‘It’s Lexie. I need to hide her somewhere quiet, remote, where the paparazzi won’t find her.’
Laura smiled. ‘And my house is about as remote as it gets.’
‘It would be for a couple of weeks, just until she finishes her book. She’s going to record everything on tape for the ghost to write up.’
Laura was worried about Mandy. How would she react to having a stranger in the house? Lexie had seemed nice, but would she be a bad influence? It didn’t matter. There was no way she could refuse Frank. ‘No problem. I’d be happy to have her.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course.’
As if he had read her thoughts, Frank added, ‘And don’t worry about Mandy. Lexie is the most sensible person I’ve ever met. She’s not a traditional role model, I grant you that, but she’s a rock of sense once you get past the boobs and the peroxide hair.’
‘She seems lovely.’
‘Thanks, sis, I owe you for this.’
Laura sat up. ‘Frank, you owe me nothing. If it wasn’t for you I’d be in a strait-jacket, locked up in a psychiatric hospital. You’ve kept me sane through all the grief and despair. I’d be lost without you.’
Frank was silent.
‘Frank?’
He coughed. ‘I’m here. I just wish none of this had happened. It’s been so hard on you and Mum.’
‘And you,’ Laura whispered.
‘On all of us,’ he said quietly.
Laura exhaled deeply. ‘Frank, do you think it’s stopping you having kids? I know how attached you were to Jody. I just think sometimes maybe her disappearing has made you afraid to have kids of your own. But look at Mandy – it worked out for me the second time.’
‘Come on, Laura, you know me better than that. I was mad about Jody and Mandy’s fantastic. But the reason I don’t have any of my own is very straightforward. When I see my old college mates and how their lives have turned out, I don’t envy them or want anything similar. It’s not for me. I used to have great fun with Danny and Andrew, but now when we get together all they do is moan about how tired and fed up they are. They complain about having to get up six times a night with their small kids and that their wives nag them all the time. They never stay out late because they have to get up at five with the kids. They rarely come to rugby internationals because their wives won’t let them. Marriage sounds worse than prison. And to top it all off, none of them seem to be having sex! Where’s the sales pitch? It looks like hell to me.’
‘Is Danny really not having sex?’ Laura probed.
‘Apparently since the last child was born …’ Frank paused for effect ‘… eight months ago, he’s had it twice – once was on his birthday. He says Amber’s always tired or has a headache.’
Laura grinned: she had been very jealous when Amber had married Danny. ‘Is it incredibly immature of me to be thrilled to hear that his sex life with Amber is non-existent?’
‘Yes, but I forgive you. Apparently she nags him incessantly too.’
‘Poor Danny, he should have taken me and my baggage.’
‘He never would have. He was always too conservative for you.’
‘I know. So, you’re determined to continue as the happy bachelor.’
‘Yes, and the key to it is the happy part. I like my life just the way it is. I love being an uncle but I don’t fancy being a dad. Not now, anyway. I’m happy, my mates are miserable. Besides, I’ve met great people through work. Thank God I got out of that dead-end marketing job and set up my agency. At least this way I get to meet really interesting and diverse people.’
‘Opening the agency was a brave move, but you always had a brilliant personality and incredible powers of persuasion. I’m not surprised you’re doing so well.’
‘Thanks. I’m hoping to get an auction going for Lexie’s book. I reckon it’s going to make me and her a lot of money.’
‘She’s certainly led a colourful life!’
‘That’s what sells best these days.’
‘Frank, don’t rule out being a dad.’
‘I won’t, but for now I’m having too much of a good time. Maybe when I’m fifty I’ll decide to settle down with someone but she’ll be young, energetic, have a big sex drive and never nag. Actually, maybe someone who doesn’t speak English – being nagged in Italian probably sounds quite sexy. Maybe a hot young Italian author …’
‘You’re impossible!’ Laura scolded.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment. OK, better go, thanks for agreeing to have Lexie as a house guest. I’ll drop her down over the next couple of days. I’ll call you.’
‘Goodnight, Frank.’
‘Goodnight, Laura. Try to sleep, and remember that Mum doesn’t mean to be cruel. She’s just unhappy.’
