The Frances Garrood Collection

by Frances Garrood

  “I think I’ll leave telling Clive for a while,” Steph was saying. “Just until I’ve got used to the idea myself. Then perhaps we could tell him together. Would you mind doing that, Gabs? I don’t think I could do it on my own, but with you there, I might manage it. Gabs? Gabs! I don’t think you’ve heard a word I’ve been saying!”

  “Of course I have.” Gabs dragged her thoughts away from her reveries and patted Steph’s shoulder. “And you’re going to be just fine.”

  “You’ve certainly changed your tune!”

  “Well, if I can’t dissuade you, then I’ll have to support you, won’t I?”

  “Oh, Gabs! Father Augustine was right. You really are a blessing.”

  Gabs grinned at her. “Yes, aren’t I?”

  The Third Meeting: June

  It was Gabs who had suggested the picnic, and at the time, it had seemed a good idea. The weather was warm, and there was a pleasant park within fairly easy reach of all of them. It would make a nice change from their indoor meetings and would exonerate anyone (Gabs herself, as it happened; it was her turn) from playing host. Everyone could contribute food, and Gabs said she’d bring some wine. Mavis herself would take a flask of coffee. And, rather unfortunately, Maudie.

  A friend had said she might be able to sit with Maudie, but at the last minute she phoned to say that she couldn’t make it.

  “I’m sorry, Mavis,” she said, “but I have to be honest with you. It’s that cat. He doesn’t like me.”

  “He doesn’t like anybody,” Mavis said. “I’ll shut him in my bedroom. He’ll be fine.”

  “You did that last time, and your mother let him out.”

  “Just keep an eye on her. The cat will be all right. His bark’s worse than his bite.”

  “That’s what you say, but last time, he ruined a new sweater and scratched me quite badly. And all without, as you put it, barking.”

  “So that means you won’t be coming anymore?”

  “Oh, I’m very happy to visit you both. You know that. I’d hate to lose touch altogether. But I can’t sit with Maudie anymore.” There was an apologetic pause. “You know how it is.”

  Looking at Pussolini now, lurking at the top of the stairs and batting at imaginary prey with extended claws (should she get them cut? Would anybody dare?), Mavis had to admit that he was getting worse and that nowadays he more or less ruled the roost. He hid behind things and on top of things, and pounced on unsuspecting visitors, emitting big cat noises and generally finding entertainment at the expense of unsuspecting visitors. He never attacked Maudie, whom he adored, and knew better than to take on Mavis, who was responsible for feeding him, but anyone else was seen as fair game.

  Mavis had tried seeking advice about his increasingly feral habits, but the vet had been no help at all.

  “He must have been mistreated at some time in his life,” he said. “He just needs a bit of understanding.”

  “Oh, I understand him perfectly,” Mavis told him. “He’s a thoroughly evil animal.”

  “I don’t believe there’s any such thing,” said the vet.

  “You’ll be suggesting counselling next.”

  “Well, you may joke, but there are people who do that kind of thing. Animal behavioural psychologists.”

  “Who are very expensive, I don’t doubt,” said Mavis, who thought that Pussolini would make mincemeat of anyone who tried to get inside his nasty little brain.

  “Quite possibly.”

  So Pussolini lived on, uncounselled and uncontrollable. If she had had her own way, Mavis would have had him put down, but Maudie loved him, and Mavis couldn’t bring herself to do it. There was little enough in Maudie’s increasingly narrow existence, and she was generally so undemanding. The least Mavis could do was put up with her cat. But this meant that soon she herself would be a prisoner in her own home, for while Maudie usually behaved perfectly when she was at work, she became particularly confused in the evenings and couldn’t really be left.

  So Maudie would have to come on the picnic.

  Gabs and Alice didn’t appear to object to Maudie’s status as honorary club member, and it had been a beautiful warm day, so Mavis gathered together her contributions (sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs), dressed her mother up in suitable clothing (Maudie had recently taken to spending all day in her nightie), and phoned for a taxi. The evening might not be so bad after all.

