by Sarah Long
‘It’s just weird, John. We don’t know where this is heading, and you’re already leaving me all your money—’
‘What do you mean, we don’t know where this is heading? It’s perfectly obvious to me. We belong together, and you know that. Why else did you drive up here? Don’t tell me it’s because you were bored and fancied a change of scene, because I don’t believe you.’
‘No, of course it’s not like that—’
‘Good. Now, get your boots on and I’ll race you to the top of that hill.’
*
It wasn’t until they were back from their afternoon walk that Tessa decided to turn on her phone. There was a message from Matt.
How you doing, Nursey? Bringing succour to your sad friend? Went to the match with Max. He’s gone off with his mates and I’ve bought a Charlie Bigham TV dinner for two. Just about enough for one greedy lonely person. Missing you x
Liar, liar, pants on fire. She tapped out her reply.
All OK, missing you too.
That sentiment, at least, was honest.
*
‘Try again, Mum.’
Poppy leaned over from the passenger seat to look at the dashboard as Sandra pressed the fob into the ignition. Still nothing.
‘Today of all days! I’m sick of these new-fangled things, what was wrong with a key that you just turned, tell me that!’
‘Call a cab,’ said Poppy.
‘At six o’clock on a Sunday morning? I’d be lucky!’
‘No! This is so stressful for me!’ said Poppy. She was already fully made-up, the orange foundation making her look old beyond her years, her hair pinned into a bun that was rescued from severity by a gaudy pink hairpiece that matched the dress she would change into when they arrived at the rink.
‘Why haven’t you got Uber?’ she said. ‘Everyone else has.’
‘I’ve explained before, I have no desire to get into a car with an unlicensed driver who doesn’t speak English and doesn’t know the streets of London.’
‘But what can we do? We need to leave straight away!’
Poppy was panicking now, Sandra could feel it. Bad enough putting yourself out there, all alone on the ice, to be scrutinised and judged, the last thing you needed was a touch-and-go journey. The answer was simple, she thought.
‘I’ll call Mariusz, he’ll take us.’
‘Really? Why him?’
‘Because I know he won’t let us down.’
She wanted him there, it felt natural for her to ring him in her hour of need and he sounded unsurprised to hear from her.
‘Thirty minutes, maximum, Sandra,’ he promised. ‘Sunday morning very beautiful time for the driving.’
‘He’ll get us there in no time, darling,’ Sandra reassured Poppy. ‘Let’s get you changed into your dress now, then you’ll be all ready.’
She took Poppy’s bag out of the car and they hurried back into the house, where Poppy slipped into her sparkly over-boot tights and a pink dress liberally scattered with rhinestones and finished with a multi-layered floaty skirt. ‘We’re going to be fine,’ Sandra said, ‘we’ve got plenty of time.’
When she heard Mariusz’s van draw up, Sandra threw open the door and ran out to greet him while Poppy was putting on her trainers. She gave him a devil-may-care big kiss, there was nobody up at this time to notice.
‘Thank you so much, Mariusz, are you very cross?’
‘Never cross with you Sandra,’ he said, although he did look a bit bleary-eyed. ‘I prefer you ring me for the drive, it is big risk to go with Muslim taxi driver.’
‘How many more times must I tell you, you can’t say things like that!’
When Poppy came out, Mariusz saw her flamingo-coloured skirt protruding beneath her short jacket and quickly unfolded a clean dustsheet over the front seat.
‘Be very careful, Poppy,’ he said, ‘you no want plaster dust on your beautiful dress.’
‘Three seats in the front, what bliss,’ said Sandra, enjoying the novelty of sitting in the middle of the convivial bench, with all the tools of Mariusz’s trade piled up behind them.
‘It’s cool,’ Poppy agreed.
Sandra took her hand and squeezed it.
‘Not too nervous?’
‘No, It’s alright. There’s just one sequence in the routine I’m worried about, but it should be OK.’