‘I know, but it’s hard. I miss Jody too.’
Laura hung up and spent the next three hours staring at the moonlight while her mind wandered into very dark places.
14.
Anna
London, June 2011
Nancy knocked on the door. ‘Come on, I know you’re in there.’
Anna let her next-door neighbour in. Nancy twirled. ‘What do you think?’
Anna didn’t know what to say. Nancy was wearing a low-rise sparkly turquoise gypsy skirt and a short belly top. The outfit didn’t show her at her best.
Nancy followed Anna’s eyes and laughed. ‘I’m aware that my flabby stomach is on show but I really don’t care. It’s liberating to let it all hang out.’
Anna smiled. ‘Good for you. That colour’s lovely on you.’
Anna had opted for tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt. ‘It did say that we could wear ordinary clothes, didn’t it?’
‘Yes, but you look like you’re going for a jog. Here, put this on.’ Nancy tied a glittery pink scarf around Anna’s waist. ‘I have a pair of spangly leggings, if you want to borrow them?’
‘I’m fifty-seven, Nancy. I’d look ridiculous.’
Nancy wagged a finger. ‘Come on now, Anna, you promised you’d get into the spirit of this. Besides, fifty is the new forty.’
Anna laughed. ‘That’s easy for you to say when you’re ten years younger than I am.’
‘And two stone heavier.’
‘You look lovely.’
‘I look like a big fat forty-seven-year-old stuffed into a belly-dancing costume that’s too small for her. But I can feel the menopause knocking at my door and I need to let loose. And you, my lovely but far too serious Irish friend, need to get out of the house and have some fun, so let’s go!’
Anna really didn’t want to go to belly-dancing classes. But Nancy had insisted and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Eventually Anna had given in. Nancy was right: Anna didn’t get out much. Between work and looking after Sophie, she rarely went anywhere. But she was happy: she didn’t miss having a social life; everything she wanted was at home.
As they were climbing into Anna’s car, Nancy’s thirteen-year-old son, Gordon, and three of his friends cycled past. ‘Dude, isn’t that your mother?’ one of the teenagers asked, pointing to Nancy.
Gordon went purple.
‘Yoo-hoooo! Hello, Gordon – do you like my outfit?’ Nancy wiggled her hips, highly amused by her son’s mortification.
He threw down his bike and marched over. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Going to belly-dancing class.’
‘Where’s your top?’
‘This is what you wear for belly-dancing. You’re supposed to see the stomach.’ Nancy ruffled her son’s carefully gelled hair.
‘Don’t you have a jacket or something?’
‘It’s twenty-five degrees.’
‘Seriously, Mum, it’s way too much information. Women your age should cover up. It’s embarrassing.’
‘Inside, I’m still fifteen,’ Nancy confessed.
Gordon glanced back at his friends, who were all wolf-whistling. ‘You look a bit … well … desperate,’ he whispered. ‘Why can’t you wear proper clothes like Anna?
’
‘Because Anna is sensible and I’m not. Because Anna gets to go to work and be with adults during the day and I don’t. Because staying at home to raise three children has driven me potty. Because I refuse to become middle-aged. Because I intend to grow old disgracefully.’
‘Why can’t you be more, you know, normal?’ Gordon said. ‘Why can’t you do gardening or jogging like other mothers?’
‘Because they’re boring and I need some fun in my life.’
Gordon looked at her pleadingly. ‘Boring can be good.’
Nancy kissed her son’s hot cheek. ‘Gordon, I was put on this earth to mortify you. So you’d better get used to it. Now, there’s a steak and kidney pie in the oven for you and your friends. And I bought those ice-creams you like. I’m off to make a complete fool of myself. See you later.’
Gordon slunk back to his friends while Nancy and Anna drove away.
When they got to the church hall, Anna stood at the back, surveying the group. There were eleven women in total, all ages, shapes and sizes. There was at least one woman who looked older than her, which was a relief.
The teacher clapped her hands and asked them to stand in a line. She introduced herself: ‘My name’s Sakhmet. I’m from Croydon.’
Nancy snorted. ‘Sack of meat from Croydon! Not very exotic.’
