Green Grass (11 page)

A raindrop splashes on the pavement in front of her, and another dollops onto her forehead, then there is a pause in which Laura hears before she feels the whisper of another veil of rain pattering up the street. A man turns the corner from the main road, his head bent, his hands in his pockets, legs scissoring fast towards her. Because his head is bowed, Laura sees the red scar like a fold on the top of his bald white scalp. She holds open the door.

‘Hello Jack, what brings you up here after hours?'

Jack Smack makes sure he is well out of the wet before he removes his hands from his pockets and brushes his cheek against Laura's in greeting.

‘I've come to see Inigo. We've got to sort out the New York show. We've already postponed it and they want him out there as soon as possible.'

‘What a surprise, Jack.' Inigo and Fred have come up from the basement to stand like Jack with their hands in their pockets. Inigo slaps Jack jovially on the arm, but then returns his hand quickly to his pocket. Laura notices how simian the posture of males can be, toes out-turned, shoulders hunched, heads forwards. Feeling light and airy as thistledown among them, she ducks past and into the kitchen, suppressing an urge to thrust her own hands into the pockets of her jeans and lurch about in parody.

Fred comes through, his demeanour crestfallen. ‘I don't think Dad will be doing the paper thing,' he says. ‘Jack wants him to go to New York tomorrow to set up the show.'

‘But he's not meant to be there for another two weeks – we've postponed!' Laura is aghast. ‘And I've spent ages convincing the Parks Committee that we can do our paper installation …' She tails off, remembering it is nothing to do with Fred, and stalks back through to Inigo and Jack in the sitting
room. Inigo is explaining the two elements of the New York Show.

‘First there is a cake.' He pulls a white paper model out from behind the bookshelf. ‘Look, this is how I see it.'

‘But it's a house,' says Jack, gazing perplexedly at the model which indeed is an architect's scale model of a modernist house.

‘I know.' Inigo grins, twirling his pen on its nib like a pirouetting ballerina. ‘Actually it's my parents' house, or rather it's the house they lived in before they split up. I made this at art school, but now I'm going to recreate the structure by making a cake tin to follow the floor plan and then filling it with cake-mix. The idea is that when it's been baked and turned out, the whole space inside will be full and impenetrable instead of empty and cavernous. It represents the conflicts of security and suffocation in a family home, and explores the nature of survival. It's called
Caked.'
He looks up at Jack measuringly. ‘What do you think?'

Laura leans in the doorway. She is particularly keen on this project, and wants to persuade Inigo to do a whole show called
You Can Have Your Cake and Eat It
with all exhibits made of cake. It seems to Laura that this theme emphasises all that is absurd about conceptual art and delivers it with the supreme
silliness of Marie Antoinette's famous cry, ‘Let them eat cake.' Jack, however, is less keen.

‘How can we sell this cake house?' he demands. ‘Even your most avid collectors will balk at buying a cake.'

Fred, who has been sitting cross-legged on the floor, his chin resting on his hands, butts in, ‘No, they won't. Everyone likes buying cakes.'

Jack casts him a look of mild dislike. ‘Not at twenty thousand dollars a pop they don't,' he says. ‘And I don't feel we can offer your work any lower than that, or we'll have people saying you're going out of fashion.'

‘I don't think the cake should be for sale,' Laura offers. ‘It's a statement of artistic integrity, it doesn't have a price on it.'

Jack's eyebrows whip up to where his hairline would be if he had one; he sees potential for publicity here.

‘Yessss,' he drawls. ‘I like that a lot, I really do.'

Laura beams; she is delighted, and surprised that Jack is so easy to convince. Pressing on while she is on the high ground, she adds quickly, ‘But Inigo, if you go to New York tomorrow, what will we do about the
Paper in the Park
idea?'

Now Jack's look of dislike is directed at Laura. ‘We haven't got time for that,' he interrupts, before Inigo
can speak. ‘And anyway, it was only an installation. We can't sell it. Now Inigo, what about the rest of the New York Show. How is
Death Threat?'

Inigo pulls a tiny silver figure of eight out of his pocket and holds it up. ‘Just fine, thanks, Jack. Here's the baby, my smallest ever Möbius strip, and I've been working on rolling-pin projections for weeks. I'm ready to install this show now, but I wanted to finish
Paper in the Park
first. I think it will speak to the inner child in a lot of people, and spring is the moment to unleash that element.'

