12
Ever since dinner at the Cutlers’, Luke had been grumpier and grumpier. He said he was stressed about all the changes at work.
‘But you won’t lose your job, you’re far too important,’ Poppy had said trying to reassure him.
‘Want to bet?’ he’d growled. ‘Marco’s regularly hosting the Saturday night show now, Emma’s doing more as well. I’m going out of fashion, like flares in the eighties.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Christ, I keep forgetting you were Clara’s age then.’ He sighed and pushed his half-eaten plate of pasta away (OK, it was a bit too chewy, Poppy had been aiming for al dente, but perhaps she’d got carried away). ‘Anyway, even assuming I do hold on to my job, the question is do I want it any more now it’s all pop stars and old ladies in Torquay getting locked in the lavatory for a week?’
‘No! Did that happen? Poor woman, how awful.’
‘I was being facetious,’ Luke growled, standing up. ‘I’m going to have a bath. Unwind.’
‘There are other ways to unwind,’ Poppy said, in what she hoped was her sexy voice, though she suspected it just made her sound like she had a bad cold.
Luke paused for a second and then said, ‘No, I really fancy a bath.’
As she cleared away the half-finished dinner, Poppy wondered what she could do to make Luke proud of her. Perhaps she should start an Open University degree? Something to do with architecture or history of art, so she could find out more about those hidden corners of London she was so passionate about. But a degree would cost money and Poppy was tired of being another expense on Luke’s long list. Maybe she should find a job? But then what would she do with Clara? Farrah Cutler had texted her Brigita’s details, but the idea of handing her daughter over to another woman still made Poppy deeply uneasy.
‘I don’t know,’ she confided to Glenda the following morning, as she followed her and her can of Mr Sheen round the flat. ‘I mean, I don’t think things are quite as good as they could be between me and Luke. Sometimes I wonder if he’s having an affair, he’s out late so often, but I don’t think so.’
‘I’m sure he isn’t.’ Glenda, who was privately convinced he was, reassured her. ‘Not when he’s married to such a pretty woman as you, Poppy.’
‘We hardly ever see each other. We need to spend more time together. It’s his birthday on Saturday, so I thought I’d take him out to lunch. A bit of time alone together, getting to know each other.’ The thought crossed her mind that perhaps this was something they should have done before they married, but she hastily put a lid on it. ‘You’re not free to babysit on Saturday, are you?’
‘Oh darling, I wish you ask me earlier. I’m looking after the Bristow children that day.’
‘Oh.’
‘You could ask your mother. That is what I would do.’
‘I don’t think your mother is the same as my mother,’ Poppy said gloomily, comparing Anna-Maria who was currently bringing up Glenda’s brood with Louise, who complained regularly that she’d hoped for a few years respite from childcare.
‘This is the real problem, I think, Poppy. You have no one to help you with Clara. Maybe it would be good to have a break from her some time. You haven’t had a night away from her in two years. It’s a long, long time for any woman to do alone.’
Not you too! The problem was that on one level Poppy agreed with Glenda, she just hated to admit it for fear of sounding like her mother. ‘You know I love being at home with Clara,’ she said defensively.
‘You need time off every now and then. You’ve been a hero, Poppy. No Clara, don’t pick that up, darling. No, it has bad, dirty things in it. No, listen to Auntie Glenda. No, is not for drinking!’
‘I’m hardly a hero,’ Poppy argued above Clara’s anguished shrieks as Glenda removed the bottle of Flash to the highest bathroom shelf. ‘What about you? You’ve got all those kids at home and here you are…’ Cleaning my toilet, Poppy thought, but instead she let the sentence trail off.
‘Yeah, but when they were babies it was much easier for me than you. I had my mum, my aunties, my cousins around to help. You have nobody.’
‘I’d be happy leaving Clara with you for a couple of days a week,’ Poppy hinted, but Glenda sighed regretfully.
I2C)
‘You know we’ve been here already, Poppy. I got no work permit. Luke’s already worried I’ll be caught cleaning your house and he’ll be in trouble for employing an illegal.’ Seeing Poppy’s disappointed face, she continued, ‘You should look for someone else. You can’t just think about Clara’s happiness, you know. You’ve got to be happy too. I know you, Poppy, you’re not happy right now because things aren’t going too good with Luke.’
