Food Fight (11 page)
“Really? I didn’t see that, we had the election stuff on and I was up to my eyeballs. I like him too. And Michelle. It’s good she’s doing this anti-obesity stuff. Making people feel responsible for what they eat. They need that here.”
“Yes, but you’ll notice that what she’s doing isn’t just about food. It’s also about getting people off their bottoms. It’s not just the additives that you’re always attacking, but a lifestyle. There’s certainly a generation of couch potatoes growing up here, and they’re fat. But they’re catching up at home too, believe you me.”
Mimi let that pass. “He’s still incredibly popular in Europe. He could have given Gordon Brown a lesson or two. And now we’ve got a coalition of toffs!”
“Did you vote Green again?”
“I campaigned for them actually. The candidate was a mate of mine. There was quite a high turnout in Wandsworth. I’m glad I’m here now to avoid the sickening love-fest between Cameron and Clegg.”
Mimi looked out of the window at the trees lining the Parkway. “Mind, they’ve made my work a lot easier,” she added.
Susan changed into a loose shift dress and left home with a familiar mix of curiosity and apprehension. Might it work out this time, she wondered as she walked to the cocktail bar off K St, where her date was already waiting at a tall table, legs wrapped round a stool.
He was called Matt and worked for the State Department, at least he said he did. Susan had become used to daters’ flair for exaggeration and wasn’t going to be taken in. Did State allow its employees to go on dating sites? They were human beings after all.
She and Matt had emailed before she gave him her phone number. She’d given him a specially-created email address, to be on the safe side. Jessica had warned her that if things went sour, she wouldn’t want rejected suitors sending nasty messages to her personal email.
Susan liked him immediately. He was tall and gangly with a mine of funny stories from his postings abroad. He’d done Kosovo and Lagos, and was now killing time before his next job, which could be at the UN mission in New York. He was being considered for first secretary.
‘Up or out’ was how the State Department worked. Either you were promoted or you left.
“Is that true? Goodness, and I thought my industry was cut-throat.”
“I guess you could say I’m doing okay. Like the guy said as he jumped out of the skyscraper and passed the 37th floor, ‘so far, so good’.”
Matt, who had a dark mole on his cheek, said he used the dating site because he had very few friends in Washington as a result of his foreign service career.
“So, like I said on my profile, I’m looking for good company rather than kinky sex,” he said.
“That’s good, me too,” she laughed, raising her glass to his. “But that means you won’t be sticking around for long.”
“It sounds like you won’t be either, as you’re a Brit. By the way, you look slightly different to what I’d expected.”
“I don’t look like my profile picture?”
“You do, but I can’t quite figure out …”
“Slightly fuller in the face, perhaps?”
“That’s it, yeah. Well, maybe. I dunno.”
He’d said it too quickly. Her appearance was obviously the first thing he’d noticed. She was crushed. He thought she was fat, so why didn’t he just come out and say so?
She finished her drink and said brightly: “Well, good to meet you. See you again maybe.”
He nodded and stood up.
She left the bar dejected, but by the time she got home she’d convinced herself that the date hadn’t gone so badly.
He’d seemed keen on meeting up again. Or maybe he was being diplomatic. Non-committal.
She noticed with gratitude that the housekeeper had replenished the neat pile of Guilty Secrets in the fridge.
The cable TV news was always on mute in the DeKripps reception, although Susan never usually paid attention to the screen unless there was a Congressional hearing into food issues. But after the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, there was huge interest in the impending appearance of her fellow Briton, Tony Hayward, before the House Energy Committee.
“Hey, Susie, how’s your guy going to wriggle out of this one?” Barney asked her.
To which she could only say, “He’s not my guy.”
The worst oil spill in US history seemed to have caused a bit of a transatlantic rift, and even Obama repeatedly used BP’s former name of ‘British Petroleum’ to make his point.
On the morning of the hearing, a few colleagues gathered round the television out of curiosity to watch the public lynching of the BP chief executive. Just after he began reading from a written statement, a woman leapt to her feet and began screaming at Hayward, her hands and face daubed with oil. But that wasn’t the image that caught Susan’s attention. It was the face of her daughter, standing right behind the woman, being pinned to the wall by a member of the US Capitol police.
Nervously, she glanced at her colleagues. None of them had met Mimi, so she was safe on that score. They were all engrossed in the session, in which the hapless Hayward, accused of ‘astonishing complacency’ by the Committee, stuck to his talking points, which were varying versions of ‘not me, guv’. The DeKripps people watching agreed it was a disastrous performance.
