Going Loco (17 page)

‘Is it Ingrid?’ she whispered. ‘Is she – worse?’

Stefan took her hands and held them warmly in his own. ‘Not possible,’ he said, gravely.

‘Oh, Stefan. I can’t help feeling guilty about her. We’re so happy and she’s so—’

‘I know. Don’t say it.’

He threw some warm clothes in a suitcase, and checked his watch. He was catching a flight to Copenhagen in two hours from Heathrow.

‘Oh, Miss Patch, I love you. You do know that? I must come clean. You give me collywobbles.’

She grinned bravely. Of course she knew that. She really appreciated it, too, when he remembered to call her Miss Patch. Even if Audrey Hepburn never weighed thirteen stone, smelt a bit, and got dizzy standing up.

‘I wish I could come,’ she lied.

‘No, no. Listen, Belinda. You have fears that you will cease to be before your pen has gleaned your teeming brain. This is what you tell me. I respect this. It is not codswallop, I think?’

‘I hope not.’

‘So don’t get cold feet. I know what you think, Belinda. But your book will not be common or garden. Or cobblers.’

‘OK.’

He stood in the doorway, gazing at her. He really didn’t want to leave. Not only did he have genuine affection for his strangely ballooning wife, but he had found no way of incorporating ‘a load of cock’ into the conversation.

Jago couldn’t believe it. He was having a very bad phone day.
Tanner had been in Malmö just two hours, and already Stefan had discovered what was going on.

‘Who is Tanner of the Effort, please, Yago?’ Stefan demanded, without preamble. In the background to the phone call were giveaway airport noises. ‘And why is he in Malmö?’

‘Oooh,’ stalled Jago, whose mediocre skill at lying was rightly famous. ‘Tanner? Tanner. No, I can’t think. How’s that lovely wife of yours, incidentally? I hear she’s quite foxy these days.’

‘He has a bald head, like a footballer.’

‘Bald head, bald head, bald head. Oh, I know! Fashion! That’s right. Couldn’t think who you meant. Yes, Tanner’s our great young style guru. Must be in Malmö for – er, Scandinavian Fashion Week. Snoods are back, apparently. Is there a problem?’

‘Well, yes, Yago. This bald-headed Tanner fellow has been following me. And I don’t think it’s because he studies my outfits.’

‘He follows you? What for?’

‘He spooks me, Yago. In fact, between you, me and the doorpost, I think this Scandinavian Fashion Week story may be a load of old cock.’

‘No!’

‘Can you call him off, please?’

‘I’ll try. But why?’

‘I must go, Yago. But please, help me! I helped you many times. Please. I don’t know if I am coming or going!’

‘Which way
are
you going, by the way?’ Jago tried to make it sound like a pleasantry.

‘What?’

‘Are you coming or going, Stefan? Are you in Malmö?’

The line went dead, and Jago buzzed his secretary. ‘Get me a flight to Malmö, quick! And name me some flowers while you’re about it!’

‘You’ve got to get out of this Noel–Julia situation, Maggie,’ said Linda, firmly. She poured milk into her coffee, and took another cake from the plate. What a shame Belinda never came out these days. She’d have liked the Adelphi. Linda sometimes felt she knew Belinda’s preferences better than Belinda knew them herself.

‘It’s the first rule of survival,’ she added, brushing icing sugar from her fingers. ‘Never have anything to do with people who drain the life out of you.’

‘But they each have my best interests at heart.’

‘Is that what they told you?’

‘Of course.’

‘So you feel really great, do you?’

‘No, I feel terrible.’

Maggie felt rather awkward talking to a stranger in this way. But it was odd. This woman was far more supportive than Belinda was. She had the knack of applying herself to somebody else’s situation. She seemed to think loyalty the principal virtue of mankind. She said Maggie had enormous potential as an actress. Already, in fact, Maggie was ready to call her the best friend she’d ever had.

‘Can I ask your advice, too, perhaps?’ asked Linda. ‘I would love to know what you think about something.’

‘Who, me?’

Maggie brightened for the first time that day. Her advice was never sought by Belinda. Even when freely offered, Maggie’s bitter, sour-grapes opinions were consistently ignored by all her friends.

‘It’s just that you’ve known Belinda for years. Do you think she secretly wants children?’

Maggie barked with laughter at the thought of it. ‘No.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because she’s incredibly selfish.’

‘But Stefan would make such a lovely father. Strange that a geneticist would waste such genes.’

‘Oh Lord, you’re right there. When I was Olivia in
Twelfth
Night, do you know the part I couldn’t cope with? It was when Viola said to me, “Oh, lady, you are the cruellest she alive, if you will lead these graces to the grave, and leave the world no copy.”’ Maggie swallowed. ‘It used to make me cry.’

‘That must have been very effective on stage.’

‘Oh, yes. Except that it’s more of a comical moment, really.’

‘Oh.’