‘I’m proud of you,’ said Sandra. ‘I don’t care if you fall over or forget the whole thing. It takes guts to get out there. You’re a real trooper.’
‘Super Trooper!’ said Mariusz, ‘Very good song by the Abba, I play him!’
He pressed a button on the CD control and beamed at them as the music struck up.
‘Ah, thanks, Mum,’ said Poppy. She looked sideways across at her mother. ‘Pity Dad couldn’t be bothered to come.’
Sandra hesitated before replying. Of course she thought it scandalous that Nigel was so involved in himself that he couldn’t shake himself out of it to watch his only child perform in the competition she’d been working up to for months. He couldn’t have driven them – they only had one car – but he could have come along to show his support. On the other hand, she refused to be one of those parents who badmouths their spouse in front of their children, that was very un-classy.
‘It’s complicated, Poppy,’ she said. ‘He’s not well, as you know. We’ll show him the video later, he’ll be pleased to see it.’
They arrived in good time at the ice arena on the faceless outskirts of a town that Sandra would never visit outside these circumstances.
‘I wait here,’ said Mariusz, as Sandra and Poppy went into the changing rooms. Girls of all ages were limbering up with stretching exercises, pulling glittery dresses out of suitcases and applying garish make-up in an atmosphere that smelled of toilet cleaner and hairspray. It always made Sandra feel rather sick, but she gamely rummaged in Poppy’s bags to find her zip-up jacket.
She turned to see Poppy looking aghast at the open suitcase.
‘My skates!’ she said. ‘They’re not there. I took them out when we went back into the house and I must have forgotten to put them back in.’
There was some sympathetic tut-tutting from the other mothers as Sandra took control.
‘How long have we got?’
‘An hour and a half before warm-up.’
‘Right. We might just have time. Let me speak to Mariusz.’
*
On the way home, Poppy cradled the trophy in her lap, while Sandra looked through the photos on her phone. The action shots were a bit blurred but there was a good one of Poppy holding her cup, standing on the highest middle plinth, flanked by two rivals, all of them arranging their feet turned out like ballerinas, the blades of the skates sheathed in plastic covers.
‘Mariusz, you’re a total hero,’ said Poppy. ‘I can’t believe the way you managed to get back so quickly.’
Mariusz flushed with pride. ‘My van very fast, Poppy, and no cars on road, and to make me drive even more fast, I play “Wind Beneath My Wings”, I like very much this song.’ He began to sing it for them.
‘Well I couldn’t have done it without you, that’s all,’ said Poppy.
‘And you win cup!’ said Mariusz, interrupting his singing for a moment. ‘I am urgent person!’
‘Very urgent, Mariusz,’ said Sandra, ‘Will you come in for some coffee?’
Once they were indoors, Poppy went up to have a bath while Sandra prepared the coffee.
‘You’ve got a fan for life there,’ she said. ‘Poppy thinks you’re the bee’s knees.’
It was possibly not the best expression to use as she then had to spend quite a long time explaining what it meant. In the easy laughter that followed, Mariusz’s expression became more serious.
‘Sandra, when I came back for the skates, I see your husband here.’
‘Well yes, it is his home.’
‘He very surprised to see me, but I explain.’
‘He should be bloody grateful, i
t’s his daughter!’
‘But when I come in, he is talking on the phone and walking towards front door. And when I leave, very quickly, I see a woman going up steps to your house. And in mirror I see your husband open the door to her . . .’
He hesitated.
‘Go on,’ said Sandra.
‘And he give woman a big kiss. Big, big kiss, not small kiss on cheek.’
Sandra had an intuitive feeling.
‘What did she look like?’
‘I could not see close, but she had black hair.’
‘Would you say she looked South American?’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘Don’t allow yourself to get into the habit of dressing carelessly when there is “only” your husband to see you. He is a man after all, and if his wife does not take the trouble to charm him, there are plenty of other women who will.’
