Flying Under Bridges (19 page)

Inge
reached in and pulled out a number. The prize-went to a small boy in a suit,
who said very loudly, ‘But Mum, I hate tennis.

He was
persuaded that this was not the case and Inge moved on to second prize.

‘A
day-trip to Paris on the Eurostar, first class, including a meal for two at the
famous Maison Catherine in Montmartre. Coincidentally on the same day that our
lovely first team will be there. Kindly donated by Cameron Builders. Inge, the winner
please.’

Inge
reached in again and pulled out a white counterfoil. She had no trouble reading
the name. It was written in the neatest, smallest print she had ever seen. ‘The
winner is John Antrobus.’

John
stepped forward and kissed Inge on both cheeks. He shook William’s hand in a
double-handed grip and waved his prize ticket for the crowd to see. The prizes
were a little less exciting after that. Someone got their drive re-tarmacked
for free and quite a lot of people went home with bottles of oak-smoked
chardonnay.

Eve won
nothing so she wandered off to the bookshelves. It was not a time to chat with
Inge. The shelves were crammed with Pe Pe’s bestsellers and other works of
importance. Most of them were quick-fix guides to sorting your life out. Inner
improvement for people in a hurry. Eve had laid before her an entire industry
dedicated to selling the concepts of self-improvement and self-acceptance for
impatient people.

There
were books on all sorts of things. Some of it was fairly standard like
acupuncture, organic beef cookery, aura reading and even holistic dentistry,
but then it rather skewed off the tracks of believability. There were tomes on
healing gems, healing crystals, fourth-dimensional chromatic healing, magic
healing lamps, magic wands, numerology, techniques for recalling past lives,
tantric-sex therapy, vocational-awakening group exploration, Native-American
shamanism, three volumes on ayurvedic medicine of Ancient India, two on astral
travel, several on I Ching loving light massage, and a very disturbing book
giving advice on ‘walking on a bed of hot coals to a destination of new
spiritual realities and deeper capacities to love’.

‘Junk
food for the mind,’ said a voice behind her. John Antrobus was standing there
smiling.

‘Oh
well,’ replied Eve. ‘I’m a busy woman. I was just trying to see how quickly I
could improve myself. I thought perhaps there was time before any more
excitement. Well done on your prize.’

‘You
two finding inner happiness?’ enquired Inge, finally left alone for two
minutes.

‘Hmmm,
we are but we feel we need to do it quickly.’ John scanned the shelves and
picked up a volume. ‘How about
14,000 Things to be Happy About?’

Inge
shook her head. ‘Far too many. This is better.
Simplify Your Life: 100 Ways
to Slow Down and Enjoy the Things that Really Matter.

John
examined the book and then said, ‘I still think one hundred is a bit steep. I
mean, I have a life as well.’

‘True,
true.’ The trio kept looking.

‘Ten
Principles for Total Emotional and Spiritual Fulfilment,’
called Eve.
‘The Nine Choices of Extremely Happy People,’
replied
John.

Inge
came back straight away with,
‘The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.
And…
it’s a gift edition which should make you even happier.’

‘No,’
Eve said. ‘I’ve got it —
Five Easy Steps for Discovering What You Really
Want and Getting It
or
Dianetics: In a Couple of Hours I was Over the
Pain of the Sudden Death of My Best Friend.’

John
acknowledged that getting it down to five was good but he had the clincher in
his hand.
‘The 15-Second Approach to Setting and Achieving Lifetime Goals:
Transform Your Life, Be More Relaxed, Live More Fully and Have Time to Follow
Your Dreams. Extraordinary Results in a Minimum Amount of Time.’

‘I like
this one,’ declared Eve.
Shelter for the Spirit: How to Make Your Home More
than a Drop-Off Zone.’

‘That’s
good but here’s a cracker —
Yesterday I Cried: Celebrating the Lesson of
Living and Loving.’
Inge began to read out loud. ‘Eve — find the courage to
celebrate yourself. Yesterday I cried for the woman I wanted to be. Today I cry
in celebration of her birth. Yesterday I cried for the little girl in me who
was not loved or wanted. Today I cry as she dances around my heart in
celebration of herself.’

