Lifesaver (29 page)

‘Testing, testing, one-two-three,’ she shouted into the mike, tapping it vigorously. ‘Good evening, ladies and gentleman, y’all! I’m Wiltshire’s Own Dolly! Let’s have a
yee-hah
, shall we?’

She was greeted with a perplexed silence in the restaurant, and we all looked at each another, puzzled, until she pushed ‘play’ on the boombox and began to sing ‘D-I-V-O-R-C-E’ along to a backing track, at which point we all, including the dour Pamela, collapsed into less-than discreet gales of laughter.

‘She’s meant to be Dolly Parton?’

‘Surely not. She looks nothing like her!’

‘Look, her bra’s more stuffed on one side than the other!’ This came from Mitch, who apparently made it his business to examine every female bust with which he came into eye-contact. But he was right. The chest of Wiltshire’s Own Dolly was clearly as flat as the tundra - she resembled a string bean with tissues in its bra. I had never seen anybody less like Dolly Parton in my entire life.

Still, her hearty, if flat, singing did liven up the evening. With the exit of Margie and Ralph, and the ingestion of more bottles of wine, our table became more sociable too, and I began to enjoy myself. Several times, as I regaled everybody with funny acting stories or jokes (I had the undesirable habit of telling terrible jokes when I’d had a few drinks) I caught Adam looking at me and smiling; and every time I made him laugh, I felt a deep flush of pleasure.

When Dolly finished her set, and we finished our desserts - watery tiramisu for me, Pamela and Adam, and great doorstop wedges of chocolate brownie for the others - there was a moment’s lull as we sat back in our chairs, full of carbohydrates and alcohol. A siren wailed, and blue lights flashed briefly through the window as the police car sped past.

‘A typical Saturday night in Gillingsbury, chucking out time at the pubs,’ said Adam reflectively. ‘Max has got a total phobia about police cars at the moment. He’ll either grow up to be a model citizen, or he’ll be in Borstal by the time he’s fourteen.’

‘Why?’ I asked, elbows on the table, immediately fascinated.

‘Oh, I’m sure it won’t last. It’s my fault—I must have said at some point that if he didn’t behave then the police would come and get him, although I don’t even remember it. But he and his friend Christopher got into a fight at school last week—it seems that some older boys egged them on to start punching each other—and they all got told off by the teacher. He came home crying, saying that the police were going to arrest him and put him in prison. He was in a terrible state. He wouldn’t let me answer the phone in case it was the police, and he turned white every time he heard a siren outside.’

‘Oh poor Max,’ chorussed Serena, Pamela and I. Pamela added ‘poor, poor Max,’ at least three times for emphasis.

Somebody’s mobile phone rang. ‘That’s mine,’ Serena said reluctantly, delving into the cavernous handbag hanging off the back of her chair. ‘Hello? Oh. Right. Bother. What, everywhere? Has she got a temperature? All right then. I won’t be long. Bye.’ She flung the phone back in the bag, looking extremely annoyed.

‘It’s Petra, my youngest. She’s been sick all over her bed, apparently. I’m going to have to go home. Perish the thought that Leo might clean up a bit of vomit without dragging me home to do it, but still, that’s men for you.’

‘Yeah, man, I think I’m gonna call it a night too,’ said Mitch. ‘I’ve got some sensii to smoke. If anyone would care to join me back at mine, I’m happy to share the pipe?’

‘No thanks, Mitch,’ we chanted, as one. Great, I thought. That’s everyone sorted, except Pamela the Limpet. Mitch and Serena fiddled with banknotes and change, and after an excessive amount of fussing from Serena, eventually left. Serena kissed Adam with great enthusiasm on both cheeks, and merely nodded at me. It was true to say that I hadn’t cemented any new friendships that night—unless things with Adam picked up.

‘Did you know,’ said Pamela, once they were gone, ‘that your nose and your ears never stop growing? I read it in a magazine. They never stop growing. Your nose and ears. They keep growing—‘

‘Really?’ said Adam, sounding inordinately interested and rubbing his own earlobes. But when Pamela turned away to try and summon someone to bring us our bill, he’d winked at me. I blushed with pleasure, one small wink sending my hopes and spirits soaring higher than they’d been all day. That split second’s movement of Adam’s eyelid had contained so much information. It told me there was no way there was anything going on between him and Pamela, besides Pamela’s infatuation. It told me to hang on, he wanted to get the chance to talk to me alone, and we were nearly there. It told me that he did find me attractive, and that he was sorry we hadn’t spoken all evening.