Blanche Ebbutt, Don’ts for Wives, 1913
Tessa was dressed for the gym in a twenty-year-old pair of track suit bottoms and a baggy Frankie Says Relax T-shirt. She had never got round to investing in Lycra sportswear, couldn’t see the interest when she had perfectly serviceable alternatives and her exercise pattern was so erratic. This morning, she needed something to do, anything to take her mind off the increasingly insistent messages that John was sending her. He had flown home last night and was already telling her how much he was missing her, how passionately he was waiting for her.
Matt gave her a disapproving once-over as he came into the kitchen.
‘If you’re shopping today, can you get me some Listerine? I don’t want to breathe foul fumes over my colleagues. We’ve got to plan our strategy for an important dinner with a potential client at the Soho House tomorrow.’
‘Get you!’ she said.
‘It could be a big one if we land it. I’ll have to make sure I’m on form.’
‘I’m sure you will be,’ she said. The supportive wife, bolstering and reassuring.
‘And while you’re about it, why don’t you get some styling mousse for your hair, to push it up a bit. I don’t like it flopping all over your face.’
He really did know how to make a girl feel good.
‘Put a paper bag over your head, then you won’t have to see it,’ she retorted.
‘Oh dear! Your weekend away doesn’t seem to have improved your spirit, sounds like your friend’s misery has rubbed off on you.’
He swept off in his usual self-righteous rush of busyness, calling back to her over his shoulder, ‘Shouldn’t be late, see you this evening.’
Tessa cleared his plate, then put a sesame bagel in the toaster. She would comfort herself by finding out what Lola was up to, it already seemed ages since she had seen her.
She opened her laptop to find that help with rising funeral costs was on offer, alongside miracle menopause face cream. Never mind that she had long ago deleted her date of birth, Facebook never forgot and would track her to her dying day. It would be Stannah stairlifts and Tena lady pads before too long. There was a photograph of Lola looking about thirty-five in a floor-length dress at a black-tie dinner, it was strange how these kids liked playing at being old, wearing stuffy formal clothes in a new kind of dressing-up game.
There was also a private message from John.
I’m following up my declarations of love, which you must not doubt xxx. Now for the practical stuff. I’ve rearranged my closet. The drawers on the left are for you.
The photo was of an insanely tidy wardrobe interior. Hangers of identical chinos lined up beneath piles of ironed shirts like you found in shops, but never in houses, at least not in Tessa’s chaotic experience. But what really caught her attention was the sock drawer. It was pulled out to display its neat partitions, each containing one pair of folded socks. She counted fourteen then sent her reply:
What happens if you get more than 14 pairs of socks?
I’d throw some away Same goes for you on your side.
She looked at the matching shelves and drawer compartments on the other side of the cupboard. He was already lining up storage for her underwear and telling her how many pairs of socks she was allowed?
He messaged again.
Your underpants and pantyhose can go in the bottom drawer.
She had to put him right there.
I have neither underpants nor pantyhose as I am British.
She logged off before he had time to reply and went upstairs to find her trainers.
*
‘It’s not good news, is it?’
Celia leaned back against the Keep Calm and Carry on cushion. She was wearing a green woollen suit, set off by a soft-pink chiffon scarf; as usual she had been the best-dressed woman in the hospital waiting room. Harriet tried to find a positive spin, then decided she couldn’t.
‘No, Celia, it’s not. But you’re getting the best care and you know we’ll look after you. You’re not facing this on your own.’
‘I know, dear, and I appreciate it.’
‘Let me go and make us a nice cup of tea.’
Harriet went into the kitchen and thought about the weekend ahead. She had arranged for a carer to move in while they were away in Chipping Campden, but the timing was unfortunate; she would prefer to be looking after Celia herself, following the news she had received today.
When she carried the tray into the living room, Celia was looking more cheerful.
