Stand by Your Man

by Gil McNeil

  Cindy’s looking especially pink today, a bit like a Barbie but without the glitter, or Ken. But I’m determined to try to be nice, because she’s obviously been trying really hard. I offer her a cup of tea but she says she’s only drinking water at the moment, with a slice of lemon if I’ve got it, because it’s so good for the skin.

  ‘You should try it, you know, Alice. I detox every few weeks now, and it’s amazing. And it really helps keep the pounds off too.’

  ‘Great.’

  Jesus. She’ll be telling me how to put my lipstick on next.

  ‘So, you’re off to Italy next week, Patric was saying. How lovely.’

  ‘Yes. I’m really looking forward to it.’

  ‘I keep telling him, we must get away soon. He works so hard, poor lamb. But he won’t let me book anything, he always says he’s too busy.’

  I could tell her that the reason he won’t let her book anything is because he hates wasting money on holidays, and even if she does manage to drag him off somewhere he’ll spend the whole time getting paranoid about work. But I won’t. I’m going to be nice.

  ‘Just book somewhere – that’s my advice.’

  I did that one year and he sulked for the entire fortnight, but you never know, he might have changed.

  ‘I thought somewhere lovely and hot. I love the sun, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I wonder if I should tell her about his heat rash. It got so bad in Greece we had to go to a doctor and get special ointment.

  ‘There’s a lovely new hotel in Majorca I was reading about at the hairdresser’s, all five star and everything and the suites have their own pools. And we’d definitely need a suite. I mean there’s no point in going if you don’t do it properly, is there?’

  I don’t think I’ll mention the heat rash after all; she’s bound to be much more sympathetic than me, and anyway a five-star hotel probably has its own clinic.

  They leave just before Mum and Dad arrive, which is probably a good thing, and then Jim and Stella arrive, with the bow and arrow, so Alfie’s back out in the garden again getting in some more target practice while I get the lunch ready.

  Lunch goes fairly well, although Alfie’s so excited about his party he can hardly sit still long enough to eat, and Mum puts Stella under the spotlight, which makes Jim nervous. He’s made me promise to try to head her off from telling her favourite stories about him when he was little, especially the one about him when he was five, and he got what she still refers to as his winkle stuck in the zip of his shorts.

  I do my best, but she still manages to remember about him dancing round the lawn stark naked in his Red Indian headdress when the Avon lady came round. Before she can get too carried away I confess that I’ve always wanted a turquoise zip-up bag like the one our Avon lady had, full of lipsticks and body lotion, and we move on to talking about handbags.

  Mum and Dad have bought Alfie his first bike for his birthday, with stabiliser wheels, which Dad has fixed on, and a Dennis the Menace bell. He loves it, and we all take it in turns to jog up and down the lane with him while he pedals away like fury and rings his new bell, and then Dad goes off to play golf while we load up my car with all the party food.

  I’ve got crisps and sausages on sticks and I’ve also made some fairy cakes, which look a bit flat but I’m sure nobody will mind. I tried to go a bit Nigella and went for lilac icing, but it’s more of a nasty shade of purple and looks rather horrible. I’ve stuck lots of little silver balls on but they haven’t really helped.

  Mum’s made stacks of mini sausage rolls and she’s done some cheese on sticks, with pineapple, because she says we always loved them when we were little. Actually, I can remember thinking that the pineapple was rather horrible, but I’m hoping Alfie won’t feel the same or he’s quite likely to drop it on Molly’s carpet when he thinks nobody’s looking.

  By the time we get to Molly’s and start unpacking the food children are starting to arrive. Doreen’s down for the afternoon, and is in charge of keeping the presents unopened and in separate piles, while the rest of us lay the table and try to work out what to do with the jelly, which hasn’t quite set.

  Molly says Dan’s sulking because they’ve had a row: she forgot to buy birthday candles, so he had to go out and get some, and then he was away ages because he decided to go to the supermarket for special ones, so she had to cope with Doreen all on her own for nearly two hours. They’re still not speaking really, and Doreen is loving it, you can just tell.

