‘Terribly,’ I said.
‘Really, really annoying.’
‘Mmmm.’
‘A very, very irritating man.’
‘Absolutely. Shall we ask him round again?’
‘
Did you know that the Dreck Furniture Warehouse is having a New Year Sale
?’
‘
A New Year Sale?
’
‘
Yes. There’s 75 per cent off everything – even leather suites.
’
‘
I just can’t believe it – 75 per cent off?
’
‘
Yes! An incredible 75 per cent off! I just can’t believe it either!
’
‘
At prices like that, it’s just too good to be true!
’
‘
Wow! 75 per cent off? That’s just AMAZING!!!!
’
‘It’s amazing, Minty!’ exclaimed Wesley.
‘What?’ I took off my headphones.
‘It’s amazing. I’ve been trying to tell you for days, but you just didn’t seem to want to chat.’ This was quite true.
‘I’m sorry Wesley,’ I said guiltily. ‘I’ve been rather …preoccupied lately.’
‘I noticed. We all did. Look, are you all right, Minty? You seemed to be in a bit of a state.’
‘I’m …fine,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I’m OK – really.’ This was more or less true. The first white heat of my anger had cooled now, leaving hot, but bearable embers. And somehow, having that little cat around had taken the edge off my pain.
‘I’ve got some wonderful news!’ said Wesley. ‘It’s Deirdre – she’s pregnant! She’s four months gone.’
‘How
incredible
!’ I said with involuntary wonderment. ‘I mean, how fantastic! When’s it due?’
‘June!’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Yes,’ he said excitedly. ‘I’m going to be a father.’
‘That’s unbelievable …I mean, that’s lovely.’
‘Yes, I’m thrilled about it,’ he went on. ‘And Deirdre’s so happy. I can’t believe it – I’m going to be a Dad.’ He opened a drawer in his desk and took out the
Mothercare First Baby Guide.
‘We’re going to get 20 per cent off everything,’ he confided, ‘because Deirdre gets the staff discount.’ He opened the catalogue at the pushchair section, then placed it in front of me.
‘What do you think?’ he asked as I surveyed the array of colourful buggies. ‘Should we go for the Seville, or the Verona, or the Classico?’ They all seemed to have Italian names. ‘On the other hand,’ he went on thoughtfully, ‘the Dolce Vita would be nice.’
‘Yes,’ I said ruefully, ‘the Dolce Vita would be
lovely.
’
‘Oh, Minty,’ he said wistfully, ‘the mysteries of procreation. It’s just so amazing. I’m going to be a father!’
‘So did you …’ I began. But the words died on my lips. Shut up, Minty, I said to myself. It’s none of your damn business.
Wesley glanced round the office to make sure he couldn’t be overheard. Then he leant towards me and said, ‘We had trouble, you know.’
‘What?’
‘We had trouble. Having the baby.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know that,’ I said innocently. ‘Well, lots of people have trouble, don’t they?’
‘No, we had
real
trouble.’
‘I see,’ I said seriously.
‘It was very hard for Deirdre because of course it was …’ he lowered his voice a little further, ‘
her fault.
’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Her eggs. Not too hot.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Pretty much hard-boiled. So she went to get some help.’
‘Well, good. Um did you …go too?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘of course I did. Just to hold her hand. You have to give your partner moral support, don’t you?’
‘Yup.’
‘And luckily the fertility doctor was able to sort her out.’
‘Well, that’s great.’
‘And now, at last, I’m going to be a
father.
’
‘“You’re not my father.” That’s what they say,’ said Jack, in his office after work. He’d been nervously twisting leader tape all day – the floor was strewn with it – and then, when everyone had gone, he’d asked for my advice, again. ‘“You’re not my dad,” they say.’ He sighed. ‘Christmas was sheer bloody hell.’
‘
Scummy breath? Try the new, revolutionary Thompson Tongue-Scraper
!’
‘Why are they so nasty to you?’
‘
The ultimate in oral care
!’
‘Because they blame me for the divorce.’
‘
Eliminates bacterial build-up
!’
‘But it’s not my fault.’
‘
Only £7.99
!’ Jack wearily turned off the speaker.
‘What the girls don’t know,’ he continued, ‘is that their father had been fooling around with other women for years. And that’s why Jane finally kicked him out. But she’s never told them that because she didn’t want to lower their regard for him.’
‘That’s decent of her,’ I pointed out. ‘Lots of wounded wives wouldn’t hesitate to shop their errant husband to the kids.’
‘I know that,’ he conceded, wearily. ‘Except that it means I get all the blame. So, in protecting her children, Jane leaves me exposed to their wrath. They’re like the Furies, Minty. They’re bloody vicious.’
