Ten Years On (16 page)

‘Great. I can’t wait to meet her.’

‘Becca, I hope you don’t mind, but I told her about Olly.’

I nod. ‘I’m glad you did. Sometimes it’s easier when I don’t have to explain.’

A tall slender woman strides towards the bar, carrying a stylish leather satchel over one shoulder.

Joe stands up, wraps his arms around her. ‘Hi, darling,’ he says. They kiss, before he introduces us.

She is one of the most striking women I have ever come across. She has black hair tied back with a leopard-print band, is wearing slim-fitting cropped trousers and high heels, but it’s those eyes I can’t stop looking at. They are a deep blue, the colour of sapphires.

‘How are you getting on? What’s Joe like as a boss?’ she asks, sitting down on one of the bar stools. Joe laughs.

‘Moody and bossy.’ I smile.

‘You’re fired,’ she points a finger at me, acting out Sir Alan on
The Apprentice
.

‘Peta loves Sir Alan,’ Joe says with affection.

‘You shared a house at Bristol, didn’t you? Joe mentioned you hadn’t seen one another for a while.’

‘That’s right.’

‘We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’ Joe looks at me intently. ‘Ten years, to be precise.’

20

Kitty is visiting for the weekend and tonight we are meeting Peta, Annie and Annie’s husband Richie, whom I haven’t yet met, in Maison Joe.

But before our night out we are braving John Lewis in Southampton. I did go into Mothercare a week ago, but the moment I walked in I panicked and left empty-handed in a semi-trance.

While I am driving, Kitty reads out Annie’s list as though it were a foreign language. ‘Nursing bras with easy … what? Hang on … access, I think, winter blankets, waterproof sheets, bottles, bibs, baby whats …’

‘Baby wipes.’

‘Sterilizing kit, changing mat, Moses basket (you can have mine – it’s in the attic) – car seat, this one’s the best …’ Kitty stops for breath and looks as if she’s
about to screw the list into a ball and chuck it out the window. ‘Oh please, you don’t need to buy nipple oil!’ I laugh as she turns to me and says, ‘This is going to cost a bomb! You need to win a premium bond.’

‘Haven’t got any.’

‘Oh. The Lottery then.’

‘Don’t play.’

‘Fine. You need to rob a fucking bank.’

The department store is packed and Kitty and I are tempted to run to the nearest coffee shop and eat chocolate cake when we are shown yet another model of a changing unit.

‘You can put your towels and blankets here,’ demonstrates the shop assistant, middle-aged with dyed blonde hair, ‘and then …’ She pulls out the wicker basket shelf, her bracelets jangling, ‘you can put all your essentials here while you’re changing baby, like the nappies and cotton wool for top-and-tailing.’

‘Top-and-tailing?’ asks Kitty, suppressing a yawn.

‘Is this your first baby?’ the assistant asks me.

I nod. ‘I’m nearly twenty-five weeks.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she reassures me. ‘I understand there’s a huge amount to take in, but you’ll pick it up quickly. Honestly, it’s very simple. I’ve got three little rascals.’

I smile, before asking her to explain top-and-tailing.

She begins, but stops when she hears a snort of laughter from Kitty. I apologize to the assistant.

‘Shall I go on?’ she asks frostily.

I drag Kitty away. We decide it’s time for lunch. Kitty orders an extra-large glass of wine.

‘Tell me more about Joe’s place,’ Kitty says. I’ve been working there for three weeks now, on a Tuesday and Thursday. We’re coming up for the second lesson on the wine tasting course. ‘It’s fun. Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘I can’t get my head round it, that’s all. Isn’t it awkward?’

I wipe mayonnaise from the corner of my mouth. ‘It was, to begin with, but we’ve got past that now.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘What? Come on, Kitty.’

‘You don’t feel anything for him now, do you? Sorry,’ she says immediately when she sees my face. ‘That was a stupid, insensitive thing to say.’

I push my plate aside, unable to finish my stodgy baguette. ‘Joe was the last person I expected to meet again, but the strange thing is, it’s good to be able to talk to him about Olly, just like I can talk to you. It helps.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she repeats, shuffling her chair in to allow an overweight couple to squeeze past our table, their trays laden with Danish pastries. ‘Right, we need to carry on with that list. Let’s just focus on one thing.’

‘That’s impossible!’

‘I’m hardly an expert,’ Kitty says, ‘but I don’t think you need to get everything Annie suggests. All your baby needs is you, Becca, you and love. Anything else is a bonus.’

