Olivia’s Luck (2000) (33 page)

W
hen I finally ran out of the house at half-past seven that evening, I was hot, flustered, out of control, and not at all in the cultured, sophisticated frame of mind I’d intended. For a start, there had been huge hassles over the baby-sitting. When I’d popped into the kitchen to see the boys and ask Spiro, seeing as it was his turn, I’d been met with such flushed faces and a horrified silence, I was taken aback.

“What? What’s the matter?”

Finally Spiro found his tongue. “Oh, Meesis McFarllen, I feel so badly, I fall on your breast with shame. I theenk you not know, but last night, I seen your shreddies, I seen your jugs jacket, I see – ”

“Hang on, seen what? Jugs what? Spiro, what on earth do you mean?”

“I think what Spiro means,” said Mac, stepping in smoothly, “is that we thought we might go out for a curry tonight. Didn’t we, boys?”

They nodded to a man. Beaming with relief until I thought their faces would split in half.

“Yeah, that’s right,” agreed Alf happily. “A curry. Need to get out, see, have a bit of a vindaloo.” He rubbed his stomach and grinned even wider. I feared for my lavatory pans.

“Oh! Oh, well, that’s a bit of a blow.” I frowned. God, it
was
a blow, actually. Suddenly I saw my sophisticated evening disintegrating. Where the hell was I going to get a baby-sitter at such short notice?

“Perhaps I could ask Nanette,” I wondered aloud. “I think she might be on her own this week.”

“And if she can’t,” put in Lance quietly, “I’ll do it. I’m not that desperate for a curry.”

“Oh, Lance, that’s awfully kind,” I beamed. “You’re an angel. I tell you what, I’ll keep you in reserve.”

“You do that,” he muttered with ill-concealed sarcasm. I glanced at him, startled. Now what the hell did he have to be peeved about? His face betrayed nothing, though, so I shrugged. Oh well, I couldn’t cope with sulky builders right now. I had bigger fish to fry.

I hastened over to see Nanette, who was indeed Rogerless, and who declared that she’d be delighted. She and Claudia liked nothing more than a girly nail-varnish-and-highlights chat, and they’d already had a couple of cosy evenings together, painting toes, putting face packs on and wading through
Hello!
Magazines searching for Posh and Becks, something Claudia complained she didn’t get enough of from me.

“Where are you going, anyway?” called Nanette, hanging out of an upstairs window which she’d pushed open when she’d heard the doorbell. She was jangling armfuls of bangles and clutching a duster in her nails.

“Sebastian’s,” I muttered, glancing nervously down the street.

“
Sebastian’s!
” she shrieked. “I don’t
believe
it!”

“Nanette, you were totally wrong about him,” I hissed, “he’s not a nutter, or a teacher, he’s a world-famous musician! A composer for heaven’s sake – he’s Sebastian Faulkner!”

She frowned. Shook her head. “Never heard of him. Who?”

“Oh, never mind. Let’s not discuss it at the top of our voices in the street. I’ll see you later, OK?”

“Be there at seven o’clock.”

“Great.”

Except, of course, that she wasn’t. Seven o’clock came and went and I paced about the garden for a bit. Then, when it got to twenty past, I rang her.

“Nanette, are you coming?”

“Of course, darling. Just getting ready.”

“Nanette, you’re
baby-sittingl
You don’t have to get ready, just come over, please! I’m going to be late!” I wailed.

“Okey-doke.”

Five minutes went by. Then ten, so I rushed off to get Lance.

“She
is
coming,” I yelled through the caravan door, “but she’s going to be late, so I just wondered – Oops – sorry!” The door opened and he appeared with just a towel around his waist, fresh from the shower. I covered my eyes and carried on talking. “I just wondered, could you possibly come over just till she arrives?”

“Sure, and you can uncover your eyes too. I’m perfectly respectable, you know. You mustn’t be so uptight, Liwy.”

“Right, yes. Sorry.”

I dropped my hand and he dropped his towel.

“
Lance!
” My hand shot to my eyes again.

“Sorry, I dropped it,” he laughed.

“Oooh,
God!
”

Seething now, I turned and raced back to the house to find Claudia, lying on the sofa reading a teenage magazine.

“Darling, it’s half-past seven,” I panted, checking my hair in the mirror, “and I must go. Lance will be up in two ticks followed by Nanette, OK?”

“Fine. Can I watch
The Simpsons?
”

“No you
can’t
watch
The Simpsons
. Do some flipping homework for a change why don’t you!”

