Miss Potterton's Birthday Tea (3 page)

‘Ooh, Dr Munroe…'

He wondered if there was any way he could make it out of the front door uninterrupted – by whistling or checking his phone perhaps, anything that might convince her he hadn't heard.
Ten minutes in the car, that's all I want. Ten minutes in the bloody car!
It didn't feel like much to ask.

But Julie turned in her chair and reached out towards him as he passed. He had no choice but to smile and acknowledge her, particularly as she had grabbed his leg.

‘I need you a mo.' She swivelled round and began searching for a document on her messy desk.

He could hear the seconds ticking by loudly in his head while she giggled at the chaos and peeled apart flimsy sheets stuck together with the residue of whatever sandwich she'd been eating and a smattering of biscuit crumbs.

‘What it is, is…' She paused. ‘Is I need a signature off you for Tyler Jackson's passport. His mum's been in and she said if we don't get it back to her today then Tyler won't be able to get his passport in time and he'll miss the geography trip to Latvia. He's cried himself to sleep for the last four nights apparently, worried he'll be left behind at school and will have to go into Mrs Alpass's class, and she's a right cow.'

She finally took a breath.

Ian had missed most of the detail but caught the gist. ‘Ah, well, we can't have the little fellow upset.' He unscrewed the top of his fountain pen and signed the sheet Julie now brandished, on which she had pencilled a large X.

‘Oh, he's not a little fellow. He's eighteen. Captain of the rugby team.' She blew a large pink bubble with the gum she was chewing so furiously and let it pop against her chin.

Ian always parked in the same spot in the corner of the car park. This was partly to hide his monstrous four-by-four under the large tree; he hated owning the most ostentatious car in the practice and would have preferred to cycle in, but Helen said that wouldn't be fitting. He also liked that spot because it offered the best view of the vast Asda megastore with whom the practice shared a car park, allowing him to people-watch while he ate his pasta salad or tuna and sweetcorn sandwich, depending on the day of the week.

As he settled himself into the capacious front seat, he swallowed, then swiped his finger over the screen of his phone. Time was of the essence, so he didn't have the chance to rehearse, which is what he would have liked. Instead, he was just going to have to go in blind and hope for the best.

‘Yup?' Helen's tone told him she was in a hurry, made it clear that any call, even one from him, was a bloody inconvenience.

His heart raced accordingly. The only thing worse than knowing he was an inconvenience was knowing he was an inconvenience that she no longer wanted in her life.

‘It's me.' He hated the quiver in his voice.

‘Yes, I know it's you. As I've told you a million times, we have caller ID. Your name comes up with your number on the little screen.' Irritation dripped from her.

Yep, that's me: fucking stupid. I don't understand the phone, can't use the remote control, never made it as a surgeon and am not a patch on Julio, the suave, Spanish, tennis-playing dickhead who not only heads up his own team of plastic surgeons but probably also has a very large penis.

He shook the image from his head. ‘Did you mean it?'

She prefaced her words with a sigh, a very bad sign indeed. ‘Yes, Ian, I meant it. And it's not like this is news—'

‘It's news to me.'

‘Well, that says it all, really. The fact that you think we can simply waltz through life, watering the hanging baskets, taking a couple of holidays a year, having Sunday lunch with the family, getting the shopping delivered three times a week, having sex on Friday nights and special occasions, and expect that to be enough?'

Ian considered this as he pinched the top of his nose. ‘I did, actually, Helen. I thought it was more than enough.'

‘For you!' She practically spat the words. ‘It was enough for you.'

‘Yes,' he whispered. ‘Enough for me.'

‘Minty says she thinks I have been more than fair, she says she's amazed I've stuck it for as long as I have!'

Ian looked out of the window at a couple who laughed and stopped to kiss each other as they piled their groceries into the back of their van. ‘I don't think it's fair that you've been discussing this with our daughter. Arraminta should not be asked to take sides, and by giving her details you'll make it very hard for her not to feel guilty.'

Helen laughed loudly. ‘Minty? Guilty? Don't think that's likely! And she already knows the details. She's lived with you too – she knows how boring you are!'