The first car seat we are shown is an infant car seat, designed for newborns up to around fifteen months. ‘But it’s the weight and height of your child that is most important,’ the assistant tells us firmly, ‘not the age. As soon as your baby outgrows this seat, you’ll need to buy the next model up immediately.’ She’s older, in her late fifties, plump with chestnut highlighted hair and glasses dangling from a beaded necklace. ‘As you can see, it’s rear-facing. Infant seats face the back of the car because in the event that there is an accident, God forbid,’ she adds, touching my arm, ‘rear-facing models are designed to spread the crash impact across the strongest part of their body, i.e. their back.’ She takes in a deep breath. ‘I have two golden rules about travelling with babies. Make sure you buy exactly the
right model, and you can’t go wrong with this one, and make sure your husband doesn’t drive too fast!’

Kitty squeezes my hand.

As Kitty and I queue to pay for the infant car seat, I gaze at a couple standing at the end cashier desk. The woman looks about as pregnant as me. He takes the heavier bag from her, kisses her cheek. I watch them head out of the shop together.

‘Becca?’

I turn to Kitty.

‘Did I tell you what my mother said to me the other day when I asked her why she didn’t go on a holiday this summer? Becca?’

‘Sorry?’

Kitty repeats the question.

‘What did she say?’

‘“I can’t afford to go on holiday, Catherine, I’m saving up for your wedding.” So I say, “Oh, Mum, for God’s sake, you could be waiting a long time.” And she says, “Well, if you don’t get married, you can use the money for my funeral.”’

I find myself laughing as we approach the next free cashier.

Olly may not be here, but I am lucky to have Kitty by my side.

When Kitty and I return home we find Dad reading the weekend papers in the sitting room; Mum is in the kitchen with Oscar and Theo. Mum and Dad have been looking after them while Pippa’s been working at the tennis club, coaching the Tiger Tims, a group of seven-to ten-year-olds. Normally Todd looks after the boys on a Saturday if she’s working, but he’s away. Again. ‘Anyone would think that man had a second family,’ Dad has said to me more than once.

I remind Oscar and Theo who Kitty is, but they’re much more interested in their fish fingers and baked beans.

As Kitty is talking to the boys and I’m showing Mum the car seat, Pippa appears in her tracksuit and white fitted T-shirt that shows off her lean, toned arms. All hell breaks loose as Oscar and Theo get down from the table and run towards her, throwing their arms around her legs. ‘Hello, my pumpkin pies! Have you been good for Granny?’ She ruffles their hair. Oscar pulls away. He doesn’t like that hair-ruffling business.

‘Is it a free day tomorrow, Mummy?’ asks Theo, with great concern.

‘Yes, because it’s Saturday today, isn’t it? What day is it tomorrow, pumpkin pie?’

‘Fun Day Sun Day!’ Theo cries out happily.

Mum tells Pippa they walked Audrey to the playground, and then they went on the swings and the slide. ‘You went on the swings and slide!’ Pippa repeats in that hearty-hearty voice.

Oscar tugs at Pippa’s dress, asks if he can watch TV. Pippa says yes. Mum says they haven’t finished their fish fingers. But it’s too late. They’ve gone. Mum runs after them with a cloth to wipe their mouths and fingers.

‘How were the Tiger Tims?’ I ask. Along with her summer holiday coaching, Pippa also runs weekend tennis camps in the autumn.

‘Great! I reckon there’s one, Digby, who could be amazing.’ Pippa shows us what Digby’s forehand looks like but stops mid-flow when she sees the bags. ‘Oh? Have you been shopping?’ She stares at the infant car seat, which isn’t the one she recommended.

Kitty says, ‘You should have seen Annie’s list.’

‘Annie’s list?’

‘I’ve used your list too,’ I reassure her.

‘She needs you, Mrs H.,’ Kitty carries on obliviously when Mum returns to the kitchen. ‘We didn’t even know what top-and-tailing is!’

‘I’d love to help,’ Mum says.

‘I was wondering if you were free next Friday?’ I ask.

‘Friday.’ She walks towards the diary, over by the telephone. ‘I’m sure that would be fine.’

‘Hang on,’ Pippa says. ‘Aren’t you taking the boys to Marwell Zoo?’

‘Oh yes. So I am.’

There’s an awkward silence.

‘Look, you go with Becca,’ Pippa says.

Kitty is quiet.

‘We can go another time,’ I offer, sensing Mum is torn. ‘When I’m not working, Mum.’

‘No, Becca,’ Pippa intervenes. ‘It’s only right she should be with you at this difficult time.’ Pippa doesn’t mean a word of it. ‘The boys will be disappointed, but …’

‘Honestly, it’s fine,’ I insist, trying to disguise my irritation.