She looked up from her mag. “Mum, you’re nervous.”

“What?”

“I can tell when you’re nervous, you always get stroppy. Take a deep breath and think – ” she turned back to her magazine and read, ’ ‘ – I can do this. I can trap this man. I’m gorgeous’. ‘

“Oh, for God’s sake!” I snatched the comic from her hands, reached into the bookcase, flung
Anne of Green Gables
at her and stormed out. All of which was not particularly conducive to feeling calm, confident, and collected as I beetled across the cobbles in shoes that frankly, could have come out of Nanette’s wardrobe. I hadn’t worn anything like these mules, or the peacock-blue pedal pushers I’d squeezed into, since I was about twenty, but I had a feeling the place might be teeming with trendy arty types and I didn’t want to look frumpy. I wondered, as I ran along, tucking back my hair, if I looked too frivolous, though, and tried desperately to look serious and intelligent. Oh, and musical. I hummed a little tune. Abba. Hopeless, Olivia, just shut up. As I ran up the steps to the front door and teetered on the top one to ring the bell, it occurred to me to wonder if mother would be in. I did hope not. I wasn’t convinced she’d be conducive to the artistic atmosphere within, unless, of course, it was some dismal, gothic novel, sort of way.

Two seconds later, well-heeled heels came drumming down the hall, and the door was thrown back to reveal – not mother, but Sebastian. Such was my relief, I beamed.

“Hi!”

His face, which I realised had been on the point of holding back some reserve, relaxed at my smile.

He grinned. “Hi, come in.”

He stood aside to let me into a huge, smoky-blue hallway, covered in prints and drawings, with a vast iron and stone staircase which swept up and up, curling finally to an enormous round glass lantern in the roof, storeys high.

“Gosh!” I stared. “I had no idea these houses were so big!”

“Deceptive, aren’t they?” he agreed, following my gaze. “That’s what I liked about it when I saw it. Very understated on the outside and full of surprises within.”

He turned back to me, and I suddenly realised that I was exactly the reverse. Very overstated on the outside in these ridiculous peacock-blue trousers, and no surprises at all within. Why hadn’t I worn something grey and subtle to match the chaste good taste of this house, instead of something more at home in Nanette’s, all white shag pile? Sebastian himself was wearing ancient cords – the badge of the intelligentsia – and a blue Boden shirt. I did notice, though, that he’d clearly just washed his hair because it was still a bit damp at the edges. We stood there smiling at each other.

“I just wanted – ”

“Olivia, I – ”

We laughed. “Go ahead,” he said, scraping back short dark waves, “you go first.”

I felt my meagre supply of words dwindling but ploughed on regardless. “Well, I – I just wanted to say how sorry I was. You know, about all that ghastly business with Claudia and then gate-crashing your party last night when I should have known better. I’ve – well, I’ve been a total imbecile and I’m sorry.”

He smiled. “Forget it. God, I meant to say forget it in the note – did I not say that? Come on, let’s go through and sit in the garden. It’s too stuffy in here.” He guided me through the house. “Anyway, apart from anything else, you apologised quite enough last night, explained yourself perfectly, and very eloquently too, definitely had the crowd on your side. I got a bit nervous at one point, thought I was going to be lynched, and it made me realise that had I been in your shoes, I might well have thought I was the mad flasher-mac man, too.”

“Really?” I gazed about as I found myself on an elegant terrace, spilling over with urns of ivy and dusty white geraniums. I sat down on the French cafe chair he held out. Clearly it was just the two of us and I felt hugely relieved.

“Really,” he confirmed, as he sat beside me, a tiny iron table between us, “I’d forgotten about that tigress instinct mothers have, but looking back I seem to remember mine was just the same. When I was about eight, she once saw me talking to a strange man in our road and came tearing up, demanding to know if he’d offered me sweeties or anything. As the poor man opened his mouth to speak she beat him about the head with her handbag. She wasn’t to know he was my housemaster, I suppose.”

“Oh God!” I giggled and took the beautifully chilled glass of Pouilly Fume he offered me. “Is she here now?” I glanced nervously around.

“Who?”

“Your mother.”

He put down his glass, sat back and regarded me curiously. “You know, the first time I met you, Olivia, you showed an inordinate amount of interest in my mother. She lives in Dorset, with my father. Why on earth would she be here?”

“In Dorset! Oh! So – so who’s that – that woman then?” I jerked my head back housewards. “With the hair,” I scraped mine back to demonstrate, “and the teeth.” I stuck mine out rattily.

