Читать книгу Mum in the Middle: Feel good, funny and unforgettable - Jane Wenham-Jones, Jane Wenham-Jones - Страница 13

 Shopping - done

 House – cleaned

 Downstairs loo - painted

 Beds - made

 Fridge - full

 Washing – up to date (Ben and Tilly were bound to descend with bags of their own)

 Ironing board – held together with tape. (See above) NB must get new one but do not let Ben use.

 Turkey – collect Saturday

 Work – shit!

I grabbed my office bag, throwing the last of my tea down the sink. There was a key hidden under a brick in case Tilly arrived early or Ben had forgotten his again. My train to London left in twenty-two minutes and it took at least fifteen to walk to the station. I’d asked for the meeting to be brought forward so I could leave early. And I was seeing Caroline at lunchtime. I really couldn’t be late.

It was cold for April but by the time I turned the final corner into the drab road that approached the station, I’d broken into a sweat. I pulled off my scarf and flexed my toes. The heels of my new ankle boots weren’t that high but already the balls of my feet hurt.

As I walked through the double doors, I caught sight of my reflection in the booking office window. My face was red and what little style my hair possessed had disappeared in the wind.

Moving past the figures waiting, I started to make my way along the platform.

‘Excuse me. Isn’t it Tess?’

I turned round to see Ingrid’s son David standing behind me. Last time he’d been in casual clothes. Now he was every inch the sophisticated gent, dressed in a clearly expensive suit and tie and carrying a brief case.

He was holding out his hand.

Even as my brain was telling me to ignore it and be as rude to him as he’d been to me, I was aware of my hot palm against his cool one.

He shook my hand firmly and kept holding it.

‘I am SO sorry,’ he was saying. ‘My mother told me I was most terribly rude the last time we met. You were holding out your hand and I didn’t even notice. I really do apologise. I’m not usually so discourteous.’ He gave a huge and charming smile.

‘I’m afraid you happened along at rather a fraught moment. My mother and I were having a slight contretemps. Not that that is any excuse for ignoring you.’ He smiled again. He looked as though he were in an advert for the cloud of aftershave that drifted around me. All super-smooth shiny dark hair and crinkly eyes. I imagined he knew he looked like that.

I had to look upwards to hold his gaze. I could feel a crick in my neck but I wasn’t going to be embarrassed this time.

‘That’s quite all right,’ I said stiffly. ‘I shouldn’t have interrupted.’

‘You weren’t to know.’ He bestowed another gracious smile on me. He really was very attractive.

No I wasn’t, you dick.

‘In the usual way, I’d have been delighted to meet you,’ he said. ‘I am delighted to meet you. I hope you will forgive me for the way we got off to a bad start. I promise I’ll make it up to you …’ Those sexy eyes were still fixed on mine.

‘It’s fine really.’ He was going over the top now and I felt awkward. I clumsily retrieved my fingers and looked at my watch.

‘Are you going up to town too?’ he asked, his tone solicitous.

I felt a twinge of alarm. Was he going to sit next to me? I thought wildly of pretending I was only going to the next station, getting off and getting on again at the other end. Except that was the plan that had gone so horribly wrong with Ben’s geography teacher, who’d seen me again when she changed carriages herself – presumably to get away from somebody else.

‘Yes – I have a meeting. I’ve got my laptop with me,’ I gabbled. ‘I have to prepare for it. I’m always so behind on everything. Lucky I’ve got the journey to catch up …’

‘Oh, I’m the same,’ he said. And then he laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I loathe being stuck having to make conversation too …’

I stared at him. He raised an amused eyebrow. I felt myself flush.

‘I didn’t mean that.’ I began, even though it was bloody obvious I had.

‘I’m sure you didn’t.’ He was still grinning. ‘It’s been very nice to talk to you. I look forward to next time.’

With that he turned and strode away to the far end of the platform. I felt annoyed all over again. That was where I liked to sit too. As he reached the spot where I would have waited, he turned and gave me a wave. Then abruptly turned his back again. But not before I saw the pleased-with-himself smile plastered across his face.

Jinni was right. For all his apologies and hand-grasping, David was one smug bastard.

‘Okay,’ says Caroline. ‘So, aside from Fran, who’s knee deep in babygros, we’ve got the suave poser known as Smug Bastard, the mad actress, the even madder campaigner, a grumpy editor, the owner of the newsagent’s and the butcher. And that’s the sum total of your social circle in the entire town, is it?’

