The Making of Minty Malone (50 page)

‘Poor Perdita,’ said Amber, bending down to stroke her. ‘Couldn’t she have just one more lot?’

‘There are too many unwanted kittens,’ he said wearily. ‘I feel we should set an example.’

‘Any takers for them yet?’ Dad asked. He had picked up Tinky-Winky, the fattest, and plonked it, mewing, on to his lap. They were seven weeks old now, and almost weaned. It was time to find them homes.

‘Would you like one, Uncle David?’ said Amber.

‘What?’

‘Would you like a kitten?’

‘Would I like a kitten?’ he repeated.

‘Yes. You and Auntie Dympna can have one, if you’d like. You can have Tinky-Winky.’

‘Well …’ Dad looked at Mum uncertainly. ‘Yes, I would rather,’ he said. ‘I like cats, and we’ve got time to look after one now.’

‘And I’d like Minty to have Jesus,’ Amber announced, ‘as a memento of my year-long stay in Primrose Hill.’

‘I’d love to have Jesus,’ I said, happily, as I picked him up. ‘As long as you don’t mind if I change his name. I really don’t think it’s right.’

‘But in Spain, it’s a very common name,’ she said. ‘It’s like Felipe or José.’

‘I just don’t feel comfortable about it,’ I said.

‘I don’t think Jesus feels too great about it either,’ said Laurie as he took the kitten from me and held it up with both hands. ‘Because the fact is, everyone, that Jesus is a girl.’

‘Oh,’ said Amber. ‘OK, we’ll call him Mary instead.’

‘Yes, Mary,’ said Joe. ‘There’s something about Mary,’ he added with a funny sort of smile.

‘Perdita’s been such a good mother,’ I said. ‘She’s hardly left her box the whole time. Just dashing out through the cat-flap twice a day, and then rushing straight back to her babies as though the kitchen’s on fire. She’s taken her responsibilities very seriously.’

‘Well, she obviously enjoyed motherhood,’ said Amber. ‘I do think we ought to let her have just one more lot, now that I know what to do. The birthing process is so fascinating,’ she said expansively. ‘Both feline and human. I’ve been reading about it. Do you know that during pregnancy a woman’s lower ribs flare out to make room for the growing baby?’

‘Really?’ I said, glancing at Amber’s tub of folic acid by the spice-rack.

‘And a baby’s brain doubles in volume in the first twelve months, reaching 60 per cent of adult size by the end of its first year.’

‘Incredible!’

‘Incredible!’ Pedro screeched.

‘
Incredible
?’ said Amber incredulously, staring at him.

‘What a
funny
thing!’ we all said.

‘Anyway, Joe, when do you go back to Los Angeles?’ Dad enquired.

‘Mid September, but just for a month,’ he explained, ‘to do some more work on the script. And then shooting starts in February, so I’ll go out again for that.’

‘And do you think you’ll stay out there?’ said Dad, asking the question he knew I dared not ask myself.

I started clearing away the plates, aware that my face was on fire.

‘I’m not making any plans yet,’ I heard Joe say quietly. ‘I’m just taking everything as it comes.’

‘Quite right too,’ said Mum, as I filled the kettle.

‘Minty,’ whispered Dad later, as we washed up. Everyone else had taken their coffee into the garden. ‘Minty,’ he said again.

‘Yes?’

‘There’s something I wanted to tell you …’

‘What?’ He was looking uncharacteristically shifty.

‘There’s something I wanted to explain.’

‘Oh?’

‘About that time …’

‘What time?’

‘That time you and Joe saw me, outside, er, Sadler’s Wells.’

‘Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I lied, glancing into the garden. ‘The clematis is lovely this year, isn’t it?’

‘I feel there’s something I should explain,’ Dad persevered.

‘Sorry, but it’s none of my business,’ I said as I rinsed a bowl.

‘Well, I just wanted to clear it up.’

‘Why? I mean, what?’

‘I felt it was important,’ he went on. ‘Because, you see, there was gossip.’

‘Gossip?’

‘And I didn’t want you to hear anything …funny about me. Do you understand, Minty?’

‘Sorry, Dad,’ I said, as I agitated the soapy water, ‘but I’m
really tired, my brain isn’t working at full speed, and even if it was, I don’t see how your visit to Sadler’s Wells has anything to do with me.’

‘People began to talk,’ he said, as he wiped another dinner plate.

‘Talk?’

‘Yes, about me and …’

Oh God, I didn’t want to hear any confessions. If Dad had had an affair I really didn’t want to know. He and Mum seemed perfectly OK now.

