I can hear her sorting through jars and containers. My mother and James, her latest husband, have an entire cupboard full of supplements. They eat supplements for breakfast with a plate full of the oddest assortment of foods?a brazil nut, a piece of avocado, some tofu, dried apricots, that sort of thing?which they eat with freshly juiced carrots and celery. My mother calls it their insurance plan: whatever foods the latest health magazines tell them to eat, they add to the plate; they then feel free to eat and drink whatever they want for the rest of the day because they?ve had all their essential nutrients already.
?Mum, I?m not a vegetarian.?
?Here we are, maximum strength iron. Oh and this has added vitamin C, so you don?t even need to buy it separately. Shall I pop some round to you later??
?Mum, I am not a vegetarian.?
?But you always eat so many vegetables, darling. You?re always eating salads.?
?Yes, but I also eat meat. I get plenty of iron.?
My mother pauses. ?You?re absolutely sure you?re not a vegetarian? I could have sworn??
?Look, I?m sure, really. I don?t need any vitamins.?
?Fine, fine, well, if everything?s okay, I?d better be getting on. I?ve got a reflexology appointment this afternoon, although I?m not sure this new woman they?ve got is any good. I mean, Paul really knew what he was doing and he also did cranial, which is very beneficial, but of course he?s moved to L.A. now, and this new girl?can?t remember her name?I?m not sure she?s entirely up to scratch. I suppose she does have all the best qualifications?the Club would never employ someone who wasn?t absolutely top notch . . . I suppose we?ll just have to see, won?t we. I?m thinking about trying some lymphatic drainage massage, though. Apparently it does wonders for the thighs. Are you still going to that nice masseuse in Kensington darling??
After nutrition, my mother?s favorite pastime is alternative health. Actually, I think it started with reflexology, and the supplements came next. She?s a member of a very smart gym in Chelsea, but as far as I know has never actually gone to the gym. She does go there very regularly, though, to have her feet rubbed, neck yanked about, or skin covered in oil. She has been trying to get me to join for about five years now?I think she has visions of us sitting in the steam room talking about colonic irrigation or something.
?Mum, I don?t go to a masseuse. I had a massage once at my hairdressers?there was a special offer.? Actually, it was lovely, and I had been meaning to go back, but somehow I can?t commit an hour and ?50. And undressing in front of a complete stranger to have them rub your back, well, it?s a bit weird, isn?t it?
?You should go more, you know,? continues my mother. ?Why don?t you come down to the Club one day and have a massage there? They only employ the best of the best, you know. And then we could have a spot of lunch? Why not today??
?Sorry, Mum, I?m meeting Candida in about half an hour. Maybe next week??
?As you wish,? says my mother in a slightly cross tone. Honestly, it?s as if I?ve said ?No, I?m washing my hair.?
?Shall I call you during the week?? I venture.
?Well, I?m going to be very busy next week, but you can always leave a message with James. Right, well, I?ve got to go now. Bye!? Before I can say anything further, she?s put the phone down.
James and my mother have been together for about four years now, so I?m beginning to see him as a semi- permanent fixture. It?s always difficult when you never know if your mother is about to up and leave the person you are starting to bond with. James is very solid though, physically and mentally. I like him a lot actually. He has learned how to tune my mother out when she?s going off on some tangent and doesn?t seem to mind that she picks up a new hobby/obsession/ailment each week, only to discard it the following week for another fad. And he?s even quite good-looking, in an ?older man? kind of way. Most important, my mother seems really happy.
I look at my watch. Bollocks. I?ve got ten minutes to get to Oxford Street. I?m going to have to get a cab even though I promised myself I would use my Tube pass more. Seventy pounds a month! No wonder people who live in London need so many massages to get over their stressful lives.
I grab my bag and run outside.
Of course I?m late. I?m always late for Candy. I haven?t seen her for years and it?s still the same old story. With Mike, it was always me who was on time and him who was late. With David, we pretty much get to places the same time. With my mother, well, she?s either really early or really late, or one of us doesn?t turn up at all.
I think you develop certain patterns with people that get so ingrained, you can?t get out of them?like Candy never compensates and gets places a bit late. And even if I?m early when I leave to meet Candy, something always happens. Or maybe it?s just that I?m always so worried about what I?m going to wear that I end up changing ten times.
Take today. A girly catch-up and shopping trip round Oxford Street. So that?s jeans, maybe a nice top (wearing crap clothes when you?re shopping is very dangerous?shop assistants sneer at you and anything you try on looks better than what you?re wearing so you end up buying too much), and some cool flat-ish shoes. Flat because of all the walking. But not too flat because then my legs look stumpy and I won?t be able to try on anything that requires heels, which is pretty much everything. Plus also, flat shoes make me look about forty, unless they?re really pointed, in which case they?re so uncomfortable that they defeat the object of wearing flats in the first place.
Getting dressed isn?t usually this complicated for me. I manage to dress myself most days without a second thought. But Candy is one of those tall, thin, Gwyneth Paltrow types?blond hair, a constant light tan, and the ability to make a pantomime cow outfit look sexy. In fact, it?s worse than that. I know plenty of beautiful people, and they don?t make me react this way. No, with Candy, it?s the way she looks at my clothes and says things like ?That skirt?s a really nice idea. So I guess you need some cowboy boots now to make it work. Shall we try . . .? and then lists a whole load of shops that sell cowboy boots, when I had got the skirt specifically to go with my trainers, or whatever I?m wearing. She talks about ?looks? instead of outfits, and as yet I don?t think I?ve ever got a ?look? right, in her opinion. But rather than accept defeat, I just keep on trying.
Today I think I?ve cracked it, though. Tod?s loafers?they?re comfortable, but they?re also Italian, and I once saw Elle McPherson wearing a pair, which demonstrates just how stylish they are. (If I?m really honest it was seeing Elle wearing them that got me extending my overdraft to buy a pair.) So with my black trousers and black turtleneck I think I?m actually looking quite Audrey Hepburn inFunny Face . A kind of beatnik Euro-chic look. Shit, I?m even talking like Candy now.
Luckily I get a cab without too much difficulty and am only ten minutes late. Candy is waiting for me outside
