A Married Man Part 9

'Flowers?' she pounced. 'Only have to do it on the second Sunday of the month?'

'Flowers,' I agreed. 'Once a month.'

'Perfect,' she beamed, satisfied. 'We'll go and see Mimsy Compton-Burrell tomorrow. She'll be thrilled to have you on board.'

'Fine,' I said faintly, thinking even I could shove some dahlias in a jar once a month. 'See you tomorrow.'

I gathered up the boys and we kissed, smiled and nodded our way around the table, thanking everyone and making our apologies. As I said goodnight to Violet, ducking under her riding hat to peck her floury old cheek, she held my armfirmly. Looked me in the eye.

'I want you to know,' she said, fixing me with wide, pale blue eyes, 'that I was riding a cow, yesterday.'

I gazed. 'Excellent,' I said finally. 'That's ... good news'

'I also want you to know,' she hadn't finished, her grip tightening on my arm, 'that Roddy McLean's wife was my bridesmaid.'

I stared. Gulped. Right. Well, she was coming after me, wasn't she? Armed with a fish-knife. Riding a cow.

'Urn, Violet, my mother isn't who you think she is. You see-'

'Never mind, Lucy,' tinkled Rose, 'I'll sort it out. On your way now, darlings, on your way!'

She shooed us away, and for once, I blessed her. I held the boys' hands and we scuttled down the terrace steps. As we skirted the fountain and headed off across the park, away into the night, I realised my heart was beating really rather fast.

Chapter Eight.

The following morning Lavinia was on my doorstep at what felt like dawn. It was probably more like nine o'clock, but the boys and I were barely awake. There we were, faintly comatose at the kitchen table, blearily shovelling Cheerios into our mouths in our pyjamas when- 'Co-eee! Sorry it's a bit early, but I thought l'd catch you first thing,' came winging in though an open window.

'The door's open,' I growled from deep in my bowl, not moving from my chair, and grinding my cereal to a pulp.

I wondered, through a fuggy blur, if such visits were to be a regular feature. Then realised in a blinding flash that of course they jolly well were. I groaned quietly. She was looking horribly chipper too, in a bouncy, Fun in the Fourth sort of way, floral skirt swinging jauntily. Very bright-eyed, and no hint of a hangover. A sure sign of an alcoholic, I thought caustically.

'Sony to intrude,' she whispered, tiptoeing through in an annoying fashion, as if being bent double made her less obvious. She sat down purposefully, all set for a cosy little chat. 'But we did mention yesterday . .

'Yes, yes I know, and I'll be around this afternoon, Lavinia,' I said. 'But not until then. The boys and I want to go and have a look at Oxford this morning, have a peep at their new school.'

'Oh, but it won't be open. It's the holidays.'

'I know that,' I said patiently. 'They just want to look at the outside, get a feel for the place. See where they're going in September.'

'Do we?' Ben looked doubtful.

'Yes, darling, don't you remember, you said?' I glared meaningfully at him over the breakfast table.

He blinked. 'Oh. Right.'

If I'd had one clear thought that morning as I'd crawled out of bed, it was that we needed a plan. We needed to look busy, and not as if we were waiting for the Fellowes to come and organise our lives. It was important to look as if we already had one.

'Oh, well I was going to suggest this afternoon, anyway,' she said airily. 'Mimsy and I will be in the church from about three, so pop down any time after that. OK? We'll show you the ropes.'

'Right,' I promised faintly, thinking. But this is it. This is absolutely all I'm doing on the pillar of the community front, and then when the boys have gone back, I'll see about getting a job. I was not going to turn into her, I thought grimly, taking the cereal bowls to the sink and banging them down on the draining board with more force, admittedly, than I'd intended. I busied myself guiltily in the sink as she chatted to the boys.

'Oh, but how lovely!' she exclaimed suddenly. 'You've put all your china up.'