The
three of them were crying with laughter when Shirley came over smiling.

‘Mum,’
she said. ‘That’s the first time I’ve seen you laughing since Granddad died.’

‘I
suppose it is.’ Inge and John watched as mother and daughter hugged each other
and Eve stroked her daughter’s hair. Since Shirley had taken her building
society job she had moved into a flat with a friend. It was lovely that she was
independent but Eve missed her so badly.

‘Well,
this will make you smile.’ Shirley beamed. ‘I’ve got in at Durham and Exeter.’

Eve
didn’t know what to say. It was as though everything she had ever done had
fallen into place. Her daughter, her baby, was going to be a lawyer. She was
going to university; she was getting out.

‘Oh,
well done.’ Inge reached out and pulled Shirley into a hug. Eve’s head was
bursting with a hundred ways they should celebrate when she heard John cry, ‘We
must celebrate!’

‘Absolutely,’
Eve managed through her tears of complete joy.

‘It’s
essential,’ declared Inge.

‘I
know,’ he said, ‘let me take you to France for that slap-up lunch I just won.
Go on, it’ll be fun.’

Shirley
looked at Eve and, of course, she couldn’t say anything. It would be fun. Eve
liked John then. She really did. He had taken time to talk to her and she was
grateful.

The
rest of the evening rather deteriorated after that. When Eve went to look for
Adam, she found him beside the unveiled model of the shopping centre. It would
be a massive development. Huge acres of glass held aloft by arcs of wood and
steel. Adam looked terrible. Eve thought he was going to faint. She went over
and held his hand.

‘Scandinavian
design. We can’t look back. It’s the future. William says so.

‘It
looks nice.’

‘He’s
arranged the insurance cover direct in the City. Too big a job for me, he says.’

‘Oh
Adam, I’m so sorry,’ Eve said. Adam squeezed Eve’s hand. She was touched. He
needed her. That was when John strode over to Adam. When he was just about to
need her.

‘Mr
Marshall, Mrs Marshall. John Antrobus, Hogart, Hoddle and…’

‘Hooper,’
Adam concluded. ‘Of course, John, how are you?’

‘I’ll
tell you, Adam. May I call you Adam? I am excited. I was listening to you this
morning on the radio about that terrible incident at the bus depot here in town
and I really think you are on to something. I was wondering—’

William
called Eve before she had a chance to hear what John wondered. Her brother with
the Scandinavian stream-line and big things in the City wanted to talk to his
two sisters in his study. He sat smoking a huge cigar while Eve slipped on and
then off his leather sofa. She knew it was expensive but she couldn’t see the
attraction of leather furniture. You slide off it in the winter and stick to it
in the summer.

‘We
need to talk about Mother,’ William announced, as if it were another
development project. ‘When is she released, Eve?’

‘It’s
not a prison… Soon, but there’s nowhere for—’

Martha
paced up and down. ‘I want to move into the house permanently.’

‘What
house?’ Eve asked.

‘Mum
and Dad’s.’

‘Permanently?
What happened to living in Bangkok- or Hong Kong or whatever? What happened to
living a long way away?’

William
stood up. ‘Great. Then you can have her, Martha.’

Martha
shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I have work to do. I need to get on with my
writing. I can’t be distracted. Besides, I shall be teaching women’s study
classes. I can’t be disturbed.’

‘Martha,
it’s not your house,’ Eve managed.

‘Listen,
Eve, you have a house. William has a house. I have nothing. I have never had
anything.’

‘You
never wanted anything. You didn’t want… what was it … any “capitalist
shackles”.’

‘Oh,
bring that up.’

‘But
where is Mum going to live? It’s her house.’

William
shuffled his feet uncomfortably. ‘Actually, it isn’t. Dad quite distinctly—’

Eve
interrupted. ‘Well, I don’t understand that. Why would he leave her out of the
will? It doesn’t make sense. Anyway, we don’t have to follow it. Mum can stay
there if she wants.’