  Dan goes outside with Jim to try to stop people bouncing off the bouncy castle into next door’s garden and then Ezra lets the chickens out, and Frank and Bill and Elsie turn up, with little presents, which is really sweet of them. They stay for a cup of tea and a fairy cake, and are very polite and don’t ask me why on earth I went for such revoltingly coloured icing, and then it starts to rain and all the children scream and stampede back into the house.

  We make them all sit down for pass the parcel and Stella turns out to have a real knack for turning the CD player on and off at just the right moment so each child gets to tear off a piece of newspaper. For some mad reason Molly has put a small toy whistle in each layer, so Doreen goes upstairs with one of her heads.

  Dan comes into the kitchen and says shall he make a cup of tea for her, or would Molly prefer to do it, because he’s bound to do it wrong, or take too long or something.

  ‘Oh stop it, Dan – just make the old bag some tea.’

  ‘That’s my mother you’re talking about.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘She’ll hear you.’

  ‘No she won’t, not over all this noise.’

  I’m trying to pile crisps on to a plate and keep a low profile. Dan reaches into the cupboard above my head and passes me a bowl.

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Thanks, Dan. Don’t Molly’s cakes look brilliant?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Could you take these in for me and put them on the table, and I’ll put the kettle on for the tea for your mum.’

  Molly hands him a plate of little sandwiches with all the crusts cut off, not that the children will care.

  ‘I think I could manage that. Just about.’ But he sort of smiles as he goes out, and I think he’s getting over whatever it was he was sulking about.

  ‘Shall I put something in her tea?’

  ‘What, like deadly nightshade or something?’

  ‘If you’ve got some handy.’

  The birthday tea is a big success, although Sydney eats a whole plate of sausage rolls and then says her mummy has told her to remind us she’s a vegetarium. The birthday boy and girl both go very pink when it’s their turn to have ‘Happy Birthday’ sung to them, and then we play musical statues and sleeping lions until people start turning up for home time, and Molly hands out the party bags. When only Ezra and Mabel are left we realise we’ve completely forgotten about the jelly, so we all have a bowlful.

  The house is a complete shambles, but Molly says she doesn’t mind, and what she really wants is a cup of tea and a little rest. Lola arrives and says she’s been stuck in traffic behind a combine harvester, and we all sit around and end up talking about giving birth, which makes Jim and Dan go out into the garden to start deflating the bouncy castle.

  ‘I’m not exactly looking forward to it, that’s for sure.’

  Molly looks tired all of a sudden. I hope she hasn’t overdone it.

  ‘I don’t blame you – it was murder with Ezra. And Mabel wasn’t much better.’

  ‘Oh, but second babies are always quicker, aren’t they? My sister says after the first it’s a doddle. You’ll be fine, I’m sure you will.’

  Good old Stella. At least she’s trying to be reassuring. Lola gives her a rather irritated look, but Stella is either oblivious or is made of sterner stuff than I thought.

  ‘You seem to know a lot about babies.’

  ‘Oh my sister’s got three, and my yoga class is full of pregnant women. I think I might
be in the wrong group, actually, but they make me feel so thin, I love it.’

  ‘Oh I did all that yoga rubbish, sat around for hours in a white leotard visualising my cervix dilating like a petal. But it’s bollocks: when it came to it I had all the drugs they could give me, and then they couldn’t get him out and had to use that hoover thing they put on their heads and he had a pointy head for days. And with Mabel it was the same really. God.

  ‘And as for all that breastfeeding crap, Jesus, nobody tells you how boring it is. I got fed up after a couple of months – I think that’s long enough for anybody. I used to prop her up with a cushion and a bottle, and she soon got the hang of it. It saves you hours of faffing about.’

  I can tell Molly doesn’t approve, and neither do I really, but I’m sure she’s exaggerating.

