Happy Birthday and All That (22 page)

‘That would be lovely. I have a client this afternoon, so I'm afraid it'll have to be quick.'

‘Why don't we buy some sandwiches and eat them in the Watermeadows ?'

‘Mmm,' said Flora. ‘But lunch is on me, to thank you for helping me with that tyre. I wasn't even late for my appointment. The Watermeadows are sort of on my way home.'

‘Mine too.'

Half an hour later they were sitting beneath some poplars.

‘I love it here,' said Flora. ‘Home of my heart.'

‘And mine.'

‘I used to come here all the time with Posy and my aunts when I was little.'

‘And where Keats wrote
Endymion,'
said Stella.

‘Mmm.' Of course Flora knew that.

‘I might have been reading this incorrectly,' said Stella, ‘but …' She picked up Flora's hand.

It smelt of the soaps she had been choosing. She kissed it.

Flora smiled, ‘I hadn't thought about it, but I think you are right.' She kissed Stella's hand, which smelt of apple. ‘I thought you were married,' she said.

‘Lots of people make that mistake. Linus is my brother.'

‘Hell's Flaming Teeth!' said Posy looking at the Oxfam family planner, a title that always made her snigger, ‘I had completely forgotten that Mrs Fleance is coming today.' She had written it in Tom's column, not her's and Izzie's, and somehow it had slipped her mind. Normally this visit would be something to give her several days' angst.

Posy never swore in front of the children. This at the breakfast table meant that she was truly agitated. ‘Frank, you have to help me. Can you take the children to school, and take Izzie? Tom has to stay here to meet her. I have to blitz this place. Oh how could I possibly have forgotten? It's even in my diary too. She slammed it down on the table, sending a tsunami of Cocopops onto James's spelling book.

‘Mum!'

‘Sorry. Oh sorry. Sorry for everything in advance.'

‘Kids,' said Frank, ‘Mum needs our help. It's all hands on deck. Mrs Fleance is coming.'

Posy didn't point out that it was, of course, all Frank's fault that she had overslept and forgotten about Mrs Fleance. The night before Frank had gone out early for a gig. Posy had put the children to bed and then spent her evening cleaning mud off the school shoes, sorting out washing, picking up toys etc., etc. ad infinitum, ad tedium. She hadn't stopped until eleven,
when after a few bowls of Special K Red Berries, she had finally gone to bed. Frank had got in soon after, waking Isobel, and filling the house with the stench of his kebab. It had taken Posy a very long time and many trips up and down the passageway, to get Isobel back to sleep. Frank had passed out on the sofa with his half-eaten kebab on his legs. He had woken up, freezing, at three, wondering what he had been watching. He stumbled up to bed, and woke Posy again by loudly and inconsiderately stubbing his toe on the bed.

Posy knew that it was not in her best interests to bring this up yet. She could save it for after Mrs Fleance had gone. She needed Frank's help.

‘If I was Kate the smell of this morning's bread would be wafting around the kitchen. She'd have some cookies in the oven by now,' Posy said.

‘Pity you're so woefully inadequate then, isn't it,' Frank said, kissing her hair.

Posy remembered Delia's wise words on gingernuts: ‘… like most biscuits, extremely simple to make at home and you'll wonder why you ever bought them!'

She was relieved that Frank was being so amenable. A gig the night before usually meant a hangover and a bad mood the next morning. Today he seemed very jolly. Perhaps he hadn't drunk that much or perhaps he was still a bit drunk. Posy opened the kitchen window and lit a lavender candle. There was quite a smell of kebab coming from the bin and Frank's unwashed plate. She didn't comment on it, she couldn't afford to lose his goodwill at this crucial point.

‘I'll supervise them getting washed and dressed. Frank, can you tidy up the front room? I might have time to hoover.' Might Mrs Fleance go upstairs? Tom might want to show her something in his bedroom if they hit it off. She would have to check what sort of a state that was in too.

‘Come on kids, lets go and get dressed. Tom, Mrs Fleance, who is going to be one of your teachers next year, is coming to
visit. She's very kind. You could do a drawing for her if you wanted.' That would impress her. Tom was a great artist. ‘Let's find you something nice to wear, Tom.' (Some nice middle-class clothes, she might have added. Kids' Stuff tartan trousers with a co-ordinating T-shirt, or perhaps the lamby fleece that Flora had bought him.)

