Mum had looked vague. Drawn vacantly on her cigarette and her past, and said, ‘D’you know, darling, I’ve absolutely no idea.’
‘With
a nanny? Back at the hotel?’ I’d suggested sarcastically.
‘Yes, that’d be it,’ she’d agreed, possibly believing it. There was no guile with Mum. Just forgetfulness.
‘But that’s it on the hangers-on front.’ James turned away from me on to his side. He bunched up his pillow and punched it hard. ‘We don’t want hordes of freeloading friends of Amelia and Tara, or any appendages of your mother. You know what she’s like.’
I did. I also thought it probably wasn’t the moment to mention Rory, who would no doubt be swapping Scotland for France in the blink of an eye, and, since it was further away, would likely be with us for longer. I’d already decided to veto Will and Jess, but who knew how long Toby would stay? He practically lived with us as it was.
‘I’m going to see Camille tomorrow. Tell her our plans.’
I blinked. Sat up. ‘Oh?’ I gazed down at his immobile form in the darkness. ‘Is she coming here?’ I went hot at the thought of the frayed stair carpet, the Ikea throws covering the tired sofas, the damp on the sitting-room wall. Wondered, wildly, if I had time to paint it? Who was it who’d said that the smell of fresh paint followed her everywhere? Oh, yes. The Queen.
‘No, she’s at the Albert Hall this week and rehearsing during the day, so she’s invited me to lunch at her hotel.’
‘Oh! How lovely!’ I was stunned for a moment. Not me, of course. No, of course not me. But why couldn’t we both go? ‘Are you free?’ I demanded. I certainly was. ‘Don’t you have clinic tomorrow? Private patients?’
He rolled over enough to peer at me over his shoulder in the gloom. ‘Free to have lunch with a famous opera
singer at the Hyde Park Hotel? Who’s lending us a ten grand a week house for the entire summer? I think so, Flora. Peter Hurst is covering my list for a couple of hours; I’ve emailed him.’ He rolled back.
‘Oh. Right.’ I lay down again. I couldn’t help thinking he’d been to enough smart restaurants with me not to get excited about the Hyde Park Hotel, but I forced myself to be the bigger person. ‘Do tell her we’re completely thrilled, won’t you? That we’re enormously grateful.’
He grunted. Reached out a backward hand to give me a reassuring pat.
I went to sleep happy, barely needing the eye mask, the socks, the earplugs, the drops of sleep-inducing lavender water on the pillow, the Rennies, or even the swig of Night Nurse – although, naturally, I employed them all anyway, just in case.
The following morning I lay in bed until nine o’clock, luxuriating in my family’s absence. Tara had taken a bus to her school across the river; James, after much discussion about which tie to wear, the Tube to St Thomas’s Hospital; and Amelia and Toby had walked – or bounced, in Toby’s case; he had a funny walk – to their crammer, where they were both doing retakes. About this, James and I had been practically on saucepan-throwing terms earlier in the year. There’d been tears and shrieks from all quarters, mostly from Amelia, who’d baulked at the inconvenience it posed to her gap year, but also from James, who’d baulked at the cost, since he’d already shelled out thousands for private school. Thousands we didn’t have. I’d prevailed, though, as I knew I would, but it had been the bloodiest of family battles. At the crammer, she’d met the
Trog, so in some respects I’d scored an own goal, but I was pleased she was having another go, even if it was only at one A-level, sport science. The telephone rang beside me. I lunged in the dark for the receiver, removing an earplug.
‘Eau, helleau, it’s Penelope Friar-Gordon here.’
I didn’t know anyone by that name. I propped myself up on my elbow. Pushed up my eye mask to let the light flood in, and removed the other earplug.
‘Sorry, I
‘With
a nanny? Back at the hotel?’ I’d suggested sarcastically.
‘Yes, that’d be it,’ she’d agreed, possibly believing it. There was no guile with Mum. Just forgetfulness.
‘But that’s it on the hangers-on front.’ James turned away from me on to his side. He bunched up his pillow and punched it hard. ‘We don’t want hordes of freeloading friends of Amelia and Tara, or any appendages of your mother. You know what she’s like.’
I did. I also thought it probably wasn’t the moment to mention Rory, who would no doubt be swapping Scotland for France in the blink of an eye, and, since it was further away, would likely be with us for longer. I’d already decided to veto Will and Jess, but who knew how long Toby would stay? He practically lived with us as it was.
‘I’m going to see Camille tomorrow. Tell her our plans.’
I blinked. Sat up. ‘Oh?’ I gazed down at his immobile form in the darkness. ‘Is she coming here?’ I went hot at the thought of the frayed stair carpet, the Ikea throws covering the tired sofas, the damp on the sitting-room wall. Wondered, wildly, if I had time to paint it? Who was it who’d said that the smell of fresh paint followed her everywhere? Oh, yes. The Queen.
‘No, she’s at the Albert Hall this week and rehearsing during the day, so she’s invited me to lunch at her hotel.’
‘Oh! How lovely!’ I was stunned for a moment. Not me, of course. No, of course not me. But why couldn’t we both go? ‘Are you free?’ I demanded. I certainly was. ‘Don’t you have clinic tomorrow? Private patients?’
He rolled over enough to peer at me over his shoulder in the gloom. ‘Free to have lunch with a famous opera
singer at the Hyde Park Hotel? Who’s lending us a ten grand a week house for the entire summer? I think so, Flora. Peter Hurst is covering my list for a couple of hours; I’ve emailed him.’ He rolled back.
‘Oh. Right.’ I lay down again. I couldn’t help thinking he’d been to enough smart restaurants with me not to get excited about the Hyde Park Hotel, but I forced myself to be the bigger person. ‘Do tell her we’re completely thrilled, won’t you? That we’re enormously grateful.’
He grunted. Reached out a backward hand to give me a reassuring pat.
I went to sleep happy, barely needing the eye mask, the socks, the earplugs, the drops of sleep-inducing lavender water on the pillow, the Rennies, or even the swig of Night Nurse – although, naturally, I employed them all anyway, just in case.
The following morning I lay in bed until nine o’clock, luxuriating in my family’s absence. Tara had taken a bus to her school across the river; James, after much discussion about which tie to wear, the Tube to St Thomas’s Hospital; and Amelia and Toby had walked – or bounced, in Toby’s case; he had a funny walk – to their crammer, where they were both doing retakes. About this, James and I had been practically on saucepan-throwing terms earlier in the year. There’d been tears and shrieks from all quarters, mostly from Amelia, who’d baulked at the inconvenience it posed to her gap year, but also from James, who’d baulked at the cost, since he’d already shelled out thousands for private school. Thousands we didn’t have. I’d prevailed, though, as I knew I would, but it had been the bloodiest of family battles. At the crammer, she’d met the
Trog, so in some respects I’d scored an own goal, but I was pleased she was having another go, even if it was only at one A-level, sport science. The telephone rang beside me. I lunged in the dark for the receiver, removing an earplug.
‘Eau, helleau, it’s Penelope Friar-Gordon here.’
I didn’t know anyone by that name. I propped myself up on my elbow. Pushed up my eye mask to let the light flood in, and removed the other earplug.
‘Sorry, I
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