‘Well, maybe when they’re older, she might tell them the truth. Or maybe they’ll have got to like you by then.’
‘I can’t wait that long, Minty. To be honest, I’m not sure I’ll still be around. I think the whole thing’s been a huge mistake.’
‘But you can’t just give up on your marriage after less than a year.’
‘But I’m not sure I’m prepared to put up with all this hostility. It’s hard enough adjusting to married life when you’ve never been married before, let alone having so much grief from your wife’s kids.’ He sighed. ‘They really know how to hurt.’
‘What do they do?’
‘When they’re not abusing me verbally, they take my clothes out of the laundry basket, and dump them on the floor. They take my coat out of the coat cupboard, ditto. They also remove my shaving things from the bathroom cabinet, and my toothbrush from the “family” rack.’
‘How nasty.’
‘They send me to Coventry,’ he went on ruefully. ‘They also send me to Wolverhampton, Watford, Manchester and Stoke. Do you know what else they do? Steal.’
‘Steal?’
‘They stole my credit card out of my jacket …’
‘My God.’
‘And went to Harrods. Three hundred quid! And the last phone bill was four hundred.’
‘Christ.’
‘And the drugs I’ve found lying around!’
‘Really?’
‘I’ve found grass, Thai sticks, E – no heroin yet, thank God, but it’s extremely worrying. I’m sorry to burden you,’ he added with another painful sigh. ‘But I’ve got to talk to someone about it.’
‘Don’t you discuss it with Jane?’
‘I’ve tried. But I don’t get very far …she doesn’t really understand.’
‘Well, she ought to, she’s a counsellor.’
‘But she listens to people moaning all day, I don’t feel I can do the same when she gets home. In any case,’ he went on, as he began to twist and stretch another piece of tape, ‘Jane doesn’t believe in disciplining young people.’
‘Oh.’
‘It’s all this “positive parenting” stuff – her parents were incredibly strict with her, so she always vowed she’d be the opposite. And she is. Anything goes. Her children must be allowed to “express themselves”, apparently. And at the moment they express themselves by hating me.’
‘Well, you’ve got to show Topaz and Iolanthe that you’re part of their family.’
‘A nuclear family,’ he sighed. ‘With nuclear warfare. Cruise missiles, SS20s, the works. How appropriate that we live at the Arsenal. I just don’t know what to do,’ he said despairingly.
‘Well, do something family-ish. Go on a holiday.’
‘I suggested it. But the girls said they’d only come if I didn’t.’
‘How about ten-pin bowling?’
‘I tried it. They refused. They said they could do that anytime with their mates.’
‘Well, why don’t you have a party? You and Jane could invite your friends, and the girls could invite a few of theirs.’
He looked thoughtful. ‘A drinks party?’
‘Yes.’
‘A winter drinks party. Actually, that’s not a bad idea. In fact, Minty, it’s a very good idea. And would you come, if I did?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I would.’
And so, ten days later, I set off for Jack’s. He had moved into Jane’s house, her former marital home – another mistake on his part, I suspected. He’d wanted to pool their resources and buy somewhere new, but Jane had thought it would upset the girls to move so soon after the divorce. It put Jack at a huge disadvantage, though. He was on their patch. In their father’s place. It made the girls hate him even more. You could understand it, in a way. Still, at least it was quite a nice house, in a quiet road not far from where he’d had his flat on Highbury Hill.
He and Jane had met in the launderette. Their respective washing machines had broken down. They’d eyed each other up over the spin cycle and then she’d asked him to help her fold her sheets. Amazing. There’s so much luck involved in how you meet someone. Charlie had met Amber at one of her book launches. And then he’d met Helen again when he’d gone into her shop to buy flowers. And Mum and Dad had met ice-skating. And Wesley and Deirdre had met in a Wimpy
Bar. And Dominic had sold me an insurance policy. Perhaps that’s how he’d met Virginia Park too, I wondered bitterly. Probably was. I wondered whether he’d had the courage to tell her what he’d done to me? Unlikely – the man was such a coward.
As I turned right out of the Tube at seven o’clock, I resolutely banished thoughts of Dominic. I found the house halfway up Plimsoll Road. The house that Jack built, I thought ironically. Or rather, the house that Jack was trying to build.
Ding. Dong.
The door opened, and there was Topaz, the older girl. I remembered seeing her at my wedding, giggling. I eradicated that image from my mind and resolved to be friendly, for Jack’s sake.
‘Hello, Topaz,’ I said, with a smile. She was wearing an inch of eyeliner, a silver Lurex crop-top and a black leather miniskirt which barely covered her pants. ‘I’m Minty. Remember?’