‘But I’ve told you, I’m working on that. If Mum will look after Clara, I’m taking him out to lunch.’
And to Poppy’s amazement, Louise had agreed to babysit.
Poppy woke up some time around six on Saturday, brimming with excitement.
‘I’m taking Luke out for a surprise lunch at Orrery, which is where we went after our wedding,’ she told her invisible interviewer. ‘I think it’s really important to spoil each other, don’t you?’
No time to start like the present. She rolled over and gently kissed Luke on the cheek.
‘Good morning,’ she breathed.
‘Uh? Wuh?’
‘Happy birthday.’ She slipped her hand under the duvet and into his pyjama trousers. Still floppy. Never mind. Poppy set to work.
‘Mmmm,’ said Luke.
‘An early birthday present.’ She grinned.
‘Mummeeee!’ came floating through the door.
‘Oh, no,’ they both groaned.
‘Ignore her,’ Luke implored.
‘Mummeeee!’
‘Come on.’
‘No! I can’t.’
Luke groaned again. ‘You’ve got to stop running to that child,’ he said, but Poppy had already crossed the hall to her daughter’s room. ‘Hey, gorgeous,’ she said to Clara, who was standing up in her cot, grinning at the sight of her. ‘Come into bed with us. It’s Daddy’s birthday. Will you say happy birthday, Daddy?’
‘Ha’ee birthday,’ said Clara, as Poppy plonked her down beside her groaning father.
‘Aah. That’s so cute.’ Poppy kissed her. ‘Now I’m going to tell Daddy what I’ve got planned for today. Granny Louise is coming over and so Mummy is going to take Daddy out for lunch.’ She realized uneasily that more and more she communicated with Luke through the medium of their daughter.
‘Oh?’ said Luke. He sounded less than delighted.
‘Yes, I’ve booked Orrery.’ She looked at him. ‘Is that OK?’
‘It’s just…’ Luke sighed. ‘Sorry, darling, I should have told you. But I’ve got to go somewhere.’
Poppy felt as if she’d been hit. ‘What?’
‘I’m really sorry. I meant to tell you. It slipped my mind. The children are taking me out for lunch. So…’ He flailed around like a drowning wasp. ‘It’s great that Louise is going to babysit, though. Why don’t you take advantage of it? Go out. Meet your friends. Or something.’
‘I was all excited about our lunch,’ Poppy said in a small voice.
‘We could go out for dinner.’ Luke’s heart sank at the thought of two big meals. His hand drifted down to his waist. He could definitely pinch more than a couple of inches. He was haunted by the ghost of his chubby younger self. He glanced in the mirror. His face was still a little red, he just hoped Dr Mazza was right about it fading over the weekend.
‘I don’t think we can get a babysitter,’ Poppy said. ‘Glenda can’t do it this weekend. That’s why I asked Mum. Ow, Clara. Stop pulling Mummy’s hair!’
‘Well, we’ll go out at some point in the week.’ Luke rolled out of bed and padded into the en suite. Poppy lay trying to cuddle Clara, who was completely uninterested, preferring to rip pages out of a toy catalogue. Tears pricked Poppy’s eyes. She’d been so keyed up about taking Luke out fo
r a romantic lunch, coming back to a – hopefully – empty house and making love and then, perhaps, having that discussion again about another baby. But as ever, Luke’s other family took priority. And as ever, Poppy could hardly complain, given how she’d stolen him from them.
Luke emerged from the shower. ‘I tell you what: why don’t I take Clara down for breakfast and you can get some more sleep.’
‘But it’s your birthday!’
Luke smiled ruefully. Poppy was still at an age where birthdays were something to celebrate rather than to make you groan in horror. ‘That’s why I’d like some quality time with my daughter. Come on, Clah-Clah. Shall we have breakfast together?’
‘Croissant!’
‘I got croissants for a special birthday breakfast,’ Poppy explained. ‘And your present’s on top of the fridge.’ She peered at him. ‘Ow! Your face does look sore. Are you sure it was a dentist and not a butcher you saw?’
‘It looks worse than it feels,’ Luke said abruptly, kissing her on the forehead. ‘Now go back to sleep.’
