Well Groomed (35 page)

‘Don’t you mean twenty years?’ India asked, with the polite tactlessness of youth.

‘Yes, yes, I suppose so,’ Niall laughed, not really minding. He had continually to remind himself that he was closer to forty than twenty.

India’s long, blonde hair, worn in a fringe, framed her pale, smooth face with its clever blue eyes so that she looked almost too perfect – like a pretty heroine in a Japanese comic strip. Niall could suddenly see cool, poised Zoe as a younger woman – that same impassive, flawless face and wise eyes; she must have been stunning. He stared from daughter to mother in awe.

Zoe saw the way he was looking at her and felt absurdly flustered.

‘Excuse me, I think Wally’s trying to say something.’ She extracted his drooling face from her lap and headed hastily through to the scullery to pick up the dog bowls, her shoulders high with tension as she fought to calm down from her tactless cross-questioning a moment earlier. She was convinced Niall had been about to lay into her. And she was equally convinced that he had not been entirely honest with her either.

Niall watched her snatched, nervy movements and realised that he had come close to confessing something he hadn’t even admitted to himself. Raking his hand through his hair, he turned back to India and smiled.

‘You look delectable, angel,’ he assured her. ‘Whoever it is, he’s a lucky sod, so he is.’

Niall hoped he was also a very well-behaved sod; she was total jail bait in that simple, classic tunic dress which made her look at least eighteen. Tall, willowy and with features hewn like a smooth marble bust, India could never look tarty – she had too much poise and class, the sort of cut-glass looks that could earn her a fortune if she were spotted by a modelling agency. She could have a long and starved career as a coke-sniffing, chain-smoking model if she so desired. And tonight, looking as she did, she needed to be with a man who possessed tremendous self-control. Niall privately hoped he was a spotty fourteen year old who was terrified of her.

‘Actually, I feel really mean because it’s Ma’s birthday and we usually all eat together,’ India whispered, glancing across to the scullery. ‘But I’ve fancied this man for ages and I never dreamed he’d ask me out.’

‘Sure, your mother won’t mind.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘She was on a first date once too, and she’s the others to keep her company now.’

India looked slightly doubtful as she dashed upstairs to check her reflection one last time and then clean her teeth once again.

With a blast of cool air, Ted sauntered in from the front door wearing his favourite navy blue shirt – always saved for hot dates – his knowing ladsy face grinning broadly. Tash had recently re-clipped his hair, but in her distraction she had cut rather too much off so that he looked like Brian Glover, his scalp gleaming through the lightest dusting of stubble like a white chocolate truffle sprinkled with cocoa. He reeked of aftershave and was carrying a card for Zoe.

‘Where is she?’ he asked cheerfully.

‘In there.’ Niall nodded towards the open door where Zoe was feeding the dogs.

‘India?’

Niall gaped at him. ‘You’re India’s date?’

‘Sure.’ He looked mildly offended. ‘Why not?’

‘Well, you’re too old for one,’ snapped Niall. ‘And you’re going out with Franny . . .’

‘It’s off. She doesn’t like my new haircut.’

‘And it’s her mother’s bloody birthday,’ Niall blazed on, keeping his voice hushed but deadly. ‘You could have been a little more thoughtful.’

Ted shrugged, unbothered. ‘Zoe was all for it – says she doesn’t want to celebrate turning forty other than by drinking herself silly and watching the box. Rufus is out too – some video sesh, I think, which basically means blagging his way into a pub in Marlbury with his schoolmates. And Pen and Gus are eating out with some potential sponsors.’

‘You mean Zoe’s all alone on her fortieth?’ Niall was horrified.

‘Way she wants it.’ Ted tossed the card on the table and headed towards the stairs, yelling for India.

The moment they had set off in his rusty Renault 5, Niall stomped through to Zoe.

‘That girl is far too young to be going out with the likes of Ted,’ he declared. ‘He’s totally immoral.’

Leaving a spoon in a dog bowl, Zoe turned back to him, surprised by his anger, but trying to keep the atmosphere light.

‘You sound like her father.’ She smiled awkwardly. ‘She’s been badgering me all week about it and I rather caved in, to be honest.’

‘He’ll try and deflower her the moment they’re away from here.’ Niall was aware that he was using the prudish, pompous language of an old biddy fresh from a Moral Meeting with the WI but he felt wildly sanctimonious right now, possibly exacerbated by the recent admissions of his own infidelity.

