone call.’ She stopped winding the ribbon. ‘I must say, Tom, she’s quite young. How old is she?’

  She could stuff her script. He didn’t reply.

  ‘And quite … individual too. Good hair. Did she ask you if you could remember those dresses the first time they were around?’

  Hattie came back and Tom wanted to cry for her. She looked like a half-
exploded sausage.

  Steph tugged and smoothed at the clothes, trying to make everything look better. ‘And we can put your hair up too, darling.’ She selected a ribbon and started scraping Hattie’s hair up into a high ponytail.

  Hattie took it all, enraptured by the attention.

  ‘There, look at you. Tom, isn’t she beautiful?’

  What could he say? ‘No, she looks like a standard-issue Barbie doll’? He wanted to shout, ‘Stop it, stop using her like this.’ His frustration felt like a belt secured tightly round his chest.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ he asked.

  There was a shift of her gaze to Hattie and then back to him. ‘Shall we tell Daddy?’ she said.

  ‘She’s staying here!’ Hattie shouted. ‘She’s going to see me at breakfast time and take me to school.’

  ‘We talked about it when you were in the kitchen just now, didn’t we, darling?’

  He could say, ‘No, you are absolutely not staying here,’ but that look on Hattie’s face …

  He was heading for the kitchen again.

  Fran answered her phone this time. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Did you get my message?’

  ‘I’m fine, Tom. And more worried about you. I could see the shock on your face.’

  ‘She’s doing it on purpose, Fran. I told her that I’d fallen for someone when we last spoke on the phone. And Steph can’t bear to be beaten at anything – she’s turned up to have a look at you and try to ruin things. Hattie’s her weapon of choice.’ He checked on events in the garden. ‘And look … this is going to sound pathetic, but she’s managed to back me into a corner about where she’s staying. She got Hattie to agree to it first and … I just can’t have that fight now. Hattie’s beside herself with … excitement, happiness. God. It’ll just be the one night.’

  Fran’s reply was a while coming. ‘I understand. She has you over a barrel. So, I have no visiting rights this evening?’

  ‘It would just get nasty.’

  There was a sigh. ‘You’re right, and I’m not awfully keen on playing a part in “Two Women Fighting Over a Man”. I mean, I would fight for you, Tom, were there a knife-wielding maniac on your case, but not this nails and handbags thing.’