Authors: Isabel Wolff
‘Is it inappropriate mounting, Mrs Witherspoon?’
‘Oh no, no. It’s
worse
.’
‘Does he drag his bottom along the carpet? Is that it?’
‘No, no, no. It’s, just that, he, well, he…’ By now her voice was a barely audible whisper.
‘Yes…?’
‘
Plays
with himself.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘He’s fine if I pay him attention,’ she went on. ‘If I have him on my lap, feeding him bits of cake, telling him how
gorgeous
he is, then he behaves. But if I start chatting to my friends, then he backs himself into a corner and starts…’
‘I can imagine,’ I interjected. ‘How disgusting. It’s attention-seeking of the very worst kind. No wonder you want to put a stop to it—it must be extremely embarrassing for you, Mrs Witherspoon.’
‘Oh, that’s not my main concern.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No.’
‘Then what is?’
‘Well—I’m worried that he’ll go
blind
!’
There were calls about kleptomaniac ferrets, and love-sick lizards. There was a Labrador which hogged the TV.
‘Every time we put it on, she sits
bang
in front of it, her nose glued to the screen,’ said Kevin on Line Two. ‘She’s doing it right now…’ In the background we could hear the theme tune of
Eastenders
, and shouts of ‘Get
out
of the way, Goldie!
Move
, will you!
Move!!!
’ ‘… No one can see a
thing
.’
‘Then I suggest you simply put the TV somewhere higher up so that you can all watch in comfort. Maybe you could mount it on a wall bracket.’
‘Oh right,’ he said. ‘That’s a good idea.’ He laughed. ‘I hadn’t actually thought of that. Yeah, we’ll give it a try.’
‘Do you know much about mynah birds, Miranda?’ Minty asked. ‘Because on Line Three we have our former agony aunt, Rose Costelloe.’ Oh. Rose Costelloe. I’d heard of her. ‘Rose has a major problem with her mynah—isn’t that right, Rose?’
‘It is. You see, I’ve got five-month-old twins, and they cry a lot at the moment. But that’s not the problem. The problem is that my mynah bird, Rudolph, has learned to imitate them.’
‘How ghastly,’ I said.
‘It is—but the real killer is that he only ever does it when they’re
asleep
.’
‘You must be exhausted,’ said Minty with a sympathetic giggle.
‘I
am
. If it isn’t the babies screaming the house down, it’s Rudy. So I just wondered if Miranda might have any ideas?’
‘Gosh, this is a difficult one. Perhaps you could play him lullabies all day, and maybe he’ll learn to imitate
those
instead.’
‘Okay, I’ll give it a try.’
Then people began phoning in with stories about the funny things their pets do.
‘—My Siamese can do handstands.’
‘—My rabbit can do back-flips.’
‘—My cockatiel
adores
Picasso.’
‘—My Festive Amazon parrot can sing Neapolitan love songs.’
‘My guinea pig likes
classical
music,’ said Bill from Totteridge
on Line Four. ‘So I put Classic F.M. on for her. A nice bit of Vivaldi—that’s what she likes.’
‘Vivaldi?’ said Anita from Stoke Newington, sniffily. ‘
My
guinea pig likes Mozart.’
‘My guinea pig likes Schoenberg,’ said Malcolm from Weybridge. ‘The
late
stuff.’
‘Well,
my
guinea pig likes Harrison Birtwistle,’ said Roger from Hanwell on Line Five. ‘He’s been to the Festival Hall.’
‘Just time for
one
more call,’ said Minty as she surveyed the flashing lights on her desk. And the subject is…oh, here’s something a bit different—llamas. I didn’t actually know that people kept llamas as pets.’
‘Oh they do,’ said my mother on Line One. ‘And I just thought your listeners might like to know the therapeutic benefits of spending time with these
lovely
creatures. I run llama treks in Sussex every weekend—you’ll find them at Llamatreks.com—but I also offer llama psychotherapy days during the week. So if any of your listeners are feeling stressed or depressed they
might
like to consider “Llama Karma”—it’s the land equivalent of swimming with dolphins.’ I pushed a note across the table.
It’s my mother—sorry
.
‘Well, that sounds great,’ Minty said.
