A Catered Affair (33 page)

Rosie shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. Jeez. What a betrayal. But why would he do it? For the money? That really stinks.”

I said that I couldn’t think of any other reason.

“I can’t believe I got him so wrong,” Rosie said.

Scarlett nodded. “Me, neither.”

“OK,” I said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, and I say this with love, but now that we have established that the pair of you are not infallible, would you just butt out of my love life and leave me to sort out my own relationships?”

“Point taken,” Rosie said. “I apologize for interfering. And for calling you a snob. I can get on my high horse sometimes.”

“Apology accepted.” I turned to Scarlett. “You see, Dad was right.”

“About what?” she said.

“About men needing to meet certain requirements. If they don’t, they let you down.” After discovering what Kenny had done, the urge I’d felt last night to challenge my father’s voice had completely disappeared.

“Omigod. Please don’t tell me this is still about that conversation you had with Dad all those years ago in the car park.”

“What conversation?” Rosie said.

I explained.

“So why have you never told me about this?”

Scarlett didn’t give me a chance to answer. “I’ll tell you why,” she said. “Because at some level, my thirty-four-year-old sister doesn’t want people to know that when it comes to making decisions about relationships, she doesn’t follow her own instincts. Instead she follows the advice of our late father.”

“You’re suggesting I’m secretly ashamed that I follow Dad’s advice? That’s nonsense. How could I be ashamed when it makes such good sense? Look at him and Mum. They ended up unhappy because they turned into two very different people. Dad went out and got an education. Mum didn’t.”

“Do you really believe,” Scarlett said, “that people who share the same background and education never divorce? Look at Rosie and Dan.”

“She’s not wrong,” Rosie said.

“I think,” Scarlett continued, “that you’ve become obsessed with doing what you think Dad would have wanted. We all know how important it is for you to stay connected to him, but this is taking it way too far. Has it ever occurred to you that our father the genius might actually have been wrong about something?” She paused. “It’s time to let go.”

“But I was about to let go. I was about to let go with Kenny, and look where it got me.”

“Just because Kenny behaved like a shit doesn’t mean you shouldn’t change your thinking. Surely you can see that. You’ve always blamed Mum for never giving you the attention you needed as a child, and you still carry that resentment. I get that, and so does she, but has it occurred to you that this obsession you have with remaining connected to Dad isn’t helping you build bridges with her?”

I didn’t say anything. Part of me could hear the sense in what she was saying.

“So what now?” Rosie said. “Are you going to try and make a go of it with Hugh?”

“We’ve been in touch all the time he’s been away. We seem to be reconnecting. Surely we owe it to ourselves to find out if we have a future.”

“Brilliant. So it’s back to the old thinking,” Scarlett said.

I caught her and Rosie exchanging weary glances. It was clear that they both thought I was making a mistake. Scarlett suggested we let the subject drop. “I wonder where Grace has got to?” she said, looking at her watch.

Scarlett had just offered to buy another round of drinks when Grace walked in. Her face was one huge grin. “Sorry I’m late, guys,” she said, sitting down at the table, “but I’ve been on the phone to Ed for over an hour.”

“I take it from the expression on your face,” Scarlett said, “that we have a date.”

“We thought next Saturday.”

“What’s happening next Saturday?” I said.

“Ed is going to come into a paper cup and then Scarlett is going to impregnate me.”

“Ah.”

“Well, you did ask.”

“God,” Scarlett said. “Can you believe it? We’re going to be a family.”

“Hold your horses. There is the small matter of me getting pregnant.”

“Oh, of course you’ll get pregnant,” Scarlett responded. “Your mother had five kids. Fecundity is in your genes.”

Scarlett ordered a bottle of champagne to celebrate, and Grace did show-and-tell with the self-insemination kit she’d just bought—complete with syringe, dinky sperm cup and something called preseed lube.

 

 

A month or so went by. Hugh was in Luanda now, preparing to come home. The phone and Internet were much better, and we were texting and e-mailing all the time. Much of what we talked about concerned the past—the things we’d done together, the places we’d been, the plans we’d made. I was aware that things were gradually becoming more intimate between us. There was no doubt in my mind that we were reconnecting.