William
was getting irritated. He had guests to gloat over. Martha looked at the hem of
her top while her brother dealt with the matter.

‘No,
Eve, we can’t. As my father’s eldest son I am not about to see his wishes
ridden roughshod over. I don’t know why he decided what he did, but I for one
intend to honour his last request. That leaves us with the problem of what to
do with Mother. Now, obviously, Pe Pe and I can’t have her. We’re far too busy.
So, Eve, she’ll have to come to you.’

Martha
and William both looked at Eve as if it were settled. ‘No. No. I can’t. I won’t.’

‘Why
ever not? What is the matter with you? She’s your mother. What else do you have
to do?’

Eve
looked at her brother and sister and knew even then that she would lose. ‘I’m
starting my own business,’ she muttered.

William
smirked at Martha. ‘Your own business. Doing what?’

‘I’m
going to organise people’s cupboards. Adam says I’m very good at…’

Martha
and William exchanged a look and Eve knew it was the end. Mother was as good as
moved into her house. She didn’t want her. No one wanted her. Why her?

When
Eve came out of the study Pe Pe was half sitting, half lounging on the
sitting-room sofa with Inge, Adam was repeating his radio interview to a small
group and John Antrobus was deep in conversation with Shirley.

Pe Pe,
heady with her success, had perhaps gone a drink too far in her celebration.
For one night at least, her concern with sperm and egg production had abated.
Her words were even less distinct than usual but she had the intensity of
conversation that only alcohol can fuel.

‘I feel
I can talk to you, Inge. You’re very sympathetic.’

‘You’re
very kind. I’m afraid I really must head off—’

‘You
see, you and I, Inge, are in the same boat. Both attractive, both in the public
eye and what do people expect? Cheerfulness! Bloody cheerfulness.’

Inge
smiled. ‘Well, you do it very well. It’s been lovely but I really must—’

Pe Pe
leant forward and held firmly on to Inge’s arm. ‘Do you know how I do it?’

Inge
shook her head. ‘Something about telling yourself a happy story?’

‘Bollocks.
No.’ Pe Pe took a large, sustaining gulp of Soave and whispered one word. ‘Operation.’

Inge
didn’t think she’d heard properly. ‘Sorry?’

‘Dr
Habib, Harley Street. He’s a marvel. Botox. That’s what they call it. It’s the
same toxin as botchi… batchili… food poisoning. They inject it in your
forehead and you stop frowning and then some kind of glue in your cheeks to
keep you smiling. Lasts for six weeks. Marvellous. He could help you.’

Pe Pe
produced a pamphlet from a small drawer in the coffee table. Inge began to
protest but Pe Pe stuffed the leaflet into Inge’s handbag. Inge looked at Pe Pe’s
expensive smile and felt sick. She couldn’t think what she was doing here. Raising
money for rich kids who didn’t bloody need it. She couldn’t think why she wasn’t
with Kate. She couldn’t think. The guests were gradually making a move to
leave. Eve passed by the sofa and gave Inge a chance to extract herself.
Everyone began to engage in the mini goodbyes that precede an actual departure
from such a distinguished event.

Mr
Hoddle cornered Eve in the hall. Horace Hoddle was not Eve’s favourite person
in town. He was so proper, she could never think of anything to say to him. His
consonants spat at you and his vowels came out as if they had spent a short
time on an oral rack. But you had to be nice to Horace Hoddle. Everyone had to
be nice to Horace — captain of the golf club, chairman of the local Rotarians,
chief fundraiser for the Edenford Conservative party and general demigod at
Hogart, Hoddle and Hooper on the High Street. Not a handsome man, but he always
made the best of himself. Neat little moustache, neat little hair and neat
little sentences.

‘Ah, Mrs
Marshall.’ He looked her up and down like a potential purchase. ‘Interesting
ensemble.’

‘Thank
you.’

‘I see
your Adam has made a bit of a name for himself today on the radio.’ His face
pinched as he spoke. ‘Good, very good. Tell you the truth, never thought he had
the right stuff. I’m afraid your son Tom has done nothing at all for Adam’s
profile, but after today… maybe, maybe…’