‘Where do you live, Anna?’ Pamela asked. It was the first direct question she’d put to me.

‘Wealton,’ I said, knowing what was coming.

‘And you’re clearly not driving,’ she said, staring pointedly at my empty wineglass. ‘Taxis get awfully booked up on a Saturday night. If you’re not driving, you’ll want to order a taxi now, otherwise you’ll be waiting for ages. They get very booked up.’

‘How are you getting home, Pamela?’ asked Adam, taking the bill from the waiter’s outstretched hand.

‘I’ve got the car outside. I’d offer you a lift, Anna, but I live in the opposite direction. I could drop you off on my way home though, Adam.’ Slam-dunk, game, set and match to Pamela, I thought. Adam was too nice to turn her down. Then she’d try and finagle a coffee from him, and then before you knew it she’d be up there, tucking Max in and cooing over him, while I’d have to sit here on my own enduring Wiltshire’s Own Dolly and her Kleenex-stuffed front. I wondered how long Pamela had been in love with Adam. And whether he knew. And whether anything had ever happened between them. Surely not. It was more likely that
Serena
and Adam had engaged in a spot of extra-curricular tessellation. She might have been annoying, but she was at least attractive. And perhaps I only found her annoying because she liked Adam.

‘Thanks, Pamela, that would be great,’ he said, and my heart plummeted. What a waste of an evening. What a waste of a holiday! And I was no nearer to Max.

‘Can I suggest that you drop Anna off at mine, if she’s going to have to wait ages for a cab? I don’t like to think of her waiting here, or at a cab rank.’

I shot him a grateful look, hopes raised again.

‘Of course,’ said Pamela through gritted teeth.

Adam studied the bill and then announced the amount we owed. Pamela pointed out that she’d only had one glass of wine and so shouldn’t pay as much. So I put in an extra ten pounds, because I had been drinking. Even so, I noticed that the money everybody else had left was hopelessly insufficient, and that Adam ended up paying at least fifty pounds extra to cover the shortfall. I hoped he was going to let the others know later that there had been a deficit, but somehow I knew he wouldn’t.

Wiltshire’s Own Dolly, who’d been sitting at the bar knocking back fluorescent cocktails during her break, took the stage for her second set. ‘Hello again, Gillingsbury!’ she said, with considerably more vigour than before. Her wig had slipped slightly, and her lipstick was smudged. ‘This is one y’all should know!’ She fiddled with her boombox, and the opening chords of ‘Nine to Five’ resounded around the almost-empty restaurant.

‘I believe that’s our cue to leave,’ said Adam, pushing back his chair. We trooped past the makeshift stage, to the obvious displeasure of Dolly, and out of the door. It was a relief to be out in the cooled down night air. I noticed that the fresh air in Gillingsbury was much fresher than at home, where London loomed on the horizon in a yellowy halogen fug of emissions and city breath. I could tell I was in the country here. When I looked up, all I could see were constellations in velvety blackness.

The three of us set off towards Pamela’s car, when running footsteps came up behind us. We turned in surprise to see a tall figure in a wonky blonde wig teetering towards us, still singing into a cordless microphone. Out of range of the backing track her voice, a cappella, sounded horrendous, like nails down a blackboard. ‘These folks are leaving already?’ she said into the mike, mid-verse. ‘You can’t go, honey’—she stroked Adam’s cheek and even he, the politest man I knew, recoiled—‘you’re far too cute. Why don’t y’all stay? A girl needs an audience…
Nine to five, what a way to make a livin’
…

Unable to quite believe that we were being pursued along the pavement by a six foot, singing, Dolly Parton impersonator, all three of us - even the rotund Pamela - looked incredulously at one another and then, without a word, made a run for it, leaving Dolly to shimmy with bravado back to the disinterested waiters and tired barman.

Pamela’s car was a superannuated beige Beetle whose floor was littered with petrol receipts and sweet wrappers. She pulled into Adam’s road, switched off the engine, and for a moment we all seemed to sit and gaze out at his house. It looked quite different at night, a sleepy stillness papering over its daytime cracks and shabbiness, and I felt a wave of gratitude that I was back there again. Perhaps Max would wake up, and I could give him hot milk and read him a story? I wondered how much noise I’d have to make downstairs before he’d stir, and had a fleetingly amusing mental picture of myself stomping around as hard as I could, talking at the top of my voice and dropping things—although then Adam would be more likely to turf me out than invite me to settle his son back to sleep.

