A Catered Affair (24 page)

“Nana, what the hell’s been going on?”

“Oh, it’s something of nothing,” she said. “Why didn’t you put some lipstick on? I told you to put some lipstick on.”

“I’ve already got lipstick on. It’s called Nude.”

“What use is that? Listen, you’ve got to meet this detective. He’s the image of the Elephant Man.”

“I can’t wait.”

“And I know he’s single because I asked that nice lady sergeant. Messy divorce, apparently, but he’s over it now. Oh, and she mentioned a child, but I don’t think you should let that put you off.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t,” I said. “Now then, would you mind telling me exactly what happened at the protest?”

“What you need to do is get the Elephant Man chatting and ask him out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not asking him out. And FYI, lawyers who want to keep their jobs do not go into police stations and start chatting up detectives.”

“OK, I’ll chat him up for you.”

“Nana, for crying out loud. Can we please focus on what happened at the protest?”

Nana explained that the BNP group had started yelling abuse about “thieving immigrant scum” and how they should all be repatriated. “Then this one with the tattooed swastika on his head accuses Nasreen of being a liar and an effing whore who deserves to die. I just exploded and went for him. I overreacted, but he was asking for it.”

“Nana, you can’t go around attacking people for being ignorant pigs.”

Just then the detective appeared. He hovered at the doorway for a few moments, talking to Sergeant Goldsworthy.

“My God,” I whispered to Nana, “it’s the Elephant Man. I mean the Olyphant man.” The guy was a dead ringer for Timothy Olyphant, aka Raylan Givens. All he needed was the Stetson.

“Was I right or was I right?”

“Totally
justified
. But I’m begging you—please don’t start chatting him up on my behalf. He’s gorgeous, but I’m not ready. It’s only been a few weeks since Josh dumped me.”

“Oh, stop it. When you fall off a horse, you have to get straight back on.”

The Elephant-Olyphant man turned out to be Detective Sergeant Brian Griffiths. I introduced myself, making it clear that I was Nana’s lawyer as well as her granddaughter.

“Detective Sergeant,” I said, putting on my authoritative-lawyer voice, “do you intend to charge my grandmother with any offense? Because if you don’t, I would like to take her home.”

“I haven’t made my mind up,” he said. “It strikes me that your grandmother is an aggressive, unstable woman who could be a danger to the public.”

“What? Oh, please. Look at her. She’s eighty-four years old and five foot nothing. She has no criminal record. There is nothing to suggest she’s a danger.”

“Apart from the fact that she kicked a man in the groin.”

“She did, but what you have to understand is that my grandmother is a refugee from Nazi Germany. This thug was shouting the most terrible racist abuse—the kind of thing she heard as a child in Berlin. That affected her and she lashed out. But she’s deeply sorry for what she did.”

“No, I’m not,” Nana blurted. “I’m pleased. And I’d do it again.”

I glared at her. She harrumphed. “OK, I’m sorry,” she said. “It was wrong. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“You really mean that?” the detective sergeant said.

“I do.”

Detective Sergeant Griffiths nodded slowly and turned to me. He explained that the BNP guy was a known agitator and that in light of Nana’s apology and because the hospital report stated that he hadn’t suffered any permanent injury, the police weren’t going to press charges. “And since he’s living off state benefits,” the sergeant continued, “he’s unlikely to have the funds to take out a private prosecution. So . . .” Detective Sergeant Griffiths was looking at Nana now. “I am letting you go. But take my advice and keep away from political demonstrations, because if I catch you lashing out again, I will have you in front of a judge so fast that your feet won’t touch the ground. Do you understand?”

Nana said she did. “So we’re done?”

“Yes, you are free to go,” the detective said. “And don’t let me see you here again.”

“So, Detective Sergeant, a little bird told me you’re single.”

I felt myself cringe. “Nana, we really should be going. I have to get back to work.”

“It can’t be easy being single,” she persisted. “I mean, what with such a stressful job. You must miss having somebody to go home to.”

