One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [66]
Daisy looked distressed and made to go after her, but Hugh laid a hand on her arm. ‘I’ll go. She’ll be OK in a minute.’ He got up and followed Laura out.
‘But why’s she so upset?’ said Daisy, blinking. ‘It’s only decorating.’
‘I think,’ said my mother, widening her eyes expressively at my father and employing her best pas devant les enfants voice, ‘there are other affairs going on here. Pass the cheese, would you, Seffy, please?’
‘You mean like Luca inheriting instead of Charlie?’ asked Biba.
‘Biba!’ My mother couldn’t get over how young people just spoke right up these days.
‘I don’t see why it would go to Charlie anyway,’ objected Daisy. ‘You’re the eldest. It should be you.’
‘Or why just one person?’ said Biba. ‘He’s so old-fashioned.’
‘Yeah, you should split it between all of you,’ said Seffy. ‘Like the French do.’
‘That would be cool,’ agreed Biba. ‘Then we could sell it and each buy our own house in Chelsea.’
‘Biba!’ said Mum again. ‘How can you even think of such a thing when your mother is working tirelessly to turn this into a beautiful home for you?’
‘Sorry, Granny.’ Biba blushed.
‘Maybe she’s got issues?’ suggested Charlie helpfully with his mouth full. ‘Maybe she’s run out of eggs?’
‘No, Charlie, there’s a box of twelve in the fridge,’ Mum told him.
‘I meant in her ovaries.’
‘Don’t be silly. She’s not old enough for that,’ snapped Biba. ‘And what d’you know about that, anyway?’
‘They teach us at school in PSHE. Apparently, when the lady’s young she gets really stressy just before she drops her egg – that’s called PMT – and then later on, when she’s really old, about forty, she runs out of eggs, and gets all wrinkly and depressed again, suicidal, sometimes. That’s called the men-or-paws.’
‘Thank you, Charlie,’ I said quickly. Mum looked as if she were about to pass out.
‘What kind of school does this kid go to?’ asked Dad in horror. ‘I hope you’re taught a little football too?’
‘Only when we’re truly in touch with our feminine side,’ Charlie told him, both hands clasped to his heart. He fluttered his eyelids expressively.
Dad snorted. ‘Is that so? That could take a little while then. So what time do you guys have to get back to these visionary, emancipated educational establishments?’ He looked at his watch.
‘Soon.’ Biba, beside him, turned his wrist so she could see the face.
‘Twenty after two. And how are you getting there?’
‘We’ll get the train,’ she told him.
‘Anybody want a lift?’
‘Oh, yes, please!’ said the girls.
‘Seffy?’
‘Sure. If you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all. I’d like to see your new pad. Haven’t clapped eyes on it yet.’
I blinked. Opened my mouth to protest. As a general clearing of the table ensued and everyone got to their feet, Seffy shrugged at me.
‘Why not?’ he murmured. ‘He hasn’t seen it yet.’
On the way home in the car, Maggie tried to placate me.
‘Boys of that age don’t always want their mums fussing around. He wants some independence. I can understand that.’
‘But he was perfectly happy for Dad to take him back!’
‘Because he was taking the girls anyway. Come on, Hatts, how much time does Seffy spend with his grandfather? Not a lot, I’m sure.’
‘I suppose. And Dad did want to see the school…’
My father always made a huge effort to be even-handed with his grandchildren. If he went to a concert at one school, he liked to go to one at the other. He’d always been like that with us as kids. Comparatively recently he’d given Kit, who earned diddly-squat, an old car he’d been about to trade in, and then tried to hand Laura and me the corresponding amount of money. We’d handed it back, touched, but as Laura had said, ‘I’m hardly on the breadline, Dad. You don’t have to give me money!’
Never penalize success, though, had always been his mantra. And Laura had certainly made a success of her life. Would he say the same about me? I was never sure. I knew it quietly saddened him that neither Kit nor I was married with children of our own – although he loved Seffy as if he were