Stand by Your Man

by Gil McNeil

  Mum says I look lovely and she and Alfie stand waving me off as I walk up the lane. The only real problem is that Molly’s just rung to say she’s too tired and did I think Lola would kill her if she stayed at home and had an early night, only she really couldn’t face sitting for hours on end listening to some woman yelling her head off. So it’s just going to be me and Dan, which is a shame. Molly’s insisting he still comes, because he’s rented a dinner jacket and everything, and she thinks he’s been really looking forward to it.

  Charles opens the door.

  ‘Crikey. You look wonderful. Oh sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that, it’s just, well, you look lovely.’

  Lola appears looking amazing in a long violet swishy silk skirt, with a tight black-silk bodice which has produced a rather impressive cleavage. She looks like something out of Gone With the Wind.

  ‘Champagne, I think, before we leave, don’t you?’

  Charles goes off to get the champagne as Dan arrives. He’s looking fabulous too, like he’s in an ad for aftershave or something. I’ve never seen him all dressed up before; it’s such a shame Molly couldn’t make it. Lola’s impressed too, and keeps going all giggly and flirty, which is making Dan nervous, I think: he’s knocking back the champagne like his life depended on it.

  ‘Bring your glass out to the car, Alice, and we can have another drink on the way. We might as well start as we mean to go on. You too, Dan.’

  It feels rather odd to be sitting in a Range Rover knocking back champagne while it’s still light outside, but we have to get there by three because the whole thing kicks off really early, and then there are two intervals so everyone can have their picnics; apparently the picnic is a major part of the Glyndebourne experience, and people get very competitive.

  We arrive and join a long queue of posh cars, full of jabbering Sloanes trying to unload picnic hampers. I’ve never seen so many BMWs and Range Rovers in one place – it’s like some sort of über-rally. Lola starts telling us all about the opera, which is by Gluck apparently, who I’ve never heard of, but Lola says he’s wonderful, and by the time we’ve found a parking space it’s getting quite late, but Lola doesn’t seem bothered.

  We wander round the gardens and meet up with loads of her friends, who all seem to know each other, and then a rather flustered-looking woman from Lola’s office rushes up with tickets and programmes, and says the clients have all arrived, apart from Graham, and shall she unload our picnic, only she’s put tables and chairs on the balcony in case it rains. Lola hands her the car keys and tells her the hamper’s in the boot, and on no account must she let Bernard know where we’re sitting, and then she marches off and we all run along behind her.

  She seems to know half the audience and it takes us ages to actually get in, because she has to keep stopping to kiss people hello. When we get inside we’re ushered into a box, which is fantastic although the seats are arranged one in front of each other, so it’s a bit like sitting on a bus. Whoever designed this place definitely cared more about acoustics than designing boxes for the snooters. But we’ve got a fantastic view, and the tickets must have cost a fortune. I suppose it just goes to show how much people will pay for a posh picnic and the chance to look at other people’s frocks. Actually, it’s all making me feel slightly guilty; there are probably opera nuts out there who’d give you their last Rolo to be sitting here right now, and I don’t even know what opera we’re going to be seeing.

  The building’s wonderful. I remember reading about how they built it to replace the old one, which everyone loved, and it’s so fabulous I’m really looking forward to the opera until about ten minutes after the curtain rises. The set is completely dreadful: loads of white space, black-and-white lines, and awful flat lighting, and everyone’s in modern suits and moves in slow motion like they’re on castors.

  For some reason the entire chorus enters the stage on all fours. I think it’s meant to be something to do with Greek tragedy, and people being moved about by the gods like pawns, but it doesn’t work, and the sword fights are especially comic.

  The music seems fine at first but gradually you realise you’re just longing for it to end. Charles appears to have gone to sleep, and I’m tempted to try something similar, but Lola seems engrossed and Dan looks vaguely worried, as if he’s somehow missing something. He keeps looking at his programme, and then leaning forward in his seat, as if concentrating a little bit harder might make it less impenetrable.