‘Why don’t you try to find someone else, Pippa?’ Mum says, taking both me and Pippa by surprise. ‘And if you can’t …’

‘It’s fine. I’ll take them.’ Pippa gathers her racket bag and picks up her car keys from the table. For a moment I see the table all those years ago with my painting on it. I was thirteen. I’d drawn people sitting on the steps of the Buttercross, enjoying their ice creams; I’d laid it
out to dry. Pippa had returned home with Mum and plonked her flashy racket bag right on top of my painting, ruining it. Hot tears ran down my eyes when Pippa asked me why I’d left it in such a stupid place. I longed for Mum to say it wasn’t my fault. Instead she told me how much the bag had cost.

Pippa blows us all a kiss before leaving the kitchen, saying she needs to get home to put the boys to bed.

I notice she hasn’t thanked Mum for having them. She expects too much all the time. I’m beginning to feel that resentment burning inside me again.

I don’t think it ever went away.

21

‘Wow! It’s lovely,’ Kitty says, and tonight, now that I’m not trying to operate the temperamental cappuccino machine, I can see how well Joe has designed this place. It’s simple, with stripped floors and dark wooden tables. In one corner of the restaurant is a sofa next to a shelf filled with
Decanter
magazines and wine books. To the right of the bar, extending to the window that opens out on to The Square, is a library of wines on sale from different countries, though Joe specializes mainly in French and Australian.

‘
Bella
Rebecca!’ Edoardo greets us, and I introduce him to Kitty. He fixes me a ginger beer, heaping ice into the glass.

‘Cute,’ Kitty whispers.

‘Gay.’

‘Shame.’

‘Used to work in film. Make-up artist. Switched jobs when he got bored of working in trailers.’ I scan the crowded room and point out Peta, who’s sitting at the corner table, typing on a laptop.

‘Pretty,’ Kitty says.

‘Beautiful.’

‘Bitch. I hate her already,’ she laughs.

‘Hi!’ Peta beams. She crouches to kiss Kitty on the cheek. Since meeting Peta here a couple of weeks ago, we’ve been out for lunch once, when she wasn’t needed on set. I found out she’s in Winchester on location, filming a Jane Austen documentary. She met Joe during the first week of filming, when the cast and crew came to Maison Joe one evening to unwind.

‘You must be Kate!’

‘Kitty.’

‘Lovely to meet you, Kate.’

Kitty and I exchange glances as we sit down to join her.

‘You’ll think me so rude, but I’ve just got to finish this blasted email to my agent, Derek. He wants me to audition for some television series …’

‘Becca was telling me you’re an actress?’ Kitty says, picking up a menu.

‘For my sins.’

‘I hear you’re playing Cassandra,’ Kitty continues, ‘Jane’s sister.’

‘Absolutely. Poor Cassandra! My fiancé dies of yellow fever in the Caribbean, so I end up an old spinster.’ She flashes a white smile in our direction.

‘Todd has competition in the teeth department,’ says Olly.

Kitty’s staring at her. ‘Weren’t you on that shampoo advert?’

‘Yes!’ Peta appears thrilled to be recognized. ‘An organic apricot one.’

‘It seems to work.’ I gesture to her glossy hair.

‘Fuck, no! Never used the product in my life!’

‘I haven’t met an actress before,’ Kitty mentions. I’m nervous she’s going to ask Peta for her autograph next. ‘Is it as glamorous as it seems?’

She shakes her head. ‘Ruins the old social life. The amount of times I arrange to go out, only to be told by Derek late afternoon that I need to be in Clerkenwell for an audition at nine the following morning so I have to learn my lines that night. Or this one time, right, I was about to go on my hols when I was told I’d been heavy-pencilled for an advert …’

‘Heavy-pencilled?’ I ask.

‘Almost guaranteed.’

‘Ah.’

‘It was a sports car ad in LA. I cancelled my hols, and let me tell you, my boyfriend at the time was
not
impressed. We split up, I’m ready to go to LA, when Derek calls to say the job’s fallen through.’

‘Bastards!’ Kitty exclaims.

She shrugs. ‘If you can’t take rejection, then step out of the lion’s den.’

Kitty and I continue to grill Peta on her career. ‘Most of the time my trailer is tiny, the TV doesn’t work and it’s so bloody cold that I have to warm myself up on the heater.’ She’s tells us she doesn’t want her work here to end, gesturing to Joe, who’s standing behind the bar with Luis. ‘Thankfully filming has taken
a lot
longer than scheduled because we’ve had so many delays on set. We had to stop filming in the middle. Long story, won’t go into it. Let’s just say I’ve loved being here.’ She gazes at Joe. ‘I wish he’d move back to London. There was yet another drama today with his dad. I really think he should be in a nursing home, where he can get professional care. It drags Joe down.’