‘They began to talk,’ he tried again. ‘They began to talk about me and …’ I didn’t care
what
her name was ‘ …Kevin.’

‘Kevin?’ I repeated.

‘Yes, Kevin.’

‘Kevin, as in your golf partner?’

‘Yes, you see …’

‘Are you saying there’s been gossip about you and
Kevin
?’

‘Yes. Because, well, Minty, it’s rather embarrassing really, but the fact is Kevin and I both like …ballet. And Kevin’s wife hates it, and your mother’s not very keen, and anyway, she was too involved with her charity work to go. But Kevin and I like it. And we especially like
Coppelia.
So we decided to see it. Together.’

‘You were waiting for Kevin that night?’

‘Yes. And I’m afraid there’ve been some very silly remarks about us at the golf club as a result, and I was just anxious that you should know the truth.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘
That’s
why you looked so embarrassed.’

‘Yes, it is. Because although Kevin and I felt we had nothing to be
ashamed
of, at the same time we were hoping we wouldn’t bump into anyone we knew …I was so taken aback when I saw you, and I didn’t want to explain it all to you in front of Joe.’

‘I see,’ I said, and I was laughing now. ‘Does Mum know all this?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘she does. I know it was a silly deception. But now you can see why I was embarrassed.’

‘Well, yes. Or rather, no. Not really. Anyway, it’s all all right.’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it is. It’s all fine. So we’re going to
Swan Lake
next week.’

‘Thank you for listening,’ said Amber, adjusting her headphones in Studio C, ‘and do join me for next week’s programme, in which I’ll be talking to A. S. Byatt about another great Victorian novel,
Vanity Fair.
But until then, from me, and from my guest, William Boyd, goodbye.’

‘That was Amber Dane,’ said Barry. ‘
It’s a Classic
! was brought to you in association with Borders Bookshop.
Bleak House
is published in paperback by Penguin at the special price of £2.50. And now the travel news, brought to you by Alfa Romeo …’

‘That was wonderful,’ I said to Amber, after she’d shown William Boyd out. ‘I was riveted. You’re a natural.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Yes, I do. The format’s perfect for you.’

‘And did I fluff?’

‘No, but you popped once or twice, so don’t sit too close to the mike. And be careful not to rustle your notes.’

‘I really enjoyed it,’ she said again as we went up to the third floor in the lift. ‘It was so …intimate,’ she added as she clutched her copy of the book. ‘It was so exciting doing it live, and we covered so much ground.’ Indeed, they had. The programme was only fifteen minutes long, but in that time she and William Boyd had discussed
Bleak House
, ranging over its themes and characterisation, the world it portrays, as well as bringing in snippets of biographical information about Dickens and the social history of the day. Here and there, they had read short extracts to illustrate their points, and the effect was of a conversation between two people both of them passionately interested in the same book. It was fantastic.

‘Fantastic, Amber,’ said Jack, with a smile. ‘You’ve got such a good voice, and it was clear you knew what you were talking about. The listeners like to feel they’re in safe hands when
they turn on the radio, and that’s how you made me feel. Oh,’ he said, with a laugh, ‘sorry, I should have introduced you. These are my two step-daughters, Topaz and Iolanthe.’ The girls smiled awkwardly at Amber and me. It was national ‘Bring Your Daughter to Work Day’, so Jack had brought them in to London FM.

‘What did you think, girls?’ Jack asked them.

‘It was really interesting,’ said Iolanthe with a shy smile. She seemed slightly awestruck by Amber.

‘I want to read that book now,’ said Topaz.

‘Good, so you’ve inflamed at least two hearts today, Amber. Can we go through the line-up again for the rest of the series?’ he went on as he tapped into the computer. ‘I’m just tweaking the schedules here.’

‘Right. Well, next week I’m talking to Antonia Byatt about
Vanity Fair
, then it’s Paul Theroux on
Moby Dick;
the following week I’ve booked John Major to talk about
Barchester Towers …
’

‘Oh yes, he’s a Trollope fan, isn’t he,’ said Jack. ‘That’s good.’

‘And then there’s Victoria Glendinning on
Far From the Madding Crowd
, the German Ambassador on
Buddenbrooks
, and finally, Clare Tomalin on
Great Expectations.
’

‘Excellent. We’ll see how the reviews come out, and then we might be looking at extending the series. Did you see
Broadcast
, by the way?’

‘No.’

He handed his copy to Amber. There, on the inside front page, was a small piece about
It’s a Classic
! It said that Amber Dane had been the station’s first choice to present the new programme. ‘Dane is taking a break from novel-writing,’ it said, ‘in a bid to bring classic literature to a commercial audience.’