Jack's expression says very clearly that he thinks Inigo is talking nonsense, but that he can see a way to make mileage out of it.

‘OK, we'll do it. We'll get you back from New York for it and you can arrive in the park in a helicopter. That way we'll get maximum publicity.'

‘That way you'll wreck the whole thing before Inigo's even arrived,' says Laura tartly. ‘The helicopter will send the paper everywhere.'

Fred interrupts, hoping from foot to foot with excitement. ‘No, it would be totally cool,' he says. ‘The helicopter can be the paper-spreader. Could I go in it too?'

Even Jack is impressed by this notion, his eyes flashing like cash registers as he imagines the storm of media excitement such a venture would create. Laura
can hardly believe they are all being so stupid. Quite apart from the cost of hiring a helicopter, there is the small issue of permission. Royal Parks have taken a dim enough view of the whole project already. This would finish them off utterly. She opens her mouth to pour all this cold water on the project then closes it again. Why should she always be the voice of reason, the killjoy? Let them find out for themselves. The whole notion had always seemed pretty half-baked to Laura and now it has become truly preposterous.

She retreats upstairs to have a bath, armed with a weepalong novel and some bath essence Cally sent her, wrapped up in a large maple leaf and with a note saying ‘Sugar is hot, xxx Cally.'

The bottle is long and narrow, like a test tube. Laura pours a few drops into the bathwater and, slightly horrified by the sickly smell, holds up the tube to read the ingredients.

This is Sugar Beet Intenscent, distilled to perfectly capture the organic, healthy scent of sugar; sweet and earthy as though the root has been freshly plucked from the soil, this is a polarising essence. You will love if you're hot, loathe if you're not
.

Sugar beet? How is it possible that anyone has decided to make bath oil from sugar beet? It is a depressing and filthy feature of farm life, or it used to be. Now it has become a glamorous, sought-after
beauty potion ingredient. Perched on the side of the bath, Laura giggles, rereading the label, much enjoying the preposterous tone. She turns it round, and on the back is a small picture of a millhouse. It is Guy's millhouse. Laura stares at the test tube in astonishment. Can Guy really be responsible for this drivel?

‘What's going on, Mum?' Fred puts his head round the door. Laura waves the test tube.

‘Come and smell this, and tell me what it reminds you of.' Suspicion in every shuffled step, her son sniffs the test tube and recoils. ‘That's rank, Mum. It smells like rotting stuff. Why is it that weird green colour? You haven't put it in the bath, have you? It'll make you smell rotten. Don't come up to my room afterwards because I won't let you in.'

Laura promises not to pollute his bedroom with her presence, and reluctantly gets into her bath, not pleased by this new dimension of Guy. He must have changed more than Hedley has told her if he's writing pretentious nonsense like this on the side of bottles. And he's missed a great opportunity to gain more clients because he hasn't put his number on the bottle. Usually the bath is a good place to practise reaching a state of tranquillity, but Laura finds herself becoming more morose as each moment passes. How has it happened that she spends her days trying to get
permission to chuck small pieces of paper around in a park, and her evenings soaking in liquid sugar beet? Where is the life she thought she was going to lead? The one where her intellect was going to burn brightly and she would have woken each morning with a sense of purpose? Is her whole generation as unexciting? Every horizon has shrunk to a point where Laura faces only domestic and practical questions. Even her interpretation of Inigo's work has become glib and cynical. Laura wonders whether there is anything left to salvage at this stage of her life, or whether the person she used to be has departed for good.

The luxury of introspection is fleeting, and Laura is unable to wallow properly in self-pity because she has too much to do. Inigo departs for New York with a bag containing one small metal pastry-cutter and a projector. Jack refuses to let him bring any clothes, saying, ‘We only want hand luggage because we'll be pushed for time when we get there; I've arranged three interviews for you hot off the plane. We can buy what you need there.'

Pushing a laden trolley around the supermarket after driving them to the airport, Laura reflects that Inigo scarcely makes a move of any sort without someone – herself or Jack, or previously his mother – following him to make things easier for him. She
pauses at the frozen food section and selects a bagful of spinach parcels, not because anyone at home will eat them, but because she is charmed by the small solidness of them. This sort of aimless shopping is not popular when Inigo is around, but Laura enjoys the tiny rush of triumph it brings. Mainly though, she is in the supermarket to procure crisps and drinks for Tamsin's birthday party. This event is planned for Saturday night, and Laura and the twins are driving up to get there in time to help set things up.