‘Yes, of course, I've been boringly working my nuts off to send her to that ridiculously expensive school and to get her a sodding pony that she lost interest in after five minutes and to keep our massive bloody house running and, best of all, to send you on numerous holidays, the last one of which is where you met fucking Julio!' He hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand.

‘And that, I'm afraid, is the problem. Julio says he thinks you somehow resent the life Minty and I lead.'

‘I thought he was a plastic surgeon, not a bloody psychiatrist! And for his information, the only thing I resent is how unappreciative you both are. It makes me sick.'

Helen took a deep breath. ‘We are mismatched species, you and I. Both wanting, no,
needing
different things. Julio gets me, Ian, he really does.'

‘Is this about the vegan thing?' he asked, trying his best to understand. ‘Because if it's that, then I suppose I could give it a go.'

‘No! For God's sake! It's about so much more than you being willing to forgo a sausage.'

And just like that, he was back to thinking about Julio's penis.

‘What time you back, Marl?' Tina called from the kitchen where she was trying to re-create a Japanese flower arrangement she'd seen in a magazine, using the cut-price lilies she'd picked up at the market.

Marley came to the kitchen doorway with his large sports bag slung over his shoulder. ‘Dunno. I've got college this afternoon and then me and Digsy are going to his to play FIFA.'

‘Well, I don't want you out late. You've got college in the morning and you need to call your nan tonight. It's Wednesday.'

Marley rolled his eyes.

Tina pointed a blunted stem in his direction. ‘Don't look like that. She looks forward to it.'

‘I know, but... it's just boring. We say the same things over and over.
How your studies going? You eating good?
' He did a fine imitation of his West Indian grandma.

Tina suppressed her laughter. ‘Boring for you, maybe, but for her it's a little lifeline and it makes her happy. And if you can make someone happy by doing something so small, then why wouldn't you?'

Marley shrugged. The doorbell rang and he raced down the flat's narrow hallway and opened the door to Digsy, who leant against the wall and waved.

‘All right, Tina?'

‘Yep. You?' She smiled at the cocky boy, whose manner and language hid a shy, sweet nature.

‘I'm doing okay.' He beamed.

‘Stay out of trouble and don't keep my boy out all hours!' She smiled again.

‘What am I, his grandma?' Digsy sucked his teeth and let his body fall back while performing an elaborate arm gesture.

‘No, cos his grandma knows that answering back gets you a clip round the ear!' Tina raised her hand in mock anger. ‘And she'd know about it when Marley calls her tonight, like he does every Wednesday!' She looked at her son.

‘Come off it! You love me, Tina!' Digsy shook his head, laughing as he adjusted his baseball cap.

‘Good job, innit?' She winked.

‘You still have to call your nan every week? No way, man.' Digsy smiled widely at his mate.

Tina could see this would be a rich source of ribbing later. ‘Yes, Digsy, he does, because she lives over four thousand miles away and so, unlike
your
grandma, can't drag him to church every Sunday!' She grinned. That should even out the ammunition when it came to it later on.

Digsy was uncharacteristically quiet.

She smiled after the boys as they hurried off along the balcony and towards the lifts.

Almost immediately there was a knock on the door.

‘What's he forgotten now?' she muttered. Opening up with a twist to her mouth, she was surprised to find Len, her neighbour, standing there.

‘Oh! All right, Len! Thought it was Marley forgot something. What can I do you for?'

‘Bit of a weird one, Teen, but I do a driving job for this lady in Kensington…'

‘Ooh, very nice!' She cocked her head at him.

‘I've done it for years. She's a bit of a character, and getting quite frail, although she'd have my guts for garters for even mentioning that. Thing is, she's been let down by her cleaner and she's a bit stuck. I mentioned you might be interested, so I just wondered, really…'

‘Well, bless you for thinking of me. Where's she live?'

‘In a flat. Lexham Gardens. It's between High Street Ken and the Cromwell Road.'

Tina mentally figured out the route, which was possible. ‘How much?'

‘Fifteen pound an hour.'

‘That's good.'