I paused, elbow deep in the suds, and followed her eyes to my prized collection of Asiatic Pheasant porcelain, decorating the dresser. Last night, when the boys had gone to bed, I'd spent a very happy hour unpacking boxes and carefully unwrapping piece after precious piece from their nests of newspaper. I very nearly had a full dinner service, which was quite an achievement considering how hard it was to come by. There was a lovely soup tureen Ned had given me for my birthday, various dishes from Maisie and Lucas - all of whom knew I'd rather have china than cashmere - then some bowls and plates I'd bought myself. Most of it I'd spotted at Christie's, eyed all week, then stood anxiously at the back of the auction room on a Friday night, usually groaning as the pieces went way over my budget, but occasionally securing something, Rupert grinning broadly as he waved the hammer in my direction, me waving back triumphantly. Happy days.

'Mummy thought you'd put it all up there,' said Lavinia smugly.

I clenched my teeth and took a deep breath. Now why should that annoy me? Last night I'd been delighted to find a huge, empty dresser; had filled it happily, standing back to marvel at the delicate, faded blue and cream gleaming against the dark, Welsh oak.

'Did she,' I muttered savagely. There was a silence.

When I turned around, Lavinia had gone. I walked quickly to the open door.

Did she hear?' I asked Ben, anxiously wiping my hands on a tea-towel and watching her go down the hill.

'Hear what?' He looked up from the Beano, marking his place with his finger.

I bit my lip. Oh G.o.d, I was such a cow. And she was probably so lonely, and only trying to be kind. She was walking back fairly jauntily though, I decided, so she couldn't be too despondent.

'See you later!' I called out impulsively.

She turned, looked surprised. Then grinned back broadly. 'Okey-doke!'

No, I thought wryly, it clearly hadn't registered at all. Fellowes skin was thicker than rhino hide, of course, which helped. Particularly if I was going to oscillate between guilt and defiance like this on a regular basis.

As I went to shut the door again, I spotted another figure in the distance and realised my mistake. Silly me, open house wasn't over yet. I had more guests to entertain this morning. I sighed and leaned against the door frame, waiting in the sunshine, as, looking lovely, long-limbed, bronzed and relaxed, Trisha strolled languorously up the hill; no rush, no worries, and j-u-st about dressed, in tiny white shorts and a bright pink crop top. She was gaily swinging a bucket full of Omo, J-cloths and dusters. I couldn't help but smile. And in point of fact, with this little treasure popping in on a regular basis to clean and look after the children, I might avoid all my house guests altogether and get out amongst the gainfully employed. I'd never in my life had help like this. Yes, well, you've never had the money to pay for it, have you, I reminded myself guiltily. Yep. More guilt.

'Mornin' missus!' she croaked as she came in, affecting a c.o.c.kney accent and tugging her forelock. 'Where d' you want me to start then?'

'Air, h.e.l.lair Mrs Mop,' I said haughtily. 'Just scrub the floorboards till you can see your face in them and then beat the living daylights out of the carpets, would you? I'll be back to take tea at four.'

'Silver service?'

'Naturally.'

'Iron yer newspapers? Warm yer loo seats?'

I giggled. 'What a revolting thought. No thanks. Seriously though, Trisha, there's absolutely nothing to be done in this place. Look . . I swung my arm around expansively. 'As you can see, it's all brand, spanking new, and without a speck of dust to be seen, Rose has made sure of that. What exactly has she asked you to do for me? Polish inside the tea cups?'

'Yeah, something like that, as well as being totally at your beck and call, of course,' she said cheerfully. 'I tried to tell her you might not want me in the way, but she wouldn't have it.'

'It's not so much that I don't want you, it's just that nothing needs doing. I mean, it will later on, when the boys have wreaked havoc, but even then, not every day. Maybe later, when I'm working . .

'Exactly. That's what I thought, in which case you'll let me know.' She shrugged. 'So meantime, why don't I clean the place, say - ooh, twice a week? Do the tub, the kitchen floor, some ironing maybe, and then when you've fixed yourself up in the real world, I'll come down and look after the kids? We don't have to tell Rose I'm not down here constantly, and Joan certainly doesn't want me hanging round Her Kitchen, as she grandly calls it, so maybe I could chill out a bit? Maybe go into town, do a bit of shopping, have my legs waxed, you know?' She smiled winningly.

