She also didn’t want to be looking at Miles White when she was so desperate to see Ed, but she would have to wait until after the concert for that first reunion hug.
Finally, the audience was seated, the orchestra came in, and there was Owen at the back manning the oversized drums. He scanned the crowd for his mum and shot her a huge grin when he finally saw her.
Not wanting to mortify him, she risked a little wave, and then Ed was striding towards the front, conductor’s baton in hand.
It was perfect to see them both again, just perfect. She kept smiling, beaming in their direction. Ed, with his back to the audience, didn’t have the chance to look for her, so she tried to read as much as she could from this rear view. He’d had time to iron his shirt and sort out his hair – that was good; obviously the twins hadn’t driven him to complete distraction.
She was a little bit uncertain whether a dark patch on the back of his trouser leg was a shadow or some
sort
of juice stain, but thought it might be best not to fixate on that.
The orchestra tore through a whirlwind of pieces for a full hour and a half. Annie was no classical music buff but it seemed pretty impressive to her. Owen’s face had turned pink with effort and concentration while Ed’s impassioned baton waving had untucked his shirt and ruffled his hair.
After the thunderous applause at the end, it was time to wait for Ed in the library, sipping at a glass of lukewarm fizzy wine with the other parents.
‘Hello Mrs Leon, how are you doing?’
For a moment the question startled her, because no one ever called her Mrs Leon; well, apart from the headmaster, who was approaching for a quick, sociable word or two of small talk: ‘Wasn’t Mr Leon brilliant at leading from the front, and your son is always so demonstrative on the drums, isn’t he?’
She smiled proudly. Good old Mr Ketteringham-Smith. Despite all the difficulties there had been in the past with Lana, Owen and even Ed, he always liked to act as if nothing very serious had ever happened between them, but … well, maybe it was more true to say that he acted as if he didn’t bear a grudge.
Annie’s phone began to trill loudly. Phew … whoever it was on the other end of the line, even an insurance cold caller, would get her full and
devoted
attention if it meant her strained chat with the headmaster was over.
‘I am so sorry about this – lovely to see you, a fantastic concert, but I’m just going to quickly deal with this call …’
Phew!
As Annie brought the phone out of her bag, she clocked the caller’s name and braced herself and her eardrum.
‘ANNAH!’ came the screech down the line.
‘Hello, darlin’ …’
‘What is happening in New York? What do you know and why is no one telling me?!’
Svetlana sounded wound up and furious. Now was not the time to fill her in on the NY Perfect Dress story. It wouldn’t work: it would blow up.
With Svetlana right against her ear, waiting for a reply, Annie felt as if she was tiptoeing round the edge of a volcano.
‘I don’t know much, I’m trying to find out, I’ll let you know everything just as soon as I know more,’ she said, keeping her voice low in this milling crowd of pushy parents, everyone busy worrying about which
conservatoire
their child should aim for if it didn’t work out with Oxbridge.
‘Why do they not tell me?’ Svetlana asked. ‘I call and call for Elena, but she not reply to me.’
‘Look darlin’, you have quite enough on your
plate.
How are the boys doing? Have you had a chance to speak to Igor yet? I hope Harry has well and truly lawyered him.’
‘Igor and I are having dinner tonight like two civilized adults.’
This sounded so implausible that Annie couldn’t help laughing.
‘Dinner?!’ she exclaimed. ‘But he snatched your boys and tried to put them into military academy in Russia!’
Did Svetlana really need to be reminded?
‘Well, he offer dinner in the Capital Restaurant, best lobster and champagne in London. He said we need to talk this out like grown-ups.’
‘Do you think he’s going to offer you a deal? He might try to take Michael and leave Petrov in London.’
‘Oh no! I will never let him take Michael or Petrov. I make offer to Igor,’ she said with admirable determination: ‘I offer to send the boys to a different school in London. One where there is optional army training. Cadets, I think you call it. I think if Michael does cadet training in London, Igor will be more happy.’
‘Right …’
Annie wasn’t really up on military training for boys. Owen would have taken one look at her, rolled his eyes and run a mile; well, no, he would
have
sauntered a mile and definitely without a backpack. Playing violin and being super-shy were the things Owen had done when he was Michael’s age. Now it was footie, German, eBay trading and banging drums so hard that the house shook.
