Gucci Gucci Coo (6 page)

She turned to Ruby. “And how’s my favorite niece?” she said with a gentle pinch of Ruby’s cheek. “Still working with our dear cousin. Of course you know what’s wrong with Stella, don’t you? Heart problem. She doesn’t have one.”

Ruby laughed and said she didn’t hear from her much since she’d moved to New York.

Aunty Sylvia turned to Ronnie. “You know, when I got here I had to drive round for ten minutes looking for somewhere to park.”

“Oh, I usually chant for a space,” Ronnie said. “Always works.”

“Really? Maybe I should start chanting for a husband.”

Sylvia Lieberman—she had kept her ex-husband’s surname—was Ronnie’s older sister by four years. She was PA to a West End theatrical agent and looking for love. For the last decade—ever since her divorce—it had evaded her, so she comfort-ate instead. The upshot was that she weighed 200 pounds. Even though she was heavy, she shared Ronnie’s artistic flair and was by no means without style. Her hair—cut every five weeks by Roscoe, he of Roscoe and Belle—was dyed an even more vibrant red than Ronnie’s. Everybody agreed it was the perfect accessory to her loud, ballsy personality.

She wore expensive, well-cut loose layers, which showed off her hourglass shape but didn’t cling in the wrong places. Tonight she looked particularly elegant in an olive-green wrap-over A-line dress and matching pointy suede boots.

E
VERYBODY TROOPED INTO
the living room. Ronnie took one sofa, Ruby and Aunty Sylvia claimed the other. Phil didn’t sit down. Instead he took the twenty questions ball out of his pocket.

“It crashed just as you went upstairs,” he said to Ruby. “Seems to be working again now…So, these capybaras—are they meat eaters?”

“No. They’re vegetarian. If my memory serves me correctly they live on grasses, melons and squashes.”

“OK. And are they nocturnal?”

“Don’t think so.”

Aunty Sylvia turned to Ronnie. “A capy who?” she whispered. “What’s going on?”

Ronnie rolled her eyes and explained about the computerized ball that could play twenty questions. “I have no idea what this animal is they’re talking about…. Phil, please. Can’t you leave it alone for just a minute and come and sit down?”

“Hey, Phil,” Sylvia said, laughing, “see if it can get Elvis, or better still, a lox bagel…or…or a thong.”

Phil raised a hand in front of him as if to say “hang on.” A couple of seconds passed before he spoke. “This is amazing! I don’t believe it. Look. It got it. Capy-blinkin’-bara. It worked it out.” He passed the ball to Ruby and pointed to the display.

“See if it can get chiropractor,” Aunty Sylvia said. “I’ve just found a new one. He’s brilliant. In fact he’s so good the last time I saw him he practically offered me a cigarette afterward.” She winked at Ronnie before adding, “You should try him.”

By now Ruby was fidgeting in her seat. She was desperate to get the conversation off chiropractors and thongs and back to whatever it was her mum and dad wanted to tell her. “So, come on, you two. When are you going to let us in on the big secret?”

“Big secret?” Aunty Sylvia said. “What big secret? I didn’t know about any big secret.”

“We’d planned to tell Ruby first,” Ronnie said, “but I’m sure she won’t mind you being here.”

Phil went over to the dining table on which there stood an unopened bottle of champagne and some glasses.

“Ooh, so it’s good news, then,” Aunty Sylvia said, clocking the bubbly.

“None for me,” Ronnie called after Phil. “Water’s fine.”

“How come you’re not drinking?” asked Sylvia. “It’s me who has to watch the calories, not you. You have a husband. Me, I’m starting to think I’m never going to find a man and fulfill my dream of buying a double burial plot…. Come on, have a drink.”

“No, I really don’t fancy alcohol at the moment.”

“Gawd,” Aunty Sylvia snorted, adjusting the cushions behind her back, “anyone would think you were pregnant.”

The champagne cork popped. Ronnie’s face broke into a huge grin. “Actually, I am…that is, we are,” she said.

“Yeah, right,” Aunty Sylvia came back. “So, come on, what’s the real reason you’re not drinking?”

“I told you. I’m expecting a baby.”

There was a few seconds’ silence while Ruby and Aunty Sylvia waited for Ronnie to say: “Aha, gotcha. Had you going for a minute there, didn’t I?” But she didn’t. In fact she didn’t say anything. While Phil poured the champagne, she just sat smiling.

“God, you’re not joking, are you?” Ruby said, her voice little more than a whisper. She swallowed hard. “You really are pregnant.” She and Aunty Sylvia exchanged bewildered glances. “Are you sure? I mean, can you even have a baby at fifty? OK, Cherie Blair did it at forty-five, but even that was pushing it.”