‘Oh yeah!’ she said, with a smirk. ‘How could I forget? You were the one who got –’
‘Minty,’ Jack cut in, ‘hello! How nice of you to come.’ He gave me a warm, but slightly nervous smile. ‘Now, I’m sure Topaz will take your coat.’
‘Bleedin’ well won’t,’ she said.
‘Right,’ said Jack. ‘That’s fine. Fine …’ And he took my mac and ushered me into the large double living room. I seemed to be the first to have arrived.
Chakka chakka chakka chakka chakka chakka chakka.
‘Hello, Iolanthe,’ I called to the younger girl, who was sitting in a corner of the room, with headphones clamped to her ears. ‘Hello!’ I tried again.
Chakka chakka chakka chakka chakka chakka chakka.
She lifted them off briefly, and looked at me out of narrowed eyes. ‘Hi!’ she said, with a vague smile. Then she replaced her headphones. Jack nervously poured me some champagne, and turned up the Bach partitas.
‘How’s school going?’ I asked Topaz.
‘Skanky!’ she replied.
‘Sorry?’
‘Oh, that means “bad” doesn’t it, Topaz?’ Jack enquired. She gave him a granitic glare.
‘You have to know the code,’ he explained. ‘Teen-talk. It’s a whole new language. Like Esperanto, only harder.’
‘This music’s bleedin’ gnarly,’ she added.
‘Ah,’ said Jack. ‘Translation: I don’t care for your choice of CD.’ The atmosphere was already icy, despite the fire burning brightly in the grate.
‘Are some of your friends coming this evening?’ I asked her pleasantly.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘But not f’rages. It’s not cool to arrive early, like you’ve done.’
‘Ha! Well, I didn’t know how long it would take to get here,’ I said. ‘I came by Tube.’
‘Don’t you have wheels, then?’ she exclaimed contemptuously.
‘Um …no. No, I don’t.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘Oh, hello, Minty.’ Jane appeared, carrying a plate of canapés. ‘Nice to see you, er …’ I knew she was going to say ‘again’, because the last time she’d seen me was in my wedding dress ‘ …with such a lovely new haircut,’ she finished. I smiled. And I thought how nice she looked. She’s the same age as Jack, nearly forty-three, but she looks a lot younger than that.
All of a sudden there was the sound of a match striking against sandpaper, and then the smell of a Silk Cut filled the air. I looked at Topaz as she inhaled, expertly, then released a silvery plume with a practised toss of her head.
‘I keep asking her to give up,’ Jane confided with a wry smile as I skewered a cocktail sausage. ‘But she won’t. Still, I do think young people have to make their own mistakes, don’t you?’
‘Oh, um, yes,’ I said.
‘And she is fifteen.’
‘Jack’s always telling me to stop,’ Topaz confided, as she drew on her cigarette. ‘But it’s none of ‘is business. And if my real dad don’t mind, I don’t see what it’s got to do with Jack.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid if Jack asks the girls not to do something, they go right ahead and do it, don’t you, you two?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Yeah!’ said Iolanthe.
‘But then I think it’s better to use emotional reasoning on teenage children. For example, I say to Topaz, “Darling, did you know that smoking can cause cancer?” And she says-’
‘I don’t give a flying fuck!’ Topaz cut in, with a guttural laugh.
‘Exactly.’ Jane rolled her eyes with mock-exasperation. ‘Kids today! I don’t know. Still, we were all young once, weren’t we?’
‘How’s work?’ I asked Jane. ‘Are you busy?’
‘Oh yes!’ she said, gaily. ‘There’s a steady stream of anorexics, bulimics, depressives, delinquents and embryonic axe-murderers.’
‘Just like we have at home,’ said Jack, with a hollow laugh. ‘Just joking, Jane.’ She was giving him the beady eye. ‘That was just a joke, OK?’
Ding. Dong.
Saved by the bell. Jane went to the door. Jack went back on coat duty. I sat in a corner of the sofa and looked at the sitting room. It was very …Ikeatat. Bright, but undistinguished. Stripped wooden flooring covered with bright kilims. A wrought-iron candle chandelier. Colourful screenprints on the walls. Gaily chequered curtains on decorative poles. I wondered where to place my drink. Not on the antique mahogany side table to my left; its delicate top was inlaid with a chessboard. Now that was obviously Jack’s. In fact, looking round the room again, it was easy to identify his things, because they didn’t really fit in with the rest. A pretty oil painting of an alpine pass hung awkwardly alongside a Hockney print. A pair of beautiful cut-glass candlesticks looked out of place on the pine mantelpiece. All the things that were less obviously ‘serviceable’ I was sure belonged to Jack.