A Catered Affair (22 page)

At that point Frank reappeared. “What do I find difficult?”

“Rosemary feeding . . .”

“What about it?”

“You know . . . showing her . . . chests.”

“Her chests? Oh for God’s sake, give it a rest. I have absolutely no problem with Rosie breast-feeding. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Has it occurred to you that the problem is yours . . . Prudence McPrude?”

Pru sniffed and disappeared into the garden. Frank said he was going into the living room to watch the cricket.

“I know Mum means well,” Rosie said after her parents had disappeared, “but she is driving me round the bend. I swear she’s getting worse the older she gets.”

“Well, at least you’re getting some sleep while they’re here.”

“And I’ve been writing like mad . . . Actually, I’d love it if you read a few chapters.”

Rosie’s laptop was sitting on the table. She was already opening it with her spare hand.

“Great.” Oh God, she was going to want feedback. I could feel my heart rate picking up. I asked her what Pru and Frank thought about her writing a novel. She said that neither of them was taking it very seriously.

“Mum practically patted me on the head and said, ‘That’s nice, dear.’ Then she went on about how all mums should have a little hobby. Dad just quoted me a load of statistics about how hard it is to get published.” She hadn’t shown them
The Sand Collector’s Daughter
.

A few keystrokes later, Rosie slid the laptop towards me. “I’ll e-mail you the rest. Just read the first paragraph.”

I started reading.

“Wow.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“You like?”

“It’s remarkable.”

“You mean that?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m so glad, because Mary read it and loved it.”

“Really?”

I was feeling my way into this. I still didn’t have the heart to destroy Rosie’s hopes. I was aware that my mouth was open and nothing was coming out. Meanwhile, there was screaming coming from outside.

“Ben! Urggh! Get them off! Get them off! They’re all over me!”

“Mummeee! Mummee! Come quick. Gran’ma’s got frogs down her tits and up her skirt. I fink vey’re going to jump up her bagina and into her bum hole.”

 

 

Frank rescued three frogs from inside Pru’s blouse and another three from up her skirt. It seemed that Ben had decided to play a cruel joke on his grandmother and had tipped the little fellows over her while she was sitting on the grass.

Frank released the frogs into the fishpond, and we all came back into the house. “That was horrible. Horrible,” Pru cried, still shaking. “You naughty boy, Ben. How could you be so unkind to Grandma? You know I hate frogs.”

Frank was telling Pru to calm down and that it was just a silly prank. Rosie was trying to get back to feeding Izzy and tell Ben off, but her words had little impact on her son, who was already bawling his eyes out from the shame. He wasn’t a nasty, bullying child, and it was clear that he was sorry for what he’d done. Pru was demanding he be sent to his room without any lunch. Rosie said couldn’t she see how mortified he was and she didn’t want to punish him anymore. Frank said he was inclined to agree. Pru said what did he know about disciplining children. “Whenever any of ours were naughty, you never intervened. It was always me who was forced to play the bad cop.”

I put the kettle on in the hope that a cup of tea would calm everybody down. But the ructions continued. To make matters worse, Izzy had picked up on the noise and tension and was bawling her head off, refusing to feed. “Why don’t you go,” Rosie said to me. “I’m not sure there’s much you can do.”

I offered to take Ben off her hands for a few hours. Rosie thanked me but said that even though Ben was sorry for what he’d done, she still needed to have words with him about his behavior. “Go. I’ll call you.”

I didn’t need telling a third time.

 

 

I’d just pulled up outside the flat when my cell started ringing. I pressed CONNECT.

“So is the Viagra working?”

“Nana, it’s me, Tally. I’m not on Viagra.”

“I know, darling. I was talking to Millie. I invited her round for lunch. Her gentleman friend takes Viagra.”

“Thank you for that information.” Huh, so Millie Siderman–Spider-Man had a gentleman friend. At her age. And they were doing it. Good for her.

“So how did it go with Kenny? Such a lovely young man. You know you could do a lot worse.”

I burst out laughing. “Nana, you are priceless. I only just got dumped, and here you are, already matchmaking. Kenny’s a lovely chap, but dating is the last thing on my mind right now.”

“But you have to move on with your life.”

“I know, and I am trying. I just need a bit more time.”

“Well, if you ask me, you need to get straight back in the saddle. I’m calling because there’s this lovely chap Millie wants you to meet.”

“Nana, no. I’m really not up for this.”

“OK, but just listen for a minute. What harm can listening do?”

“But I don’t want to listen. I’m not ready for a relationship, and I’m certainly not ready for blind dates. They’re stressful at the best of times.”

“He’s Millie’s cleaning lady’s nephew.”

“I don’t care.”

“Not Jewish, though.”

“Since when was that an issue?”

“OK, I just thought I’d mention it. Anyway, he’s your age. Very handsome apparently.”

“Nana, I’m so not interested.”

“And he’s a doctor.”

“Oh, brilliant. Another doctor. Just what I need. No. This isn’t happening.”

“I said you’d meet him.”

“What? How could you do that without asking me? Well, you’ll just have to tell him you got it wrong.”

“But what’s the harm? You never go out. You never do anything. All you do is watch TV. Put on a nice dress. Do your hair. Go out and meet the chap for a drink.”