Had Mimi been arrested? How could she track her down? Were these the people she’d been staying with?
Struggling to appear relaxed, she rushed back to her office and shut the door. Should she find a lawyer first or try to get hold of the Capitol police? She was trawling through pages of lawyers’ offices in Washington on the Internet, and had just alighted on Smithson and Hopkins close to the DeKripps offices, when her mobile rang. It was Mimi.
Somehow she managed not to fly off the handle and wrote down the address of the police station located inside a Congressional building. She took the precaution of calling Smithson and Hopkins who assigned her a lawyer named Palin, and rushed out of the office to catch a cab to the Hill.
Mimi looked sheepishly up at her mother from the chair to which she had been handcuffed. With her nose stud and a new tattoo showing under the strap of her T-shirt, she looked every bit what Americans called a ‘perp’.
“How are you doing, Ma’am,” said the officer in charge after Susan passed through security screening. “We understand that this young lady is your daughter. I’m afraid that she’s not going to be able to stay in the United States any longer.”
Deported? “Just a moment, officer,” she said. “My lawyer is on the way, I’m sure we can sort this out.”
The man was polite. “There’s nothing to be sorted out Ma’am. She’s committed a felony.”
“Well I’d still like to wait until my lawyer arrives,” she said. She looked mournfully at Mimi who refused to acknowledge her mother’s concern. She sat down and the policeman returned to his computer. After about twenty minutes, a man in a sports jacket and chinos arrived. Could this be him? It wasn’t the image that Susan had expected of a hot shot Washington attorney. He was tieless. Everyone in DC wore a tie.
The man came towards her. “Ms Perkins? Mark Palin, Smithson and Hopkins. We spoke earlier.”
He turned to the officer who explained that Mimi’s case had been referred to the immigration authorities, and that she had been working illegally while in the US on a tourist visa. Then he had a chat with Mimi. Susan heard him say “don’t worry” as he turned back to her. He promised to ring her as soon as possible once he had looked into the case, but he sounded confident that they could avoid deportation.
By the time she got home that evening, the pictures from the Congressional session were leading the television news. She cringed as the protesters who disrupted the session were identified as Diane Wilson, a shrimper and co-founder of Code Pink for Peace, who had yelled at Hayward, and a British activist who worked for USAway. USAway! So that was her NGO – the most anti-American outfit in London. But at least Mimi’s name wasn’t mentioned.
She walked to the office the next day, dreading the reaction. As soon as she arrived, she was called into Barney’s office. She wanted to fade into the carpet, feeling the receptionist’s eyes on her, as she walked along the corridor. He pushed that morning’s New York Tattle across his desk towards her.
“Mimosa Fizzes!” was the tabloid’s headline. The story announced under a photo of Mimi that Mimosa Perkins, daughter of an executive working for the DeKripps food manufacturer, was being booted out of the country for ‘anti-American activities’ after joining the Code Pink protest about the Gulf oil spill.
“We like to keep DeKripps out of the papers unless it’s good news,” he said. “Particularly when our senior staff are connected to hostile international activists, who openly campaign against us.” She didn’t dare ask to see the paper.
“I swear I didn’t know anything about it. And I had no idea she worked for that organisation.”
USAway was known to have an axe to grind against DeKripps. In fact, she dimly recollected seeing protesters in London holding up placards saying ‘DeKripps is Krap’, before she left for Washington. She realised with horror that Mimi must have had something to do with that.
“Well you need to get your priorities straight,” he said. “This company has been very good to you,” – she lowered her head in bitter acknowledgement – “but Christ, Susan, if this is how you repay us, dragging our name through the mud, there are some serious questions to be asked here.”
“I’m so sorry,” she began, but was cut off as Barney threw the newspaper in the rubbish.
She rang the lawyer. He said he might be able to persuade Homeland Security not to go ahead with deportation as Mimi was only in Washington for another week. But he suggested that she was booked on a flight out as soon as the arrangements had been approved. “So technically, it won’t be deportation,” he said.
Three days and $5,000 later, Susan was riding with Mimi in a cab to Dulles airport.
“Congratulations on getting yourself noticed again. Big time. Why didn’t you tell me you’d joined USAway?”
“I did, but you weren’t interested.”
