too. I’ve got a lovely garden – I have someone in once a week and I got him in for a few more hours yesterday, just to make sure that it looked nice.
‘Why don’t you take out some cheese straws,’ Mum says to one of her helpers. I’m sure she’s trying to wind me up. They’re not cheese straws – they’re Swiss cheese allumettes and I’m paying people to pass them around.
I don’t want one of her friends taking care of my business.
‘Mum!’ I snap. ‘I don’t need help. I told you, it’s all catered.’
‘Well, they’re a bit slow,’ Mum says. ‘People are hungry. Geoff,’ she calls to another one of her elves. ‘Can you take out the Bakewell tarts?’
‘They’re cherry and almond frangipane tartlets!’ I hiss to her. ‘Will you just leave it?’
I head out to the living room. Back to the “wonderful service” murmurs and a cuddle from sleazy old Greg and then one from Shirley. My eyes are wandering over Greg’s shoulder and around the room. Bonny is shovelling my buckwheat blinis, with sour cream and caviar, into her gob – she takes three of everything when it comes around and I’ve heard her moaning that there’s no food.
We could be on Mars as far as Eleanor is concerned, or back in the hospital - she’s just sitting in a chair and looking out of the window, though she asked me to get her some wine before. Maybe I should put a little call bell in her hand so that she can buzz me if she gets thirsty or needs to go to the toilet. Apparently Gloria is looking after Daisy and picking up her other children, Laura and Daniel, in a little while.
I hope she doesn’t come in.
I excuse myself from Shirley and Greg and get back to policing mum. She’s chatting away to Simone and the last thing I want is Mum chatting away to anyone.
‘But you’re far too young to be Lucy’s mum!’ Simone says, then murmurs how sorry she is and how hard it must be for my mum and dad. ‘I’m a single mum, Simone,’ Mum starts and opens a mouth that is more than happy to tell anyone, anything, to just stand and pour out her life and I have to stop her.
‘Mum!’ I say. ‘They’re being a bit slow getting the food out. Can you hurry them along?’
It’s completely exhausting.
Then I get Alice’s boyfriend as I try to go upstairs to my bedroom with the excuse that I need the loo. I don’t, I just need five minutes, I’d settle for two, but oh no, I’ve got Hugh introducing himself. He’s a psychiatrist and heaven knows that family needs one. He asks how I’m feeling.
I almost laugh.
My shoulders drop, as does my jaw and I almost laugh, because does he really want to know? I mean, does he really want to know how I’m feeling?
God knows what he sees in loony Alice – maybe she’s a case study, maybe he’s doing a thesis on self absorbed narcissistic bitches – he’d have a job keeping his word count within limits with her.
Memories are raining in again and I don’t want bad memories today. I want to be a grieving widow. That’s so much easier to be, but instead I’m remembering things that I don’t want to.
We had it out once here, right on this spot. She was coming down the stairs and I was trying to be nice, I’d bought cakes and everything and I was nice to her lesbian friend – I was so nice and I tried to address it - the tension between us. I stood on this spot and I tried and she sneered and she told me - she basically told me, that she knew my husband was cheating on me.
I hate Alice.
I hate her guts.
Yet, she’s spent an hour with Charlotte in her room, going through photos of Noodle and her dad and if I hate her too much it will spill over and I’ll upset Charlotte.
But seriously - is this guy joking?
Does he really want to know how I’m feeling! ‘You don’t have to answer that,’ he says.
‘Good,’ I say. ‘Then I won’t.’
One of Mum’s friends comes over and offers me a slice of “apple pie.”
They’re tarte tatins.
I want to take the plate and throw it and Hugh’s still standing there and then joy and double joy, Alice comes over and he puts his arm around her waist as she speaks to me again