  Finally it’s the interval and we belt out to our picnic. It’s pouring with rain, so nobody ventures off the balconies, which are now so crowded it’s like being in an upper-class refugee camp. The woman who met us with the tickets has appeared like magic again, and asks Lola if she needs anything, otherwise she’d better go and see how the rest of the guests are doing in the restaurant – where all the corporates go, apparently, which is why Lola’s insisted on us having a picnic.

  ‘I’ll have to say hello to people in a minute. Oh Christ, there’s Bernard. He always turns up at company things, and he always does something annoying. Last year at Henley he fell out of a boat. Oh look, there’s Tony, Tony Howard, you know, the film director.’

  She stands up and waves at him repeatedly until he walks towards us, looking slightly puzzled as if he can’t quite remember her name. She’s giving him one of her special big smiles, where she shows off all her teeth.

  ‘Tony, Lola Barker. I worked with you on that BT job last year, remember?’

  ‘Oh yes, lovely to see you again. We’re just on our way to dinner, actually. Chloe darling, come and say hello.’

  A stunning young woman appears from behind his back. She’s wearing a tiny shift dress in a sort of pale aqua-green silk.

  Lola doesn’t look pleased.

  ‘What a sweet little dress. Is it from Ghost?’

  ‘No. Top Shop.’

  ‘Oh. How clever of you.’

  Actually, that is quite annoying. At least if she’d spent five hundred quid on it you wouldn’t mind so much.

  Mr Howard is giving Lola a rather threatening sort of smile.

  ‘So, what do you think of the opera then?’

  Lola says something about Gluck always being marvellous, and then the great man turns to me.

  ‘And what about you?’

  Bugger. Even though I know I should just say something polite and vague I just can’t bring myself to.

  ‘I don’t really know much about opera, but I think whoever did the sets should be shot.’

  ‘I’d quite like to meet him, actually.’

  Now he’s giving me the threatening-smile routine. Oh dear.

  Chloe smirks, and Lola jumps in and says she’s sure she can arrange it – her father’s an honorary member.

  Mr Howard seems to find this rather amusing. ‘Your father, he’s the composer, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Lola looks very pleased with herself.

  ‘Well, please don’t go to any trouble on my account. I only wanted to ask him what those bloody cubes were meant to be. But getting his guide dog through these crowds might be tricky.’

  Charles laughs, which Mr Howard seems to like.

  ‘Not a fan, I take it?’

  ‘Not really. I’m with Alice, although I think shooting him might be going a bit far.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know. There are limits.’

  Lola has recovered and says, ‘Oh yes, well, quite. I was thinking the same thing, actually. The sets are a bit drab.’

  ‘Drab? They’re a fucking disgrace.’

  Chloe is starting to look very bored.

  ‘Darling, we should be going. They’ll be waiting for us.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. Sorry, we must go. But it was lovely seeing you again, Lola, and lovely to meet your friends. Good to know it’s not just old bastards like me who hate this kind of bollocks.’

  Lola’s delighted.

  ‘Maybe I could invite him for dinner one night, and you could come too, Alice. I’m
sure he’d like that – he seemed quite keen on you.’

  ‘Or you could ask Chloe.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Charles – I don’t want her. She’s just a girlfriend, I think, one of many.’

  Charles smiles.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure, and anyway she’s a bit too gorgeous to be the ideal dinner party guest, isn’t she?’

  Lola looks annoyed, but Charles snorts with laughter and says if she’s quite finished meeting and greeting could we please start eating because he’s absolutely starving.

  All sorts of lovely food emerges from the hamper. Lobster, little pots of shrimp, strawberries, chicken salad, and lots of fabulous cheeses. There’s also a delicious-looking game pie, and all sorts of salads with little bottles of dressing.

  ‘God, Lola, this is wonderful. Thank you so much, for asking us and organising everything. It’s such a treat.’

  ‘My pleasure, darling. Although I still think you should have brought Harry along.’

  ‘He’s not keen on opera.’

  ‘Shame. I always think you can tell a great deal by how a man reacts to opera. It’s very revealing.’