She crosses her elegant legs, takes a sip of her white wine and looks at me with reproach.

‘Oh and a sort of extra surrogate son.’ I tell her about Gabriel. And as an afterthought and to bulk the numbers out a bit – the young girl Emily.

‘You don’t want any more bloody sons, darling,’ says Caroline. ‘You want lovers. One would do, to start with.’

‘I’m not sure I do,’ I say nervously.

‘You’ve wrapped yourself up with those kids for so long, you’ve forgotten.’

Caroline sweeps on. ‘Of course I adore them too – you know I do – but you’ve got to let go now. Shall we try the internet dating again?’

‘Don’t you dare.’

I have never fully forgiven Caroline for the night in Finchley when she filled in an unsolicited and completely fictitious profile on my behalf while I was cooking the spaghetti, then chatted up likely suitors and agreed, as if she were me, to meet someone called Quentin, who looked amazing but who turned out to be passionate about military aircraft and visiting battlefields and who I couldn’t shake off for months.

She tried to make it my fault for getting dinner together so late, saying her judgement was impaired after too much Soave on an empty stomach, and that we should do it properly, but I have told her in no uncertain terms: Never Again.

‘I’ll come down for the weekend and we’ll find him together,’ she declares now. ‘I’ve got to see your gorgeous new house, anyway. I’ve found this sublime cushion shop in Kensington. I’ll get you something stunning for a house-warming present when you’ve told me the colour schemes.’

‘There’s nothing gorgeous about any of it at the moment. You’ll have a fit.’

Caroline’s own flat is immaculately tasteful – all fresh gloss, with a throw here, a perfectly placed pot there and designer floorboards.

I look at her now, in her beautifully cut shift dress and glass beads, highlighted hair smooth against her flawless skin, lipstick the exact shade of wine red to bring out the green of her eyes, and was lost in admiration.

I could wear that exact combination of clothes and make-up and would still look as if I’d thrown it together while running for a bus. If Caroline put on anything in my wardrobe, she’d be straight off the catwalk. But she’s funny and kind and generous and hugely supportive – sometimes too much so, a la Quentin. We have nothing in common, really, except I was once married to her brother – but she’s become just about my best friend ever.

‘Lucky I love you,’ I say.

‘Love you too, darling. That’s why I want you to have a wonderful man.’

‘I can’t play the games. I’ve forgotten what to say. It’s difficult to get up the confidence when you’re my age …’

Caroline flicks a manicured finger in the air and a stylish young man appears at her elbow. ‘Could you please bring my friend another glass of wine – and one for me too – she’s delirious and making no sense.’

‘I’ve got to go back to work …’

Caroline narrows her eyes. ‘May I remind you I am a year older than you and have no intention of ever giving up my sex life, however many times I need a fresh start!’

‘Ah yes – how are they all?’

Caroline sighs. ‘I had to end it with James – he started getting maudlin and talking about leaving his wife – Rick flies in and services me when he has a long enough stopover and Laurence is still Laurence.’ Caroline gives a small secretive smile, as if she can’t decide whether this is a good or a bad thing.

‘You are incorrigible,’ I tell her as I always do. ‘And you look amazing.’

‘It’s all the endorphins, darling. And lots of botox. You, on the other hand, are naturally gorgeous but not making enough of your assets.’ She looks at me critically. ‘You have the most wonderful eyes, beautiful skin and great breasts. Really darling – men should be falling at your feet. Come to stay and we’ll give you a revamp!’

I shake my head. ‘I’m too busy. I’m behind with work, the kids are coming down and my mother hasn’t been well. I need to see her more.’ I can’t face saying anything else.

‘Rob okay?’ I ask, wanting to change the subject. ‘Tilly saw him last week but she hasn’t said much.’ I have a sudden image of my ex-husband stalking about switching off lights and think fondly of my new home, where I can have two radios on at once without anyone turning purple.

‘Still a boring old sod,’ says Caroline cheerfully. ‘We’ll find you someone more exciting next time.’

She presses a lipstick on me as we leave. And a new mascara that will give me an instant false-lash look without clogging.

‘Kiss my nephews and niece,’ she instructs, ‘and keep your eyes peeled for opportunity. You can have fun now – unfettered by offspring! I’ll visit soon,’ she adds, ‘and assess the situation.’

She kisses me on both cheeks and then hugs me. ‘In the meantime darling, at least do your roots …’