“I certainly would have been if I’d have realised that it was that particular bunch. I thought you were with an NGO doing good work in public advocacy, not the most vocally anti-American group in Britain. Have you given any consideration to the consequences? Do you realise this sorry episode cost me $5,000 and possibly my career?”
“It’s all about you isn’t it?” Mimi sobbed. “You only care about me because I could ruin your reputation.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not about the money, of course.”
Susan reached for Mimi’s arm and squeezed it. She was so angry, she felt like squeezing until it bruised.
“Have you no idea how much trouble you’re in? You’re lucky you have a mother like me, or you’d be out on your ear back in England.”
“Okay, okay, now let me go.” For the rest of the journey they nursed their mutual resentment, and Susan was relieved when the car pulled up outside the airport terminal.
“Get in touch me when you get home.”
With a jerk of her head, Mimi got out of the cab, and took the escalator up to international departures.
*
In the days that followed, Susan noticed a change in the atmosphere at work. She sensed the critical gaze of colleagues as she walked to the coffee dispenser. She could swear she heard “Mimosa” whispered disparagingly as she passed Barney and Judy by the water fountain. Or maybe it was paranoia. She knew that Frank would be furious with her too, so she didn’t call him for sympathy. He’d never stood up to Barney and would have heard already his version, she was certain.
She tried to put the incident behind her. She’d warned Mimi against giving press interviews on her return to London, and she had reluctantly complied. Mimi was going to be out of touch for a while anyway as she and Josh were off to Glastonbury, where for once, sunny weather was forecast.
But she didn’t seem to comprehend that she’d gone too far this time, and never gave the slightest indication that she might be concerned about a backlash against Susan.
In fact, she seemed to relish the attention.
“Any luck with the lonely hearts club?” Mimi asked her on one of their Saturday morning calls. Susan turned down a CD of Lily’s ensemble and leaned in.
She didn’t mention Matt from State. “Oh, delete, delete. How are things with the unemployed librarian?”
“Fine thanks. Actually, Ma, would you mind not describing him as an unemployed librarian? It gets on my nerves.”
“Fine. So maybe you could stop calling me Ma. Likewise.”
There was an awkward silence as they both stared into their computer screens on each side of the Atlantic. “So, is Josh in today? I hope to meet him properly when I’m in London next month.” He was out. “He’s gone to the shops because I asked him to. I’ve got something to tell you,” said Mimi.
Even before her daughter told her she was pregnant, and that the baby was due the following March, Susan had a premonition of what she was going to say.
“Are you completely mad? What do you suppose you’re going to live on? Dressing up as a corn on the cob in Parliament Square denouncing High Fructose Corn Syrup isn’t going to pay the bills you know.”
“I’ll have you know I don’t dress up any more, I haven’t done for ages,” said Mimi. “I do communications.” She added: “And at least this is a baby who’ll have a proper father. And it won’t be an inconvenience like I was to you.”
“What do you mean, an inconvenience? You were never an inconvenience for me, you know that perfectly well.”
“You say that now,” said Mimi. But she’d landed a blow. Susan knew it was true. She’d never sought to play down the challenges of being a single mother. Unfortunately, to Susan’s eternal shame, Mimi had found out from a school friend that her biological father was a married man who didn’t want to have anything to do with them. That had been hurtful for them both.
Susan never forgave the girl’s mother who’d betrayed her secret, breaking their friendship. But Mimi had taken Rod’s rejection personally. When she eventually managed to sit her daughter down, Susan tried to reassure her that she’d only wanted to protect her. But the slammed doors and pointed silences went on for months. Luckily Mimi had never found out that Rod had finished with her by fax. That had hurt her more than anything.
Even then, Susan never regretted her decision to raise a child alone. Then Serge came along. Maybe things would have been different with Mimi if they’d had their own child. But there was no point in raking over that again. Not now.
“Tell me more about this baby. How are you feeling? When did you find out about it?”
“I’m fine,” came the reply. “I’ve got to run, we’ll catch up when you come over.”
That was that. Susan felt like a boat that had been holed, tossed on the ocean and about to capsize. Not only was her daughter a penniless activist, she was a pregnant penniless activist.
A baby, though. That was wonderful news. She’d been overwhelmed with euphoria herself when she’d found out she was expecting a daughter.
For the first time in ages her thoughts turned to Rod.
Where was he now? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. But as she picked up her shoes she was tickled to think he was about to become a grandfather.