  I don’t think I want to ask her what she means by that – I think I’ll just ignore it.

  But she’s not giving up.

  ‘I’d have thought he’d welcome the chance of a glamorous night out – make a nice change from being surrounded by plant pots. Anyway, what about you, Dan? It’s your first time, isn’t it? And you know what they say about the first time.’

  Christ. Dan goes bright red. Honestly. He’s behaving like a rabbit caught in headlights.

  ‘It’s such a shame Molly couldn’t make it.’

  Good for Charles.

  ‘We’ll have to think of a nice treat for her, to make up. What do you think, Dan? I’ll babysit, if you like, as long as you don’t mind Alfie rearranging the chickens all night.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to persuade her to slow down a bit, but she won’t have it.’

  ‘What about booking her a massage or something? Lola loved them when she was pregnant, didn’t you, darling? And I’ve always thought being pregnant must be bloody hard work.’

  Lola glares at Charles.

  ‘I adore all that kind of thing. Book me one too, would you, darling, if you find somewhere local. Full body, with all the extras.’

  Dan goes bright red again. God, Lola’s really excelling herself tonight.

  ‘Alice, would you like some strawberries?’

  I think Charles is trying to change the subject.

  ‘Yes please – they look lovely.’

  ‘We’ll have our own soon, from the garden. I can’t wait. I was up there this morning and everything’s coming on brilliantly. It’s amazing how quickly things grow. I never realised.’

  ‘I know. It’s extraordinary, isn’t it? One minute it’s all floppy little seedlings and then suddenly you’ve got proper plants. I never knew how exciting it could be.’

  Lola laughs.

  ‘I can think of more exciting things.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you can, darling, but the thing about gardening is you don’t need an audience.’

  Lola ignores him, but she’s obviously rattled.

  ‘Oh look, there’s Melvyn. I must go and say hello.’

  We all eat far too much, but at least the champagne makes the second half slightly less of an ordeal. Charles really falls asleep this time and has to be nudged awake when he starts snoring. The applause at the end isn’t exactly thunderous, and I think the cast are quite relieved it’s over too.

  When we do finally get back to the car park, after Lola has stopped to say goodbye to hundreds of people, we can’t actually find the car. Lots of other people seem to be having the same problem and are walking up and down clicking their remote-control keys to see which BMW lights up. We eventually find it on almost the opposite side of the car park to where we started looking, and then it takes ages to get out because of the queues.

  The drive home is nice and quiet, mainly because Lola falls asleep. Charles drops Dan off and then we’re at the cottage.

  ‘Thanks, Charles, and thank Lola for me, will you – it was lovely.’

  ‘No, thank you, really, it was nice to have someone to talk to. I’m just sorry the opera was so awful.’

  ‘Night then. Sweet dreams.’

  God. I don’t know why I said that. It sounded a bit flirty, which I really didn’t mean, but he sounded so sad, and he’s so lovely. I must have drunk more champagne than I thought.

  ‘Goodnight, Alice.’

  Mum says Alfie’s fast asleep when I get in. He conked out quite early, which he never does with me, presumably as part of his strict adherence to the sod’s-law rule of parenting. We have a cup of tea and I tell her all about the evening, and she says it sounds lovely, although she thinks Lola sounds like a bit of a madam.

  She’s been listening to one of my Frank Sinatra CDs while she’s been doing the ironing, bless her, and as she leaves Frank starts telling us all to take it nice and easy. If they went in for a bit more of a big-band sound at Glyndebourne they’d probably be packed out every night. But somehow I just can’t see old Frank putting up with those sets. I mean apart from the fact that he’s dead, of course. But when he was still packing them in in Vegas, I just don’t think he’d ever have entered the stage on all fours singing ‘I Did It My Way’ balanced on a cube. And even if he had, at least you’d have been able to sing along. Actually, I think I probably have had too much champagne.

  7

  July

  La Dolce Vita

  Garden Diary

  Lay new turf in any bare patches in lawns. If sowing seed keep the ground well watered. Divide irises and plant bulbs. Trim hedges.