  There were still quite a lot of people in the park making the most of the evening sunshine: teenagers flirting and messing about on the swings, couples strolling hand-in-hand, men in suits on their way home from work. Mavis was the last to arrive, and Gabs and Alice had already laid out rugs on the grass and opened a bottle of wine.

  “Come and have a drink,” said Gabs, helping Mavis to set up the picnic chair she’d brought along for Maudie.

  “Thanks.” Mavis put down her bags. “I’m not quite sure what to do about Mother. There’s no telly for her to watch, and it wouldn’t be appropriate for her to — well, to hear what we say, would it?”

  “Not to worry. She can borrow my iPod,” said Gabs, fishing it out of her bag. “Here, Maudie. Have a listen to this.” She removed Maudie’s hearing aid and plugged her in. “What do you think?” she asked her.

  “I can’t hear you,” said Maudie. “Someone’s put something in my ears.”

  “It’s music,” Gabs shouted.

  “What did you say, dear?”

  “Music!”

  “I can’t hear you, dear. I’m listening to this music.” Maudie helped herself to a sandwich and tapped her foot in time to whatever it was she was listening to.

  “Well, that seems to be okay,” said Mavis, relieved. “Thank you, Gabs.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  This was always the awkward moment: the few minutes before things had warmed up, and everyone was waiting for someone else to start talking. They didn’t really see enough of each other, Mavis thought, peeling an egg for Maudie. The three of them still weren’t completely at ease with one another. They were all so very different, with nothing in common but their relationships. She noticed that Gabs was already on her second glass of wine, and Alice seemed rather quiet. Perhaps she should speak first?

  “Well, I’ve had an interesting time,” she began, feeling oddly shy. “Clifford’s daughter got married two weeks ago.”

  “Oh goodness! Poor you!” Alice immediately seemed to perk up. “How did you feel about it?”

  “Awful.”

  “I bet you did. And did you go?”

  How good it was to be with people who understood, people who could see that she couldn’t possibly have missed this wedding. Suddenly Mavis felt as though her mental corsets had been unlaced, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, I did.”

  “Did Clifford find out?” Gabs asked.

  “Yes. He noticed my shoes.”

  “Your shoes!” Gabs rocked with laughter. “They must have been pretty special.”

  “Well, that’s the odd thing. They weren’t. In fact, he was rather rude about them.”

  “Silly bugger,” said Gabs cheerfully.

  “Yes, he is a silly bugger sometimes,” said Mavis, enjoying the sound of this unaccustomed word as it rolled off her lips. “A very silly bugger.”

  “Language, Mavis,” said Maudie, who had disengaged the iPod. Gabs popped it back in again.

  “And?” Alice asked. “What did he say?”

  “Oh, the usual. I was sneaky. I was spying. That kind of thing.”

  “Well, of course you were. You could hardly pretend to be a guest.”

  “That’s what I told him.”

  “And his wife — what’s her name — did you see her?”

  “Dorothy. Yes, I did.”

  “And what’s she like?”

  “Very large, and absolutely terrifying.”

  “No threat there, then,” said Gabs, feeding Maudie pieces of fruit cake.

  “Well, not that sort of threat. No. Except that she is marrie
d to Clifford. But I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her.”

  Mavis recalled the spectacle of Dorothy as she left the church, dwarfing everyone around her, including Clifford. Even her handbag had been enormous — a proper Importance of Being Earnest handbag — and Mavis wondered again what could have been inside it. Apart from a handkerchief and perhaps a lipstick, what else would the mother of the bride need to carry with her? She pictured packets of safety pins, a spare pair of knickers, perhaps even a Swiss Army knife. The importance of being Dorothy. Mavis giggled at the thought.

  “Come on, Mavis,” Gabs said. “Share the joke.”