‘If Igor is happy with their education, maybe he will stop pulling these silly stunts,’ Svetlana went on.
‘Hope so,’ Annie said, keeping to herself the thought that ‘silly stunts’ was playing it down a little. Those boys were kidnapped! Driven across Europe! By men with switchblades!
‘Igor is very impressed I got the boys back from him. I knew this. I think he is a little afraid of me now.’
‘A little
more
afraid, I think you mean. He’s always had a very healthy respect for you, darlin’. Why do you think he’s not remarried when there’s no shortage of willing candidates? You’ve scared the living daylights out of him.’
‘He ask if I have new bodyguard,’ Svetlana laughed.
‘Do you mean
me
? He thought I was your bodyguard?’
‘Yes. He knew someone kick the knife away from his army-trained thugs. He also know someone rip out the tyre of his BMW. Maybe you could think about this as new career.’
This made Annie laugh properly: ‘Now you are joking. I was so frightened, I just about peed my pants.’
Ooops. She remembered where she was: in the rarefied atmosphere of St Vincent’s library, sipping a post-concert fizz. A startled hush had fallen over the knot of parents immediately beside her.
She felt a tap on her shoulder, turned and found herself looking straight into Ed’s eyes, his eyebrows way up above them. Unfortunately, it looked as if he’d just heard that last remark too.
‘I should go—’
‘NO!!!’ Svetlana protested. ‘What about our daughters? If they have rebelled and made their dresses – oh, I am furious! I will throw Elena out of job, out of flat, out of country.’
‘Svetlana …’
Ed rolled his eyes at this name.
Annie had to go. Any moment now she would lose Ed to the throng of parents wanting to pat him on the back, congratulate him for the performance and get a detailed critical run-down on how extremely well their child had performed and how they were expected to do in their next music exam, and should the parents start saving up for
conservatoire
fees right now?
‘You can’t talk like that,’ Annie told her friend firmly. ‘Weren’t you telling me in Italy that you
wanted
to be a good mother? Well, stand strong. Whatever our daughters have done, we’ll have to stand by them. We’re going to have to help them, not punish them. They are headstrong, determined girls – just like their mothers. So calm down, my love, calm right down and I’ll call you back when I have news.’
For a moment there was silence. Svetlana hated to be told what to do and Annie knew it.
Finally, Svetlana replied with a chilly: ‘I await your call.’
Then the line went dead, so Annie could look at Ed and, regardless of the pack of parents circling like hungry wolves desperate for a piece of him, she smiled wide and fell against him, wrapping her arms right round him.
He smelled just like himself: a touch of soap and fresh air with a little bit of concert nerves and school dinners thrown in.
Face towards his soft neck, she put her cheek against the scratchy tweed of his jacket and allowed herself to rest there for a moment. Right here, in his arms, everything felt totally all right once again.
‘Hello you,’ he said, his arms tight around her. ‘Busy holiday?’
‘Hello you, I’m not sure you’ll believe the half of it.’
Chapter Forty-Four
London
Minette’s birthday outfit:
Bright pink, orange and red dress (Oilily)
Pink tights (John Lewis)
Red T-bar shoes (Start-rite)
Chocolate icing on face (Ed’s homemade cake)
Total est. cost: £120
ONE HOUR AND
seventeen minutes into the twins’ second birthday party and Annie was seriously considering locking herself into the bathroom, burying her face into the stack of fluffy towels and screaming.
Toddler parties were in so many ways so much worse than teen parties. First of all, there was the
endless
amount of booze and drugs: sugary fruit juice and caffeinated chocolate cake covered with chocolate icing and Smarties. Despite Dinah’s warning, Ed had apparently made this last night, insisting it was only once a year and it would be fine.
Then there was the bad behaviour: Micky had of course pulled the hair of the most fragile, darling little girl in a velvet dress, who had dissolved into tragic tears. Meanwhile Minette and a gang of admirers had broken away from the crowd to amuse themselves by floating Lego pieces in the toilet then trying to sink them with the toilet brush.
Naturally, the poshest mummy had turned up to reclaim her treasure and found her in Minette’s gang, clinging to the toilet rim, wide-eyed with wonder.
