Perfect Blend: A Novel (15 page)

“In what way?”

“Joyce is a perfectly respectable woman. She’s a doctor’s receptionist. She is not some scarlet woman. It’s just that she’s … how can I put this? … a very sensual woman who enjoys a full and creative physical …”

“Okay, Dad. Enough. I get it.”

“She also enjoys writing about it. A year or so ago she started advertising erotic poetry evenings, and to her surprise she discovered that other, very ordinary folks enjoyed coming along to listen to her work. I can understand some people thinking it’s a bit odd, but Joyce is a lovely woman, and what she does is completely harmless.”

“Don’t worry. I’d pretty much worked that out for myself. I’m just glad you’re happy, that’s all.”

“I’m happier than I’ve been for a very long time. That side of things—you know, the physical side—had been off the menu with your mother for a good few years, you know.”

“Yeah, Mum said.”

He poured boiling water into the mugs. Just then the doorbell went.

“You expecting somebody?” Amy said.

“Actually, that’s probably Joyce. She left her phone here this morning. She said she’d be round to collect it.”

While her dad went to answer the door, Amy poured boiling water into the mugs and tried to imagine Joyce. Her fantasy was split between middle-aged ethnic type in a tie-dyed kaftan and big earrings and a brassy barmaid. She wasn’t expecting the vision that now appeared before her.

“Amy,” Phil said, brimming with pride, “I’d like you to meet Joyce.”

The first thing Amy noticed was the embroidered black velvet eye mask edged with gold. Joyce was holding it to her face courtesy of a dainty stick attached to one side. Her full-length black dress was slit to the thigh. The plunging neckline showed off her impressive, if wrinkly, bosom. She was waving a purple fan made of ostrich feathers.

“Gosh,” was all Amy could manage.

“I know, the getup is a bit OTT,” Joyce said to Amy, her voice full of laughter. “I don’t usually go around looking like I’m on my way to one of Elton John’s masked balls. I’m doing a reading tonight, and I always like to get into the spirit of the occasion.” By then she had put the mask and fan down on the kitchen worktop and was making a beeline for Amy, arms outstretched. Amy took in the faded red curls piled into a messy chignon and the face that must have been beautiful once but was now full of smoker’s crevasses plastered in heavy foundation and powder. “So this is Amy. Your dad has told me so much about you.”

“Really?”

“Don’t panic. It’s all highly complimentary.” When she had finally finished hugging Amy, she stood back to appraise her. “Well, aren’t you just gorgeous. I’d give my right arm, not to mention a few vital organs, for a face and figure like yours. Enjoy it while you’re young, that’s what I say. Because it won’t be long before Father Time and Mr. Gravity enter your life, and no matter how hard you try to show them the door, you won’t be able to get rid of them.”

“My mum says the same.” Amy chuckled.

“Anyway, I’m so sorry I have to fly. I’d love to stay and chat, but I just popped in to collect my phone.”

Phil handed Joyce her phone, which had a Hello Kitty charm hanging from it. “Present from my five-year-old niece,” Joyce said. “What a doll—such a little cutie.”

Just then Charlie appeared to see what was going on. “This is Joyce,” Amy said, “She’s a friend of Granddad’s.”

Joyce bent down to Charlie’s height and shook his hand. “Hello, young man, and might I say what a pleasure it is to meet you?”

“Are you staying to watch the football?” Charlie asked.

“I’d really like to, sweetheart, but unfortunately I have to be going. Maybe another time?”

Charlie nodded.

Joyce turned to Phil. “I’m reading my new poem tonight: ‘Erogenous.’ I am soo nervous.” She touched Amy’s arm. “Now, don’t listen to anybody who says that what I do is in bad taste. Your father will tell you that I take a huge amount of my inspiration from the Bible. Check out the Song of Solomon: ‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine.’ Could there be a better opening line to an erotic poem?”

With that she picked up her fan and mask, kissed Amy and Charlie goodbye, and said how lovely it had been to meet them. Then she started toward the door, followed by Phil.

It was only as Joyce had kissed her that Amy had smelled alcohol on her breath. She’d probably had a glass of something to calm her nerves before the show, Amy thought. On the other hand, a person needed to drink more than a glass of wine or spirits for it to smell on her breath. What was more, she was driving. Then again, Amy knew for a fact that many people of her dad’s age ignored the drunk driving laws. It probably didn’t mean anything.

