A Catered Affair (36 page)

“I want to say that I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Kenny, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes, I do. I’m sorry for being such an arrogant, pigheaded bastard last night. I was still angry, and I couldn’t stop myself lashing out.”

“You had every right to be angry with me. I was unkind and cruel. I’m so ashamed of the way I behaved.”

“I forgive you,” he said.

I actually laughed. “Just like that? You’ve changed your mind overnight?”

“Yes. Look. Here’s the thing. I love you. You’ve realized you love me. The way I see it, we need to draw a line through everything that’s happened and start thinking about the future.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” He cupped my face in his hands, drew me towards him and kissed me. “I adore you, Tally.”

“I adore you, too.”

I could hear the London train pulling in.

“Stay,” he said.

“But I’ve got work tomorrow. And I only brought clothes for a couple of days.”

“We have washing machines in Devon. Come on, Tally—take a few days off. We need some time together.”

“I know, but I’m not sure . . .” The train was coming a halt. Passengers were heading towards the edge of the platform. “All right. I’ll stay. I’ll call the office. I do have some holiday owing. I’m sure George won’t mind if I take a few days off.”

“Brilliant. Now, I really need you to say yes to my next question.”

It occurred to me that in all the excitement, he was going to propose. I was about to suggest he slow down and that we took things one step at a time, when he said:

“Do you still have a problem with trout anus?”

“Do I what?”

“You see, one of my sous chefs needs the morning off, and I’ve got twenty trout to fillet before lunch.”

“You mean you want me to chop off fish heads and rip out guts and entrails?”

“I seem to remember you were getting quite good at it.”

“Oh God . . .”

“And as a quid pro quo, I thought we might spend the afternoon in bed, drinking champagne, making mad passionate love and watching
Lethal Weapon
. And then tonight I’ll cook us a late dinner at the restaurant. How does that sound?”

“With crème brûlée for dessert?”

“Done.”

“OK, you’ve got a deal,” I said.

 

“
W
uuueeerrrgh! I am never doing this again. Not ever.”

“OK, hon,” Scarlett soothed, offering Grace some ice chips. “You’re doing great. Just hang on in there.”

Grace had been in labor since midday. By now it was early evening, and the contractions were getting much stronger. There were ten of us crowded into her hospital room. Eleven if you counted the midwife.

Scarlett, Ed and Napoleon had been with her from the get-go. Mum and Grace’s mother, Bertrice, had arrived soon after. I’d come after work—having called Kenny, who was driving back to London for the weekend—to tell him to meet me at the hospital.

Nana had been there since midafternoon. She’d been at home playing kaluki with Millie Siderman–Spider-Man and Aunty Pearl, when Mum had called to let her know that the baby was on its way. Nana couldn’t be dissuaded from coming to the hospital and nor, it seemed, could Millie and Aunty Pearl.

Before the contractions started in earnest, Grace had said that being surrounded by so many people made her feel like seventeenth-century French royalty, and were King Louis and Cardinal Richelieu on their way from Versailles to witness the birth?

Apart from when she needed to take a break to go to the loo, Scarlett had barely let go of Grace’s hand. Every time a contraction started to build, Scarlett was there with the gas and air and calming words. But I could see she hated seeing Grace in so much pain. I decided that my role was to keep telling her she was saying and doing all the right things and that everything was going to be fine.

Mum and Bertrice, along with Napoleon and Ed, hovered in the background drinking coffee and trying not to get in the way.

Instead of the hip-swinging, hymn-singing woman that Mum had imagined, Bertrice was tall and elegant, with immaculate hair and makeup and deep blue eyes that looked luminous against her skin. “I don’t know why Grace is putting herself through all this,” Bertrice said. “She could have opted for a cesarean. I had five. It’s so easy. They knock you out and wake you up when the hairdresser arrives.”

“I know,” Mum said, “but I think Grace wanted an experience to remember.”

“Well, she’s certainly got that,” Bertrice said, not without humor.

Napoleon said that studies had shown that natural childbirth was important for the mother’s self-esteem, and Ed made the point that women who avoided drugs during labor stood far less chance of developing postpartum depression.

