Harriet

them. My lost love is so utterly, utterly lost, but just the same I did it. All tough guys are hopeless sentimentalists. Jesus I’m wallowing in self-pity. I’m sorry.’

He was shivering now. I must get him into bed, thought Harriet.

He shot her a sideways glance. ‘I’m keeping you up,’ he said.

‘No, no,’ she said, gritting her teeth to hide a yawn.

She heard a faint wail from upstairs. ‘I’ll just go and see who that is.’

‘Sometimes they go to bed with no supper,’ muttered Cory.

Upstairs Chattie was lying out of bed, Ambrose curled up in her arms, her long white legs sticking out. Harriet tucked her up and replaced her blankets. William was sleeping peacefully too, and when she got downstairs she found Cory asleep as well, his elegant narrow-hipped length sprawled across the sofa, his half-smoked cigarette in his hand. She put it out, loosened his tie and took his shoes off, then got the duvet and a blanket from his bedroom and covered him up.

‘It’s you and me babe,’ she said to Tadpole, and suddenly felt very responsible and grown up, as she looked down at Cory’s face. In sleep it had lost all its anguish.

Chapter Thirteen

The next day was catastrophic. After two hours sleep, Harriet was walking round like a zombie. Matters grew worse as William regurgitated sieved carrot and cabbage over everything, the washing machine gave up the ghost, and in the usual rat race of rounding up homework books, pinnies and gymshoes, she realized there wasn’t any dinner-money left for Chattie in the housekeeping. Mrs Bottomley was away for the night and therefore not available for a touch. After rifling every pocket in her wardrobe, the only solution was to wake Cory — who was not best pleased at being roused from a heavy slumber to one of the worst hangovers in recorded history. His temper was not improved by the embarrassment of finding himself still in evening clothes and lying on the sofa.

‘Why the hell can’t you organize the bloody housekeeping?’ he howled.

It was hardly the moment, Harriet decided, to remind him that he had filched the last of it himself.

When she got back from driving Chattie to school, he had changed into day clothes, was trying to keep down a glass of alkaseltzer, and in the sort of picky mood that soon reduced her to screaming hysteria.

How was he to find a pair of socks, he demanded, when the hot cupboard looked as though a bomb had hit it. Why didn’t she ever put anything back where she’d found it? Was it really necessary to have toys lying all over the hall, nappies dripping over the kitchen?

‘The washing machine’s broken,’ protested Harriet.

‘Well, get it mended,’ said Cory.

For something to do she busied herself opening a tin of dog food.

‘There are already three tins, two of them with mould on, open in the fridge,’ said Cory.

Chattie had demanded coca-cola for breakfast and Harriet had been too bombed to refuse her. Cory now picked up Chattie’s half-full mug.

‘Do you really want to ruin the children’s teeth? Shouldn’t they have milk occasionally?’ he asked.

‘They usually do,’ said Harriet through gritted teeth.

Before he could think of a crushing reply, she turned on the waste disposal to remove the remains of Chattie’s Weetabix.

‘For God’s sake turn that thing off,’ yelled Cory, clutching his head.

‘What?’ said Harriet, pretending not to hear.

The next moment he stalked out of the room.

Pig, pig, pig, she said to herself, keeps me up till three o’clock in the morning, banging on about his bloody wife, and then expects peak efficiency. And to relieve her feelings she went upstairs and cleaned the bath with his flannel.

By lunchtime she felt contrite. He really had looked very ill. He ought to eat something. She took great pains making a mushroom omelette, and taking it with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice up to his study.

His hangover obviously hadn’t improved.

‘I didn’t ask for anything to eat,’ he said. ‘I’m not hungry. Please take it away.’

‘You ought to have something, just to blot up the alcohol,’ she said brightly, putting the tray down amid a pile of papers.

Then she saw the expression on his face, and bolted out of the room before he could throw the tray at her. She and Tadpole shared the omelette.

‘It would have been wasted on him,’ she said to Tadpole who chewed it up with great, greedy, crocodile jaws. At least she, Chattie and William were going out to tea, so they’d be out of Cory’s hair.

She was just getting ready when the telephone rang. Even running down the landing, clutching a protesting, half-dressed William, she couldn’t reach it before Cory. He came out of his study, looking bootfaced.

‘It’s Elizabeth Pemberton’s nanny,’ he said. ‘For you.’

Muttering apologies, Harriet fled downstairs to answer it.

‘We’ve got problems,’ said Sammy cheerfully. ‘Elizabeth says she’s got one of her ancient aunts whose just lost her husband coming over — at least that’s her story. I’ve never known anyone change the sheets and have a bath in the middle of the day for an ancient aunt. Anyway she wants us all out of the way. She thinks it would inhibit poor “Aunt Barbara” to have all the kids hanging around. Can we come over to you instead?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Harriet, wondering what the hell Cory would say.

Sammy arrived with Georgie, looking very done-up in a tight navy blue sweater, with Come and Get Me printed across her jacked-up bosom, drainpipe jeans, blue and yellow glove socks and impossibly high-heeled sandals.

‘I do like your walking shoes,’ said Harriet, giggling.

‘Elizabeth hates them,’ said Sammy. ‘They make holes in the parquet.’

She reeked of cheap scent.

‘It’s called Seduction,’ she said. ‘Worn specially in Cory’s honour. Is he here?’ She looked round expectantly, patting her hair.

‘He’s working,’ said Harriet, ‘and not at his most sunny.’

‘Hungover up to his teeth, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Sammy. ‘Elizabeth said he was as high as a kite when he arrived last night.’

Tadpole shambled in, wagging his tail, and promptly goosed Sammy.

‘Good old Tadpole,’ she said patting him. ‘Never forgets a crutch.’

Chattie bore Georgie upstairs.

‘There’s a Shirley Temperature film on television,’ she said.

‘Well don’t disturb Daddy, whatever you do,’ said Harriet.

‘Do you mind if I bath William?’ said Harriet. ‘I didn’t get around to it earlier.’

‘Do you mind if I borrow a razor and shave my legs?’ said Sammy. ‘I’m going out with a new guy tonight, and one should always be prepared.’

‘This is a much nicer room than mine,’ said Sammy, lounging on Harriet’s yellow counterpane, painting her toe nails with Harriet’s nail polish. ‘Noel spent fortunes having it done up in the faint hope it might help her to keep a nanny longer than three weeks. Admittedly she threw all the pretty ones out because she was convinced they were after Cory.’

Her spikily mascara’d eyes softened as they lighted on William, splashing around in the water, chuckling with laughter, and waving his arms about.

‘Don’t you love him? Look at his lovely fat wrists,’ she said. ‘The folds always look as though they’ve got elastic bands on. I envy you really. I got knocked up last year, but it was too much hassle, so I got rid of it. You’re