“Mum,” Charlie said.

“Yes, darling.”

“Whass erojnus mean?”

“Ooh, I’m not really sure. I’ll have to look that one up. Tell you what, why don’t you go back into the living room and see if the football’s started yet.”

Phil was coming into the kitchen as Charlie was going out. He stood back to let his grandson through the doorway. “So what do you think?” he said to Amy. “A lot of people find her a bit overpowering, but she’s got a heart of pure gold.”

“I’m sure she has,” Amy said. “Two minutes in her company and you can see how warm and kind she is. I totally get what you see in her.”

By then their tea had gone cold, so Amy made some more.

“So how’s the journalism going?” Phil said.

“Not brilliant. The editors who bother to get back to me all say I write well, but it’s a question of getting ahead of the game and coming up with a story or a subject they haven’t already covered. I keep racking my brain.”

“You know, the locals around here are up in arms about that new flyover the council’s planning. It doesn’t affect me, but for some people, the noise is going to be terrible. It’ll take thousands off property values. Now, wouldn’t that make a good article?”

“It would, but only for the local paper.”

He said he supposed she was right. He looked thoughtful, as if he were trying to come up with another idea. “I’ve lost my cleaning lady.”

“Brilliant. You can see the headline: ‘Man loses home help.’”

Phil laughed. “No. I didn’t mean it as a story. I was changing the subject, that’s all. Mrs. B left me. I only hired her a few months ago.”

Amy asked him what happened.

“You know how all the schools are into this healthy eating lark? Well, the older kids are going crazy about it. Mrs. B found out about this and decided to cash in. Each night, kids from the local schools phone or text her with their orders for pizza, KFC, and burgers. The next day, she collects the orders and passes them through the school railings. They pay her ten percent on top of the meal price. Apparently, she’s doing very well and there’s nothing the schools can do.”

“No. You’re kidding. You absolutely sure they can’t put a stop to it?”

“Positive. By pure chance, I got to chatting to a couple of the parents, and there’s some loophole in the law, apparently.”

“But that’s a fantastic story … the lengths kids will go to avoid healthy eating and the woman who supports them. Is she a devil or a savior?”

“Amy, this is Mrs. B we’re talking about. She’s not the sharpest tool in the box. She can barely string two sentences together. I’m not sure she’d make the greatest interviewee.”

“You let me worry about that. Bright or not, this is a fantastic story. Have you got her phone number?”

Phil reached for his mobile and clicked on his contact list.

Just then Charlie appeared in the doorway. “Granddad, Granddad … Come quick, the football’s started!”

After Phil had disappeared into the living room, Amy wrote down Mrs. B’s number and then texted Victoria: “Just met Dad’s lady friend, Joyce. Eccentric, but definitely not hooker.”

Amy was in the middle of doing the washing up when Victoria replied to say that she supposed they should be grateful for small mercies.

When she’d finished doing the dishes, she noticed that the sink was covered in tea stains. She got out the bleach and soaked them. When the stains were gone, she gave the sink the once-over with Shiny Sinks. Then she had a go at the kitchen floor, which was looking a bit mucky. Her dad so needed to find a replacement for Mrs. B.

By the time she’d finished, it was after nine. The game still had over half an hour to go, more if it went into extra time. Charlie would be exhausted in the morning. Still, tomorrow wasn’t a school day. He could lie in.

It was clear from all the excitement and yelling coming from the living room that her presence wasn’t going to be missed, so Amy decided to go upstairs and watch TV. She was settling down with another cup of tea on what had once been her parents’ bed when her arm brushed against some sheets of paper on the nightstand. They fell onto the floor. Amy picked them up and almost put them back without giving them a second glance. Then it occurred to her that maybe the papers were in some kind of order and she ought to put them back as she’d found them. It was then that she saw it. The heading was in inch-high red letters: “Penis Extensions for U … many styles and finishes to choose from.” Her hand shot to her mouth. She found herself staring at a second sheet. Before her was a field of flesh-toned cucumbers with names like B. Cumming, Birth of Girth, and Doc Johnson Cock Master.