I hadn’t heard anything from Kenny. I assumed he was feeling so guilty about what he’d done that he couldn’t face contacting me.

It was odd. Despite my feelings towards Kenny, it took time getting used to him not being around. Occasionally I’d be sitting on the sofa, reading through case notes, and I’d look up, expecting to see him in the armchair, his feet up on the coffee table, watching the soccer or reading the paper. Each time this happened, I got a lonely, empty feeling.

 

 

One amazing and totally unexpected thing that had happened was that Mum had a new man—Frank, the Samaritan. Even though Scarlett, Grace and I had been at Mum’s the night he came round to read her the riot act for impersonating a Samaritan, none of us had actual seen him. As yet, only Nana had met him. It turned out that there was nothing significant in this. Mum hadn’t “taken him home” to meet her mother. It turned out that Nana had popped round to Mum’s with one of her homemade honey cakes and Frank just happened to be there. “And all he had on was a pair of boxers,” Nana had said to me on the phone. “I didn’t know where to look.”

“But she’s hardly had a boyfriend since Dad died. This is amazing. I can’t believe it.”

“He’s not exactly what you’d call a looker, though,” Nana continued. “He’s the image of that actor.”

“Which actor?”

“Oh, you know, that one. That French one with the nose and the long hair. Gerald something.”

“I’m trying to think,” I said. “A French actor, called Gerald . . .”

“Gerald Departure. That’s it. He’s the image of Gerald Departure.”

“Nana, do you mean Gérard Depardieu?”

“That’s what I said. Gerald Departure.”

 

 

Of course I had to find out from Mum exactly what was going on. I left it until the next time I went over for dinner.

“So,” I said as we took our coffee to the sofa, “what about you and
Gerald
?”

She laughed. “Your nana’s blabbed. I knew she would. So has she told Scarlett?”

“No. I did.”

“Of course.”

“So is it serious?”

“Who knows? It’s too early to say, but maybe. He’s just such a sweet, kind man, and he totally gets me and all my madness.”

“So he’s divorced?”

She nodded. “He has a couple of grown-up children . . . and guess what. He does amateur plays in his spare time. His group is about to put on
The King and I
and he’s roped me in. I don’t know why I’ve never thought of it before.”

“Nor do I. You’ll love it.”

“I’m starting to think I might.” She took a sip of coffee. “Changing the subject. You know, it just occurred to me that it’s been a month since Grace did the business with Ed. Shouldn’t be long before we find out if it worked. I can’t wait to find out if I’m about to become a grandma.”

I wasn’t aware that I’d gone silent until Mum asked me if I was OK.

I didn’t want to have a heavy conversation when she was so happy, but there was something on my mind. “I dunno,” I said. “Sometimes it upsets me that you still get so excited about the things Scarlett does. I try not to get jealous, and I know you love me, and I feel like a needy five-year-old just saying it, but . . .”

Mum came and sat next to me on the sofa and put her arm around me. “Let me tell you something,” she said. “You were my first baby, and you will always be special. I will never, ever forget the joy of holding you for the first time and bringing you home and seeing everybody make such a fuss of you. It felt like you were my greatest achievement. You kept me up half the night every night for six months, but I don’t think I’d ever been happier. Then Scarlett came along, and everything was perfect. Your dad and I were still very happy then, but as we grew apart, something happened to our relationship with you girls.”

“You each picked one of us.”

She nodded. “We did. Looking back, I am so ashamed. You were more like your dad—smart, eager to learn, bookish, and he seemed to want to nurture you. Scarlett was more like me. I wanted to bring her on, help her with her acting, turn her into mini me. It was only after your father died that I realized what I had done. I’d let you go. You were my baby, my firstborn, and I never fought for you. And because you grew to be more and more like your father, I suppose I felt less connected to you. I hate him for taking you away from me and me for letting it happen. I am so sorry. I know things aren’t perfect between us, but I do try. I’ve been trying ever since your dad died.”