Poppy didn’t think she’d be able to. She lay listening to Clara clashing pan lids and Luke opening and shutting cupboard doors, still brooding on her disappointment. Still, she thought, Luke was right, she could do something with this unexpected time off. But what? She thought of activities where Clara was distinctly unwelcome. The cinema, maybe? But only losers went to see films alone. A museum? Usually Clara came with her, but it might be an idea to go somewhere like the John Soane Museum in Holborn, which was so densely packed with trinkets it had been a bit of a nightmare to negotiate with a buggy. On her own Poppy could take a really good look at things.
Cheered at the idea, she drifted off to be woken a couple of hours later by the doorbell ringing and then voices in the hall. Of course, Mum had said she’d come about eleven. Rolling out of bed, she went to the landing. Sure enough, she could hear her mother talking to her husband.
‘Happy birthday, Luke. Fifty-two, eh? God, how does that feel? It’s bad enough being forty-five. You are looking very well on it, I must say. Is that a shaving rash? Your skin is a little bit blotchy.’
‘Granny!’
‘Now you know I don’t like to be called that, Clara. I’m Louise. Louise who has brought the most gorgeous party dress for you. It was in the Moschino sale. I just do hope you won’t put your sticky fingers all over it.’ She knelt down and clapped her hands so her discreet silver jewellery rattled. Clara giggled and Poppy felt a little surge of hope. All right, so Louise hadn’t been the best mother, but maybe it wasn’t too late for her to redeem herself.
‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, coming down the stairs and inhaling the familiar aroma of Obsession. As usual, her mother was dressed more for a day trawling Bond Street than rolling on the floor with her granddaughter. Louise’s tiny figure, maintained through a diet endorsed by Gillian McKeith and a weekly regime of two step classes, one power-yoga session and daily sit-ups, was encased in a knee-length denim skirt, a black leather jacket and a cream silk blouse that radiated dry-clean-only vibes. Her black hair gleamed, her make-up was subtle but immaculate. As ever, Poppy wondered if two such different physical types could truly be related. She presumed she got her Viking looks from her father, but she’d never know for sure.
‘Hello, darling,’ Louise said, eyeing her stained dressing gown warily as if it might be contagious. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine. I—’
‘I have the most appalling headache again,’ Louise continued. ‘And my hay fever’s started already.’
‘Oh, poor you.’
‘Yes. Well. That’s the price you pay for working every hour God sends to build up a business.’
‘It was really kind of you to take time out to babysit,’ Poppy said humbly. She knew the script backwards.
Louise looked down at her tan, knee-length boots. ‘Um. Actually. There’s a bit of a problem about that, darling.’
Familiar disappointment thudded in Poppy’s breastbone. ‘Right,’ she said cautiously.
‘You see my chiropractor just called and she can fit me in at half past one, which is just as well as my neck is killing me. So I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to babysit over lunchtime after all.’
‘Mum!’
‘I can stay for an hour now, if you like. I don’t see why it’s a problem. You can take Clara with you, can’t you?’
‘I—’ Poppy began, as Luke interrupted, ‘Well, that’s a shame, Louise. But don’t worry, I understand. And luckily your services aren’t needed because as it happens I’m going out to lunch with my other children. So all’s well that ends well.’
Louise turned to Poppy, outraged. ‘What? You mean you got me to babysit for nothing?’
‘You weren’t going to do it anyway. You could have said!’
‘No, you could have said.’
‘Luke only told me this morning.’ Poppy pushed her hair away from her eyes and grabbed Luke’s arm. ‘Did you open your present?’ she said softly.
‘Oh yeah. Thanks.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘It’s great. I’m going to get dressed.’
Poppy felt steamrollered. She’d spent a purgatorial morning pushing a very vocal Clara round the shops finding the perfect cashmere T-shirt to match the colour of Luke’s eyes. She’d paid a vast price for it – well, Luke had paid really, but still… and this was all the thanks she got. She felt like an old pair of socks that no one could be bothered to retrieve from the bottom of the laundry bin.
Louise cleared her throat. ‘I don’t suppose a cup of tea would be too much to ask for?’
The kitchen was its usual clutter of dirty cereal bowls, the floor was covered in plastic toys. Sometimes it made Poppy despair that she spent all day tidying up only for Clara to displace it all again. Louise navigated her way through the mess, wrinkling her nose.