Chapter 7

“
OKAY, MAYBE THIS
works better,” Bel said. “‘Caution, terrain. Pull up. Pull up’—with no emphasis on any particular word. I figure that way the pilot stays calm and the passengers have the best chance of survival. On the other hand, this is a danger warning. Perhaps I should raise my voice and sound more forceful and animated. I’m thinking:
‘Caution!! Terrain!! Pull up!! Pull up!!’
But that could put the fear of God into the pilot. He could panic, crash the plane, and it will be all my fault.”

Bel had landed another electronic voice job, delivering warning messages to pilots. As usual, she couldn’t make up her mind about the appropriate tone and emphasis and was consulting Brian and Amy.

“I don’t understand why you always get so worked up about delivering these lines,” Brian said. “Each one is just a sentence.”

“I’m a method actor. I need to get it right. That means I have to know what my motivation is.”

“Your motivation is banking the check,” he said. “Now just stop obsessing.”

“That’s rich,” Bel shot back, “coming from the planet’s obsessor in chief.”

“Okay,” Amy said, spreading clotted cream over her scone, “stop bickering, you two, or I’ll have to separate you. Why don’t we talk about something else?” She bit into the scone and started chewing. “So what do you guys know about penis extensions?”

While Bel seemed amused, Brian winced. “Excuse me?”

Amy supposed he had every right to pull a face. The aspidistra and bone china elegance of the Kew Gardens tea shop didn’t exactly lend itself to talk of male genital enhancement.

“Why?” Bel said, “you thinking of getting one?”

“Fun-nee. No, I’m pretty sure my dad is.”

Brian’s wince morphed into a grimace. “Omigod! He told you that?”

“I don’t get it.” Bel said to Brian. “What’s your problem?” She reached in front of him and helped herself to the cut-glass bowl of strawberry jam.

“My
problem
is boundaries. It’s pretty obvious that when it comes to his daughter, Phil doesn’t have any.”

“Look,” Bel said, spooning jam onto her plate, “if Amy’s dad feels he can confide this kind of thing in Amy and she’s happy to hear it, then I don’t see why it needs to be an issue.”

“Of course it’s an issue.”

“Actually, Dad didn’t say a word,” Amy said. That shut them up. “I found this stuff he’d printed out from the Internet.”

“Aha.” Bel grinned. “So you were snooping.”

“I was not,” Amy protested. “The papers fell on the floor, and as I picked them up, I found myself reading them. I couldn’t help it. The words ‘penis extension’ were in inch-high red letters. You couldn’t miss them.” She paused. “So what is a penis extension? You get all that spam about them, but I always delete it.”

Bel said that as far as she knew, they were nothing more than rubber sleeves that fit over the end of the male member. “It must be odd, though,” she said, “discovering that your father has a small penis. I mean, girls in particular look up to their dads. Then you find out he’s not the great man you always thought he was.”

“Okay, let’s get one thing straight. My dad does not have a small penis.”

“Maybe you could repeat that,” Brian said. “A few people on the Isle of Wight didn’t hear.”

“So how do you know he hasn’t got a small penis?” Bel asked, her mouth full. “God, these scones are good.”

“I’ve seen it.”

“What, recently?”

“Duh. Of course not recently.”

Brian’s head was in his hands. “For the love of all that’s holy, please can we end this conversation?” Amy and Bel had invited Brian out for tea to cheer him up, but it clearly wasn’t having the desired effect.

“Oh, Brian, stop being such a wuss,” Amy said. “Surely your family went around naked when you were a kid. It’s perfectly normal to have seen your parents without clothes on.”

“If you remember, my parents died when I was thirteen, and those events have pretty much clouded what went on before.”

Amy put down her scone. “Oh, Brian, I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, offering her a smile.

“I’m convinced,” Amy said, “that this is all about Dad’s new girlfriend putting pressure on him.” She turned to Brian. “I didn’t tell you. My dad is seeing this erotic poetess called Joyce. Anyway, turns out—”

“Whoa, hang on,” Brian said. “Can we rewind for a second? An erotic poetess?”

“Yes, she writes erotic verse. Anyway, it turns out, as you might expect, that Joyce is pretty demanding in the bedroom department.”

“You mean she writes porn,” Brian said.

“No, I mean erotica.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I guess it’s less graphic than porn,” Amy said. “A bit more flowery.”

