The Good Wife aka The Good Wife Strikes Back

throne.’ She delved into her bag. ‘I’ve brought you something. I was going to give it to the minister to give to you.’

She passed over a soft piece of netting edged with beads. ‘It’s for your milk jug,’ she said. ‘I made it.’

I spread it out on the desk. The beads were lapis-lazuli blue with gold flecks and very pretty. A lump came into my throat.

She watched me with shrewd eyes. ‘Not all a waste of time, eh?’

No, it was not. ‘That must be your best one, Mrs Scott.’

‘I wanted you to have it now. I might not be around for too long,’ she said.

With an effort, she pulled herself to her feet and shook her head as if she were trying to release stored information. ‘It’s gone in a flash,’ she said. ‘Life. And I wouldn’t mind if it hadn’t been so bloody rotten.’

At her desk, Tina clicked her tongue and typed away while Mannochie patrolled the entrance to keep the madmen at bay.

Surgery over, he and I sorted out the urgent from the non-urgent tasks and talked over any problems. If I required proof – which I did not – that politics existed on mysterious levels, the surgery provided it. At Westminster there was plenty of talk and gesture but it was here, on the ground, that the cogs turned.

I drove into town to meet Chloe.

My father and I had friends throughout the Australian wine areas and any one of them would have taken in Chloe. But, no: Chloe was being Miss Independent. So far, her itinerary for Australia included a week’s stay in Adelaide, and a trip to the Hunter Valley. But that was all she would permit us to arrange.

We met in the backpacker shop: I was clutching a wad of cash and she the list she had promised to make. On inspection, it was pitifully short. Mini-karabiners. Walking sandals. Walking boots. Insect repellent. Padlock for the backpack. ‘There must be more,’ I said. ‘You can’t take off to the other side of the world without proper equipment. It’s not safe.’

‘Honestly, Mum, you should listen to yourself. I’ll be fine.’

I longed to reach inside my daughter and tease out exactly what she was thinking. To be allowed to smooth out any ruffles of apprehension. To do a mother’s work of being infinitely more wise and calm. ‘I’m allowed to make a few suggestions,’ I said defensively, ‘surely?’

She picked up a travelling wallet, designed to strap on under the arm. ‘Do you think I should take this?’

‘Yes,’ I said quickly. ‘And sun stuff. Masses of it for when it gets hot.’

‘Mother. They sell sun cream in Australia.’

Chloe was quiet as I paid. She sat back in the car, and I reckoned the silence was suggestive. Sure enough… She picked at her mistreated cuticles. ‘Sacha says Aunt Meg told him you’re thinking of moving house. You wouldn’t do that without me, would you? Not until I come home?’

‘Meg shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘But if it’s true?’

‘It was just an idea.’ I drove on a bit further then added, ‘I wouldn’t mind a change. You’ll be leaving home – ’

‘I hate it when grown-ups say things like that.’

I reached over and touched her cheek. ‘Where’s the girl who couldn’t wait to grow up? The one who always said, “I forbid you to treat me like a child”?’

Chloe looked thoughtful. ‘Mum… That was then. Can’t you tell?’ She hunched her shoulders and gazed out of the window at the speeding landscape. ‘Are you and Dad getting on all right?’

I negotiated a bend with extra care. ‘What makes you ask?’

‘Just asking.’

‘We’re fine.’

‘It doesn’t sound like it when you talk to him on the phone.’

I considered my answer. ‘My phone conversations are supposed to be private.’

Chloe looked both pitying and superior. ‘Get real, Mum, this is a family.’

I laughed but with genuine pleasure. ‘That’s good.’

Back at the house, we unloaded the packages and Chloe disappeared upstairs to phone her travelling companions. A stream of excited chatter filtered down from her room.

I went downstairs to the kitchen. My father was coming to supper that evening. I removed my wedding ring and hung it on the hook on the noticeboard. From time to time, it still made my finger swell – perhaps it was something to do with my hormones, my mood, the time of the year – and it bothered me when I was doing the chores.

Brigitte poked her head round the door. ‘I’m out,’ she said. ‘OK.’ It was a statement, not a question. The back door banged with a decided emphasis.

‘I don’t think she’s a happy bunny,’ commented Meg, who had come into the kitchen. ‘She’s been on the phone a lot. She wasn’t very nice about you either.’

I knew perfectly well that the au pairs ran an information service about their employers. I had never quite got over meeting comparative strangers who knew exactly the state of my underwear – not least because I possessed detailed information on theirs.

I began to chop up stewing steak and an onion which made my eyes water.

‘You’ve turned into a good cook, Fanny,’ Meg observed. ‘Who would have thought it?’

Silence.

She watched me lay the table with cutlery and water glasses. ‘You’ve laid too many places.’

‘Dad’s coming.’

She nodded. ‘Good.’ Another silence. ‘You seem cross.’

‘I am.’ I put the final glass in its place. ‘I can’t trust you, Meg, ever, not to repeat things. You shouldn’t have told Sacha, which means Chloe, about the idea of moving house.’

Meg looked defiant. ‘Doesn’t she have a right to know?’

‘You’ve upset her.’

‘Fanny,’ she pointed out, gently, ‘Chloe is a big girl now.’

That Meg was right made me even crosser. ‘Will and I would prefer to be the ones to choose when we discuss something important with her.’

‘If you say so.’ Meg filled the water jug and placed it in the exact centre of the table where it overshadowed the little vase of pink and white roses I had put there earlier.

Half-way through the meal, I looked up from my plate. Meg was flirting with my father, which he always enjoyed. ‘Meg is a smart woman,’ he had said once. Sacha and Chloe were deep in conversation. The candles on the table threw a dreamy light over the roses and the water jug. Will’s chair was empty, of course, and I thought, he must miss this.

Chloe laughed and, in the candlelight, she glowed with the kind of beauty that you can only possess when the most interesting part of your life lies ahead of you. My father turned his head towards me and raised his glass in my direction. It was a little habit of his. It told me that he loved me, and always would.

I raised mine back.

I had phoned my father first with the news. ‘I’m going to have a baby.’

‘But that’s wonderful, Francesca. Wonderful news. Clever girl.’ There was a pause. ‘You’re pleased?’

‘Bit taken aback, Dad. Bit of a mad mistake. But, yes, of course.’

‘Ah.’ Another pause. ‘Francesca, we must talk about what this means for the business.’

‘I know.’ I bit my lip. Suddenly I felt as if I had boarded the wrong plane and arrived at the wrong destination. ‘We’ll have to make do and mend for a few months after the baby, but everything will go back to normal afterwards.’

Only then did I phone Will, who ducked out of a debate on trade tariffs and rushed home. ‘This is brilliant. Wonderful. I’ll ring Meg, you ring your father.’

‘Dad knows.’

‘I see,’ he said, and disengaged himself. I could have bitten off my tongue. ‘Oh, well, that puts me in my place.’

A couple of weeks later he arrived home with three books on pregnancy and childbirth. ‘Must do things