Vintage Babes (23 page)

‘This was before you got your new lenses, so are you sure it was Bruce?’

‘Positive.’

‘But he didn’t see you?’

‘No. He had his arm around the woman and he was looking down at her and talking.’ Jenny gulped. ‘He was totally immersed in her.’

‘And she kissed him?’

‘On the cheek.’

I flicked a dismissive hand. ‘Social kiss. Means nothing.’

‘But Bruce is still exercising, still losing weight and last weekend he bought a new tie, an expensive silk tie, and you said shedding weight and new clothes means –’

‘It was a joke.’

My sense of humour was causing trouble. Big trouble. First, Eileen had taken me seriously and now Jenny.

‘He’s started cutting his toe nails far more than he used to. He did them again last night. And he’s taken to trimming the long hairs in his eyebrows.’

‘That means he’s having an affair? No way. Bruce isn’t the type. He’s a good husband. A devoted husband who can be trusted. He loves you, Jen.’

‘Then what was he doing on a Monday morning in the middle of Guildford with his arm around a woman?’

‘Ask him. There’ll be a simple explanation. You’re reading far more into this than it merits. You have no reason to worry. Absolutely none.’

‘Bollocks!’ Jenny retorted, and shocked me again. She virtually never uses bad language or swears.

‘If you should have reason to worry, which I am cast-iron certain you do not, then you should still ask him,’ I said. ‘Better you know what’s happening sooner rather than later.’

She stared down at her hands which were gripped tightly in her lap. So tightly, her knuckles had drained white.

‘Is it?’

‘Yes. If Bruce has only just started… something, then it’ll be easier to finish. Think of me and Tom. He’d been canoodling with the slick chick for six months before I found out, so she’d had time to build up a pretty tight hold over him. But if I’d discovered after only a month or two, she wouldn’t have been so powerful – or pregnant.’

‘You’re right,’ Jenny decided. ‘I’ll speak to Bruce when he comes home this evening.’

‘And don’t worry.’ I patted her shoulder. ‘An arm around someone is insignificant. Likewise a kiss on the cheek. Your imagination’s running wild and you’re jumping to conclusions, but they are the wrong conclusions. Totally wrong.’

I was determined to reassure her. Jenny is a good person and a dear friend, and I hated her to be so distressed. I hated her to be unhappy. Especially about nothing.

‘You didn’t see them together,’ she said grimly. ‘How’re things with you?’

I gave a casual shrug. ‘Same as usual.’ With her so immersed in her own troubles, this was not the time to load her up with mine. Reaching down to my bag, I took out a catalogue. ‘I sent for this, thought you might like to see it, especially as the weight’s falling off you.’

The catalogue was for fitness wear. We had both been saying how we ought to get something snazzier for the work-outs and try to bring ourselves up to Tina’s level.

‘Thanks,’ she said, but her response was tepid.

There was no reaction, either, to my comment on her losing weight, yet up until now she has proudly informed me of every shed pound. To be truthful, it isn’t exactly ‘falling off’. Jenny has confessed that, despite Max’s twice weekly incantations of ‘you can do it’, she isn’t good at self-denial and still eats the occasional chocolate bar, so her loss rate is around a pound a week. Which isn’t bad, but isn’t gold star status, either.

‘Have you got your contact lenses in now?’ I enquired.

She shook her head. ‘I’ll try them later.’

Silence.

‘Any more job interviews lined up?’ I asked, for once having to make conversation. A fortnight ago, Jenny had attended another interview, but again had been unlucky.

‘None.’

‘Heard from Victoria recently?’

‘Yes. She’s coming home in two weeks’ time.’

‘You’ll be looking forward to seeing her again,’ I said encouragingly.

‘It’ll be lovely,’ Jenny agreed. ‘She was talking about an Australian lad called Shane, who she’s palled up with. How much she’ll miss him.’

‘Is he her boyfriend?’

‘Victoria says they’re just mates, whatever that means. I do hope she’s behaving herself.’

Another silence.

Five minutes later, I left. Jenny was in no mood for talking.

As I walked back to the office, I thought about what she’d told me. While I accept that none of us are ever what we seem, the idea of Bruce having ‘a bit on the side’ was hard to imagine. Even if he had become over-active on the toe nail cutting and eyebrow tidying. He was too solid, and too stolid, to be a love rat. And he and Jen were such a comfortable fit that I would wager millions – if I had them – on him being loyal. Yet was he? I had never expected my own husband to cheat, so how could I be certain of someone else’s?

CHAPTER
TEN

I frowned at my
reflection in the bathroom mirror. The hairs which had flowered on my chin were still a pest. I would yank them out one morning and yet a couple of days later they would be back, full grown and defiant. Fooled ya! And now here was a third of the same ilk; rigid, jet black and lengthy. I hunted in my make-up basket for tweezers. I had visualised myself ageing into a white-haired, apple-cheeked grandmother, not some cut-price Bin Laden. Get me to retirement and I’d be able to apply for a job in a freak show as a bearded lady. Looking on the bright side, it represented an alternative work opportunity if that best-seller failed to take off.

‘I hate CocoPops!’

