Diary of an Unsmug Married (25 page)

‘Go and get them from the station in your car,’ he says to Greg, who scowls and says, ‘It’s only a five-minute walk.’

‘I don’t care,’ says Andrew. ‘Give your colleagues a proper welcome.’

Greg had been hoping the girls would get lost and we could lose an hour or so of their company while we ‘tried’ to find them. He’d even sent them a slightly inaccurate, hand-drawn map.

‘I’d have bought one of those traffic-light air-fresheners if I’d known I was going to have to give them a lift,’ he says, as he crawls under his desk in an attempt to find his car keys. ‘Bet they’ll be expecting one, here in the smelly old provinces.’

I say that I doubt they will, but am proved wrong, for once. When Greg gets back, he tells me that, when he showed the girls into the building, they passed Joan in the corridor. Greg says Carlotta looked Joan up and down, then sniffed, as if at a very bad smell.

Poor old Joan. She’s one of us, not that The Boss agrees with that assessment. When Carlotta says, ‘We just met Jean or whatever her name was’, he grunts and looks disgusted. That man couldn’t tell who was on his side if his life depended on it.

‘Joan,’ I say. ‘Not
Jean
. A valued member of the Labour Party team.’

Then I get my own back by suggesting it might be ‘a useful learning experience’ for the girls to sit in on today’s surgery.

‘Damn good idea, Molly,’ says The Boss, much to my satisfaction, if not to theirs.

They look a bit shell-shocked afterwards, and so does The Boss. Maybe that’s why they all drink so much over lunch, and are legless by the time they stagger back to the office for a quick coffee.

I like them a whole lot better that way – especially when it makes them lower their guards. Marie-Louise admits that they’d been counting the days
until
this Recess, because Andrew ‘has been so paranoid recently’.

‘
Why
is he paranoid, though?’ I say. ‘Greg and I can’t work it out.’

‘He said something about an old friend he could trust telling him some – how’d you call it? – home truths,’ says Carlotta, while Marie-Louise gives an expressive Gallic shrug.

‘
Cherchez la femme
,’
^fn2
she says. ‘That’s what we say in France, when a man is acting out of character.’

Greg asks for a translation, then nods and mentions the earring we found the other day – but neither Carlotta nor Marie-Louise has any idea who its owner might be. Greg describes it to them in minute detail, anyway, and they agree to keep an eye out for any women visiting The Boss at the House of Commons wearing only one earring that matches its description.

‘She’ll probably have a white stick, too, if she’s having a thing with Andrew,’ says Greg. ‘Just
look
at the state of his hair.’

When Carlotta makes a Berlusconi
^fn3
joke in response, our bonding is complete – and, appropriately enough, it’s kisses all round when the taxi arrives to take the girls back to the station. I think The Boss misunderstands the protocol, though, as he goes for everyone’s lips, except for Greg’s. We all wipe our mouths ostentatiously, while going ‘
Psshaw
’.

Greg refers to Andrew as ‘Silvio’ for the rest of the afternoon, much to Andrew’s irritation. Finally, he says he needs a lie-down and is going to leave early, ‘just this once’.

‘He’s not as daft as he looks, though, is he?’ says Greg to me, while waving Andrew an enthusiastic goodbye. ‘He’s succeeded in raising office morale rather nicely.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Just not in the way that he intended. Now we’re all united by despair.’

SATURDAY, 14 AUGUST

Idiot brother Robin rang me last night, and asked me to check on Mum’s sanity.

‘It’s getting more like a bloody nursing home round there every time I go,’ he said. ‘What the f*ck are all those tables about?’

He’s referring to the type of small table just big enough to hold a single cup and saucer – and when I arrive at the house, I discover he’s right: Mum
has
bought even more of them. They’re everywhere, their legs sticking out so far they’re an accident waiting to happen. I tip two of them over, on my way to join Ted in the sitting room.

I’ve only just righted those when Mum comes in, bearing tea. She places our cups on three more tables, one for each of us. I try to move mine nearer to my chair, catch its leg in the rug, and tip this one over too.

When I’ve cleaned up the spilt tea, we’re finally ready for ‘a nice chat’, as Mum puts it. Ted promptly falls asleep, which I wish I could, too. ‘A nice chat’ is code for Mum asking me how Dad is. I do wish she wouldn’t. What’s the right answer supposed to be?
Fine
, or
totally
miserable
since
you
and he
divorced
?