I shrugged. 'Fine by me.'

'I mean,' she contrived to look serious for a moment, 'I do feel a bit guilty about being paid to do b.u.g.g.e.r all and skiving off,' she said, without an ounce of moral conviction, 'but if you and Joan don't want me,' she widened her eyes artfully, 'what's a girl to do? I think the woman's barking, actually,' she finished darkly.

'Joan?'

'No, Rose. Mad as a box of snakes.'

'Quite possibly, although in my experience, there's generally method in her madness. Don't underestimate her, she's no fool.' I hesitated for a moment. 'OK, Trisha. Let's play it your way for the minute, since it suits both of us' I reached into a drawer. 'Here's a key,' I chucked it to her, 'and if you give me your mobile number . .

'Oh yeah! Good point.' She scribbled it down. 'Then if you need me, or um,' she glanced up quickly, 'if Rose comes looking for me, you could beat the jungle drums, yeah?'

I grinned. Will do.'

She sauntered out. 'Oh, and can I leave my bucket? Not necessarily the smartest accessory to be seen with in Oxford!' She handed it to me with a grin at the door.

I watched as she went back taking a different route; over the lake and up the park, but then skirting the parterres, head low, weaving in between the box hedges, and making for the stables where the old Renault, which Rose had given her the use of, was kept.

Nice work, if you can get it, I thought admiringly, as I listened to her rev up the engine. A spot of shopping in Oxford, then back for a well-deserved rest by the pool, with Rose thinking she'd earned it. I smiled and turned to my offspring.

'Right. Come on, you lot. Let's get dressed and get out of here ourselves, before we have any more visitors.'

Half an hour later we were in the car and purring down the back drive which was more rustic, and much less formal than the front. In fact, I thought, gazing at the bucolic scene stretching before us into the distance, but for the fact that Netherby was still visible, perched behind us on the hill, one could easily be in the middle of Devon rather than on a grand estate in Oxfordshire. Halfway down the track we came across the aunts' cottage, a tiny, whitewashed affair with bow windows, which, for some reason, had newspaper plastered all over the insides. Presumably so no one could see in, I thought, peering. Well, it worked. No sign of life in the garden, either, except - h.e.l.lo, what was this? I slowed almost to a halt as marching down the lane towards us, dressed exactly as she had been the night before, even down to the dirty black bra, was Violet, and behind her, a herd of cattle. At the back I spotted a hara.s.sed-looking farmer with a stick, yelling, and trying to whip a particularly recalcitrant Jersey into line. I stopped, and they parted around us like the Red Sea, lowing mournfully, heads rocking from side to side.

'We're putting them in the field you were in yesterday!' Violet yelled, sticking her head in my open window, a rather hectic gleam in her eye. 'So don't go sunbathing in there today, Popsy won't like it.'

'Righto!' I grinned. 'Who's Popsy?'

'Pretty one at the back.' Violet jerked her head. 'White blaze and socks. Dear little thing.'

I let them go past, but Popsy suddenly bolted left into the open pasture at the last minute, the farmer belting after her.

'This one could go to market tomorrow for all I care!' he cursed, whipping her into line again. 'Make someone a nice handbag. She's a b.l.o.o.d.y nuisance.'

'Nonsense, she's as docile as a lamb,' Violet called back imperiously.

'Moving them about from field to field every day like bleeding pets,' he muttered. 'Drives me mad! I've got better things to do. They have her in the house, you know,' he said, gesturing at Popsy. 'She c.r.a.ps in the kitchen. They'll have her in bed with them next'

The boys giggled. 'She is a bit, you know, odd, isn't she?' said Ben, twisting round in his seat to stare as we went past.

'A bit,' I agreed, putting my foot down, 'but harmless.'

As we approached Oxford, I sighed with relief. This gracious old city where I'd spent three happy years never failed to work its magic with me, and I couldn't wait to show my sons my alma mater, their father's too. Unfortunately the traffic was so heavy and the sun so fierce, we were all but melting by the time we reached the centre. A mistake, of course, since apparently one Parks and Rides these days, but then I'd only ever negotiated these streets on a bicycle.