Bertrice waved a hand in front of her. “You men—you’re all the same. If it was you on that bed, you’d be demanding an intravenous malt-whiskey drip.”

“So have you heard anything from Josh?” Mum said to Napoleon.

“Not directly, but according to my mother, he and Amy are very happy, and they’ve just bought a house in Edinburgh.”

Hearing that Josh was happy and settled didn’t make me feel bitter or angry. That’s not to say I was over the moon. I just felt neutral. It was like receiving news of somebody I’d known a long time ago who had gone to live in Winnipeg.

“So, how’s your counseling course going?” Napoleon asked Mum.

“Oh, I’m loving it. It’s only one night a week. And I’m doing amateur plays. We’re putting on
The Sound of Music
next month, and I’m playing the Mother Superior. Or, in my case, the Bubbe Superior. What with my job, life is pretty full-on. But I do wish I’d done the counseling years ago. And Frank is so supportive. I’m really enjoying being in a relationship again after all these years. I realize now how much I defended against boundary violations that I feared could lead to enmeshment.”

Napoleon nodded. “Whereas all the time, your authentic self was seeking connection.”

“Absolutely.”

While Mum and Napoleon psychobabbled, Nana and her buddies were sitting in the corner discussing Buddhism.

“I don’t get it,” Nana was saying to Aunty Pearl and Millie Siderman–Spider-Man. “So if there’s no self, whose arthritis is this?”

“Who knows?” Millie said.

Last month, the three women had been to a talk on Buddhism at the local community center and were toying with taking it up. None of them seemed to be sure exactly what was meant by enlightenment, but they had come to the conclusion that it was something worth attaining before they died. Their journey was proving to be rocky and strewn with philosophical roadworks, though.

“And they tell you to accept misfortune as a blessing,” Aunty Pearl was saying. “You shouldn’t wish for perfect health, or a life without problems. So do you mind telling me what you’re supposed to talk about?”

“Who knows?” Millie said.

Nana was shaking her head. “And I don’t understand the breathing thing. They tell you just to breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. I tell you, forget that, and attaining enlightenment will be the least of our problems.”

The women cackled, and Jenny, the nice young midwife, told them in the politest possible way to put a sock in it.

Jenny seemed to be rather enjoying the party atmosphere, but it didn’t stop her trying to remind us that according to hospital rules, only three family members could be present and that we really did need to make up our minds who was going to wait outside. It was Grace who kept begging her to let everybody stay. She said she found it comforting having so many people around her. I think Scarlett did, too.

Just then Grace let out another almighty, animal-like roar, and Jenny turned her attention back to her patient while everybody in the room chanted as one: “Blow, blow, blow, blow.”

“OK, sweetheart,” Jenny said. “Won’t be long now before you can start pushing.”

Grace managed a weak smile.

Just then my cell started ringing. Cell phones in delivery suites were against hospital rules, too, so I grabbed my bag and went into the waiting room. I thought it might be work or Kenny to say he’d been held up in the Friday night traffic, but it was Rosie phoning from LA. The TV was blaring away in the waiting room, so it was hard to hear.

“I just wanted to let you know I arrived safely. You’ll never guess where I’m staying. Universal has given me an entire suite at the Beverly Wilshire—and there’s more. Get this: I’m just about to go out for breakfast with Susan Sarandon. Can you believe it? Susan Sarandon. The studio is in talks with her about playing the lead, and she asked to meet me. I am so excited. I cannot believe this is happening to me.”

“Omigod, Rosie, this is amazing! Truly amazing. I’m so happy for you. Have you told Jeremy?”

“Yes. He’s really pleased. I think he wishes he was here helping to steer things through instead of being home looking after the kids. But I told him if he’s even thinking of marrying me then he’s going to have to get used to doing his share of the child minding. I’ve even got him cleaning out kitchen cupboards.”

“You have so got that man tamed.”

“Did you think for a moment that I wouldn’t?”

“No, not really.”

