Her Living Image (21 page)

“I’ll just give you a lift with these pots before we go.”

“Oh no, it’s all right Mum, leave them. I’ll do them later, it won’t take long.”

“Well at least I’ll get them into the kitchen for you, I can’t leave you with all this mess, can I Chrissy?”

Christopher didn’t reply, sensibly enough, thought Alan, and he listened to the clink of china and cutlery as the two women cleared the coffee cups and last few lunch things.

“It is nice,” Meg was saying, “to sit out here. Like being on holiday, isn’t it? It makes a lovely change, it’s so nice and private here. You couldn’t eat
outside on our street, you’d have all the neighbours counting the peas on your fork. . . .”

Her voice and the rattle of pots faded away into the house, and he heard, close to, Annie’s uncontrolled chortle as she approached him with some wicked intent. He could hear her
becoming still next to him, trying to decide how best to attack, and he grinned in readiness. Then she flung herself on to his stomach, squealing with delight, and he began to tickle her.

At last Meg and Arthur took their leave. Carolyn was just sitting down again, with her “thanks-for-putting-up-with-them-and-that-wasn’t-too-bad-was-it?” smile, when the
doorbell rang. Alan raised his eyebrows and smiled at her. “What’ve they forgotten? Knitting needle? Spectacles? False teeth?”

“Alan!” She indicated Chris with a quick nod of the head, and ran up the garden to the house. He hoped they wouldn’t come back outside. It would be pleasant to lie and chat
now, for a quiet half-hour or so, while the shadows lengthened over the lawn. He felt completely lazy and relaxed.

But then the sound of different voices came to his ears, and Carolyn called him from the french windows. “Alan! Al–an! Come on out,” he heard her say, “would you like
a drink? Would you like a cup of tea, or something cold?” She stepped into the garden uncertainly, followed by two tall people. Mike and Sarah, he recognized suddenly. Mike and Sarah from the
office. He jumped to his feet.

“What a nice surprise!” he cried, hurrying towards them.

Mike was laughing embarrassedly. ‘Thought we’d look you up – in your little Garden of Eden – hope we’re not intruding.”

“Of course not. Carolyn, let me introduce Sarah – and Mike. Mike’s the other half of my office, yes? You’ve heard me talk about him.” Mike pulled a face.
“And Sarah, well, Sarah has an office all to herself.”

Sarah smiled charmingly at Carolyn. “Just shows you how much more important I am than them, doesn’t it?” she laughed.

“Come and sit down – come and sit down.” Alan ushered them down towards the table. He was surprised and rather flattered that they’d called. When he had found out
that Mike lived in a flat he’d invited him to come and enjoy their garden any time, but without really expecting to see him. He was intrigued that Sarah was with Mike. He’d suspected
them of having an affair for a while , but they had both kept their tracks well covered. Sarah, he seemed to remember, was married. After the routine admiration of children, garden, and so on, they
began to chat about the office.

Carolyn came out and served them tea and cake. When they all had what they needed she turned her attention to Annie. “D’you want to wee, Annie-pod? Come here –”
She felt the little girl’s knickers. “Annie! Why didn’t you ask me for the potty? Eh? Come on, leaky sieve, let’s go and find some clean ones.” She led her into the
house. It wasn’t surprising, Carolyn thought, with all this coming and going. On the whole she was pleased with Annie’s progress on the potty, she seemed to have got the hang of it much
earlier than Christopher had.

Annie trotted obediently beside her, chanting to herself, “Wanta-wee wanta-wee wanta-wee,” in a sing-song voice. Carolyn put her on the pot in the downstairs toilet, and laughed
at her.

“Come on then, Miss Wanta-wee, get on with it.”

“Mummy wee,” demanded Annie imperiously, and Carolyn obliged her, listening for Annie’s echoing tinkle in the pot. It never failed.

“Good girl – who’s Mummy’s best girl?” She emptied the pot and gave Annie a hug. It was all so much easier, somehow, than it had been with Christopher. Annie
was so solid and content, she was like a shiny red apple. Carolyn never experienced the same sort of anguished worry about her as she had with Chris. Annie buried her face in Carolyn’s
shoulder. She was tired, Carolyn reflected, she’d missed her sleep that morning because of Mum and Dad. “Early bed for you tonight, my lady.” How warm and soft she was – and
heavy too! Leaning their combined weight against the wall at the top of the stairs for a moment, Carolyn felt she would be content to stay there always.