Beth’s shriek rocketed up the stairs from the kitchen. I smiled. I don’t know what time it was – just coming light so probably around six a.m. – but I had been awoken that morning by a little hand tapping on my shoulder.

‘Excuse me, Gran,’ a voice had whispered, ‘please can I come into your bed?’

‘Hop in,’ I’d mumbled, moving over.

‘I love you, Gran.’

‘Love you, too, my darling.’

Until I’d babysat and Beth had been old enough to crawl into my bed, I had forgotten how good it feels when small children snuggle up, warm and ruffled and affectionate. If you’re a parent and it happens every night you want to wring their bloody necks, but when you’re a grandparent and it only happens from time to time, it is delicious. A joyful reminder of family and generations, and how a part of you will live on for ever. When Beth is a grandmother, maybe she’ll tell her grandchild how she cuddled up in bed with me, great-great-grandmother Carol, a funny old bird who dug a sandpit and used to give her chocolate lollies.

With Beth alongside, I had dozed. While she had talked to herself and to me, wriggled, sung songs, wriggled some more, become fascinated with the scratching sound of her fingernails on the pillow. When Lynn had awoken and ordered the child back to her own bed, I had felt deserted.

When I went downstairs, Beth was sat at the kitchen table with an untouched bowl of CocoPops in front of her. On the opposite side, Lynn drank mint tea – she’d brought her own supply of herbal teas – and read a chick-lit paperback.

‘Why are you dressed like that?’ Beth enquired, subjecting my T-shirt and shorts to a critical gaze.

‘Because this morning I’m going to my exercise class.’

‘Can I come?’

‘No, you can’t,’ Lynn told her. ‘You’re going to playgroup and, besides, the class is for ladies. And you mustn’t go into Gran’s bed so early again. She needs her sleep. Now eat up.’

A rebellious lower lip jutted. ‘Don’t like CocoPops.’

‘Have something else,’ I suggested. ‘What about Frosties?’

‘I hate Frosties.’

‘Rice Krispies?’ I asked hopefully.

Thinking Beth would enjoy a choice of cereal, I had bought a Variety Pack. Big mistake. The selection process she went through – this one? that one? yes, no, perhaps? – would drive a saint to frenzy.

‘You spoil her,’ Lynn said. ‘She eats the CocoPops or nothing. You like them,’ she told Beth. ‘You had them last week and said they were your very best favourite.’

As the little girl denied any knowledge of such a claim, I reached for the muesli which sits on the worktop, alongside the toaster. It wasn’t there. I looked around, my gaze crossing over the wiped-clean worktop with no coffee rings, an empty drainer, Beth’s Bart Simpson ‘character lunch box’ filled with fruit and other healthy food, which sat ready for her to collect on her way out. While I err on the side of domestic chaos, my daughter does not. Maybe it’s a backlash against the parent, but, like Jenny, she believes there’s a place for everything and likes everything in its place. She wasn’t too bothered when she lived with me, but having her own home has released squeaky-clean tendencies. And since she moved in two days ago, my kitchen has never been so tidy.

Lynn is into ‘minimalist’ and the townhouse where she lives – lived – with Justin is all wooden floors, bare white walls and clean-lined furniture, with a vase of lilies ingeniously placed. There is nothing surplus and no detritus is allowed to settle. At least, not after seven-thirty p.m. when Beth goes to bed. Lynn had a real go at me once when I went round one evening and slung my jacket over the end of the stairs, dropped my bag and a newspaper onto a coffee table, then kicked off my shoes. I was, she informed me, turning the place into a tip.

It’s funny how roles change and daughters start bossing mothers about. I wonder if it is the same with sons. Do they find fault, become prison officer strict and dispense unwanted advice? I must ask Jenny.

‘Seen the muesli?’ I said.

Lynn glanced up from her book. ‘It’s in the food cupboard.’

She didn’t add ‘where else, twerp?’, but I heard it. And what had she been inferring when she had talked of me ‘needing my sleep’? She’d made it sound as if I was ancient and decrepit. On my last legs.

I had located the muesli and was pouring some into a bowl, when Lynn closed her book.

‘Time to go, Beth,’ she said.

The little girl pouted. ‘I haven’t had my CocoPops.’

‘Leave them.’

‘But I want them.’

Lynn shut her eyes, appeared to silently count to ten, and opened her eyes again. Then, using a level tone which I had to admire, said, ‘Eat them quickly.’

She is a good mother. She always listens to Beth, has patience and is protective of her welfare. She has brought her up to say ‘excuse me’ and ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, and to respect her elders.

‘I don’t mind Beth coming into my bed,’ I said, joining Lynn at the sink, as she washed up her cup and saucer. The child was busy shovelling CocoPops into her mouth and I spoke quietly, so she could not hear. ‘As for spoiling, I reckon that, given the current circumstances, a little spoiling, a little comfort, won’t do any harm.’ I paused. ‘Don’t you think you should get in touch with Justin today?’

‘He can get in touch with me. He knows where I am.’

I sighed. Emphatically, with feeling. ‘Neither of you speaking to the other is infantile. You need to get together and –’

‘Leave it, Mum,’ Lynn ordered.

Hearing her mother’s sharp tone, Beth looked up and so, reluctantly, I left it.