But somehow the remaining forty-three minutes of the party had passed, rescued mainly by Dinah and her tireless stream of games, songs and distractions. Then finally the last child was out of the door and Annie could collapse straight on to the sofa while Minette sat on her chest and Micky tried to feed her cake from the assortment of half-finished plates lying around on the floor.
‘And welcome home,’ Dinah said, collapsing into the armchair opposite. ‘How did I manage to forget what hordes of two-year-olds can be like? Billie’s last party was all about super-sophisticated
nine-year-olds
making pizzas and discussing how uncool Justin Bieber is.’
‘You didn’t forget – you’ve just repressed the horror,’ Annie told her.
‘Tea, coffee or several large glasses of brandy?’ Ed called from the doorway.
‘Yes please,’ Dinah and Annie answered together.
‘The twins are so well and have survived brilliantly without me, thank you so much, my perfect Mummy-substitute,’ Annie said gratefully from the sofa with her eyes shut and her temples throbbing – the after-effects of the noise or the cake. Or maybe both.
‘Ed? Maybe I’ll just have warm water and a paracetamol,’ Annie added weakly. ‘I think I need to detox.’
This made both Dinah and Ed laugh.
‘Listen to spa girl,’ Ed said, ‘she just can’t handle the chocolate the way she once could.’
‘I was hardly even in the spa! I was cheated of the spa!’ Annie protested. ‘I could have stuck it. I could maybe even have coped with an enema or two. But oh no, I have to drive across half of Europe in search of Britain’s most valuable boys. If I’d stayed I could have lost 15 kilos – that must be at least half of my big bum.’
‘Big bum,’ Micky repeated solemnly.
Annie held out her arms to him and cuddled him
in
close despite the layer of luminous icing around his lips.
‘Don’t say that in front of your friends’ parents. OK?’
‘Big bum,’ Micky repeated.
‘Big bum, big bum, big bum …’ Minette chanted as she crawled down from the sofa. Now the twins were standing in front of her doing a demented ‘big bum’ chorus.
‘Annie,’ Ed said as he came in bearing a tray of tea mugs, ‘what have you done? You’ve only been back here for two hours and look at them!’
‘Big bum!’
‘How’s Mum?’ Annie asked her sister as the mugs were put into their hands.
‘Really looking forward to seeing you this weekend. Well, so long as you keep on reminding her,’ Dinah replied. ‘Phone again ten minutes before you arrive. That really helps.’
‘But no other news, nothing to report?’
‘Her blood pressure is a bit high. Stefano has done three readings in a row, all over 160. I’m not an expert but apparently that’s not great.’
Annie sat up, sploshing tea onto her shoulder.
‘So what does she need to do? Does she need medicine?’
‘She needs to stop fretting so much – which is a bit hard because you know how much she frets over all
kinds
of things at the moment. She’s supposed to switch to a low salt, low fat diet. But if nothing improves, she’ll need tablets.’
Annie and Dinah exchanged an anxious look. They worried about their mother almost all the time at an acceptable low level, but news like this always brought a spike of fear.
‘I’ve looked it up and everything,’ Dinah said, ‘there’s lots she can do to improve things.’
‘But she’s all forgetful and she hardly remembers to have lunch most days, how’s she supposed to remember a special diet?’
‘We’ll all look after her,’ Dinah soothed. ‘Stefano, the home help and us.’
‘OK … you’re right. Must not fret.’
‘No, or you’ll be the next one on the low salt, low fat diet.’
‘Which would mean no crisps,’ Annie sighed tragically.
‘Yeah and you’d have to cut right back on the caffeine too. In fact, when did you last get your blood pressure checked?’
Dinah looked at her, face full of concern.
‘At the spa by Dr Delicioso and it was fine.’
‘Dr Delicioso?!’
‘Totally dreamy, I would go there again, just for him. But he made me give up coffee for two days … and oh my God,’ she rolled her eyes, ‘talk about a
wrecking
ball on the rampage inside my skull.’
‘It’s a powerful drug,’ Dinah said.
‘OK, saintly drinker of peppermint tea.’
‘I occasionally allow myself a little Earl Grey,’ Dinah said, pulling her teasing face.
‘Shut. Up.’
Annie’s phone began to ring.