The latter would be a bit unconvincing, wouldn’t it, since the whole Gary Glitter thing? Best to carry on keeping
that
stuffed
firmly
under my metaphorical hat.

‘Another oatcake, Molly, dear?’ says Mum. ‘Plenty left, and they’re dairy-free. Oh, and I hear your father’s gone to Thailand again.’

‘What? He’s only just come back,’ I say, before I can stop myself. How does Mum even know he’s been to Thailand
once
? Did I tell her by mistake, or did Connie do it, the total dingbat?

I’m so distracted that I drop half of the oatcake I’ve been dunking into my tea, so I stir it in and try to swallow the result. Anything to buy some thinking time. I
have
to get to the bottom of this.

‘How did you know about that, Mum?’ I say, having failed to think of anything remotely subtle. ‘And what d’you mean, he’s
back
in Thailand? He can’t possibly be.’

Mum looks flustered, as well she might. ‘Oh, I must have just got the wrong end of the stick, dear,’ she says. ‘I thought someone mentioned he’d gone recently, but maybe it was a while ago now. I do get terribly confused these days.’

Pah. Confused, my arse. Mum’s as sharp as a tack, despite the table mania – but, before I can point out that there’s nothing wrong with her memory, she changes the subject, almost as adroitly as Max does whenever I mention Annoying Ellen. Or Germany.

‘And how’s dear Josh?’ she says. ‘Do you think he’s done okay in his exams?’

‘Only if they’re giving A-levels away with packs of playing cards,’ I say.

Mum says she’s sure I’m wrong, and I’m pretty sure I am, too – though not about Josh’s prospects. There’s something about the certainty with which she said, ‘Your dad’s back in Thailand’, that makes me think there’s much more to this than meets the eye. There usually is, where men are concerned.

SUNDAY, 15 AUGUST

Dinah phones first thing, waking me from a nightmare in which The Boss is trying to kiss me repeatedly while whirling me round the office to the accompaniment of a crazed Russian band. All its members look like Igor, and keep referring to me as ‘a jewel of womanhood beyond compare’.

That last part’s surprisingly enjoyable, so my heart sinks when I pick up my mobile, and see Dinah’s face filling the screen.

‘Do you know where Dad is, Molly?’ she says.

‘Um, no,’ I say. ‘I phoned him last night, but got the answer-phone.’

‘God, that bloody thing.’ Dinah drags on what probably isn’t her first cigarette of the day, and continues, ‘I wish he’d take Stepmother Mark III’s name off the message, don’t you? It’s at least two years out of date.’

‘Well, yes, but Dinah, you just woke me up. And anyway, she’s only Stepmother Mark II to you. Can I make a cuppa, then phone you back?’

By this, I mean
Can I make three cups of tea, have a couple of cigarettes and brace myself to talk to you?
– but Dinah’s unstoppable once she starts.

‘Shut up, Molly!’ she says. ‘Just listen, I’ll only be a minute. Are you
sure
Dad hasn’t gone away somewhere?’

The sinking feeling’s getting worse, but I’m still trying to ignore it. ‘Yes, well – no,’ I say, remembering that I don’t like telling lies. ‘But where would he go, if he has?’ (Don’t mention Thailand.
Don’t
mention Thailand.) ‘Why do you think he’s gone somewhere, anyway?’

‘Because,’ says Dinah, before pausing for effect, ‘one of my mates just phoned me, and asked why Dad’s car has been parked outside the railway station for the last few days.’

‘Ah,’ I say.

‘D’you think he’s dead?’ says Dinah, who always seems to think that everyone we’re related to has kicked the bucket. I’ve no idea why, unless it’s wishful thinking.

‘Don’t be daft, Di,’ I say. ‘We’d have heard.’

‘We’re always the last to know anything about that man,’ says Dinah. ‘Tell you what: you ask everyone on
your
mum’s side of the family, and I’ll ask on
my
mum’s side, and then we’ll try his neighbours, if all else fails.’

‘Okay, speak to you later,’ I say, then – under my breath –
unless I can think of a really good excuse not to
.

I make a cup of tea, and sit mulling over what to do next. No point asking Mum, and idiot brother Robin won’t have a clue, as Dad’s not
his
dad, luckily for him. I shall just do nothing. That’s usually the best option where Dad’s concerned: wait and see.