  So Mavis shared the joke, and was gratified to find that the others were amused (Mavis wasn’t usually very good at jokes). She then went on to describe the rest of Dorothy, from the trembling headpiece down to the vast shoes (size eight? possibly even nine?), and afterwards she felt a very great deal better. All these thoughts had been tumbling about in her head since the wedding, desperate to get out, and it was the first time she’d been able to put them into words.

  Maudie interrupted with an observation.

  “Michael Jackson,” she said through a mouthful of cake.

  “You’re right. It is Michael Jackson.” Gabs looked impressed. “How does she know that?”

  “She watches a lot of television,” Mavis told her. “She picks up all kinds of things.”

  “They did something funny to his nose,” Maudie continued. “Doesn’t suit him.” She hummed along, tapping her foot and cramming more cake into her mouth. Mavis was ashamed of Maudie’s manners, which, like the rest of Maudie, had deteriorated recently, but no one seemed to mind.

  “She’s lovely, your mum,” Gabs said. “Mine died when I was a kid.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Mavis was mortified that they had known each other for all these months, and yet she didn’t know that Gabs had no mother.

  “Don’t be.” Gabs poured herself more wine. “It was a long time ago, and my dad treated her like shit, so in a way she was better off out of it. But it must be nice to have a mum. Even if, well, even if…”

  “She’s not all there?” Mavis helped her out.

  “Yeah. But she’s a sweetie. And she’s right about Michael Jackson’s nose.”

  Listening to Mavis’s account of the wedding, Alice had a strong sense of fellow feeling. The two of them might be very different, but they were both living their lives in the shadows of other people’s marriages, and it was an uncomfortable place to be.

  “I’ve never seen Angela,” she said now. “I did think of it — of doing what you did, Mavis. Sort of hanging around outside the house and — well, spying, I suppose. But I never did.”

  “But when the baby’s born?” Gabs asked. “How about then? Won’t you want to see her — oh, I don’t know — pushing a pram or something?”

  “I know I’ll be tempted. I’ve even wondered if I might be able to blag my way into the hospital pretending to be a sister or maybe a friend, just so that I can see the baby. But they’d never let me in, and besides, what would it achieve?”

  “And how is the baby?” Gabs asked.

  “Moving,” Alice told her.

  “Oh dear.”

  In spite of her relative youth, Gabs seemed to understand her feelings much better than she might have imagined, and Alice was grateful.

  “I love Jay, so I should be happy for him, but I simply can’t be. The more excited he is, the more miserable I become.” She plucked a daisy from the grass and began stripping off the petals (he loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, but is there room for me and a baby?). “I wonder whether anyone is ever really happy for someone else?”

  “No. It’s a myth,” Gabs said. “It’s what people say when what they really mean is ‘you’re happy, and I know I ought to be too, but I’m not. And if it’s something I want, the happier you become, the more nasty and jealous I’ll be.’”

  Alice laughed. “That more or less sums it up,” she said. She picked more daisies and started making a daisy chain. “Angela’s having another scan next week. They’ll find out whether it’s a boy or a girl.”

  “Oh dear,” Gabs said again.

  “Yes.”

  Somehow the baby would be much more real when it had a gender; when half its options had been excluded, and it became baby-pink or baby-blue; when it began to have a real identity, and probably even a name.

  “Which would you prefer it to be?” Mavis asked. “Boy or girl?”

  “I don’t know.” Alice tried to imagine Jay with a daughter (Daddy’s girl) and then a son (“my boy”—she could almost hear Jay saying the words). “I’ve got a son, so it would sort of even things up. But then I think I’d be more jealous of a daughter. I can see Jay going all soppy over a baby girl.”

  “Talking of boys, how’s your gorgeous son?” Gabs asked. “And don’t look at me like that. It’s not my fault if he finds me irresistible.”

  “Finn’s fine,” Alice said. “We had a bit of a row about a cannabis plant, but that seems to have blown over.”

  “What, the row or the plant?”

  “Both.”