Sakhmet was wearing a bright orange sparkly skirt with coin belts around her rather large stomach. It all looked tight and uncomfortable. Her top was little more than a bra with beads hanging down from it. The fake tan she was wearing was the same colour as her outfit.
‘I thought this was supposed to tone you?’ Anna whispered to Nancy.
‘I know! Her belly’s as big as mine!’ Nancy groaned. ‘I expected an exotic girl from Cairo, with long, firm limbs and a tiny waist that I could aspire to.’
‘I’ve been dancing for ten years,’ Sakhmet told them. ‘Belly dancing is fantastic for your posture and for tightening up your muscles.’
‘Which ones?’ Nancy whispered. Anna tried not to laugh.
Sakhmet stared at Nancy and asked for silence. ‘Belly dancing has been around for ever. It originated in Egypt and it’s quite posh over there. All the really classy weddings have a belly dancer to entertain the guests. You can actually make a lot of money. Top belly dancers can make up to two or three thousand pounds for a forty-five-minute performance.’
Anna nudged Nancy. ‘It could be a lucrative career for us. If you did four performances a week, you could make twelve thousand pounds for three hours’ work,’ she calculated. ‘I wish I’d taken this up when I was younger – it pays a lot better than teaching.’
‘Can you be quiet over there?’ Sakhmet frowned. ‘Now, Islam has not been kind to belly dancers. The fundamentalists burned down a lot of the nightclubs in Egypt where it took place. A lot of dancers have given it up because of pressure from those bastards.’
‘Bloody fundamentalist party poopers,’ Nancy whispered.
Sakhmet waved her arms. ‘These people are ruining a time-honoured tradition. The famous Egyptian dancer Hala Safy gave up dancing after seeing a vision and started wearing a veil. She used to earn up to a grand a day – the average civil servant in Egypt earns fifty quid a month.’
‘That’s it! We’re moving to Egypt. I could make a fortune,’ Nancy said. ‘They clearly need more dancers if the others are all hiding behind their burkhas. We’d be famous and wealthy in no time.’
‘I might be a little old to do shows. I think they’d pay me a thousand pounds to go away!’ Anna laughed.
‘Those Islamic men are mad for Western women underneath it all. I think we could be on to something here.’ Nancy grinned. ‘I could call myself Fatyarse.’
Sakhmet raised her voice: ‘No respectable Egyptian family wants their daughter to become a dancer because they have low social status unless they become famous. But the top dancers are icons, and often end up on TV or in the movies.’
‘We could be judges on the Egyptian X Factor.’ Nancy giggled.
‘Or movie stars,’ Anna mused.
Sakhmet glared at them. ‘As I was saying, the upper classes would never allow their daughters to dance. Calling someone “son of a dancer” is like us saying “son of a bitch”. It’s a terrible insult.’
‘That’s what Gordon’s friends are currently calling him.’ Anna chuckled.
Nancy snorted. ‘Hilarious.’
‘Thankfully, in the Western world we don’t have any of these prejudices and women enjoy the freedom to show off their tummies and dance whenever they want. So come on, ladies, let’s get you started. Right, follow me, put your feet hip distance apart, knees soft, stomach muscles engaged.’
‘Engaged in what? Wobbling about?’ Nancy asked loudly.
Sakhmet eyeballed her. ‘Concentrate, please. Now, ribcage lifted, shoulders back and relaxed.’
Anna tried to follow the instructions. Sakhmet came over to her to adjust her posture. ‘Relax your shoulders,’ she said.
‘I’m trying,’ Anna assured her.
‘Come on, back and down.’ Sakhmet tugged at her. But Anna couldn’t do it. ‘You hold a lot of tension in your shoulders,’ Sakhmet noted. ‘They’re as stiff as bricks. You need to relax.’
If only you knew how wonderful that would be, Anna thought. To relax, to feel relaxed, calm, loose, light …
‘Engage your stomach,’ Sakhmet told Nancy.
‘I’m trying,’ Nancy replied. ‘There’s just a lot of it.’
Sakhmet went back to the front of the class.