“Oh, Araminta,” Bel began, giggling, “lead my member to your soft moist center.”

Brian’s face was giving every impression that he was in physical pain.

“God, Bri,” Bel said, “I had no idea you were such a prude. You know, it’s really rather cute.” She ruffled his hair, which he didn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah, well, if you’d been brought up by my gran, you’d be a prude, too. Imagine what it’s like growing up in a house where it’s considered the height of indecency to refer to chicken breast.” He took a mouthful of tea and turned to Amy. “Having said that, your parents are a bit odd. I mean, there’s your mother with her shaman, and now your dad’s dating an erotic poetess. Don’t get me wrong, I think they’re brilliantly odd, but you have to admit they are slightly out there.”

“Again, I don’t get it,” Bel said. “Why does ‘different’ have to equal ‘odd’ in your book? Difference is something that should be celebrated, not ridiculed.”

“I agree, and that’s why I’m not ridiculing those sparkly red shoes you’re wearing.”

“Well, thank you. That makes a change.”

“You’re welcome.” He drained his teacup. “So, how you getting back to Kansas? I take it you’ve tried clicking your heels three times while repeating ‘There’s no place like home’?”

Bel threw up her hands. “See, you had to spoil it.”

“Or you could always follow the Yellow Brick Road.”

“Oh, get a haircut!”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Oh, please, you two,” Amy groaned. “Just put a sock in it. Look, getting back to Dad for a moment. What worries me is that he might be overdoing it. I mean, he’s sixty-five, and if this Joyce, who I’ve met, by the way, has got him swinging from the chandeliers at his age, anything could happen.”

“Has it occurred to you,” Bel said, “that maybe Joyce isn’t putting the remotest pressure on him and they’re just having fun?”

“Maybe. She’s a lovely woman. You can’t help liking her. But at the same time, she’s really loud and overpowering. And she smelled of booze. I’m worried about what he might have gotten himself into.”

Bel shrugged. “Phil is a grown-up. It’s his life, and Joyce is his problem. I know it can’t be great discovering intimate details about a parent, but you cannot possibly interfere.”

Amy was aware these were almost the exact words she’d used to Victoria when they’d discussed their father’s new relationship. It seemed she was struggling to take her own advice.

“I agree,” Brian said.

Bel was blinking at him. “You do?”

“Absolutely.”

“I can’t remember the last time you agreed with something I said,” Bel said, giving the impression that she wasn’t so much surprised as flattered.

“Now, please, for the last time,” Brian said, “can we change the subject? I have news.”

“Please make it be the good kind,” Amy said.

It was. Brian had been to a dinner party the previous evening and had met “a goddess” by the name of Rebecca. Such was her ethereal beauty that he hadn’t taken his eyes off her all night. As yet she hadn’t removed any items of clothing beyond her cashmere cardie. This had revealed several unraised arm moles, which Brian decided didn’t constitute a barrier to any future intimacy. Of course he couldn’t make a final decision about her suitability as a girlfriend until he had seen her naked, but he felt he had every reason to be optimistic that she didn’t possess any significant physical blemishes or imperfections.

“The only problem is me and these bloody moobs,” he said, clutching his right chest and wobbling it. “I have to get rid of them. I’ve decided to go back to the gym. Maybe that’ll help me firm up.”

“I’m sure it will,” Amy said.

Amy would have expected some kind of moob barb from Bel at that point, but none came, which was odd.

“So when are you seeing Rebecca again?” Amy said.

“Tonight. We’re going out for sushi. I tell you, I haven’t been this excited in ages. I haven’t thought about the business all day.”

“Wow,” Bel said, “so that’s all three of us on dates tonight with new people. Amy with Sam. Me with Ulf—”

“What?” Brian said. “Who’s Ulf? What happened to Jurassic Mark?”

“I dumped him.”

“But he treated you like crap. I thought you loved that.”

“Not anymore. Meet the new me. Ulf is a Swedish brain surgeon. He’s thoughtful, intelligent, and he respects women.”

“A brain surgeon?” Brian said. “You’re going out with a brain surgeon?”

“Yes, why? Do you have a problem with that?”

“Me? No. Why would I?”

“Just think,” Bel was saying, “these people could turn out to be the ones we decide to spend the rest of our lives with. Hey, we could have a triple wedding.”