  “What’s cannabis like?” Mavis asked. “I’ve always wanted to know.”

  “D’you want to try some?” Gabs asked.

  “Heavens, no!”

  “Why not? I think I’ve got some somewhere.” She searched in her bag and retrieved a small white envelope. “Here. I’ll roll you a joint, and you can have a try.”

  “But I don’t even smoke!”

  “Doesn’t matter. Just take it easy.”

  “Suppose someone sees me?”

  “No one will see you. Trust me.”

  “But I’ve heard it’s got a distinctive smell. Someone might — might —”

  “Smell it?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Live a little, Mavis. You’re a long time dead.”

  Alice watched in amusement as Gabs burned a small piece of resin with her cigarette lighter, collected up the resulting fragments, and mixed them with tobacco. She sealed the cigarette paper with a tongue that was pointed, almost catlike, and rolled it into a neat cigarette. Alice’s own pot-smoking days were brief and a long time ago, but she remembered them with affection. Now she came to think about it, cannabis could well have played a part in the creation of Finn.

  “Could I have a try, Gabs?” she said. “For old times’ sake?”

  “We’ll all have one.”

  Gabs lit the first joint, took a deep drag, and then handed it to Mavis.

  “There you go, Mavis. Take it slowly.”

  Mavis took the cigarette and sniffed it gingerly.

  “Are you sure it’s safe?” she said.

  “Quite safe.”

  Mavis placed the cigarette between her lips, where it wobbled unsteadily.

  “You’ll have to breathe deeper than that,” Gabs said. “Look. Like this.”

  Mavis did as she was told, and after a brief fit of coughing (“perfectly normal; it’ll pass,” said Gabs), she appeared to get the hang of it. The others watched her with interest.

  “Well?” Gabs said after a few minutes. “What do you think?”

  “Nice,” Mavis beamed. “I’d no idea this would be so nice. Whoops.” She dropped her joint and fumbled in the grass to retrieve it.

  “I told you you’d like it, Mavis,” Gabs said. “Alice? Here’s yours.”

  They smoked their joints, and then Gabs rolled them all another. People milled around them, but apart from one or two odd glances, seemed to take little notice. A dog came up to them, sniffing curiously, and for a moment Mavis wondered whether it might arouse suspicion, but after a brief investigation, it dashed off in pursuit of a pigeon.

  Alice lay back on the rug, smoking and gazing up at the evening sky through a dapple of leaves. A tiny aeroplane crossed her field of vision, leaving a vapour trail. Alice tried to say the words “vapour trail” and found that she couldn’t. She also found that she didn’t care. She
felt her back and shoulders relaxing into the ground beneath her; she heard the chatter of birds and the hum of traffic and smelled the scent of crushed grass. She could feel the fragile feathery strands of her daisy chain between her fingers. Her senses were heightened and yet dulled. The feeling was quite delicious. She no longer cared about Jay’s baby — he could have all the babies he wanted — or Angela, or the bitchy editor who’d been on her case about a late article. All she needed was this evening, this park, these lovely people.

  “A piece of pipe,” she said, propping herself on her elbow and taking a sip of her wine.

  “What?” Gabs asked.

  “A piece of pipe. No. Pipe of peace. That’s the one. That’s what I mean. This —” she waved her cigarette — “is like smoking a pipe of peace.”

  “Piece of pipe!” Mavis started to giggle. “Piece of pipe. Pipe of peace. Very funny, Alice.”

  “It’s not that funny,” said Gabs.

  “It’s hilar— hilar— very funny,” Mavis insisted. Her face had gone a deep red, and she was giggling uncontrollably.

  “Oh, well. If you say so.”

  Alice lay down again. The sky was beginning to darken, and it looked as though it might rain. “It might rain,” she said. The words felt heavy as they formed in her mouth, and she had trouble delivering them. It was not so much like speaking the words as giving birth to them. She pushed them out, one by one. “It. Might. Rain.” That was better.