‘Oh it is. Llamas work wonders on the human psyche,’ she went on, unstoppably, as I rolled my eyes. ‘For example, I had one client today who arrived feeling extremely stressed and exhausted, and all I can say is, he seemed a
different
person by the end of the day.’
Ah
.
‘Well, thank you for that,’ said Minty.
‘The phone number is 01473 289340.’
‘Thank you.’
‘That’s 01473 289340. And do leave a message on the answerphone if I’m not there.’
‘
Thank
you,’ Minty repeated with polite emphasis. ‘And
that concludes tonight’s phone-in. So thanks for all your calls, and many thanks to Miranda Sweet for joining us; and you can contact her direct via her website, PerfectPets.com.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said irritably on the mobile, as I went home in the taxi. ‘Nice one.’
‘Well, you sprang a surprise on
me
today, Miranda, so I thought I’d spring one on you. And, as I say, I need national publicity at the moment.’
‘How did you know I was on air?’
‘Because a friend of mine rang me and told me it had just started.’
‘Fair enough—so how did it go with Dad?’
‘How did it go with your father?’ she echoed. I heard her draw the air through her teeth, and braced myself. ‘Well, actually, it was…
fine
. I was
very
annoyed with you to begin with, naturally, but then I realized I’d banked the cheque, so I wasn’t in a position to turn him away. And as it turned out he was quite…’ she made a funny little singing noise as she groped for the appropriate term. ‘
Interesting
.’
‘So what did you do with him?’
‘I just treated him like any client. He groomed the llamas and fed them—he was
very
taken with them, I must say. And he and Sancho got on rather well, so, yes, as it turned out, it was really quite…reasonable.’
‘And how long did he stay?’
‘Until half past three, then he had to go back to work. I went and had a look at the club, actually.’
‘You did
what
?’
‘I went and had a look at the golf club.’
I felt my jaw slacken. ‘But you
hate
golf, Mum. You
loathe
it. You always have. You said that it’s “not so much a sport, as an insult to lawns”.’
‘Did I…?’
‘You said that they should all be converted to public parks.’
‘Oh, well…’
‘You have a tee shirt which reads “I Hate Golf”.’
‘Hmm. That’s true. But I’m allowed to change my mind. I actually think your father’s golf club has tremendous potential, so I
really
hope it works out.’
‘How the hell did you manage to charm Mum like that?’ I asked Dad, ten minutes later.
‘It was quite easy,’ he replied. ‘She was quite nasty to begin with—the
look
on her face when she opened the door! But she knew she couldn’t get out of it, so she took me to the barn, and I did as you advised and lavished praise on the llamas. They
are
sweet things, I must say. So I groomed them, and talked to her about them, and then, I don’t know, she just began to calm down and we…talked—about all
sorts
of things. I finally apologized to her for not being a great husband—and that seemed to cut
some
ice—and I just asked if we couldn’t be friends. Then I told her about my difficulties at the club and how worried I am, and well…’
‘What?’
‘She was surprisingly sympathetic.’
‘I know. She said she even went to see it.’
‘She did. We had a very interesting conversation about the club, actually.
Very
interesting.’
And before I could ask him what he meant, I heard a ‘Call Waiting’ beep in my ear—it was Daisy—so Dad said he’d call me another time.
‘Tonight’s self-defence class was the
best
yet!’ Daisy gushed. ‘I had to throw Marcus—and I managed it. He was
so
impressed,’ she added with a laugh. ‘We also learned how to do a shin kick and a really lethal heel stamp. That’s another
thing you can do, if someone grabs you from behind, you just stamp on their foot, really hard.’
‘Sounds like a laugh a minute.’
‘Oh it was.’ I told Daisy about the strange conversation I’d just had with my parents. ‘But you must be pleased,’ she said.
‘I suppose I am—but I’m also
confused
. Why on earth would my mother want to go and see my Dad’s
golf club
?’
‘I don’t know. Do you think she…’
‘What?’
‘Well, fancied him again?’
‘Unlikely.’
‘But she must have been in love with him once. And she’s single again now, and she hadn’t seen him for years, and your dad’s a good-looking man. So maybe a little
flicker
of something was rekindled…’
‘I don’t believe it. Why would she suddenly feel like that, having done nothing but bitch about him for the past two decades? I really
don’t
get it, Daisy.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t complain. You’ve effected a degree of parental harmony you never thought possible.’
