Hens Dancing (28 page)

Above swelling, rolling conversation, music swirls across the room. And David is pulling me to my feet, bowing and saying, ‘Shall we dance?' Twirling, spinning, rock 'n' roll. As usual, Desmond is hurling his partner about the room. Luckily Minna only weighs about as much as a bunch of flowers, or he'd have a hernia. Am pleased I wore my floating tulip-red skirt and not the chic black trousers I had planned for a sophisticated and grown-up look. That idea was scuppered by The Beauty
before we left home; ever the fashion leader, she clearly thought they were wrong for a party and dropped them into the bath, choosing a moment when I was concentrating on my make-up.

January 1st

It is dawn. Haven't gone to bed. Am delighted to be so advanced. Desmond, Minna, The Gnome, my mother and David are all still up too. Am feeling expansive and adoring. Adore them all. We toast the silver light of next year with sloe vodka. Then we toast Rags's puppies. David cannot stop laughing as my mother tells the story of all the Christmas Eve miracles. I smoke my twentieth cigarette of the night. Delicious. I haven't done anything this daring since before I had children.

January 2nd

Still hung-over. Thank God the boys aren't back until tomorrow. Light the fire, put on bedsocks and watch Marilyn Monroe films all afternoon with The Beauty and Minna. We eat a whole tin of Quality Street. David has
taken Desmond to a football match. How wholesome men are.

January 4th

Dull grey sky and iron cold set in two days ago, and with no wind, or any form of weather at all. Can see no end to it. All the children are ill, chalk-faced with exhaustion and coughing like seasoned smokers. I can hardly do my jeans up, and can only wear one skirt with an elasticated waist because every other item of clothing is too tight. Also have a spot on my chin. It is the only totem of youth on a face otherwise careworn, dissipated and wrinkled. Too cold to try a face pack, so must put up with scaly, sallow skin and pensioner looks until the sun shines. Must rouse myself from torpor and try to persuade the children to write their thank-you letters. Wonder if I can still fake their handwriting? It would be so much easier to do it for them and skip the inevitable battle.

January 7th

Fatness peaks this morning, as I try to make myself respectable for first day of term and initial appearance in the school car park. Carefully ironed navy pinstripe trousers slide on with no trouble, although I do have to hold my breath to do them up. The effect is pleasing and businesslike until stooping over The Beauty to wedge her into her shoes.
Ping.
The button flies across the room, and my midriff, caught unawares, sags like a hammock. Can't find any safety pins, or a belt, so tie Rag's lead around the waist and untuck my shirt so it doesn't show. Why am I bothering? Who will care what I look like?

‘Mum, Holly's pooed by the Aga and I trod in it.'

Felix limps into the hall, waving a shoe to which a chipolata of puppy shit is attached. Have to turn my face to the wall and force myself to take deep breaths to avert temper overflow.

School car park teems with clean cars and mothers who have had time to put make-up on and who have evidently been to health farms and also the Caribbean during the holidays. Trisha, mother of Peregrine, rushes over to me.

‘Hello, Venetia, such a shame not to see you at Bronwyn's coffee morning. I was sure you'd be there, being so local. Did you forget?'

She blinks a hedge of emerald mascara at me and smiles.

‘I wasn't asked,' I reply, hoping to sound disdainful and yet polite. She carries on blithely.

‘It was such a hoot. She's having another one next week, and someone is coming to show us all some jewellery. Why don't you come, Venetia, it would do you good to get out a bit. I'll see if I can persuade Bronwyn to invite you, shall I? I'm sure one more wouldn't make much difference.'

God, how I loathe her. To my horror, I hear myself saying, ‘Yes, that would be such fun, please do.'

January 8th

To Norwich, to purchase fun items in the sales and to find Felix some birthday presents. Wish I had been more organised with family planning and had given birth to him some other time, rather than just after Christmas when everyone is broke and it is difficult to muster energy for making more jellies. The sales are horrible, thronged people with sharp-edged bags barge into us and make The Beauty cry. Am about to brave the toy shop before lunch, in order to purchase Felix yet more bits of plastic to clog up the vacuum cleaner, when The Beauty squeals,
‘Oooh, look!' and points, smiling across the crowd. The object of her attentions is tall and wears a plaid jacket and sheepskin-lined hat. Standing in front of the jewellery shop window is David. Amazing that The Beauty identified him, as his face is almost invisible between collar and hat, and there are far too many people milling about on the pavement.