It’s a remarkably efficient option, too. Connie and Josh have just got up, and are locked into their first argument of the day – about Josh flicking through the TV channels and saying, ‘Con – look! Look, look,
look
!’ every few minutes, while Connie is trying to read her emails.

She loses her temper and walks out of the room, taking her laptop with her. ‘Mum,’ she yells, as she stamps upstairs, ‘tell that moron Josh I don’t give a flying f*ck about watching
Dirty Sanchez
, stupid
Cribs
or
Pimp
My
bloody
Ride,
and get him to leave – me – alone!’

Less than a minute later, she comes running back downstairs, slams her laptop onto my knees – sending the Sunday paper flying everywhere – and says, ‘Mum!
Mum!
Look!
Look!
’

‘Pack it in, Connie,’ I say. ‘It isn’t funny when
Josh
does it, as you well know.’

‘Just
look
,’ she says, pointing at the screen. ‘An email from Grandad.’

‘What?’

‘He’s back in Thailand!’ Connie’s eyes look fit to pop out.

‘He’s
what
?’ I say. Oh, my God. ‘Why did he email you, and not me?’

‘You’d better read it,’ Connie says.

Now I really wish I hadn’t.

Dear Connie

It’s your Grandad here. I’m back in Thailand. I haven’t told your mother as, when I told her about my last trip, she called me Gary Glitter, and I’m in no mood for sarcasm. I’ll send you a postcard and see you when I get home. It’s still very hot.

Love from Grandad

It’s only been two weeks since Dad arrived back, for goodness’ sake! I need a cigarette – or two – before I have to impart this information to Dinah, and deal with the consequences.

I’ve only just lit the first one when my phone starts to ring and Dinah’s face appears on the screen. It looks quite scary in that photo.

‘Dad’s only gone back to bloody Thailand already,’ she shrieks, when I answer, reluctantly. ‘Can you believe it? Mum told me. She said he’d asked her not to tell me as I wouldn’t approve. Damn right I don’t.’

She pauses for breath, then goes on: ‘Fancy not telling your daughters! The man is
unbelievable
.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘He’s just emailed Connie. Apparently he’s upset I called him Gary Glitter.’

‘You were a model of restraint,’ says Dinah. ‘Compared to what I’m going to call him when he gets back.’

I just hope it
is
when, and not
if
. Dad’s always been partial to the heat.

MONDAY, 16 AUGUST

I’m typing a message to Dad this morning, warning him that Dinah’s email account has been hacked by someone with Tourette’s, and so he should ignore anything she might send, when Igor walks into the office.

He wants The Boss to help him get a job, and he’s clearly willing to flatter anyone and everyone in order to achieve his aim.

‘Ah, the beautiful Molly,’ he says, ‘bringing joy to men’s spirits, like the sun. And like my lovely wife, Natalia, back in Moscow, who I miss so
ve-ery
much. May God keep her safe – from these
terrible
fires, as well as the Mafia.’

Greg rolls his eyes at the mention of the M-word, but I’m starting to like Igor a whole lot better than I used to. First he compares me to a jewel, and now to the sun!
And
he’s devoted to his wife – as all men should be, including the one who’s married to me.

I say as much to Greg, but then recall that Igor didn’t
actually
call me a jewel, except in a dream – which makes me feel a bit stupid, until I realise that Greg wasn’t listening, anyway. He’s too busy admiring the bribes, I mean
gifts
, that Igor has brought with him, to add weight to his charm offensive. Three bottles of Slivovitz and a fedora hat the same as his own.

The Boss is vocal in his thanks for the alcohol but seems less sure about the hat. He sneaks it onto my desk, behind a pile of filing, when Igor suggests they go and have ‘breakfast-lunch’ together.

I wait until Andrew thinks he’s got away with it and is about to go out of the door, then run after him and say, ‘Don’t forget your lovely new hat!’

‘Oh, don’t worry, Molly,’ he says, glaring at me. ‘I’ll come back and get it later.’

Then he tries to walk on, but Igor’s having none of it. He takes the hat from my hand, crams it onto Andrew’s head and says, ‘
There
, my friend. Now we look like the brothers we are – in our hearts.’

‘You look more like the Chuckle Brothers to me,’ says Greg.