“You’re right,” he said. “It isn’t always easy.”

I didn’t know where to look.

“And you have a child to think about. Can’t be easy being a divorced dad.”

“Actually, I have more than one.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I have six. Four boys and two girls—all under eight.”

“My word.” Nana shot me a look of shock and horror.

“I married young and my wife was a strict Catholic, so that’s why we have six children. Then, when the marriage broke down, getting her to agree to a divorce was a nightmare. The point is that any woman who takes me on takes on my kids, too. I have them every other weekend and during the school holidays. As far as finding a girlfriend goes, I’m not holding my breath.”

“I bet you’re not,” Nana said, standing up now. “Well, Tally and I really do have to be going, but first I need to powder my nose.”

While I waited for Nana, I stood chatting to the detective sergeant. “Thank you so much for not pressing charges,” I said. “I really appreciate it. She’s had a fright, and I’m pretty sure she’s learned her lesson.”

“Actually, off the record,” he said, “there was never any real danger of your grandmother being charged. Between you and me, everybody at the station thinks she’s a bit of a hero. There are a few of us here who wouldn’t mind kicking that bastard where it hurts.”

A couple of minutes later, Nana returned. “Of course, you never know,” she said to the detective sergeant. “You might find a nice, lonely spinster who can’t have children. And there are so many of them about these days, what with infertility on the rise. Tell you what, I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”

Nana shook his hand, thanked him for not sending her to prison and trotted off.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “She means well. But if you’ve changed your mind about locking her up, I do understand.”

He laughed and assured me he hadn’t.

 

 

“My God,” Nana said as we stepped onto the pavement. “Six children. You had a narrow escape there, I can tell you.”

“Nana, we need to talk about this . . .”

But Nana hadn’t heard me. “And thank you for sorting everything out. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I’ve been a silly old woman. I’ve caused you so much trouble. I’ve dragged you away from all your important work . . .”

“It’s fine, Nana,” I said, smiling. “But I’d be grateful if you didn’t make a habit of kicking fascists in the groin.” I took her arm. “Now, here’s the thing. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but all this matchmaking has got to stop.”

“But I’m only doing it because I want you to be happy and because I still feel it was all my fault that Josh left you.”

“Come on, Nana, we’ve been through this. You know it wasn’t your fault. Josh left me because he couldn’t commit to our relationship. That’s all there is to it. I know your heart’s in the right place, but, much as you want to, you can’t make things better for me. Only I can do that. I need to be the one in control of my life. You have to take a step back. In fact, you have to take several steps back.”

She took my hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve been panicking—that’s all.”

“I know. But just let me handle this on my own.”

She nodded. “OK, darling.”

I handed her my cell and she phoned Mum to let her know she hadn’t been thrown in jail. “Tally handled it all beautifully. They’re not pressing charges . . . Your daughter is a very talented lawyer.”

After Nana had finished speaking to Mum, I put her in a cab. I said I would call later on to check that she was all right. “OK, darling. I can’t wait to tell Millie. What an adventure she missed.”

 

 

Only then did I remember my lunch date with Hugh. I checked my watch. It was almost one. I texted him to say I was going to be a few minutes late. He texted back to say not to worry and that he was stuck in a meeting and probably wouldn’t make it until half past anyway.

As usual Carluccio’s was packed and I had to queue for a table. I’d just sat down and ordered a Diet Coke when I saw Hugh striding over, face beaming. He wrapped me in a huge bear hug. “Tally! It’s so good to see you. You look exactly the same.”

“So do you,” I said, taking in the swept-back blond hair that still flopped over his eyes, the wonky smile and blue eyes.

We sat down. Hugh ordered a Peroni and by way of a starter we decided to share some olives and tomato bruschetta. He asked after Mum, Scarlett and Nana. “Well, funny you should mention Nana . . .”

When I told him about the demonstration and Nana almost getting charged with assault, he couldn’t stop laughing.