  I have a go at digging out all the moss and weeds from the front lawn but get a bit carried away and end up with huge bare patches. I scatter a box of miracle grass seed which promises an emerald-green lawn up to your waist in two weeks, but every bloody bird within a five-mile radius then descends and takes its place in the formation pecking-team hoovering up the seed. Alfie and I make a scarecrow using a pair of his old pyjamas, but the flaming birds are delighted, and adopt it as their new team mascot, perching on it for rests in between meals. I end up buying black netting and pegging it all over the garden, while the birds sit on the fence and sulk, but it works. Now all I need to do is remember to water it, and we might have a new lawn one day.

  Molly and I have decided to have a joint fourth birthday party for Alfie and Lily, and we can use her back garden if the weather holds, since they’ve got more room than me, and Dan’s going to rent a mini bouncy castle. We’ve invited ten kids from nursery, and Ezra and Mabel are coming too so we’ll have fourteen of them to contend with.

  Alfie’s spending ages looking at toy catalogues, and so far the list of things he’s got his eye on comes to just under seven hundred quid. Jim’s planning on getting him a bow and arrow, with those rubber sucker things on the arrows so they stick to walls and furniture, and people’s heads, no doubt.

  So I’m really glad when Stella rings. Hopefully I can get her to persuade Jim to find him something less annoying.

  ‘So what time should we arrive then?’

  ‘Around twelve-thirty, but don’t worry if you’re late – it’ll just be salads and stuff for lunch. Is Jim really getting a bow and arrow?’

  ‘Sorry. I did try. Anyway I’m not really speaking to him at the moment, to be honest – he keeps going all distant. He can be such a wanker, your brother. I don’t know why I put up with it really. Well, I do.’

  Oh God. I hope she’s not going to tell me what a great shag he is or something.

  ‘He can be so sweet sometimes.’

  ‘Blimey. Can he? I’d never noticed.’

  ‘Yes. But then he goes all cool and distant. It’s like he’s read some book that says if you’ve been warm and emotional you have to follow it up by being a prick. So if we have a really good weekend he goes all funny and cha
rges back to his flat and says he’s busy. It’s really annoying.’

  ‘A lot of them seem to have read that book. I wonder if they give it to them at Scouts or something. Dib dib dob, always play it cool with the girls.’

  Stella laughs.

  ‘They’d probably call them the ladies. Well, I’m going to snap his woggle for him if he keeps it up – it’s really driving me crazy. Was he actually in the Scouts then?’

  ‘No. Mum said he got into enough trouble, without learning how to start fires.’

  ‘Does Harry do it too?’

  ‘Not really. But we’ve sort of got a bit of a pattern going at the moment. I see him once a week and that’s it really. But the thing is I quite like it that way. Do you think that’s awful?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That I don’t want to move things on, spend weekends together, that kind of thing.’

  ‘I think if you’re both happy with it the way it is, then it’s fine.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so, and I think we are. Well, I am anyway. Oh, and by the way, you do know Mum will be giving you the third degree at lunch, don’t you? It might be an idea to bring your passport and a CV, because she likes as much info as possible. School reports, letter from your doctor. That kind of thing.’

  ‘Jim did warn me. I just hope she likes me.’

  ‘I’m only joking – she’ll be fine. And I’ve already told her how nice you are.’

  ‘Thanks, Alice.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘And Alice –’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t really think Jim’s a wanker.’

  ‘I know.’

  Patric and Cindy turn up around eleven on the morning of Alfie’s party day, loaded with perfectly wrapped presents, with ribbon and shiny bows. Cindy’s even made him a little cake, which is very nice of her although I can’t help thinking she’s done it to impress Patric more than Alfie. But still, at least she’s made the effort, which is more than you can say for Patric, who clearly has absolutely no idea what the presents are because Cindy’s the one that’s actually spent ages trailing round the shops. But he’s very taken with the foam rocket launcher, and takes Alfie out into the garden to show him how to use it ‘properly’.