‘She knows that,’ Zoe laughed, turning back to the dog bowls. ‘When I tried to give her a gentle bit of advice about saying no when one was uncomfortable, she started reeling off the most extraordinary knowledge about how to say no, demand a condom, give a blow job and lift one’s legs for deeper penetration. It’s all those magazines she reads, I suppose.’

‘Jesus!’ He was appalled. ‘And you still let her go?’

‘She’s not planning to have sex with him, Niall,’ Zoe laughed, putting the dogs’ dinners on the stone tiles. ‘She was flabbergasted when I even broached the subject. She’s so bloody sane it frightens me – she won’t drink, loathes smoking, thinks Ecstasy is a death warrant and knows more about sexually transmitted diseases than I do.’ She headed back through to the kitchen. ‘The only thing she’s dead set on finding out about tonight is French kissing – despite the threat of mouth-ulcers and cold sores, on which she is no doubt extremely well read. She’s decided that Ted is a safe bet as he cleans his teeth regularly and never has bad breath.’

Following her, Niall was speechless.

‘She never ceases to amaze me.’ Zoe turned and watched his reaction with sparkling eyes. ‘I’d trust her with my life, unlike my son whom I suspect is right now drinking his way towards having his stomach pumped.’

Pressing his finger to his mouth, Niall tried to look shocked for a little longer but found himself laughing too. ‘Christ, I’ll never understand kids.’

‘One never does – but it’s quite good fun learning that at times.’

‘I wonder if I ever will.’ Niall shrugged, looking at the pictures of Zoe’s kids through the years which littered the shelves and dresser.

‘You and Tash will have great kids. She’ll be a wonderful mum – scatty, but great fun.’ Zoe started clearing away the debris on the table, eager to make up for her cross-questioning earlier. ‘And you’ll be a wonderful father.’

He didn’t answer.

Aware that he was uncomfortable even with this line of conversation, she rattled quickly and rather indiscreetly on, not seeing Ted’s unopened card as she stacked it into a pile of event schedules.

‘Penny is desperate for children, poor darling, but they simply can’t afford it, and there are some ghastly doubts about her fertility which have dragged on for years. If they ever want to go for it, it’s pretty likely they’d have to go through IVF treatment which would be such a trauma for them, and so costly. I think she’s beginning to panic a bit – she’s already thirty-six.’

‘Same age as me,’ Niall mused absently, and then suddenly snapped to attention. ‘And you are celebrating a birthday, sweetheart, which I knew nothing about. Happy returns!’ He leaned across to peck her on the cheek just as she was wiping it with a dog-foody hand, so that he got a mouthful of Chappie-flavoured fingers.

‘Thanks.’ Zoe moved away in polite embarrassment, her hand suddenly burning hot. ‘I’m not really celebrating this one.’

‘Of course you are.’ He followed her, taking the pile of papers from her hands. ‘Go upstairs and smarten up – I’m taking you out to dinner at the Olive Branch.’

‘Thank you, but I can’t possibly,’ she replied, flustered. ‘What about Tash? She’s coming back from this event soon.’

‘We’ll leave her a note to join us.’ He was already binning the papers and searching for his coat. ‘Now go and wash your hands while I call Ange and get him to squeeze in another table.’ He dodged past Beetroot who was snarling at him whilst trying to eat at the same time, almost choking with the combined effort.

Laughing in resignation, Zoe headed upstairs, suddenly rather glad that she was celebrating her birthday after all. Life might not begin at forty, she mused, but that was no excuse not to get one.

ZOE FOUND THAT SHE couldn’t possibly keep pace with Niall in drinks, although she made the mistake of starting out by trying to do so. Consequently she was pretty tight by the time they even looked at the menus.

A vast fire was crackling nearby, into which Niall tossed cigarette butts at regular intervals. Faces flushed from the heat and the booze, they chatted rather mindlessly about news and views as Ange dashed back and forth past them, occasionally stopping for a chat or to make a recommendation. He was on top form tonight having been highly recommended by Craig Brown the previous week. His peppery pelt of hair gleamed like the pewter tankards above his bar and his coffee-bean eyes were sparkling so brightly that he seemed to have undergone a sea change and replaced them with black pearls.