“I’m glad you find it funny,” I said, “because I didn’t. There was a moment there when I thought they were actually going to charge her.”

He wanted to hear about Josh and everything that had happened. I even told him about Kenny Platters staying with me all night while I was throwing up.

“He and I actually ended up having dinner the other day. He’s a lovely guy.”

“Sounds like it. So are you two seeing each other?”

“God no. He’s just come out of a nasty breakup. He’s still licking his wounds like me.”

I’d forgotten what a great listener Hugh was. It was another reason I’d fallen in love with him. When I said we should change the subject because I didn’t want to bore him, he told me not to be so daft and that he wasn’t remotely bored.

Once I’d finished telling him the Josh saga, he wanted to hear about work. I told him about Nasreen.

“You’re doing so well, Tally. Coming out to Perth would have been so wrong for you. I can see that now.”

In the end I got so tired of talking about myself that I forced him to tell me his news. He’d been in his job less than two days, but he was already passionate about his brief. “It’s so frustrating, though, when you look at barriers to development in the third world.”

Did I know that between 1990 and 2005, the African continent had spent more than three hundred billion dollars financing civil wars? Was I aware how poor diet—which was likely to be low in iron and iodine—affected brain development?

Hugh was as fervent and earnest and as idealistic as ever. Even though he was a great listener, once he got on his soapbox, it was hard to get him off. “What we have to do to end poverty in the third world is stop giving aid and start dismantling corrupt governments.”

“And how do you propose to do that—just send in the British and American troops?”

It was just like the old days, debating and arguing with Hugh. By the time our lasagnas arrived, we’d gotten on to climate change. “Few people will deny it’s happening, but to say it’s all down to what man has done to the environment is massively overstating the case. Climate fluctuates naturally . . .”

Hugh often challenged the conventional wisdom. I’d always found that rather sexy—a man who didn’t automatically follow the herd.

We had to rush our coffee because we both needed to get back to work.

“I’ll call you,” he said. “Maybe we could have dinner later in the week and finish catching up.”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

 

 

In fact, the next day I bumped into him—quite literally. I’d nipped out of the office to buy a Pret sandwich for lunch. As I was going out of the door, carrying my tuna on whole wheat and a low-fat latte, he was coming in.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” he said. “So, you got lunch plans?”

I smiled. “Only to take my sandwich and coffee back to my desk.”

“Tell you what—why don’t I grab something and we could walk up to St. Paul’s and find a bench outside.”

“OK. Great.”

Five minutes later we were walking down Cheapside towards the cathedral.

We chatted some more about his job and how he was camping out with friends while he looked for a flat to rent. I told him about Scarlett and Grace and how they were wanting to get pregnant and not having much luck finding a father.

Eventually we reached the cathedral and found a seat by the steps. “Did you know,” he said as we sat down, “that there has been a cathedral on this site since the year 604 and that the original was built by King Ethelbert, the first Christian king?”

I laughed. “I did not know that,” I said.

“I remember being told that when we came here on a school trip. For some reason, I never forgot it. My mind is as full of useless facts as it always was.”

I’d forgotten that Hugh had a mind like a sponge.

“And the Great Organ,” he went on, “is the third largest in the UK and was installed in 1695.”

“Huh.”

“Sorry. I’m going on . . . You know,” he said, opening his sandwich container, “I often think about us and what might have been if I hadn’t stayed in Australia.”

“Well,” I said, “I wouldn’t have met Josh—that’s for sure.”

“So do you think we might have got married?”

“Probably.”

“We were good together, weren’t we? Don’t you remember those nights we’d stay up until the small hours putting the world to rights? I used to love that. And we were always at the opera and the symphony. Remember how I tried to get you into Wagner?”

“Yeah, and failed miserably, I might add.” I started laughing. “You know, a few weeks ago Mum dragged me to see
Mamma Mia!
and—so help me—I actually found myself enjoying it.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe.”