“Maureen? She’s my girlfriend.”

I dropped my hair. Stared. “You’re kidding!”

He laughed. “Of course. She’s my housekeeper.”

“Oh!”

“Because I live on my own and I’m fairly hopeless on the domestic front, she cleans and puts food in front of me now and again. She’s got a flat in the basement. Why on earth did you think she was my mother?”

“Because Nanette said – ” I stopped, flushing, as I remembered what Nanette had said. She clearly hadn’t a clue, but wanting to appear informed, had creatively filled in the gaps on the strength of very limited information.

He folded his arms, mouth twitching slightly. “Yes, what exactly
did
Nanette say? I’m keen to learn, if only to discover why, at that godawful dinner party of hers, you addressed me so slowly and distinctly and in words of only one syllable. At first I thought it might be because you were brain-dead, but then when you miraculously recovered your powers of speech to address the rest of the party, it occurred to me that you might imagine I was, am I right?”

I flushed and picked at an imaginary speck of dust on my trousers. “Oh God, Sebastian, this is all so horribly embarrassing,” I mumbled. “You see – well, the thing is, Nanette told me you were a bit…unhinged.”

“Unhinged.” He mulled the word over, nodding soberly. “Right. Why so, exactly?”

“Oh, such silly reasons, too stupid to even – ”

“No no,” he interrupted, “I insist on being enlightened. It might happen again you see, and I need to know how to curb my derangement in public. Do I twitch maniacally? Inadvertently sing, at table, suck my thumb and twiddle with my hair during pudding?”

I giggled. “Well, OK she said – ” I gazed at my trousers – “she said you stood in front of your window all day long waving your arms about like a windmill.” I glanced up. “Oh, and she also said you ran around the streets in your pyjamas.”

“
A la
Wee Willie Winkie?”

I grinned. “I suppose, but listen, Nanette’s hopeless; she gets everything wrong and – ”

“No, not, not at all. As a matter of fact, our Nanette is very observant, and I fear I might well have to plead guilty on both of those counts, but would you first like to hear my defence, before you actually send for the men in white coats?”

“Oh, heavens no,” I said hastily, “please don’t bother. I mean we all have our foibles, Sebastian, and to be honest I’ve got some very odd habits so – ”

“The arm waving,” he interrupted, “is perfectly legit, and stems from me conducting as I compose in my head. Before it gets to the piano, and before it makes it on to paper. Does that make sense?”

“Perfectly,” I beamed.

“But the pyjamas…” He scratched his head. “I can only assume it was that time I ran into her in Waitrose when I was probably wearing some comfortable old stripy trousers I picked up in a market in Afghanistan. I tend to work in them – oh, and a crumpled old T-shirt that probably looked – to our manicured Nanette – like I’d slept in it. And of course I always look appalling when I’m working and haven’t had a haircut for months. Mad, probably. Will that do? Or do you need further and better particulars?”

“No no,” I laughed, “that will do.” His brown eyes were merry and far from steely now as they met mine over the white wine. He had one of those thin, intelligent, Jeremy Irons type faces that leant naturally to the serious, but when animated, was very attractive.

“And the teacher bit?” I blurted quickly, realising I was staring shamelessly. “Nanette had some crazy idea that you were let loose on small boys on your day release from the institution.” I laughed, then stopped abruptly. “Oh – hang on, in fact
you
told me that too, I remember, at dinner!”

He nodded. “Well, it’s absolutely true, although teaching’s probably overstating it somewhat. But I do go to the High School about once a month to talk to the boys.”

“Oh, right. What about?”

“Table tennis.”

I blinked.

“Music, Olivia,” he said patiently. “Composition and theory, that sort of thing.”

“Oh! Of course!” I laughed nervously, but flushed dramatically. God, you
moron
, Olivia, you must stop sounding so inane. And why are you sitting here like some fearless, probing breakfast TV reporter, getting this world-famous musician to explain why he’s yet to be locked up and have the key thrown away? Who d’you think you are, Judy Finnigan? Oprah Winfrey, even? I shut up for a moment, and gazed instead at his immaculate walled garden, the one I’d zigzagged across, apache style, just a few days ago. It was very well designed, in a tasteful, white-flowers-and-greenery sort of way, and since I so often feel that gardens reflect their owners, I wondered if this was the man. Controlled, precise, safe. For some reason, I felt it might not be. One thing was for sure, though, he certainly wasn’t a gusher. He chose his words with care, whilst I tended to choose mine with reckless abandon. I tried to think of something intelligent to say.