  Stella says she thinks she’ll start tidying up a bit and hands Lola a large black bin bag, but she simply puts it down on the floor and says she has to get the children home because it’s getting really late, and then Ezra and Mabel start hitting each other with their party bags as they’re leaving.

  ‘What a horrible woman. Sorry, I mean I know she’s a friend of yours, but I used to work for someone like that once, all fake smiles, and wanting to be the centre of attention all the time. She was a total bitch.’

  Molly smiles.

  ‘Oh she’s all right really. She doesn’t mean half of it, you know.’

  Doreen’s still sulking when we leave, for some reason nobody can quite work out, and Mum’s completely exhausted when we get home. Jim and Stella are heading off back to town for another party, although probably not one with so much jelly.

  ‘So, this time next week you’ll be in Italy.’

  ‘I know. I can’t wait. If you’re still sure about driving us to the airport we should fix up times and everything, because we have to be there really early.’

  ‘You’ve already told me that. Stop panicking. I might come down the night before, have another go with that bow and arrow.’

  We watch them drive off, and Alfie shoots a few arrows after the car, which I have to retrieve from the lane, and then I make Mum a cup of tea while Alfie collapses in front of the telly completely exhausted.

  ‘Thanks, love, I needed this. He had a lovely party, didn’t he, bless him.’

  ‘Yes, he did. And thanks, Mum, really, for the food and everything.’

  ‘He loves his bike, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Loves it.’

  ‘It all goes so quickly. I was thinking this afternoon, I can remember you both at that age, like it was yesterday. And now look at you.’

  ‘What, still covered in jelly?’

  ‘Stella seems nice, though. He could do a lot worse.’

  ‘Yes, Mum, but don’t say anything to him – you know how he gets.’

  ‘He’s always been the same. Secretive, like your father. And where’s he got to now, I wonder? He was supposed to be here half an hour ago. Probably still in the bar at that silly golf club.’

  But I can tell she’s starting to worry. He arrives about five minutes later, and says someone had a puncture, so he stopped to help, which is just like him, and they go off bickering about what to have for supper.

  ‘I’ve got kippers, and they won’t keep.’

  ‘I’m not really that keen on kippers – you know that.’

  ‘Well, you might have said.’

  ‘I have. For the last thirty years I’ve been telling you. I don’t like kippers.’

  ‘Well, it’s the first I’ve heard of it. What about if I do them with some scrambled eggs?’

  Jim arrives to drive us to Gatwick at the crack of dawn, and takes one look at my suit and says, ‘Cabin crew, doors to manual.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me I look like an air hostess?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good, because I’m not in the mood, I’m completely knackered. I was up half the night packing and then I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘It’s a bit blue, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s because it’s a navy suit. It’s only for the journey. I read somewhere you have to dress up when you’re flying, so you get an upgrade if the flight’s full.’

  ‘Good thinking, Batgirl, except for one teeny problem.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Alfie. They’re not likely to stick you in business class with Alfie, are they? The boys in suits wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘True, but at least they might not sit us right by the toilets.’

  Actually, I bet they will. It’s amazing how many people still seem to think it’s fine to treat children like toxic waste. Usually exactly the same people who think it’s perfectly all right to let their pets crap all over your garden. I mean obviously there are children who behave so appallingly that you want to give their parents a lethal injection, but Alfie’s pretty good most of the time. Well, apart from a bit of low-level whining and the occasional juice-squirting moment. Actually, on second thoughts maybe the back of the plane will be fine.

  By the time we finally get on the plane Alfie’s so excited he’s jiggling up and down in his seat. It’s his first flight, and I’m half looking forward to it and half dreading it. The air steward, a man with an almost orange tan and very white teeth, is demonstrating the life jacket and has reached the bit about blowing your whistle to attract attention. Alfie’s peering out of the window, which is a good job really, or he’d definitely be trying to find his life jacket.