‘They could be wrong,’ she said. ‘You hear it all the time. Let’s accept that I’m not going to get better, but I could go on for years. Imagine, you could be bringing me cups of tea until I’m ninety-five!’
By which time I’ll be seventy, thought Harriet. Give me strength.
‘Now, you remember we’re away this weekend, so I’ve arranged for a lovely young woman to come and look after you, she’ll sleep in Alex’s old room.’
‘I don’t know why you don’t take me with you, I haven’t been to your second home for years.’
She pronounced ‘second home’ as though it was an accusation: some people had all the luck and didn’t know how well off they were.
‘There aren’t enough bedrooms,’ said Harriet, ‘I’ve invited Tessa and Sandra and their husbands.’
‘That Sandra doesn’t take up much space,’ said Celia. ‘Not much meat on her.’
‘Even so. You can ring me any time, and I’ve told Mirela to do the same.’
‘Mirela? Doesn’t sound English.’
‘She’s Romanian.’
‘Oh, I see, you’re leaving me in the care of a gypsy.’
‘She’s very nice, you’ll like her.’
Celia looked at Harriet with sad eyes.
‘I’ll be counting down the hours till you come back. Assuming I live that long.’
*
‘What’s this then?’
Matt stared at the unadorned piece of salmon on his plate, accompanied by five broccoli florets.
‘We’re on a diet,’ said Tessa. ‘You said we should be careful.’
She was doing her best to carry on as usual, to lead her normal life with Matt, ignoring the emotional drama unfolding with John. After the photo of the sock drawer, he had sent her pictures of the house, the wraparound veranda where they would have their evening drinks, the plain lawn at the back which was just waiting for her to break it up into flowerbeds. Part of her found the prospect so exciting that it stopped her breath. Another part of her was in a blind panic at the thought of such a life change.
‘How depressing,’ said Matt, ‘and I suppose this carafe of water is all I’m allowed as well?’
‘It’s wrong to drink every day. Cirrhosis of the liver has increased eightfold amongst the middle-aged, I was reading a thread about it on Mumsnet.’
‘Mumsnet brings out the misogynist in me.’
‘I do agree. All that DH and DD nonsense.’
‘So sexist. Does this diet fad also explain why you’re wearing those clothes?’
‘I went to the gym, yes. And, actually, they’re really
comfortable. Lola would describe them as “stash”.’
‘I thought that was drugs.’
‘No, apparently it means sports clothes, though in my case without a university logo. I’ll show you her latest pictures, once we’ve finished, so you can see some better examples.’
Their dinner was soon dispatched and Tessa brought her laptop to the table.
‘Look, there she is, in her hockey stash.’
Matt peered at the screen, frowning.
‘Ah yes, lovely athletic figure she’s got.’
He scrolled down her timeline and stopped at a photo taken at a nightclub, Lola at the centre of a group of young people grinning at the camera, arms draped over each other.
‘Why do they always have their mouths open?’ Matt asked, ‘pulling those awful gurning faces. And why is that one dressed like a rabbit?’
‘They’re living the dream,’ said Tessa, ‘and I’m glad she looks so happy.’
She had heard it said that as a parent, you are only ever as happy as your least happy child. If Max or Lola were suffering in some way, it was impossible for her to feel at ease. It was pretty obvious how they would react to the news that she was leaving their father to start a new life in America. And yet. Max and Lola were grown up, they would be making their own way in the world, leaving her behind in the empty nest with her hyper-critical husband. She could walk away from this humdrum life of hers, fall in love and start all over again.
‘Let’s watch University Challenge,’ she said. ‘I recorded it for you.’
It was an average performance for them both, with three correct answers from Tessa and eight from Matt, who shouted his responses at the screen and made a celebratory chain-pulling gesture every time he got one right.
‘How come they know so much stuff?’ Tessa wanted to know. ‘We’re both well educated but it makes me realise we hardly know anything.’
‘Excuse me, I think you’ll find I know considerably more than you.’