“On top of that, he’s also reading the latest version of
The Sand Collector’s Daughter
—and he’s loving it, by the way. I can’t believe I got it done so quickly. That tutor Jeremy found me was amazing. He really helped me find my voice and made me realize that once I’d done that, all I needed was to keep the writing simple.”

“Listen, Rosie, I don’t mean to cut you off, but Grace is in labor. I’m at the hospital. I’ve just stepped out of the room, but I should be getting back. She’s about to start pushing.”

“Omigod. You go. Keep me posted.”

“You, too. Bye, hon.”

I was about to head back when something on the TV caught my attention.

“Coming up after the break,” the announcer on some tacky cable channel was saying, “our outrageous and hilarious new show,
Henry Cowabunga Dixon
. Stick around and see what the unpredictable Henry has to say about this week’s news.”

I couldn’t help smiling. So the newspaper article had worked. It had gotten Henry the publicity he was after and had led to a TV show. After the fairly mediocre settlement I’d gotten him from CLR, it was the least he deserved.

I got back to discover that Nana, Millie and Aunty Pearl had left the room. They’d gone in search of the canteen, on account of Millie starting to feel faint and everybody deciding that a nice cup of sweet tea might revive her. Meanwhile, Grace looked like she was moments away from giving birth. Eyes closed, face contorted with pain and concentration, she was pushing for all she was worth. The men were wincing. Mum was saying things like “Come on, Grace. Final lap, now. You’re nearly there.”

Bertrice looked faintly disgusted but kept telling Grace, “Mummy’s here, baby. Mummy’s here.”

At the same time, Scarlett was cheering her on. “Come on. Come on. You can do it.”

“No, I bloody can’t! Eeeeuurrch!”

Ed was looking distinctly green by now, and Napoleon was asking him if he was OK.

“Right, sweetie,” Jenny said. “The head’s nearly here. I can see a mop of black hair.”

“Wwwuurrrccch.”

“Here we go . . . another push. That’s it. And another one. Good girl.”

“Uurrrrgh!”

“Now the head’s almost here. What I want you to do is to stop pushing. Instead I need you to pant.”

Grace started panting, and by way of offering moral support, everybody joined in.

“That’s it. The head’s here! Right, now—deep breath. One more push and your baby will be here.”

“Ooooerrrrsh.”

“Yes! Your baby’s here! Well done!”

“What is it?” Grace said.

Jenny told her to try to sit up and take a look.

“It’s a boy!”

The whole room cheered.

“Er, I think you’ll find you’ve been looking at the umbilical cord,” Scarlett said, laughing.

“Omigod. You’re right. It’s a girl.”

Another cheer went up. A moment later, Ed was on the floor, flat out, with Napoleon kneeling beside him, gently slapping his face. “He’s OK. He just fainted. Give him a minute and he’ll be fine.”

Scarlett, Grace, the two grandmas and I were too busy fussing over the baby to pay much attention to poor Ed. Scarlett bent down and kissed her new daughter. “Lola . . . welcome to the world, darling.” Everybody agreed it was a beautiful name.

Once Ed had recovered, he and Scarlett cut the cord and the midwife put baby Lola onto Grace’s breast. By now everybody was in tears and wanted to hold the baby.

Just then, Nana came back with Millie and Aunty Pearl. When they found out it was a girl, they all burst into “Thank Heaven for Little Girls” and did a little jig.

“Oh, will you just look at her?” Nana said, gazing at her first great-grandchild. “She’s the image of your grandfather, God rest his soul.”

“Gee, thanks, Nana,” Scarlett said. “But if she’s the image of anybody’s grandfather, it can only be Grace’s or Ed’s.”

Nana told her to stop splitting hairs.

 

 

Suddenly the door opened, and Kenny—as ever—came in carrying champagne. Only this time it was four bottles.

“Yay. Right on cue,” Mum said, giving him a kiss. “I’ll go and find some paper cups.”

Once Kenny had congratulated everybody, he came over to me. “You know what?” he said. “I think I’d like one of those.”

“I know. I’ve been having the same thoughts. I was thinking that we could live in Devon while he or she is tiny. Later, when you decide to expand the business, we could move back to London and I could return to work.”