At this point Sylvia got up and went to sit next to Ronnie. “Rhona, darling,” she said gently, putting an arm around her sister. Sylvia always called Ronnie by her proper name when she had something serious to say. “This is just the menopause. It’s your body playing tricks on you. And don’t forget you have blocked tubes. It’s highly unlikely that you really are pregnant.”

“Well, I am,” Ronnie said. “Over four months. I’ve had two scans. I’ll show you the pictures in a moment. I hated waiting this long to tell you. It’s been awful, but we wanted to hang on until we got the results of the amnio. They’ve just come through and everything’s fine.”

“But what about your tubes?”

Ronnie shrugged. “My doctor says one of them may have spontaneously unblocked itself. It’s more likely that the original diagnosis was wrong.”

Ruby felt herself sink back into the sofa. How many times in her life had she uttered the phrase “I don’t believe it” and not really meant it? Well, this time she meant it. She couldn’t take it in. She literally couldn’t believe it.

By now Phil was handing round champagne glasses. “So, aren’t either of you going to congratulate us?” he said.

Ruby put down her glass and leaped from the sofa. “Oh, God. Sorry. It was the last thing I’d imagined, that’s all, and I’m still in shock.” Despite this she managed to put an arm around each of her parents and kiss them in turn. “Wow, I’m going to have a baby brother or sister!”

“Thirty-two years—it’s the perfect age gap,” Aunty Sylvia piped up.

“OK,” Ruby said, giggling at the age gap remark, “here’s the deal.”

“What?” Ronnie came back.

“First, we don’t share a room. Second, we get the same amount of pocket money and third, as the eldest I get to go to bed when I like.”

Ronnie burst out laughing. “Oh, I think we can manage that.”

Instead of joining in with the levity, Aunty Sylvia was suddenly looking uneasy. “I don’t for a second want to rain on your parade, but are you two absolutely sure about this? I mean you’ll have a teenager in the house when you’re in your midsixties. It’s not going to be easy.”

“We’ve thought it all through,” Phil said. “I think we have a fair idea of what we’re letting ourselves in for.”

“And you know how much we’ve always wanted another child,” Ronnie went on. “I agree it might have been better if it had happened a decade or so ago, but we’re both healthy and fit. I’m sure we’ll manage.”

“My God, you’ll be having labor pains and hot flashes at the same time,” Sylvia said, shaking her head. This made everybody laugh again.

“Well, if you’re happy I’m happy,” she went on, her face finally breaking into a broad smile. She got up and hugged Ronnie and then Phil. “You are OK with this, aren’t you?” Ronnie said to her sister. “I mean, this is my second child and I know how much you always wanted children. I’ve been really nervous about telling you in case you felt uncomfortable with it.”

“OK, I admit it. Even ten years ago I would have been as jealous as hell. But I’m fifty-four. I’ve started to grunt as I get out of an armchair. I can’t eat anything fried after six o’clock and the only pill I take these days is to control my cholesterol level. The last thing I need is a screaming baby, nappies and sleep deprivation. Believe me, you are welcome to it.”

Ronnie turned to Ruby. “And what about you, darling? You might not realize it now, but when this baby arrives you may find yourself struggling with some pretty uncomfortable feelings. I don’t want you to feel that we are pushing you out of the family or that we won’t love you as much. You are our first baby and always will be.”

“Mum, please, I’m thirty-two years old. I appreciate the thought, but I do have a life. I’m hardly going to get jealous of a little baby. And you know how I always wanted a brother or sister. Admittedly we would have had more in common when I was a bit younger…” She started to giggle.

“So, do you want a boy or girl?” Aunty Sylvia asked Ronnie. Before Ronnie had a chance to say anything, Aunty Sylvia added, “Ooh, and have you thought about names? I picked up
Tatler
the other day and there was a picture of this little boy called Heathcliff. It’s such a romantic name. On the other hand, I’m not sure Heathcliff Silverman really works. I suppose you could always call him Cliffy for short. Now, then, if it’s a girl, what about Aida? Or Taittinger, that’s unusual.”

Ruby was aware that her mother was looking as if she were under siege. She decided to get the subject off names. “So, where are you having the baby?”

“The local hospital has been pretty good so far, although I think your dad would prefer me to be at St. Luke’s. Problem is it’s just so expensive.” The baby talk carried on for an hour or so. Finally Ronnie announced that dinner was ready. “Sylvia, why don’t you stay?” she said. “It’s your favorite—ricotta and spinach cannelloni, and Phil’s about to open another bottle of wine.” She didn’t need asking twice.

