Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman

coloured train, but, every so often, he glanced up at the television with the fascination of a rabbit caught in headlights. ‘Won’t that frighten them, Vee, looking at such stuff? Unnecessarily?’

‘But they have to be frightened, Rose. Life is frightening and dangerous. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t warn them.’

‘At this rate they’ll never trust anyone.’

Vee sat down. ‘But they shouldn’t. Don’t you think? They should never trust anyone.’ She shoved a mug at me. ‘Don’t you think you’ve let that creature walk all over you?’

‘I did it for Poppy. I wanted to. I’m perfectly OK about it. No, that’s not quite true. I can’t believe… I can’t quite take on board Nathan and her trying for a family.’

Vee looked as though I’d lost my wits. ‘Sweetie-pie, you have to get through this and emerge intact. Take it from one who knows.’ Her expression sharpened. ‘I was far too nice. That was my vice. It’s yours too.’

In her difficult divorce, Vee had won the court case against the erring Robert, which meant he tendered up a large portion of his not-so-fulsome income, plus the house. I was well aware that, behind Vee’s doe-eyed exterior, lurked considerable strategic powers. ‘You weren’t very nice to Robert.’

Vee opened the doe eyes even wider. ‘Oh, that wasn’t me. That was the lawyers.’ She picked up her mug. ‘She’s in your house,’ she hissed, ‘poking through all your things. Sleeping in your bed. Hanging her clothes in your cupboard…’

I took a mouthful of the peppermint tea. It was sweet and digestible, warming and healthy. ‘I had thought of that,’ I said, and smiled.

I was making Poppy a late lunch when Kim Boyle rang up. I sat on the table, put my feet on a chair and prepared to gossip. Kim was an old colleague who had gone off to the rival Daily Dispatch. ‘I’m off to the States tomorrow,’ he said, ‘but I want to see you.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘For your insider knowledge, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘And a possible little job attached to it.’

I felt a familiar pricking in my thumbs. ‘You want to pay me to divulge my Vistemax secrets.’ I liked the idea of being a woman with desirable secrets.

‘We want to know what’s going on and we could do with your experience.’

I reminded Kim that I was several months out of date, but I knew how they thought. Kim said this was precisely what he had thought and, if a job was in the offing and he could sort it out in the next few months, when could I start?

We agreed that January would be as good a time as any. ‘By the way,’ he added, ‘I’m sorry about you and Nathan.’

‘Nathan decided on a new lease of life.’

Kim clicked his tongue down the phone. ‘Old dogs and new tricks. I can’t make up my mind if it’s comic or tragic. Or there-for-the-grace-of-God-go-I.’

Chapter Twenty-two

However good Nathan was at calling in favours, it was difficult to arrange a party for Poppy and Richard at short notice. In the end, Simon Proffitt offered us his art gallery in Kensington, which had a large conservatory tacked on to its flank. It was a beautiful place, and at night it glittered with candles and tiny white lights. Simon had a theory that people will always buy if their senses are seduced. I saw his point.

The invitations were dispatched for the first week in December.

‘I take it that Poppy will be wearing white.’ Ianthe tackled what was, for her, the important question of colour.

‘A bit late for that, Mum.’

‘You wore white,’ she pointed out.

The party was not to be elaborate but we would serve the best wine we could afford, provide good eats and a decent wedding cake. I had several perfectly polite telephone conversations with Nathan about the details, but he sounded tired and strained.

Poppy remained in Lakey Street and Richard came and went, which did not give me any chance to get to know him. He hated to be pinned down, Poppy explained. When he was staying, I often heard them talking late into the night. Once, I woke and sat bolt upright, for I was sure I had heard Poppy cry out.

Gradually, the spare room filled up with clothes and presents, and the rose painting was obscured by them. But I was happy arranging the party and, best of all, Poppy behaved like a conventional bride. Excited and terrified, she lost weight, groaned over thank-you letters, tried out several hairstyles, made an appointment for contact lenses and bought an extravagantly stylish dress.

The night before the party, Sam arrived from Bath. He kissed Poppy and congratulated her. She kissed him back. ‘How’s Alice?’

Sam tensed. ‘Fine. She’ll be up tomorrow.’ He took off his jacket and draped it over a kitchen chair. ‘She’s thinking of taking off to America for a year or two. Probably a good thing.’

‘Yes,’ Poppy said. ‘What a good idea.’

Sam looked suspicious but let it pass. Alice thinks this country is dying on its feet. She feels we’re a can’t society, not a can-do, and it’s best to get out.’

‘She can vote,’ I said, drily.

Sam shrugged. ‘Politicians. What can they achieve? The only effective opposition is the press, and God help us there.’

I sat down and cupped my cheek in my hand. ‘Will… will you go with her?’

But Sam had got the bit between his teeth. ‘Rules and regulations are mad, public transport chaotic, the roads impossible. Politicians lie. Look at France, Switzerland. They manage to run themselves. If I rendered to my employer the kind of service that the government gives me in return for my taxes, I would have got the sack long ago.’ Then he redeemed himself by grinning. ‘So it’s laughter in the dark.’

Sam’s world-view was decidedly acid. Presumably, this was an accurate reflection of the state of affairs between him and Alice.

Shortly afterwards Richard arrived. He had gone up north to escort his parents to London and to settle them into a hotel. Poppy let him in and brought him into the kitchen.

‘Hallo, Mother-in-law’ Richard kissed my cheek. ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’

I disgraced myself by staring. Gone were Richard’s flowing locks, replaced by a haircut that looked, frankly, expensive. Vanished, too, were the Indian garments, usurped by a linen suit that looked designer. The duffer in beads looked sleek, groomed, almost dangerous.

His smile had a mocking edge. ‘My wedding present to my bride. Like Samson, I have sacrificed my hair to a woman.’

‘Not…’ I collected my wits ‘… that you will be enfeebled.’

‘No, but I might bring the house down.’

‘I hope you’ll spare Lakey Street,’ I said hastily, poured him a glass of wine and announced that supper was ready.

‘Not for me.’ Richard accepted the wine. ‘I’ve eaten.’

‘Nor me,’ cried Poppy. ‘I couldn’t eat a thing.’

‘Sam?

He shook his head. ‘I had a huge late lunch.’

I surveyed the chicken chasseur and mousse a l’abricot. ‘Darling Mum,’ cried Poppy, grabbing both my hands and looking deep into my eyes, ‘you needn’t have bothered.’

The three of them drifted into the sitting room and I could hear them talking. Left in the kitchen, I dismantled the laid places at the walnut table and stowed the food in the freezer. I put away the creamy linen napkins and