‘Venetia, what a surprise. This is hell, isn't it? Let's go and have some lunch. I owe you a treat as two of those puppies of yours seem to be Digger's. I dropped in and had a look at them this morning, but of course you were out. Here, I suppose.'

He swings The Beauty up onto his shoulders and leads me through a courtyard entrance I had never noticed before and into a restaurant. Enveloped in warmth and quiet, my senses invaded only by the murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses and the aroma of delicious food, I sigh with huge relief.

‘What a treat. Will they mind The Beauty?'

‘No, not at all. A friend of mine runs this place and he's got two kids of his own about her age. And I know that today's special is going to be fantastic – a tip from the chef.'

How wonderful: I don't even need to think about what to have. All decisions removed, my idea of bliss.

‘Davey, Davey, give me your answer do,' sings The Beauty, nestling up to David. She thinks this song is his
theme tune, to be sung whenever he appears, as if he is a Teletubby or similar. David sits her on his knee and posts bread into her mouth. She lolls against him, chewing dreamily for a few seconds, then, revived, sits up straight and bounces. Sip my wine and watch them, enjoying the picture they make, and happy not to have the ceaselessly moving Beauty on my knee for once.

Delicious lunch of lemon risotto and crunchy vegetables; hardly fattening at all. In fact quite possibly a Hay Diet lunch. So cheered by this thought that I have orange sorbet for pudding. A business lunch, as well as being slimming, as David is going to build a bunk bed for The Beauty and a safety zone for the puppies in the back of the hall. Am not sure if this is what he wants to be doing for the next few weeks, but when he hesitates, I just remind him that Digger's children need peace and space to grow up in. He agrees with alacrity.

‘Of course they do. I'll just sort out a few things and be along next week.'

David's presence and the consumption of a bottle of Rioja over lunch eases the birthday shopping ordeal. We find a very excellent construction kit for Felix, with real cement and bricks. The Beauty buys a six-pack of trolls for him, and David chooses a projector with torch and clock. It comes in a complicated nylon suit and is for camping, I think. It is the kind of present I hate. I cannot make head or tail of its instructions, and become irritated.

‘What's the point of giving him something no normal person can open?' I demand, just resisting to urge to stamp my foot. Am sure David is laughing at me, although there is not a quiver in his voice as he replies.

‘Don't worry. I'll come and set it up with Felix. It really is very simple, you know. But you won't have to have anything to do with it at all.'

He can also help Felix build the little brick house. One look at the instructions, which include a section called, ‘How to make floor plans to scale', has convinced me that I will have to retrain as an architect, or one of the three little pigs, to understand it. What a relief that The Beauty spotted David today.

January 10th

Cell-block-style cement skies and non-weather have given way to swirling sleet and hail. Cobwebs swing and flutter in the house, making sure that we cannot forget the draughts for a moment. I have taken to wearing three scarves, one around my waist, another to protect my neck and a third to keep my bottom warm. Odd how cold a bottom can get. I thought fat was supposed to insulate. Bronwyn telephones.

‘I am sorry, Venetia, next week we simply haven't the
space for anyone else. But would you be interested in setting up your own Cabochon coffee mornings?'

‘No. I'd rather die.' Oops. Not very graceful. Minus fifty brownie points, and Felix will be furious if he finds out. Take my mind off it with virtuous behaviour. Order packets of seeds from catalogue with no pictures and only Latin names. Jolly pleased with myself for coping with it. Cushion of smug deflates, however, when I add up the total and find I have spent £147. Try editing, but how can I get rid of any of these precious gems? My favourite is
Papaver somniferum,
Hen and Chickens, described thus in the catalogue.

Flower-arrangers won't be able to wait to get their hands on this unusual strain of poppy, with its large, pale lilac flowers and curious seed-pod arrangement in which the central pod has arising from its base several little seed pods, giving the impression of a mother hen surrounded by her brood of chickens. The pods are very decorative when dyed and dried.

In fact, shall order two packets of this one, and create unique gifts for all next Christmas. Very pleased to have thought ahead for once.