I must go down, she thought, and meet Alan’s friends. She took a pair of pants from Annie’s drawer and hurried downstairs. Christopher was coming through the dining room, drawing
book dangling from his hand.

“What’s the matter Chrissy?”

“Nothing,” he said despondently, and threw the book on the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s up, Mr Moody?”

“I’m – sick – of – drawing,” he said. The way he paused between words made her smile, it made his speech seem foreign, an inadequate translation of his
thoughts. She mimicked him with an Italian accent which always made him laugh.

“Ees–a – seek–a – of–a – drawing, ah? What shall we do?”

He wrapped his arms around her knees, grinning up at her. “Can we watch telly?”

“Can we watch telly please?” she said automatically, glancing out through the windows at Alan. They seemed to be deep in conversation.

“Pease! Pease!” crowed Annie. For Annie, “please” was a magic password, whose sure prospective effectiveness overwhelmed her with delight. As she said it she grinned
from ear to ear, physically contorted by her joy into a sort of bow, arms out stiff behind her like someone about to fly. Carolyn laughed. “All right, all right. I’ll turn it on for
you. But no touching the knobs, do you understand?” She left them side by side on the sofa, intent on a cartoon, and hurried out to the garden.

“Ah! At last,” Alan smiled at her. “Come and drink your tea, lass, it’ll be stone cold.”

Carolyn smiled and nodded to them, sitting down quickly.

“Johnson’s another one with his nose in the trough,” said the woman, who was talking to Alan. “Haven’t you noticed how often he takes his dear friend Councillor
Waverly out to lunch?”

Alan smiled and shook his head. “I’m naïve, aren’t I?” he said. “Is it the same with all the council contracts we get?”

“Damn near,” said the man. “Waverly’s chairman of Housing and Benson’s chairman of Policy and Resources; and Benson’s like this –” he made an
expressive gesture
“– with Fielding. The whole thing’s rank, once you get down to details –” he laughed, “but I’m not selling the story until
I’ve got a job with another firm.” He turned to Carolyn. “The corruption goes from top to bottom, like a cheese, you know. Did you know what a nasty business your husband’s
got himself into?”

Carolyn smiled, sipping at her tea and putting it down because it was, in fact, cold. “I thought he was designing better places for people to live.”

They laughed, although she had not meant it as a joke.

“Are you going away on holiday this year?” the woman asked her.

Carolyn was aware that the woman was making conversation with her. She stood up.

“Yes, we’re going to St Davids. I’m just going to add some hot water to this tea.” She made her escape from the table, boiled the kettle and looked in on the
children. When she returned with her teapot, Alan waved it aside.

“Why not have a proper drink?” he asked the visitors. “Scotch? Gin and tonic? It’s nearly six.” He consulted his watch. “In fact, why don’t you stay
to eat, if you’re at a loose end? I don’t know what there is but I’m sure we can rustle something up –” He looked at Carolyn.

“Yes – oh yes, why don’t you stay?” she said.

They demurred politely, but finally succumbed to Alan’s persuasion. Carolyn stood by the table, sipping her new tea and wondering what she could cook. The conversation
continued.

“It’s not the worst place to work, by any means,” said the woman. “Look at Jays – I’m amazed by what they get away with there. You know they did the plans
for that community college?”

“Sedgemoor?” asked Alan.

“Yes. And now the roof’s leaking so badly they’ve had to close the gym completely.”

“Yes,” said the man. “But the council’s so embarrassed about that one that they’re just leaving them to put it right as quietly as they can. Everyone knows it
should never have been passed. It’s the most terrible design I’ve ever seen.”

“Some of these councillors are so thick!” said the woman. She turned to Carolyn with a laugh. “Politics, politics, politics – we seem to end up there every time,
don’t we?”

Carolyn smiled quickly. “I – I – don’t pay much attention to politics, I’m afraid,” she said. “What would you like to drink?”