Posy tidied like a mad thing, a whirling dervish. By ten to ten she had turned into a will-o'-the-wisp, but everything was more or less done. Frank seemed to have made quite a good job of the front room, and Tom had been very good, and was now playing quietly in his room. Mrs Fleance arrived five minutes early.

‘Don't you live nice and near the school,' she said.

‘Do come in. Excuse the mess. Would you like some coffee, or a cup of tea? I'll just go and get Tom, and put the kettle on.' She meant Mrs Fleance to go into the front room, but she followed her into the kitchen.

‘Mrs Parouselli leaves burning candles unattended,' Mrs Fleance wrote in her invisible notebook. ‘Is Mr Parouselli at work?'

‘Oh he doesn't work,' Posy blurted out. ‘Well, he does, but he's a musician, so it's odd hours.' Surely Mrs Fleance would know that from teaching Poppy, and James before her? Surely it had been put on countless school forms? Could it possibly be that the Parousellis didn't figure as large in Mrs Fleance's life as she did in theirs?

‘Would you like a biscuit? I'm sorry they aren't very exciting.' She offered the tin of digestives. ‘I don't know where Tom has got to. Why don't you go on through to the front room and I'll round him up.'

‘Thank you.'

Don't follow me upstairs, don't follow me upstairs, Posy willed her. It worked. In his bedroom Tom had pulled out all of the dressing-up things and taken off all of his clothes, apart from his Bob the Builder pants. So much for looking middle
class. He had drawn red and black lines all over his face and chest. Posy sank down on the bed. She picked up Tom's blankety, a mistake. Underneath were damp comics, an apple core, a banana skin, Action Man in his spacesuit, and Poppy's fairy wand which had snapped.

‘Tom! How could you!'

‘Do you know where my headdress is? I can't find it. I don't want to be Batman.'

‘Tom, how could you? You know Mrs Fleance is here.'

‘I'm going to kill her with an arrow.'

‘If I find you your headdress will you promise not to kill her, or even shoot at her? We have to be friendly. She's nice, and she's come to visit you, to make friends ready for next year.' White mum speak with forked tongue, Posy told herself. ‘Do we have a deal?'

‘OK.'

‘Your feathers are in the animal box.' Poppy had counted them as a parrot, and tidied them accordingly.

‘Thanks Mum.'

‘Come on. And lets put these trousers and this T-shirt on you. Indians never reveal their Bob the Builder pants.'

‘Only trousers,' he said darkly.

‘OK. But come on.'

Mrs Fleance would have had time to go through all of their belongings by now.

They found Mrs Fleance reading the spines of the books.

‘Hello Tom,' she said in a special ‘I am talking to a child' voice. She squatted down to be at his level. ‘Have you been dressing up?'

‘No,' said Tom.

‘Oh he always looks like that,' said Posy. ‘Especially the felt pen.'

‘I'm sure it will come off in the bath.'

‘There was a dead slug in our bath,' said Tom.

‘Oh. Do you like animals?'

‘Woodlice,' said Tom.

‘We have some fish at school. And some ants in a special tank so you can see what they are doing. And some worms. Last spring we had some chicks.'

‘I know. Poppy cried when they were all dead.'

‘He does have a very good memory,' said Posy.

‘What sort of things do you like to do, Tom?'

No answer. Tom looked blankly at her. He is actually very bright and very charming, Posy felt like saying. He could write his name before he started pre-school. But she knew that it was pointless, it would count as nought, availeth nothing, signify nothing.

‘Tom, why don't you go and get some paper and pens?' she said.

‘Can I watch a video?'

‘Not now darling. You know we don't watch videos in the morning or when we have visitors.'

‘Yes we do.'

‘So you like Indians do you?' asked Mrs Fleance, trying to be tactful. ‘I suppose “First Americans” would be more accurate.'

‘I like their horses and their weapons,' said Tom, who had suddenly decided to be friendly. ‘And they always had picnics. I like picnics.'

‘What do you think they ate?' Mrs Fleance asked.

‘Baked beans and, and, and …' He couldn't think of anything else.