January 14th

Felix is eight today. Lovely cosy breakfast with pancakes and chocolate topping is marred by frightful weather invading kitchen through the glazing bars. Torrents of icy water woosh onto the window sill, causing Felix's cards to curl up at the bottom. Roll up tea towels and balance them on window frames, then telephone David and ask him to bring a putty syringe when he comes and hope he is impressed with my expert knowledge. He says he is not coming until next week. This puts me in a filthy temper. Have to go outside and feed hens to recover and remind myself it is Felix's day.

Felix is much more excited by the troll six-pack and a PlayStation game given to him by Giles, than he is by my construction kit. Try not to mind, and get on with cake, which is to be in the shape of an Orc Chieftain and is to be the centrepiece of the party tea table tomorrow. Felix has chosen to throw a full-scale children's party, deeming that to have a couple of friends for the cinema is useless.

‘I would hardly get any presents, Mum,' he explains, outraged that I can have made such a stupid suggestion.

January 15th

Arctic conditions prevail, and none of the ten children invited to the party has shut a single door since they arrived. Rather, they have opened them all, and a few windows, and are engaged in tramping quantities of mud and snow through the house. My mother and The Beauty are gathering objects to place on a tray for a memory game. The Beauty selects a lump of coal and a lavatory brush before tottering outside to join in the game of British Bulldogs on the lawn. My mother peels a lychee and adds it to the treasures on the tray, which include a scouring pad, a silver sugar shaker and a Boglin.

Grass-stained and flushed, the children troop inside as dark falls and more rain sets in. Lucille, a nasty piece of work from Felix's class, regards the tray with disgust.

‘What horrible things,' she pipes. ‘You have a really weird house, Felix.'

My mother grabs his wrist to prevent him from punching her, and winks.

‘Lucille. You seem to know a lot,' says my mother in her best phoney-granny voice. ‘Shut your eyes and let's see if you can guess what I am putting into your hand.'

Lucille adores the spotlight, and a mimsy smile plays around her lips as she obeys. My mother drops the lychee into her hand. Lucille freaks, and dashes out of the room
yelling. My mother watches her go, her brows arched in surprise, then turns to Felix.

‘Oh, dear,' she says, ‘listen to Lucille's squeals.'

January 17th

Frozen mud and freeze-dried grass is the garden look at the moment, but the dreariness is broken on the edge of the wood, where a wintersweet is in full, fragrant flower. Go down there and close my eyes, inhaling deeply to absorb essence of vanilla and jasmine and wallflower all mixed together to make the unforgettable fragrance of wintersweet. Cut an armful and bring it into the hall, where the fragile flowers, like stars on black twigs, waft their scent through the house.

January 18th

Cannot believe that we are still only halfway through January. Am so fed up with winter that I went on a sunbed today while Vivienne took The Beauty swimming. Bliss to lie naked in the heat, and pretend to be in the Seychelles rather than Cromer Fitness Centre. Freckly
afterwards, but not brown. Booked another straight away, then cancelled it for fear of becoming addicted and getting skin cancer.

January 20th

House almost uninhabitable now as David has finally started building Camelot-sized dwelling for the puppies. Far from keeping The Beauty out, he is tailoring it to her requirements. The twin turrets are her boudoir and kitchen, safe places for stashing jewels stolen from my dressing table and biscuits from the larder, as no one over three feet tall can get in. The puppies have a throne room in the castle keep, and The Beauty likes to crawl in and raise the drawbridge in order to spend quality time with them. The whole construction is larger than my bedroom, and sprawls through from the utility room into the hall and kitchen. Cannot see why David needs to have Smalls and his other henchmen here. All they do is make cups of tea and leave doors open.

January 21st

Retreat to bed for the afternoon to escape frenzied sawing and hammering and cup-of-tea-making. Force The Beauty to have a rest, and keep her quiet with a packet of raisins and another of Jelly Tots. Bed is splendid. Electric blanket, lots of pillows and the last pages of
Anna Karenina.
Am weeping over Anna's tragic destiny and comforting myself at the same time by stuffing Smarties into my mouth, when there is a knock on the door. Hide the Smarties, but cannot get out of bed as have taken off trousers, so cannot pretend to be hard at work, dusting or folding clothes. Opt for lying down flat, as if ill.