‘Thank you so much, Pamela. See you at college on Monday,’ Adam said, opening the passenger door. A windscreen scraper fell out, although it must have been at least eight months since frost had caramelized any swirls on Pamela’s car windows.

‘You’re welcome,’ replied Pamela, in such a flat, depressed voice that I felt really sorry for her. Unrequited love was a killer. Perhaps she too had thought that tonight would be the night. I looked over the front seat at the back of her dark lank head and thought how lonely she must be.

‘Yes - thanks, Pamela. I really appreciate the lift,’ I said, trying to make sure there were no notes of triumph in my voice. ‘Have a lovely weekend - what’s left of it. I’ll be in touch about getting my name on the reserve list for an art class.’

‘Good night,’ she said, not even turning her head to acknowledge my departure. Adam picked the ice scraper out of the gutter, replaced it on the back seat, and leaned over to kiss Pamela gently on the cheek. The slam of our two doors resounded around the quiet street, and she drove off. I saw her peer suspiciously at us in the rear view mirror. Poor Pamela.

‘Is Wilf single?’ I said as we crossed the road, having made a mental connection between Poor Pamela and Poor Wilf.

‘Who?’

‘Wilf. The receptionist at your college.’

‘Oh, Wilf, of course. Um. I think so, yes.’

‘You should do some matchmaking, then. He and Pamela would be ideal for each other, don’t you think?’

Adam laughed, fishing for his key in the front pocket of his jeans. ‘Well, perhaps. Although I think they’re both pretty set in their ways.’

‘How long has Pamela been in love with you?’

He opened the door, and there was a delicious sense of anticipation as we stood close together in the small dark hallway. Then Adam clicked on the light switch, and a smash of yellow destroyed the moment. He looked suddenly grave, as though he’d turned off his laugh as the light went on.

‘Is it that obvious?’

I nodded. He opened the door into the living-room, and mouthed at me,
I’ll tell you about it later.

A teenage boy slouched at one end of the sofa, and a girl sat bolt upright at the other. The Indian throw between them had been hastily smoothed out, and they appeared to be watching with avid interest a Party Political Broadcast on television. The girl was very pretty, with long straight blonde hair and skinny legs in tight jeans, and the boy looked sullen and spotty, a typical teenager, swamped in a Slipknot sweatshirt.

‘Hello Mr. Ferris!’ gabbled the girl, pretending to look surprised. ‘I didn’t hear you come in, this is, um, Chris, he’s been keeping me company, I hope that’s OK. Max has been fine, not a peep out of him, did you have a nice evening?’

Adam frowned for a second, and then grinned. ‘Hello, Chris. Yes, thanks Stephanie. We had a very nice evening, didn’t we, Anna?’

‘Mm,’ I said. ‘Very interesting, anyway.’

Adam handed the girl fifteen pounds, and in about ten seconds’ flat the pair of them were gone, Stephanie with a series of ‘bye thank-you byes’ and Chris without a word.

‘She clearly likes the strong silent type,’ I said, after they’d shut the front door.

‘Lord alone knows what they were getting up to in here,’ said Adam, surveying the room for signs of debauchery. ‘But I suppose that bringing your boyfriend round is one of the perks of babysitting. And they didn’t look too
déshabillée
, did they?’

‘If I knew what that meant, I might be able to tell you,’ I said, flopping down into an armchair. ‘Is it rude?’

‘It means “undressed”.’

‘Oh, right. No, they didn’t.’ For some reason, the way he said ‘undressed’ sent a shiver through my abdomen. ‘So, tell me about Pamela.’

‘Want a drink first?’

‘Crikey, that bad, is it?’

‘No, not at all. I’m just being a good host, that’s all. Glass of white, or how about a little Scotch?’

‘Ooh, Scotch, please.’

He headed for the kitchen and I followed him.

‘It’s a bit tragic, really,’ he said, contemplating a bottle of Jim Beam he’d reached down from the top of a cabinet. ‘Most of the time we don’t mention it, but every now and again it flares up, usually at Christmas parties and so on. She’d had a bit of a crush on me for ages; baking me cakes and things. That had gone on since I started at the college, before Max was born. Seven or eight years ago. The baking used to drive my wife crazy—she felt it was like a criticism of her because she never cooked.’

‘Your wife never cooked?’ I was fascinated, and appalled. Poor Max.

‘Well, that’s beside the point, but no, rarely. Anyway, Pamela was brilliant when Max …when Max was ill. She came to visit him a lot, and helped me out massively. They’re still close. But I sort of felt—‘ he paused.