“I have news, too,” Aunty Sylvia said later on, as Phil got up from the dinner table to top up her wineglass. “I’m seeing a new man.”

“Hang on,” Ronnie said, “what happened to your last new man?”

“Brian? He was still hung up on his ex. I tried to be patient. I listened. I held him when he cried, but in the end it did no good, so I ended it.”

“What about the one before him—Max? He sounded nice.”

“He was—except he had to touch everything ten times and smell it. I got him into cognitive behavioral therapy. He did it for a bit, then he gave up. Oh, and he sat down to pee.”

Phil looked up from his cannelloni. “What’s so wrong with sitting down to pee?” he said mildly. “It’s the only way men of a certain age can empty their tank. These days, I sometimes have to…”

“Dad, please,” Ruby broke in, grimacing, “too much information.”

“I disagree,” Ronnie said. “Important health issues like this need to be discussed, not swept under the carpet. Society needs educating. People should understand that some men sit down to pee because they have reached middle age and are having problems with their waterworks. Others simply prefer to sit down. What right have women to deny them that choice? For so many men, choosing to pee sitting down is the truth that dare not speak its name and I think it’s about time we got rid of the stigma.”

“You should write a letter to
The Times,
” Aunty Sylvia said. “You could spark off a national debate.”

“I hate it when you mock me,” Ronnie came back. “All I’m saying is that—”

Sensing the onset of sisterly friction, Ruby decided it was time to change the subject. “So, Aunty Sylvia,” Ruby said. “Who was that chap you went out with before Max? I seem to remember he was a biker.”

“Harley David. God, he was gorgeous. I really fancied him until he took me out on the bike and I saw what was written on the back of his leather jacket. It said, and I quote: ‘If you can read this, the bitch fell off.’ Sexist didn’t begin to describe the man. I spent weeks debating the issue with him. I even bought him
The Female Eunuch
. He just laughed.”

“Why is it every man you go out with turns out to be a project?” Ronnie said. “You know, I think it has something to do with our father. You couldn’t make him a better person. Then he died and you were forced to give up trying. But you continue the struggle with other men.”

“Maybe.” Sylvia shrugged.

“So, tell us about this new chap,” Ronnie said.

Sylvia put down her wineglass. “Well, his name is Nigel and he’s an independent financial adviser. Believe me, what this man doesn’t know about the best-rated mutual funds and tax efficient portfolio management isn’t worth knowing.”

Ronnie remarked that he sounded unusually normal and grounded for Sylvia.

“You’re right. Funny, I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I think that subconsciously you have decided you’re tired of taking on projects.”

“So, is he good looking?” Ruby interrupted.

“I’ll say,” Aunty Sylvia grinned. “He’s tall and slim with these gorgeous gray-blue eyes.”

“And it’s serious?” Ronnie said.

“Getting that way.”

Ronnie asked how old he was. Sylvia responded by taking a glug of wine, then another. “Oh, he’s about my age—a few years younger maybe.”

Ruby could practically see her mother’s antennae flapping. “So, what are we talking?” Ronnie said. “A couple of years?”

“A bit more than that, maybe.”

“How many more?”

“Ten. Fifteen, maybe. I’m not sure.”

“Come on—is it ten or is it fifteen?” Ronnie asked, shooting an anxious glance at Phil.

“Actually, it’s seventeen.”

“He’s seventeen years younger than you?” Ronnie repeated, her voice rising with disapproval.

“Coo coo ca choo, Mrs. Lieberman!” Ruby cried. “Wow, good for you. God, my Aunty Sylvia’s got herself a boy toy.”

“Does he know how old you are?” Ronnie said.

“Yes. No. Well, sort of. I’ve told him I’m forty-two.”

“But you’re fifty-four. When are you planning to tell him the truth?”

Phil tapped his wife’s arm and reminded her this really was Sylvia’s business, but she ignored him.

“Ronnie, this is so unlike you,” Sylvia said. “You usually see the positive side of everything. I thought you’d be happy for me. For the first time in ages I’m having fun.”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”

Sylvia reached out across the table and patted her sister’s hand. “I know I have to tell him my real age,” she said. “And I will when I feel the time is right. Now, please, can we just leave it?” Clearly eager to change the subject, she turned to Ruby. “So, maybe it won’t be long before you have a baby. Of course it would help if you found a man. If you leave it much longer I’ll be coming to your wedding in an urn.”