'Look,' I gasped, wiping the sweat out of my eyes as we finally crawled past Ned's old college. 'That's where Daddy went. See, through the archway there, a flash of green - there! Look at the quad!'

'Where?'

'Oh sorry Ben, the lights went, did you miss it?' 'Can we get out?' moaned Max, clawing at the door.

'No darling,' I said, looking desperately for a s.p.a.ce in the tree-lined road. 'I can't park. But maybe down here ...' No.

Chock-a-bleeding-block. Disastrous.

'Do look at all these lovely old buildings,' I urged, as I swerved to avoid yet another clever, attractive young person on a bicycle. Had I really ever been one of their number? It seemed like a century ago.

'Looks just like London,' commented Max.

'Except we don't know anyone,' muttered Ben sulkily.

'Oh no Max, it's nothing like London! See, the stone's a different colour, much mellower, softer, and it's all so beautifully preserved. Look at the belfry up there and and the towering spires and dreaming whatnots and oh! There's my old college.' A pretty blonde girl dismounted from her bike and stashed it in the stand. 'And that could have been Mummy,' I added boldly, 'off to a lecture!'

The horror and disbelief on the two faces in the rear-view mirror was shaming. That I could tell such craven lies. I had, of course, always been a desiccated thirty-two and always would be.

'Oh, and I remember that street,' I said, peering down it wistfully. 'It's full of bookshops and cafes and antique shops and-'

'No!' they roared collectively. 'Not antique shops,' said Ben.

'No, quite right,' I agreed humbly, knowing of old that like most aesthetic tastes, a pa.s.sion for trawling through bric-a-brac stalls was inappropriate in a mother of young children.

'Mum, we're dying in here!'

'I know, I know,' I muttered, 'but if we could just find somewhere to flaming well park ... Jesus, this place is a nightmare.'

It occurred to me that in London we'd walked to school, and that this drive was going to test our nerves every morning. And anyway, where was this school? In the centre, apparently. Well, we couldn't be more flaming central, we'd be in the river in a minute. Finally we parked, miles away and trudged back, mostly uphill, and now in the heat of the day. Max was folding up and emitting a death rattle, but I would not be beaten. I would find this sodding school if it 'Ah!' I gasped, consulting the prospectus with map they'd helpfully sent me. 'This must be it. Yes, St Michael's.'

We teetered to a standstill beneath a redbrick building in a busy street with lorries thundering past; tall and towering with bars on the windows.

'Looks like a prison,' said Ben.

'Nonsense, darling, it looks lovely. Look at the playground.' 'Where?'

'There, outside the front door.'

'That's a paving stone, Mum.

'Well, perhaps there's more round the back' I rattled the gates. 'Shall we see if we can open these? Maybe we could-'

'No, come on, Mum. I hate it when you force your way into places. Let's go.' Ben bit his nails nervously. I glanced at him.

'All right, my love'

I went to take his hand but he shoved it in his pocket. We walked silently down the street, Max trailing behind.

'Well, at least we've seen it,' I said cheerfully. 'Rather attractive I thought, in a Victorian sort of way, with its pediments and, you know, fancy bits and bobs . . I trailed off, realising I was beginning to sound like my wretched sister-in-law, but also wondering what else Ben hated about me.

Food and drink were crucial now, and Browns would be lovely, I decided, with its palms and cooling fans. It had been prohibitively expensive as a student, but old age has its compensations. I headed eagerly in the direction of Woodstock Road. Naturally, the queue to get in went all the way down the street, as, naturally, it did at the next watering hole of my choice. We ended up in a dismal McDonald's, too tired even to talk, the boys draining c.o.ke after c.o.ke in silence. As I nibbled a McNugget, I resolved that the plan for tomorrow might well revolve around lying in a b.u.t.tercup field again, staring at the sky. And the next day, and the next day ... right. Lovely. And in the winter, Lucy? Well, who knows.