‘My God, her fake tan smells appalling. I feel ill.’ Nancy wrinkled her nose.
‘Now, ladies, watch me. Arms up and down like this.’
‘Excuse me.’ A girl of about twenty-five spoke up. ‘Can you show us the Shakira hip wiggle. That’s why I’m here. This arm stuff is dead boring.’
‘Does a baby run before it crawls?’ Sakhmet asked. ‘Do you eat food before it’s cooked? Do you put your shoes on before your trousers? Do you put your makeup on in the dark?’
‘It certainly looks like it,’ Nancy muttered, and suddenly Anna was laughing uncontrollably.
Anna parked the car outside her house.
‘At least we had a good laugh,’ Nancy said. ‘Maybe we should try pole dancing next.’
‘You’re on your own there,’ Anna warned her. ‘No amount of pleading will get me to entertain that idea or any others. I’m sticking to yoga.’
‘What about salsa?’
‘Goodnight, Nancy.’ Anna closed the front door behind her and went up to Sophie’s bedroom, but the door was shut and the light was off. She opened the door gently and peered in. Sophie was safely tucked up in bed, asleep. Anna said a silent prayer of thanks, as she did every night, for the gift of motherhood.
As the early-morning sun streamed through the window, Anna finished her ten minutes of meditation. She loved this time of day when the world was still quiet and she could escape from the stresses and strains of everyday life. Her meditation always started with gratitude for Sophie. Her beautiful baby girl with the golden ringlets had grown into an incredible adult. She was the love of Anna’s life.
Anna lay back on her mat and stretched like a cat. She couldn’t believe Sophie was eighteen. She was so grown-up for her age. Anna supposed it was because she had no siblings and it was just the two of them. Sophie had only ever known adult company at home. Anna had worried that it was lonely for her, but Sophie spent a lot of time at Holly’s house where there was always plenty of action. Anna was so proud of her daughter: apart from the very occasional teenage tantrum, Sophie had been a dream. Anna dealt with so many troublesome teens at her school that she knew how lucky she was with Sophie. She was one in a million. A gift from God.
Anna got up and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She stood sideways and sucked her tummy in. She wasn’t bad for someone three years from sixty. She had put on some weight over the last few years but it hadn’t been a bad thing: she’d been too th
in. It suited her face to carry more weight. She looked less gaunt. She examined it. Lined, but not overly so. Parents often commented that she looked younger than her age. The mums said it was because she wasn’t married – ‘Husbands give you wrinkles,’ they said.
One of the fathers who always flirted with her told her she looked like Susan Sarandon. She had Googled her when she got home and discovered that the actress was seven years older than she was! Sophie had said it was rubbish and that she looked like Geena Davis, which was a lie but a sweet one.
Anna hummed as she brushed her teeth. Her holidays would start soon and she’d have a blissful six weeks off. She looked forward to it. Being a headmistress was tiring. You had to deal with everyone’s problems, issues and complaints – teachers, parents, students. It was never-ending. Most of the time Anna didn’t mind because she liked problem-solving. But some people were never happy and it required a lot of patience and diplomacy to keep things running smoothly in a big school. It would be nice to have a break from it all.
She was looking forward to spending three weeks in France with Sophie. They had booked a week in Paris, a week in Provence and then a final week walking in the Alps. Joe was going to join them for a few days in Provence. Anna was looking forward to it. It was nice for Sophie to have a positive male role-model in her life, and although they only saw Joe once or twice a year, it was always fun to have him around.
Anna knew that this would be her last big holiday with Sophie. From next year she’d want to go away with her art college friends, travelling the world. Anna was determined to make it a really special, memorable trip.
She got dressed and went to check on her daughter. She was awake and staring at the ceiling when Anna went in.
‘Morning! I thought you’d still be asleep now that your holidays have officially started.’
‘Well, I’m not.’
Anna sat down on Sophie’s bed. ‘You look a bit peaky. You must be worn out after all those exams. Are you feeling OK?’
Sophie rolled over, turning her back to her mother. ‘No, I’m not. I feel awful.’
‘Let me check your temperature. I hope you’re not coming down with something.’
This Child of Mine Page 12