‘I have got to ask you to fill out this form, Mrs Parouselli. Now where did I put that pen?' Her bag had slipped sideways, spewing some of its contents onto the sofa. ‘Maybe it went down here,' she said. Posy watched in horror as Mrs Fleance slipped her hand down the side of the cushion, and then withdrew it holding something brown and dried. It could only be a piece of Frank's midnight kebab.

‘Oh.'

‘They ate pemmican,' said Tom.

‘Well your vocabulary really is very good,' said Mrs Fleance.

‘Let me take that,' said Posy. She held out her hand and Mrs Fleance let it fall into her palm. ‘I am very, very sorry. Let me put that in the bin.' She tried to walk casually out of the room.

‘I'll just be in the kitchen slashing my wrists!' she felt like calling back.

At quarter to eleven when Mrs Fleance had gone, Posy called Flora for a chat. The phone rang and rang. Flora must be out with a client, but she would never forget to put the machine on. This was worrying. Then it was answered, but not by Flora.

‘Oh hello. That's not Flora, is it? Sorry. I must have dialled wrong. Sorry.'

She was about to hang up when the voice said, ‘She's just in the shower. Shall I ask her to call you?'

‘Yes please, it's her sister.' She felt like adding, ‘And who might you be?' Perhaps someone was keeping Flora prisoner in her own house.

‘Oh. Hello. This is Stella. I did your daughter's party. How are you?'

‘Er, fine.' And rather taken aback.

‘When's the next birthday?'

‘Flora's actually. August 11th.'

‘Oh, thanks. Here she comes now.'

Flora came into the bedroom in her white waffle-cotton kimono. She was planning to buy another now for Stella.

‘I hope you don't mind me picking it up. It kept ringing. I thought that you wouldn't want to miss a job. It's your sister,' Stella told her.

‘Thank you,' said Flora. ‘Shower's all yours.' She kissed Stella's bare shoulder, a shoulder that certainly passed muster.

‘I can't remember why I rang now,' said Posy. ‘Are you all right? Not ill?' Flora taking a shower this late in the morning,
her phone being answered by somebody else, it was unprecedented.

‘No I'm fine. More than fine. Stella's here, the magic person.'

‘That's lovely,' said Posy.

‘Mmm,' said Flora, taking a sip from the cup of tea that Stella had made her. ‘Why don't you bring the children over for tea one afternoon this week? Or we could all go for a picnic in the Watermeadows.'

Stella was nodding enthusiastically.

‘Would Stella bring the doves?'

‘Posy says “Would you bring the doves?”.'

Stella just laughed.

‘I was just going to tell you about the awful time I've just had with a visiting teacher,' said Posy. ‘But we'll catch up later.'

‘I'll call you tonight,' said Flora. And she would just have time to do this while Stella threw together a nasturtium and walnut salad and picked a few extra flowers to decorate the lavender sorbet.

It was a Father's Day card to stop the heart. Frank couldn't believe Melody had sent it. She must be planning to force the issue. He smiled grimly at his own pun. Of all the cards in all the world, Melody had picked out this one, a rabbit with an oversized head saying ‘Hi Daddy on Daddy's Day!' When he opened it he saw that there was an ulterior motive.

Dear Frank,
Happy Father's Day from Francesca. She's doing great, but wonders why she hasn't seen her daddy for a week or so.

Also there are some things I need some help with and I don't just mean money. She's nearly too big for her Moses basket. Her cot's arrived but needs putting up. I thought
you might decorate her room too. We've moved in now.
Call me.
Luv,
Melody.

PS It says you need a phillips alan key.

He screwed up the card and put it in his pocket. He was screwed. He still couldn't believe this. How could all this have happened to him? How could it? He wondered if he might be able to ignore them for ever. For ever until the blood hounds of the Child Support Agency sniffed out his nonexistent income. Did they take credit card debts into account, he wondered, offset them against the putative father's putative income? They didn't actually have any disposable income. Or should he be thinking
he
didn't now? But when he thought about the baby he felt love for her sparking and flickering inside him.

He had no idea what Posy would do if she ever found out. With any luck she'd just kill him. She'd probably get off with probation. Dear God. He could hear them all coming in now, the bump of the pushchair up the step, her key in the door, the children shouting, ‘Daddy! Are you in? We're home!'

Posy struggling as usual with the straps on the pushchair, saying, ‘Let's get your sun hat off, come on little one …'