‘I’m not taking a break from novel-writing,’ she said, with a bitter laugh as we went into the
Capitalise
office. ‘I’m giving up. I mean, nine’s enough, isn’t it? Beethoven wrote nine symphonies for example, and so did Schubert. So did Ralph Vaughan Williams.’

‘Oh yes, that’s right,’ I said, ‘nine’s …plenty.’

I introduced Amber to everyone. Sophie was flirting with her like mad.

‘I thought you were
fabulous
,’ she said, fiddling with her hair.

‘Where’s Wesley?’ I asked.

‘He’s gone to get Deirdre and the baby. He’s bringing his daughter into work today too.’

‘She’s a bit young, isn’t she?’ said Monica. ‘She’s only three weeks old.’

Suddenly Wesley appeared, the baby strapped to his front, in a sling. Deirdre beamed benignly at us all as Wesley showed her off.

‘Here’s Freya,’ he said proudly.

‘That’s an unusual name,’ I said.

‘It was my choice, really,’ said Deirdre with an enigmatic smile.

‘What lovely hair,’ said Topaz, stroking Freya’s head. ‘It’s auburn,’ she remarked.

‘My great, great, great grandfather on my mother’s father’s side had auburn hair, apparently,’ said Wesley.

‘And she’s got such lovely blue eyes,’ said Topaz.

‘That’s right,’ said Wesley. ‘Blue. Just like mine.’

‘They’re such twinkly eyes!’ exclaimed Iolanthe innocently as she peered, entranced, at the infant. ‘We’re having a baby too,’ she said. ‘In November. Our Mum’s a bit old, really, but we don’t mind.’

‘We’re going to be its godmothers,’ said Topaz.

I was going to be a godmother too, I suddenly remembered. Helen had asked me to be godmother to Charlotte Araminta.

‘Babies are fun,’ said Deirdre gently to the girls.

‘Oh yes, babies are
gweat
fun!’ said Melinda. She’d suddenly appeared in the office – she was coming in to talk to Jack.

‘Wow!’ said Topaz, as Melinda put Pocahontas down in her car seat. ‘
Another
baby!’

‘It’s nice to see you, Melinda,’ I said. I could afford to be generous now. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Actually, Minty, it’s going
bwilliantly
,’ she said. ‘So bwilliantly, in fact, that Carlton TV have offered me a chat show!’

‘Really!’

‘Yes, I’m going to be the new Jewwy Spwinger. Appawently they like my forthwight style.’

‘I bet they do.’

‘That’s why I want to see Jack – he’ll have to up the money a bit if he wants me to stay on here.’

‘Well, I hope he agrees,’ I said, truthfully. ‘You’re our golden goose.’

‘And how was the birth?’ I heard Amber ask Deirdre. ‘I bet it was a
wonderful
experience.’

‘Well, it wasn’t too bad,’ Deirdre replied judiciously.

And while everyone babbled about babies and childbirth, I flicked through the day’s papers. In the
Independent
was a photo of Godfrey Barnes, whose six-month prison sentence had just begun. According to the article, he was receiving a steady stream of female visitors, and money had been raised for an appeal. Then, just out of habit, I turned to Sheryl von Strumpfhosen. And although she never, ever gets it right – does she? – somehow I can never resist.

‘Libra, a delightful cosmic phase beckons,’ she predicted. ‘For this you may thank activity in Pluto, house of endings and new beginnings. But keep your wits about you this week and don’t turn down any invitations.’

‘Why don’t we go on holiday?’ said Joe a couple of days later.

‘What?’ I said. We were sitting outside on the bench. Joe was working on the script, and I was reading the
Telegraph
arts section, in which the radio critic Gillian Reynolds had given Amber the most brilliant review: ‘London FM’s new arts programming is a triumph,’ she wrote, ‘and
It’s A Classic
! is set to be the jewel in its crown. Amber Dane has natural authority,’ she went on, ‘but she is careful not to dominate. Instead she prompts her guests to speak eloquently and passionately about their chosen book. This is radio at its best,’ she concluded. ‘As for Dane’s voice – I could listen all day.’

‘That is wonderful,’ I said. ‘I think it’s the first really good review Amber’s ever had.’ I stroked Mary, who was sitting, purring on my lap. I missed Amber, and Perdita, and Pedro. But I had Mary. And for a few more weeks, I had Joe.

‘Why don’t we go on holiday’?

‘Sorry, what?’

‘I said, “Why don’t we go on holiday?’”

‘Why don’t we go on holiday?’ I repeated as a tiny ladybird landed on my hand.