“It’s all right, Carolyn, I’ll get them in a minute.”

As if Alan had excused her, Carolyn made her way to the house. What could they eat? The children were watching TV peacefully, but Annie saw her as she bobbed her head around the door, gave a
pleased gurgle and started to scramble down.

“No Annie, stay there love, stay with Chrissy. Mummy’s got to do some cooking.”

They had had a big Sunday lunch, with Mum and Dad being there. She hadn’t planned to cook tonight. She opened the fridge and stared inside. There was plenty of salad stuff at least, her
father had brought a lot with him. But there’s no meat, she thought, and started to unwrap the various packages which she already knew contained cheese, a couple of kippers, some liver
pâté. No, there was no meat. Eggs. Yes, there were plenty of eggs. Omelette? Quiche? Soufflé. She was pleased to have remembered it. It was still half a game, this cooking
business – learning to make the sort of food they had when they went out to dinner. For years they had eaten the shepherd’s pie, cauliflower cheese and Lancashire hot-pot that she had
learned from her mother. Alan, who liked buying food, occasionally bought things which she didn’t know what to do with (aubergines had stumped her completely) but on the whole he seemed
content with his diet. It was when they started being invited out for dinner, or going to restaurants for special occasions, that she remembered he knew about different kinds of food. She made coq
au vin on his birthday, painstakingly following a recipe (a thing she’d not done since basic cookery lessons at school) and he was so pleased he bought her a Cordon Bleu cookbook. Sometimes
her common sense still told her it was nothing but an invention for dirtying three times as many dishes, this business of frying and parboiling, and moving things from plate to plate. But the
results were good; people praised her cooking lavishly, and she began to take a pride in doing it well.

She looked up cheese soufflé. It took longer to cook than she had expected. She had to wash up the lunch things before she could get started. Then she put the salad greens to soak.
There was only half a loaf left. Oh, too bad, she decided to cook some new potatoes and they could take them or leave them. Alan would eat them, anyway. She started to grate the cheese. Annie came
into the kitchen.

“I dough lak cartoo!” she announced. Carolyn stopped and stared at her.

“Say that again, Annie. What did you say?”

“I dough lak cartoo!”

“Well! Who’s a clever creature, eh? You don’t like the cartoon –” She abandoned the cheese and picked Annie up, laughing. It was the first complete sentence
Annie had said. Carolyn went into the sitting room.

“Chrissy – Chrissy, did you tell Annie this? Listen –”

Obligingly, Annie repeated her triumph. Christopher shook his head and returned his attention to the box. Back in the kitchen, Carolyn gave Annie a saucer of currants to eat (she ate them so
beautifully, one by one, held painstakingly pincered between thumb and index finger, her other fingers cocked like a tea-sipping lady) and carried on with the food. She was stirring milk into the
roux over a low heat when Annie finished her currants and announced, “Wanta-wee, wanta-wee.”

“Oh good God, child, you choose your times don’t you –”

“Wanta-wee , wanta–”

Carolyn turned off the gas. She still had half the milk to add. It would go lumpy. She hurried Annie to the toilet, but once there Annie didn’t seem to want to do anything but giggle at
her. After coaxing her and turning on suggestive taps, Carolyn brought the pot back into the kitchen and left Annie knickerless. “Sit on the pot if you want to wee, all right
Annie?”

The sauce was thin with a layer of sediment over the bottom of the pan. She stirred it vigorously, but it remained ominously thick in places, as if it would go into lumps as soon as it were
heated. Sighing, she held the pan under the tap and rinsed it out. She melted another lump of butter and stirred in the flour. Now the milk
–

“Wanta-wee!”

“Then sit on the pot now – go on!”

Annie weed down her leg and started to wipe it up with her hands.

“Annie! No! Stop it now! Chris – Chrissy!” She wouldn’t leave the sauce again. Christopher appeared, looking put upon. “Please love, be a good boy, just wipe
Annie’s hands for her on that flannel and take her to watch telly, will you? I’m trying to cook something.”

Chris wiped Annie in a surly, businesslike manner, and dragged her from the kitchen. They left two trails of wet footprints.

Alan appeared in the doorway. “Hello, what’s going on?”