Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman

mats, and replaced the white china bowl in the cupboard.

Quel see-saw, as Mazarine would say. One minute you’re needed every minute by your children, the next not.

I ran my hand over the table. Under my fingers, it felt like satin. I opened the store cupboard and sniffed cinnamon and vanilla. Nathan and I should have been spending these final moments before Poppy’s send-off in talking over arrangements, fussing about the guests, going over the speech, telling each other that we would be fine. But we were not. All the same, I had a presentiment that Nathan and I would go on insisting that we were rid of each other yet continually be brought up short against the fact that we were not.

Before the guests arrived the family gathered in the gallery. Ianthe had chosen a pistachio-green dress, which was a little startling, but Poppy, eyes huge with the new contact lenses, looked quite different and dazzling in the Vivienne Westwood with cream roses in her hair.

I was wearing my French underwear, of course, a skirt and jacket with a scoop neckline and nipped-in waist that Madame Zou Zou had fitted on me so carefully. I have to say that I took deep delight in its clever and feline artistry. Nathan was in his best dark suit and a silk tie. He kissed everyone and told Poppy she looked magnificent. She hugged him with the old tenderness and pride.

‘Goodness,’ said Ianthe, who, I noticed, had not returned Nathan’s kiss, ‘you do look tired, Nathan.’

Nathan frowned. ‘Work, as ever,’ he said, and turned to Richard. ‘Have you any idea where you two are going to live yet?’

‘I’m on the case,’ said the bridegroom. ‘It should be sorted by the new year.’

‘What?’

‘The flat in Kensington.’ Richard was cool.

Nathan’s patent amazement was not flattering. ‘Bought? How?’

‘The usual way’ There was just a hint of danger in Richard’s demeanour. ‘Two bedrooms. It should do us for the time being. I rang my father while we were in Thailand and instructed him.’

‘Oh, good. I just wondered if I should offer some help… but no need.’

‘No,’ agreed Richard.

This was certainly not the tree-hugging, spirit-of-earth’s-sanctity persona to which Nathan and I subscribed. Richard added, ‘I’ll be starting the job in a couple of weeks.’

Usually so good on his feet, Nathan only managed, ‘Where?’

‘Arthur Andersen. Have you heard of them?’

‘Why didn’t you warn me?’ Nathan hissed at me as soon we could exchange a private word. ‘He’s got it all sorted, and there’s no need for the heavy-father act.’

‘Shush.’ I touched his arm. ‘The guests are arriving.’

The waitresses moved into place and poured champagne with a soft hiss. The massed candles glowed. In the middle of the room, Poppy swirled round and round, gripping Richard’s arm, and I caught my breath at the beauty and colour.

Nathan was collared by Clive Berry, one of his cousins who lived in Lincolnshire. They launched into the route conversation.

‘You came by the A12?’ Nathan was surprised. ‘Didn’t you barrel through Boston and Eye?’

‘Hallo, Clive.’ We had known each other a long time, and I gave him a kiss. From having been perfectly at ease Clive tensed, for he was not sure how to handle the situation. Taking pity, I tried to defuse it: ‘Have you seen the bride?’

At that point, Poppy grabbed me, ‘Oh, hallo, Clive. Nice to see you. Speak later, I must just have a word with Mum,’ and dragged me over to the comparative privacy of the catering area. ‘Mum,’ she said furiously, ‘who said that woman could come?’

‘Which woman?’

‘Dad’s woman. She’s here. How could she?’ Poppy’s mouth was pale and set. ‘I so wanted it to be just us. I don’t want people noticing and talking.’

‘Minty? Are you quite sure?’ I stroked Poppy’s cheek to calm her. ‘Of course she wasn’t invited. If she’s here, I’ll get rid of her.’

Rubbing at the tattoo on her finger had become a habit with Poppy and I put my hand over hers. ‘I wanted it to be as if you and Dad hadn’t split up and we could pretend we were a family. I don’t like everyone seeing that he’s an old goat.’

‘Rose… and the lovely bride.’ Sally Curry hove into view, trailing in her wake a husband who worked with Nathan on the paper. ‘Your dress is wonderful, Poppy, and it’s such a smart setting. How did you do it?’

‘It’s easier than arranging a full-scale wedding.’ My disloyal daughter pulled her hand free and faded expertly away leaving Sally, who rattled with gold jewellery, to focus on me.

‘But given everything…’ she said sympathetically. Sally’s husband nudged his wife but she ploughed on: ‘Miles and I are sorry we haven’t been in touch but Miles says,’ she glanced at the appalled Miles, ‘Miles says that, in these cases, one has to choose. You can’t be friends with both and since Miles…’

I did not blame Sally Curry. Loyalty to the side that provides the bread and butter is, perhaps, not the best loyalty but it is sensible. All the same, I took a small revenge. As we weren’t really friends, Sally, that’s perfectly all right. It is useful to know where one stands…’

They drifted off, leaving me to reflect on the blasted heath of my social life. Sam glanced up from the group centring on Alice, who looked superb in bright red, and came over. I drew him aside. ‘Sam, Poppy thinks Minty’s here. Have you seen her?’

Sam tucked a supportive hand under my elbow. ‘Poppy’s probably fantasizing. She wants even more of scene than she’s getting. Don’t worry, Dad wouldn’t do that.’

‘I’ve just been rude to Sally Curry because she told me that Dad is more useful to her as a friend than I am. She’s right.’

‘That’s fine, then.’ His gaze lingered on Alice, who was now chatting up Nathan’s assistant, a handsome, spin- doctor type. The latter reached over and touched her shoulder. Sam flinched and I took action.

‘You haven’t seen Jilly for ages, have you? Not since she got back from New Zealand. I warn you, the ugly duckling is now a swan.’

I dragged Sam off and collared Jilly, who turned a countenance on Sam so radiant with pleasure and admiration that I blinked. ‘Sam,’ she said, in her light rapid voice, ‘I’ve been longing to see you.’ There was a tender, questing quality about Jilly that was difficult to describe, but quite specific in its effect. Her blonde hair brushed her bare brown shoulders, and she looked young and fresh and avid for the next turn of events.

Sam’s expression lightened. I left them to it and went in search of Minty. As I saw it, I had two options: one was to kill myself; the other was to devise on the spot an etiquette for dealing with a gate-crashing husband- pincher.

I did not have to search for long.

At the other end of the conservatory, framed by one of the illuminated arches, Minty was talking to Clive. She was wearing enormously high heels, which pitched her forward, and a sleeveless black dress. It was the outfit of the Good Wife – but she had got it all wrong: it was too short, too tight and too low-cut. She looked both terrible and wonderful, and Clive was hanging on her every word.

At the sight of her my anger, against which I had struggled, sprang to the surface. She had gone too far, presumed too much. As I pushed my way towards her, Minty turned her head and saw me. The dark, slanting eyes widened with… what?

I would find out.

Clive was well launched into the science of the wind turbine, his speciality. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’ I planted myself in front of them. ‘Minty, could I have a word?’

Clive merely glanced at me and continued in full flow, blotting me out. In doing that, he caught me savagely on the raw. In that shadowy moment of erasure, I felt the wing-tips of my grief brush my spirit, and the rush of hard, bitter hatred, which I hoped I had discarded.

‘New technology, ‘Clive said.’Regional rejuvenation…’

I opened my mouth to spit out bile and anger, but just then Minty sent me one of her cool, complicit looks, a smile hovering at the back of her eyes. It took me back to the office – the glance exchanged between friends and