‘It's two hours, three times a week, starting tomorrow!' He laughed.

Tina did the sums. An extra ninety quid a week would be very handy, especially now she was saving for Marley's college and university.

‘Do you know, I reckon I could fit it in, Len. If Marley can get himself off to college, I could do it. My other cleaning jobs are one full day, one early morning and two afternoons…'

‘Oh, smashing! Shall I tell her you'll give it a go?'

‘Yeah, go on, why not! I could do with the money, that's for sure.'

‘She's quite hard work, but you'll soon get used to her.'

‘I can handle meself.' She smiled. ‘How's Lynne?'

‘Good. Yeah, good. We're off to Tenerife week after next, for a bit of a break. So she's looking forward to that.'

‘Oh, lovely!' Tina folded her arms across her chest.

‘You been?'

‘No!' She batted her hand at him. ‘I've never been abroad. Haven't been on holiday since before Marley was born!'

‘What? You'd love it, girl!'

‘Oh, no doubt. Trust me, the reason I don't go is not because I have an aversion to drinking pina coladas in the sun!'

‘Nah, course not. Anyway, I'll text you the details later. Her name is Cordelia Potterton.'

‘Well, that's a name and an 'arf. Is it Mrs?'

‘No. She's a “Miss”.'

The clock on the radio chimed seven. Miss Potterton looked at the gold watch that now hung loosely from her tiny wrist.

‘Seven o'clock,' she announced, tapping the face, happy that the two tallied.

Greta Garbo jumped up and sat on her lap in the lamplight.

‘Hello, girl. Where have you been? Roaming the streets and up to no good, no doubt. You lucky old thing.' She chuckled and when her laugh turned into a wheeze, she sipped at her glass of water that sat on a lace doily within reach on the sideboard.

‘I had a lovely chat with Tom today. Too little time, as ever, but I get dreadfully stiff sitting on that blasted chair in the middle of the grass. I'm sure I make quite an exhibition. I said how I'd sorted the stamp books out and that I'd sent a couple off to the Postal Museum in Bath. I do hope they can make good use of them. Tom will be delighted by that.'

She paused and stroked the top of Greta Garbo's head absentmindedly, her memories coming thick and fast.

‘We had the most wonderful weekend there, in Bath. I think it was 1955, and I remember the sun shone – it really was the most glorious weather. I can see us now, like it was yesterday. We picnicked on the grass in the Royal Crescent. Gosh, do you know, Greta, I think we spent the entire day with shoes kicked off, sleeves rolled, just lying on that tartan blanket, holding hands and gazing up at the clouds. Not a care in the world, and no one paid us the slightest attention. I don't think I have ever been happier.'

Garbo licked her mistress's hand and stared at her intently, as if listening to every word.

‘We took a stroll around Royal Victoria Park and there was a most impressive display of yellow roses. Tom picked me one and I pressed it, kept it by my bedside for years. I still have it. And I remember Tom saying, “Can we just stay here forever and ever…”' Miss Potterton sniffed her tears and fished for the white lace handkerchief that nestled up her sleeve. ‘And by golly I wanted to. I really did.'

The telephone handset on the arm of her chair rang.

She sat up straight and coughed, answering slowly and deliberately. ‘589 8181.' She did this, gave her telephone number just as she always had, from the day they were first connected, way back between the wars. Their original number had been a mere three digits.

‘Evening, Miss P, hope I'm not interrupting you. It's Len. Leonard.' Len spoke loudly and slowly, as if she was a little hard of hearing, which she was.

‘Good evening, Leonard.'

There was a second of silence as Len hesitated, expecting a bit more of a greeting. ‘Reason for my call is that I had a word with my neighbour, as I suggested when I dropped you home earlier, and she'd be more than happy to come and clean for you, or at least give it a go. I told her you'd like her tomorrow and she'll be with you about ten.'

‘
At
ten, Leonard. Not
about
ten, otherwise it's jolly hard to keep track. Makes it confusing when you're chasing the odd minute here and there.'

‘Righto, ten it is. Good night, Miss P.'

‘Good night, Leonard.' She ended the call.