“Brilliant idea,” Amy said, laughing. “You and Ulf can wear your comedy horns.”

Brian wasn’t listening. He had a teaspoon in his hand and was prodding at a dollop of strawberry jam on his plate.

Amy looked at her watch. She needed to get going. Charlie was being dropped home from a friend’s birthday party in just over an hour. Before she went out tonight, she needed to give him supper—not that he would be remotely hungry after having OD’d on party food—and get him bathed and wound down for the baby-sitter. She also had to phone Mrs. B and have a chat with her about her junk food school lunches.

“I’m sorry to break up the party,” she said to the others, “but I need to be heading back.”

Brian asked her why the hurry, and she explained about Charlie and her possible news story involving Mrs. B. Bel and Brian both agreed it had great potential.

“I just need one decent story to get me noticed. Then I might start getting commissions and I’ll be away. I can’t tell you how much I want this. It’s what I’ve been building up to for so long.”

“Well, if you ask me,” Bel said, “it’s a cracking good story. I could see all the papers picking it up, plus the TV news running with it.”

“I agree,” Brian said.

“My God,” Bel said, “that’s the second time you’ve agreed with me in almost as many minutes. This is starting to feel weird.”

“You know, I haven’t said this before,” Brian said to Amy, “but I’ll really miss you when you finally hit the big time and decide to leave the coffee shop. It’s been great having you around.”

“Aw, I’ve loved it, too, but for heaven’s sake, don’t start planning my leaving party yet. My track record’s not exactly brilliant. Remember that so far I haven’t had a single thing accepted.”

“You will,” he said. “You’re a great writer. It’s just a matter of time and coming up with the right story.”

“Absolutely,” Bel chipped in. “I’ve got all my body parts crossed.”

Amy felt her cheeks turning pink. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate you having so much faith in me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She looked at her watch again. “God, I really do have to go. Apart from everything else, I’ve got my prep to do.”

Bel frowned. “Prep?”

“Date prep.”

“Come again?”

“Sam’s an architect. I know nothing about architecture. Tonight, when we’re out, I don’t want to come across like some kind of ignorant klutz. When he asks me my opinion on the Taj Mahal, I don’t want to hear myself say, ‘Oh, it’s brilliant. They do a mean chicken tikka masala.’”

Yet again Bel and Brian were united in their opinion. They both agreed that prepping for a date seemed more than a tad over the top. “It’s meant to be fun,” Bel said, “a chance to get to know each other, not a bloody exam.”

“I know,” Amy said, “but I just feel it’s good manners to have some idea about the other person’s world. In my experience, it makes conversation that much easier.”

Brian and Bel shrugged and let the subject drop. Then Brian offered Amy a lift home, which she was only too glad to accept.

“I don’t get it. What’s supposed to be wrong with my hair?” Brian said, easing the VW out of its parking space. He looked in the rearview mirror and began running his fingers through his shaggy locks. “I quite like it the way it is.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your hair. Bel was just cross. You’d been teasing her. Why do you two do that? It’s so childish. And it’s so wearing listening to it all the time.”

He shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just how we are. It’s not serious. I mean, we don’t hate each other or anything.”

Amy smiled. “I know that.”

Neither of them spoke for a few moments. It was Amy who broke the silence. “You didn’t seem particularly thrilled when you found out about Bel and this brain surgeon.”

“How d’you mean?”

“I dunno. You seemed a bit subdued.”

“Maybe I was thinking about the problems with the business.”

“You said you hadn’t thought about Café Mozart all day.”

“Okay, maybe I was thinking about something else. I can’t remember.”

“It occurred to me that you might be jealous.”

“What? Why on earth would I be jealous? That’s absurd. I’ve got no interest in Bel. You know that. And I’ve just met Rebecca, who I am absolutely crazy about. How could you think for one minute that I have feelings for Bel?”

“Just something I thought I’d picked up on, that’s all … Okay, I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Another silence.

“So,” Brian said eventually, “do you think I should do something about my hair?”

“You like your hair the way it is.”

“Yeah, but Bel thinks it needs cutting.”

“Brian, why do you care what Bel thinks? It’s never mattered to you before.”

“I know, but she’s got a certain style, and I respect her opinion, and I’ve just met this new woman … So what do you think? Do I need a change?”