Zoe wasn’t sure whether it was the alcohol loosening her tongue, or just his manner, but she found Niall remarkably easy to talk to. By the time she was chomping through a large plate of gnocchi, she had already described her childhood and was hinting at the unhappiness of her marriage, a subject upon which she seldom allowed herself to be drawn. There was something about Niall’s big brown ‘talk-to-me’ eyes and astonishing, self-deprecating honesty about his own marriage which left her feeling she could keep nothing from him. She could see why Tash described him as a better listener than the Midland griffin.

‘My ex-husband, Si, is a very driven, very clever man,’ she explained. ‘That was one of my greatest problems, really – he was a total workaholic throughout our marriage, and a perfectionist to boot. When he got home he simply couldn’t accept the fact that his household didn’t run as smoothly as his office.’

‘What does he do?’ Niall asked, refilling his glass.

‘Well, he was a design architect – one of the best; very well respected. But he doesn’t work anymore.’

‘Retired?’

‘In a sense.’ Zoe was unwilling to let too much slip. ‘He had a sort of breakdown in the eighties.’

‘And took early retirement?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Not voluntarily, no, but it was obvious he couldn’t work anymore.’ She glanced away uncomfortably. ‘He developed schizophrenia. Paranoid schizophrenia, to be precise.’

‘Christ!’ Niall breathed out in horror.

‘It was awful,’ Zoe confessed. ‘Total Jekyll and Hyde stuff. I said he was a perfectionist, didn’t I? Well, it was rather more than that, really. He was so
good
at what he did, everyone knew him. I fancied him rotten for years before he asked me out – I’d been to interview him for a magazine profile. I was quite well known then.’

‘I remember.’ Niall grinned. ‘I used to slobber over your by-line photo.’

‘Really?’ Zoe blushed slightly.

He nodded and, when she fell silent, prompted her to go on.

‘Well, after we married, Si didn’t want me to work – not in the nine to five sense that I once did, that is. I wrote a column for a while – it was amazing what schlock one could get away with in those days. A quickly dashed-off witty five hundred words about the washing machine breaking down earned me a fortune. I even wrote a novel – a decent one, not the tat I scribble now. But then I got pregnant with Rufus and was pretty ill throughout. Cue for marriage to go downhill.’

‘He wasn’t very supportive?’

She gave a rueful smile. ‘We lived in this extraordinary house in Greenwich that Si had designed – totally minimalist; it won a couple of awards. It was supposed to be low-maintenance, nothing to dust etcetera, but it was actually impossible to exist normally in. There were no bookshelves, pictures, ornaments, nothing. If one left a newspaper lying around, Si would explode. I think Lime Tree Farm would be his idea of hell.’

Niall was watching her closely now, saying nothing, just letting her talk on.

‘With kids comes litter – it’s inevitable.’ She sighed. ‘And I was adamant that I didn’t want a nanny, but I have to confess I wasn’t a natural mother.’

‘You’re a great mother!’ he protested.

‘I’m fine now, but I was appalling to start with; I had killing post-natal depression for months after Rufus, I felt utterly trapped, cried all the time, and panicked if he so much as sneezed. I must have been hell to live with and Si was never the most sympathetic of listeners. Looking back at that time from his point of view, I suppose he equated children with dirt, noise, litter, and a tearful, abstracted wife.’

‘Kids must take a lot of adjusting to.’ Niall poured more wine into both of their glasses, although hers was still almost full.

‘The trouble is, I don’t think he was prepared to adjust at all,’ Zoe went on. ‘He was wildly jealous of my time and started to get a bit fanatical about tidiness and such like. I just thought he was being more of an old fusspot than usual, but by the time India came along, he was really manic about it – he would wash his hands twenty or thirty times after a meal, clean his teeth until they bled, throw away the kids’ toys if they were left out and scream the house down if he found a speck of dirt anywhere. I think we went through about ten cleaners in as many months.’

Niall could see the pain in her face and guessed that, although she didn’t admit it, she levelled a great deal of blame at herself.

‘I talked it over with a psychologist friend and we came to the conclusion that it was obsessional neurosis.’ She rubbed her mouth. ‘She suggested Si should go for Behavioural Therapy. But it was ridiculous – he wouldn’t even own up to having a problem. He’d become more and more withdrawn and unemotional; it was so hard to have a decent conversation with him because he spoke so quickly that his sentences sometimes didn’t make sense – he’d get the words in the wrong order or use words that didn’t even exist. But he was still as quick as lightning if I tried to fool him – I told him that I was going for stress counselling and wanted him to come too; the moment we arrived he realised it was a ruse and you couldn’t see him for smoke.’