“I know. Believe it or not, I have been aware. And maybe I’ve distanced myself, too. I try to keep Dad alive by living my life the way I think he would have wanted.”

“I know, and I do understand, but I’m just not sure you’re always making the right decisions.”

“You mean Josh?”

She nodded.

“Scarlett says it’s time I let go. But I’m just not sure that I can.”

“I think she’s right,” Mum said. “But it’s not for me or your sister to tell you what to do, and it’s certainly not for us to tell you who you should date.”

“It just feels so hard,” I said. “I’ve been listening to Dad’s voice for so long. And now, after what Kenny’s done, it makes me think that he was right all along.”

“I know. I can see that. After this experience, changing the way you think is going to take time. Young children who lose one or both parents often have a complicated relationship with them. After your dad died, I did some reading on the subject. I found out, for example, that many of the children like Nana, who came here from Germany on the Kindertransports, ended up blaming themselves for not saving their parents from the Nazis. There they were, these helpless, powerless little mites in a strange land. What could they possibly have done? And yet—illogical as it may seem—many of them have never forgiven themselves.”

“God . . . does Nana feel like that?”

“I suspect she might, but she’s never talked about it.” Mum paused. “You know, it’s a real shame Kenny turned out to be such a piece of work. I have to say that I had high hopes for the pair of you, and so did your nana. I can’t believe we all got him so wrong. I tell you, if I ever get hold of him . . .”

I smiled. “Thanks, Mum.”

“I do love you, Tally . . . with all my heart.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

O
ne night as I was getting ready for bed, I got a call from Hugh.

“Hey, Tally, I’m back. I’m standing at the luggage carousel at Heathrow. I couldn’t wait to speak to you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were getting in tonight? I would have come and met you.”

“Nah, it’s late. You’ve got work tomorrow. So, how are you?”

“I’m good. And, Hugh, thanks again for the beautiful flowers.”

“My pleasure.”

“So how was Angola?”

“Poor, deprived, depressed, but it was an amazing trip. I met so many wonderful people and learned so much. I’ve got so much to tell you. Listen, I’ve just had a thought. What are you doing this weekend? I’m going to be in Brighton at the annual development conference. I’m giving a speech to a load of government departments and charities based on the report I’ve just written on the humanitarian crisis in Angola. They’re putting the speakers up at the Imperial. Come with me.”

“Hang on—you’re giving a speech on third world poverty and the organizers are putting you up at a five-star hotel?”

“I think you’ll find it’s not quite five star these days, but it’s still nice. Say you’ll come. We’ll talk, we’ll walk, we’ll eat. You can help me with my speech.”

“Wow, a weekend away helping you write a speech on the humanitarian crisis in Angola. You make it sound so tempting.”

“Come on, we’ll do other stuff, too.”

“What do you mean ‘other stuff’?” I giggled. “I thought we agreed to keep this casual.”

“Look, if it’s sleeping arrangements you’re worried about, I’m sure I can arrange separate rooms. I’ll pretend you’re my researcher. Please say you’ll come.”

“I’m not sure . . .”

“Don’t you think that after everything you’ve been through these past months, you could do with a break? The sea air will do you good.”

“You sound like my grandmother,” I said. “OK, you’re on. A couple of days by the sea would be great.”

“Fantastic. Listen, why don’t we do something special on Saturday night? You choose.”

I asked him what we were celebrating.

“Nothing. I just feel in a rather jolly mood—that’s all.”

I said in that case, maybe he fancied going to see Ricky Gervais. I’d happened to be going through the listings section in the paper that morning and noticed that he was doing a gig in Brighton on Saturday. “Probably sold out months ago,” I said, “but there could be some returns. You never know.”

“Leave it to me,” he said.

I managed to rearrange a couple of appointments so that I could leave work early on Friday. Hugh picked me up from the office just after five, and we drove down to Brighton in another hire car. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper heading out of the city, but once we hit the motorway it eased and we reached the coast in just more than two hours.