  I wish they wouldn’t say that bit about the whistle. I mean if we’re going to end up in the sea I’d kind of hope air-traffic control knew all about it, and it wouldn’t be up to me to blow my whistle to attract attention. Although I suppose it would give you something to do while you bobbed up and down in the water.

  To be honest, I think they should just leave out the chat about the life jacket completely, because it only makes you nervous, and I’m worried enough already, especially about hijackers. Jim reckons nobody in their right mind would hijack a flight to Sicily. And there were quite a few men in dark glasses and suits getting on who looked like they might be Mafia Dons. Or they could just be businessmen who like the Vinnie Jones look. But I keep having visions of having to get Alfie out of the plane and down that yellow plastic slide thing. Actually, he’d probably love that. It’s probably a good thing we’re not near the door where the slide is or he might have a go when we’re cruising at fifty thousand feet.

  At Sicily we have to change airports, which involves a rather epic taxi journey across the island to Trapani, and then we have to catch a flight to Pantelleria, which is the tiny island where Em and Luca have their hotel. It looks like we’re about to descend straight into the sea, but at the last minute I catch a glimpse of some tarmac and then we see Em waving at us as we walk down the steps.

  The airport’s tiny, and Em runs across and picks Alfie up for a cuddle. Nobody shoots her or tells her to get back behind the barrier or anything, and she says we can leave our luggage and someone will come down to collect it later, which is a bit different to Gatwick, where they’d probably blow your suitcase into smithereens if you left it alone for more than ten seconds, or get a sniffer dog to wee on it.

  The heat’s staggering and the island seems quite barren and rocky, but very beautiful. Tunisia’s only a few miles away and it feels more like Africa than Italy, not that I’ve actually been to Africa, of course. As we drive to the hotel in Em’s old battered Fiat it all looks very Moorish. The houses, which Em says are called dammusi, have white-domed roofs and walls of black basalt, about three foot thick so it’s cool inside. They’re fabulous. In fact the whole island is fabulous, sort of magical and wild, with its black rocks looking like they’ve been thrown into the sea.

  No wonder Armani has one of his villas here. Em’s told me all about the jet set descending every summer. The local fishermen are all making fortunes renting out their houses, and apparently you can’t move round the main town without bumping into some famous film star draped in cream linen. Which must
be a bit of a nightmare: no wandering around in baggy old shorts and flip-flops, unless you want to feel like a total loser having your morning espresso as Armani and his guests float by on kitten heels.

  As soon as we arrive at the hotel Em’s mother comes barrelling out and says she’s pleased we’ve arrived, because maybe I can talk some sense into Emily, and don’t I think a proper sit-down buffet would be nicer than letting Luca’s mother cook. Luca is gorgeous and obviously besotted with Em, and his brother Marco has turned up, and says he’s very glad I’ve arrived because the two mothers are driving them all round the corner.

  The hotel is stunning. It’s a collection of dammusi, all done up with beautiful beds and rugs, with the biggest one turned into the main hotel building, with a terrace overlooking the sea. There’s bougainvillea everywhere, and vines and lemon trees and pine and what look like wild rosemary bushes, and sage. It’s like an alfresco aromatherapy session.

  There’s even a small pool. Em says they would have chosen a bigger one but water’s very scarce and if you run out you have to get a tanker over on the ferry from Sicily, which costs a fortune, and is a major drama because the tanker only just fits down the track to the hotel. So they go in for a lot of recycling and filtering, and store water during the winter in huge stone wells in the gardens.

  Just before I can start obsessing about Alfie falling down a well she shows me the massive boulders on the lids and says it takes two people to move them so I’m not to worry, which just shows how well she knows me, because that’s just the kind of thing that would have me sitting bolt upright at midnight, looking up resuscitation in the first-aid book Mum put in my bag just as we were leaving.

  Our little house has a terrace overlooking the sea and is basically a large bedroom and a huge bathroom, and they’re both very beautiful. I always knew Em had brilliant taste but this is truly stunning. She helps me unpack and get ready for supper which is going to be a mega family affair at a local restaurant.