‘That does seem to be the case. Anyway, how’s everything else going?’ I asked. ‘Are you ready for Nigel’s party?’
‘I suppose so. I’m just going through the RSVP’s. Are you bringing David?’
My heart did a bungee jump. ‘Yes. I am.’
‘Good. I’ll put him down on the list. There’ll be about fifty of us. Alan and Jon want everyone to be there by seven thirty, latest, so Nigel doesn’t spot us all going in.’
‘Which bit of the zoo do we make for?’
‘They haven’t told me that. They just said to tell everyone to follow the signs. Then Nigel and I will turn up in a taxi just after eight, by which time the signs will have gone. We’ll
be shown where to go by the security guy, who’s pretending to be a keeper.’
‘So it’s an elaborate subterfuge.’
‘It is.’
‘And what does Nigel
think
he’s doing on Saturday.’
‘He thinks we’re going to a firework concert at Kenwood, followed by dinner in Hampstead. He’s in for a bit of a shock.’
On Saturday evening, David came to the Mews at a quarter to seven, to pick me up. He kissed me, and the interest between us crackled like static.
‘Hi. Can I kiss you again?’ he asked. I nodded. I felt his arms go round my waist and his lips press against mine. ‘What a nice way to start the evening,’ he murmured as he rocked me from side to side. I could smell the cologne on his neck. ‘So we’re going to the zoo, are we?’
‘We are. But I’ve just got to wrap Nigel’s present, could you…put your finger…there.’ I bit off a piece of Sellotape. ‘And here…that’s it.’ Then I got out the card. ‘Do you want to sign it too?’
‘I’ve never met the guy, but why not?’ He scribbled his signature, next to mine.
Miranda and David
. Seeing our names linked like that, made me feel suddenly, unaccountably happy, as though I had just been given good news.
‘This is nice,’ David said as we strolled down the road, hand in hand. As we crossed over the canal and entered Regent’s Park, I saw a poster for the Open Air Theatre. I thought of Alexander, and realized for the first time that, despite my anger, I felt strangely grateful for what he’d done. For if he hadn’t abandoned me that night, I wouldn’t be here, now, with David—and I’d wanted to find David for half of my life.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘Oh, just how glad I am that I’ve met you.’
He squeezed my hand. ‘I’m very glad too. It was Fate, I guess.’
No, it wasn’t, it wasn’t
. ‘I feel we were meant to meet.’
We were
. ‘Anyway, tell me who’ll be there tonight?’ I gave him the background about Nigel and Daisy.
‘Five and a half years? That’s quite a while.’
‘It is. Daisy’s dying to get married. She’s fed up with waiting.’
‘But does she love him?’
‘I think she does.’
‘You only think so?’
‘Well, she’s been with him a long time, and she’s very used to him.’
‘Is that real love?’
‘Well, many people get married for less. And I can understand her not wanting to start all over again with someone new, after so long. She’d like to settle down. And Nigel’s a bit stodgy, but he’s basically
fine
…’
‘And do
you
like him?’
‘I do, but—’
‘But what?’
‘He’s very selfish. He exploits the fact that she’s never forced him to make a commitment because she’s afraid of bringing things to the crunch.’
We crossed over to the Inner Circle, and saw smartly dressed people drifting in knots towards the zoo’s side entrance, Albert Gate.
‘Just follow the signs round to your right,’ a member of staff instructed us as he ticked off our names. And sure enough there were large notices, with balloons tied to them, saying
Nigel’s 40th—This Way
. We passed a cage with several huge, blue, hyacinth macaws, then the gibbon enclosure, and
the Diana monkeys. Near the main entrance, now locked for the evening, we saw the last sign. A large arrow, with a yellow balloon tied to it, was pointing towards the Reptile House.
I let out a snort of surprise. ‘It’s in the
Reptile House?!
’
‘Poor guy,’ said David with a laugh. ‘Is this Daisy’s way of punishing him?’
‘No—she had nothing to do with it; it was all arranged by Nigel’s friends, Alan and Jon.’
‘I see—so it’s a blokey joke, then.’
‘I guess so.’
The other guests were all grinning at the choice of venue as they went in. I recognized Nigel’s mother, and his brother, and some of the people who’d been at the barbecue, including his sharp-faced colleague, Mary, whom I ignored.