They arrive at Crumbly to find Hedley gloomily surveying the front hall. Tamsin is up a ladder, festooning a curtain of fairy lights across the fireplace. The furniture has all gone, and lengths of rainbow-coloured fabric are draped on the bannisters while more are veiling the paintings.

‘I don't see why it looks better with these rags everywhere,' says Hedley. ‘What I wanted—'

‘Well, it would have been better if we had loads of fake fur, but this is all we could find. I like it. Hello, Laura.' Tamsin smiles; Laura kisses her and gives her the present Dolly chose for her, muttering to Hedley, ‘Well, she seems very cheerful. This is obviously just what was needed.'

‘Cool, thank you.' Tamsin strips off her top and wriggles into the T-shirt in a flash.

Hedley sighs. ‘Well, you should have seen her earlier,' he complains. ‘I gave her an umbrella and a suitcase as her present and she said was I trying to say something.'

Tamsin is prancing about the hall in delight. ‘Look, Hedley! Look what it says. I'm going to wear it tonight! It's totally brilliant' She turns round and poses. Please Can You Hold My Drink While I Snog Your Boyfriend is emblazoned on her chest.

‘Oh no,' says Hedley faintly.

Laura and Hedley spend the evening in the kitchen, and as promised, do not go anywhere near the hall, no matter how loud the thuds and shrieks become. Hedley fidgets and coughs, paces up and down, and when Fred comes in, red-faced and panting for a glass of water, he pounces on him.

‘What's happening? Is everything all right? What have they broken?'

Fred wrinkles his nose to express disbelief at his uncle's approach.

‘Nothing's happening and nothing's broken,' he says in longsuffering tones. ‘You should go to bed, or just chill out, Uncle Hedley.'

Laura laughs. ‘Don't worry, Hedley, just think of the teenage parties we used to have.'

‘I am,' replies Hedley in a doomladen voice.

To cheer him up and noticing an opportunity to
bring Guy into the conversation, Laura remarks, ‘I don't think we were so bad. You and Guy were always the drivers so you couldn't be.'

‘You mean
I
was always the driver. You and Guy were usually holding hands in the back of the car,' says Hedley. This is not at all what Laura wanted to reminisce about in front of Fred, but Fred grins as he fills his glass with water again and looks at her enquiringly.

‘Did you actually go out with someone?' he says, astonishment in every syllable.

‘Yes, of course I did. It's not unusual, you know,' says Laura, embarrassment making her brusque.

‘Was he a punk?'

‘NO, he was perfectly normal. He's a farmer now – actually he was then too. Hedley knows him.' Laura is surprised to find herself flushing.

‘You've gone pink, Mum,' says Fred. ‘I can't wait to tell Dolly,' and with a sly grin he heads back to the party.

Wednesday is the ‘Free Ads' day. Laura remembers this with some pleasure on her way back from dropping Dolly and Fred at school. Good, she can go home and drink tea and read section 178, the ‘Dogs Offered' column, and no one will know because Inigo is still in New York and the children won't be home until four o'clock. On the way to buy the ‘Free Ads', Laura runs through the list of things she should feel guilty about. This is a daily ritual, sometimes she focuses on one subject and wrestles with it. It can be anything from Fred's cough to her own consumption of a slab of cake in the coffee shop on the way to the studio, or it can be an unanswered telephone call. These are mounting over the
Paper in the Park
show. Very shaming, something must be done. Laura lets herself into the house with her newspaper. Sometimes she simply reviews the list of things she feels guilty about, running through it with no hope of doing anything about any of it,
but on other occasions she makes a plan of action and actually deals with the items one by one. Today, though, she has no room for feeling guilty about anything except having Guy's telephone number. Getting it from Hedley's desk at the weekend was simple, and made the horror of clearing up three piles of teenager sick just about bearable. She has not yet tried to use the number, however. To be honest, she is a little nervous that Celia might answer, and even though she only wants to know about fruit nets, Laura absolutely does not want to speak to Celia. How would she describe herself to Guy's wife? Would it be upsetting to Celia if she said she was an old friend or Hedley's sister or could she just be Laura Sale? None of it feels right to Laura. So she doesn't ring.