“Absolutely, categorically, no.”

“Ooh, I can feel this sharp pain in my chest. It’s going down my arm. It’s just come on.”

“Nana, stop with the emotional blackmail. I’m not buying it.”

“OK, but just meet him. Please. Do it for me.”

I knew she would keep badgering me until I caved in. I let out a long sigh. “OK, when?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight? No way. I have plans.”

“What plans?”

“
Pride and Prejudice
is on. The Colin Firth version.”

“Record it.”

“I don’t want to record it.”

“The arrangement is you meet him at All Bar One, Battersea . . . Northcote Road . . . seven thirty. He’s name’s Derek and he’ll be reading a newspaper.”

I felt myself caving in. “And he’s a doctor, you say.”

“Not just a doctor. According to Millie, he’s a rich doctor.”

I’d just settled down with a cup of tea and
Antiques Roadshow
when I realized it was almost six. If I was going to make it to Battersea by half past seven, I needed to get ready. I dragged myself away from the TV, changed into a pair of newish jeans and put on some makeup. I was still cross with Nana, and there was no way I was about to make a huge effort for this date.

Even though he had his back to me, I spotted Derek at once. He was sitting at the bar with a Peroni and a copy of the
Times
.

“Derek?” I said.

He turned round. “Tally, hi.” He stood up and we shook hands. OK—round one to Nana: He was definitely easy on the eyes. He was dark, well built—definitely my type. Under normal circumstances I would have been feeling some kind of attraction, a few sexual stirrings maybe, but nothing was happening. I knew I was still feeling pretty dead inside and that only time would change that.

“Look, I’m sorry about all this,” Derek said. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t usually let old ladies arrange my social life. But Mrs. Siderman wouldn’t take no for an answer. When I put up a fight, she threatened to have a heart attack.”

“Ah, the old heart attack routine. My grandmother did the same. I’ve learned to ignore it, but I guess, not being Jewish, you’re a novice at all this emotional blackmail.”

“I’m afraid I am, but listen, if you want to call this whole thing off, I totally understand.”

I decided that he seemed like an open, thoughtful chap. I couldn’t possibly walk away. “I’d love to stay and have a drink,” I said.

“Great.” He was ordering me a glass of house red when I noticed his necklace. I wasn’t crazy about men who wore jewelry—other than wedding bands. What was more, the necklace wasn’t particularly attractive. I didn’t mind the choker-length string of black beads. It was the African tribal mask pendant—complete with strands of wild hair and hideous gappy pointy teeth—that threw me.

“So,” I said by way of a jokey opener, “my grandmother tells me you’re a rich doctor.”

Derek burst out laughing. “Er, not quite.” He paused. “I’m actually a
witch
doctor.”

“Wow! No kidding!” I said. That explained the pendant. “So I guess there can’t be too many witch doctors called Derek.”

He smiled. “No. I suspect I’m the only one.”

“So are you into all that voodoo stuff—fetishes, taboos, animal sacrifice?” I couldn’t believe it. A minute ago, Derek had seemed so normal. I imagined him alone in his bedroom, dressing up in a leopard skin and arranging feathers in his hair.

“Good God no. That’s what everybody thinks, but nothing could be further from the truth.”

Derek spent the next three hours enlightening me. He spoke like a man who had swallowed the entire Wikipedia entry on witch doctors. I learned that witch doctors—real name: sangomas—weren’t witches. In fact, they were medicine men who worked against the black arts. “They are holistic healers who believe that their ancestors in the afterlife guide and protect the living.” Of course, Derek, who had been born on the Isle of Wight, didn’t possess any African ancestors as such, but he got round the problem by convincing his Zulu mentors to let him adopt one or two of theirs.

By the end of the evening I knew how to cure infected wounds (ant venom), worms (bitter melon) and even erectile dysfunction (penis stretching or, failing that, magic foot water). It turned out that Derek was doling out these untested, untrialed remedies all over West London. He had no compunction about selling them, his reason being that the world needed to move away from science—which had turned us into cynics—towards faith. I made the point that it wasn’t faith that had given us the smallpox vaccine, penicillin and antibiotics and that I would stick with science, thank you very much.

We parted on good-natured, let’s-agree-to-disagree terms, but we didn’t exchange phone numbers.

I was home just after eleven. As I opened the front door, my cell started to ring. I looked at the caller display. It wasn’t a number I recognized.

“Tally, it’s Hugh. I’m sorry to call late, but I’m still on Perth time.”

Hugh appeared to be back in London.

“Hey. When did you get back?”

“Got in yesterday. I’ve just been out for a drink with some of the old gang and I heard what happened. They gave me your cell number. Tally, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. What a bastard. It was such a hideous, cruel thing to do. How are you?”

“I’m actually much better than I was.”

“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. Look, how d’you fancy meeting up for a quick lunch sometime? Funnily enough, I’m actually going to be working around the corner from Dacre’s. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of shoulders to cry on, but I guess an extra one never hurts.”

“To tell you the truth, I think I’m pretty much all cried out, but I’d love to get together. It’s been such a long time. And I want to hear all your news.”

We agreed on Carluccio’s. Monday, one o’clock. I was a little surprised, but I was really looking forward to seeing him.