‘This place is a tip, Poppy. I can’t believe you have a cleaner.’
‘She only comes once a week.’
‘And what do you do on the other six days? Honestly! You should be so lucky. When you were Clara’s age I certainly didn’t have the luxury of someone to help me out.’
‘You had an au pair,’ Poppy said softly.
‘Sorry?’ But Louise was never that interested in what anyone else had to say. ‘Have you got any herbal? Tea and coffee is incredibly bad for the skin, you know, sweetheart. All that caffeine. Makes you old before your time. Like kids.’
‘So what’s the news, Mum?’ Poppy said, determined not to rise to the bait. ‘How’s Gary?’
Gary was Louise’s on-off walker, a bald widower with a heart of gold. Louise wouldn’t dignify him with the term boyfriend. When asked why, she’d reply: ‘He works in insurance and he’s got a hearing aid.’ Gary was a very useful escort to the cinema and to tennis-club functions, who was shelved whenever someone more appealing came on the scene.
As usual, at the mention of Gary, Louise wrinkled her nose as she might at one of Clara’s used nappies. ‘He’s fine. He’s booked a little holiday for us in the Lake District.’
‘Oh, how lovely.’ Poppy yearned for a holiday, but even though Luke got a very generous six weeks off a year, three of them had to be spent with his children and the other three had to be spent finishing his book. ‘We’ll fit in something,’ he said, whenever she asked him about it, but they never did.
‘Hmmm. The hotel’s only four stars, but it does have a spa. Of course, we’re sharing a room, but that shouldn’t be a problem, thanks to these new sleeping pills I’ve got.’
‘Mum!’
‘One in his glass at dinner and one in mine and there’ll be no hanky panky,’ Louise continued.
‘Why didn’t you just ask him to book separate rooms?’
‘He’d have been upset, and I can’t stand it when Gary gets upset. This puppy-dog look comes into his eyes and… Oh, Clara! Off Louise please! I don’t want you laddering my tights.’
Poppy opened her arms. ‘Come to Mummy.’ She hugged her daughter tight, inha
ling her sweetness, marvelling at the softness of her skin and hair.
‘Oh, darling, I was hoping for fresh.’ Louise plucked the teabag out of her mug and gazed at it balefully. ‘Did I tell you Christine and I are off next weekend to a spa in Malaga? Should be lovely. I’ve booked a facial, a full body scrub and a Thai head massage so far.’ She looked her daughter up and down. ‘Anyway, enough about me. What about you? Any more thoughts about going back to work?’
Not you too! Poppy felt a sudden flash of resolve.
‘Actually, yes,’ she said. ‘I’m about to hire a nanny.’
Louise put down her cup in surprise. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. She’s just finished working for a colleague of Luke’s. They say she’s great.’
‘Polish is she? I hope so. They’re the best girls at the moment, so loving and excellent at housework, which wouldn’t go amiss. And cheap. I wish there’d been more of them around when you were growing up.’
‘I don’t know where she’s from. Her name’s Brigita.’
‘Almost definitely Polish. Don’t hire an Australian whatever you do, they’re always picking up venereal diseases and getting drunk on duty. Still, that’s the best news I’ve heard in ages, Poppy. Get you out of the house at last. Maybe you’re a chip off the old block after all.’ Louise looked dubious at this pronouncement. She took a sip of her tea. ‘Ugh. This tastes like mud.’
‘The teabags are quite old,’ Poppy admitted. She vaguely remembered buying them when she was pregnant with Clara and being good about what she put in her body.
Luke reappeared, in chinos and a stripy shirt looking very Ralph Lauren. ‘Well, I’m off now,’ he said sheepishly.
‘And I’d better be going too.’ Louise pushed her mug aside. ‘Can’t finish that anyway.’ She bent down and kissed Clara on the nose. ‘Now you be a good girl for your mummy,’ she said, then she pecked Poppy on the cheek. ‘And you think about what I’ve been saying.’ She pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet out of her bag and dumped it on the table. ‘I’ll leave you this.’
Luke kissed Clara and then his wife.
‘Look, I’m sorry about this. You should have told me you had something planned. Let’s get Glenda to babysit and we’ll have a special birthday celebration in the week. Wednesday’s my day off.’
The Model Wife Page 11