Maggie pulled herself together. ‘But that’s what you mean about Stefan? He’s bound by sheer good taste to reproduce?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think you’re absolutely right.’

Jago phoned Tanner on his mobile, and heard strange sports-hall echoes in the background, like a ball bouncing and the squeak of rubber-soled shoes, an organ playing, and lots of cheers.

‘Tanner? Whatever time your appointment is with the madwoman,’ he barked, ‘you’ve got to bring it forward!’

‘Sorry?’ yelled Leon. The noise of the basketball warm-up event behind him made chatting difficult. Tanner had gone to buy a coffee and left his mobile on the desk. Leon had helpfully answered it. ‘This isn’t Tanner—’ he began.

‘What’s that noise? Tanner, where are you?’

‘What?’

‘This is Jago Ripley, for fuck’s sake! You’ve got to go and see the loony as soon as possible!’

‘What?’

Leon had heard this clearly enough, however. ‘What?’ he yelled. He was quite enjoying this. He had never liked Jago much.

Jericho Jones performed a graceful sky-walk slam-dunk, and the place went wild.

‘Stefan’s on his way!’ screamed Jago, amid the approving roar of the Swedes.

‘Sorry, you’re breaking up,’ Leon said, then switched off the mobile and dropped it back on Tanner’s desk.

‘Who was that?’ asked Tanner, returning with hot drinks on a paper tray.

‘No idea,’ shrugged Leon, and looked at his watch. Things were going rather well with his Maggie mission. He just had to get to the hospital before Stefan Johansson.

Meanwhile, back in London, Jago chewed the edge of his desk with excitement. It would be accurate to say that his interest in this story had been revived. Stefan had a secret, all right! He was acting like a guilty clone! And, with any luck, the whole story would unfold within the extremely short range of Jago Ripley’s twenty-four-hour attention span.

When Mother popped in to see Belinda, she found her methodically cleaning her keyboard with finger and spittle.

‘Damn. I mean, hello,’ said Belinda, guiltily. Lucky her mother had not entered earlier and found her counting her Mars bar wrappers. Writing had not been very good today. In fact, according to her word-count software, she’d added fourteen words in total to her manuscript, and two of those were ‘Chapter Three’. But on the bright side, she had enough Mars bar wrappers for a free scratch card, and the function keys and space bar had never looked so shiny.

‘Busy, dear?’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Belinda defensively. ‘Very busy. Quite a lot of my time is spent just thinking, you know. It’s not all tap-tap-tap. That’s typing, not writing.’

‘Yes, of course. That’s why all your work takes so long, I expect.’

‘Mm.’

Mother cleared a number of books from Belinda’s couch and sat down. She chose this spot because it was the furthest from the radiator. Gently, she stroked her own cheeks upwards towards her ears, like a cat washing itself.

‘Something up?’ asked Belinda, automatically.

Mother ignored her. ‘Belinda, it isn’t easy to say this, but I feel I must.’

‘What?’

‘I feel you have let yourself go. There. I’ve said it.’

‘Let myself go?’ Belinda laughed.

‘Yes.’

‘Nobody says that any more, Mother. It comes from the days when people wore corsets and plucked their eyebrows, and lived in L-shaped rooms.’

Mother harumphed. ‘You’re not even offended! Oh, Belinda, you’re beyond hope.’

‘What do you expect? I haven’t “let myself go”. Actually, it’s an interesting phrase, when you think about it. It can be a very good thing to let yourself go. Go on, Mother. Let yourself go!’

‘But it’s what you’ve done,’ she protested. ‘You’ve let yourself go. You used to be quite slim and sexy, and now Stefan can hardly bear to look at you. And I don’t blame him. It pains me to say it when you’re my own daughter, but in that cardigan you look absolutely disgusting. I can’t think where you get it from. Have you
ever
seen me wear a cardigan? Even Auntie Vanessa never wears cardigans and she’s got the worst dress sense of anyone in this family.’

Belinda swallowed hard. The metallic taste of the keyboard dirt made the action all the more unpleasant.

‘Look at your nails! When was the last time you went to the hairdresser? I can’t stand by and watch it any more. This room smells. When I think of how beautifully Linda dresses.’

‘What’s Linda got to do with it?’

‘My own daughter, a human barrage balloon. In a V-neck cardie with pockets. I bought you that beautiful nylon Prada coat last autumn and I found it under the stairs today. It had spiders in it. It was streaked with what I can only describe as snot. I’m having it cleaned, and then I’m giving it to Linda.’

‘Stefan says I’m lovely.’

‘Can’t you see he’s just saying that?’

‘No, he isn’t.’

‘Well. You don’t see the way he looks at Linda when you’re not there. But I can tell you, he can’t take his eyes off her.’

Belinda gasped. This was too much. ‘Well, now I know you’re just being spiteful,’ she cried, and – hardly knowing why she did it – she secretly switched on the two-way baby-listener, so that Linda would hear downstairs in the kitchen, where she was known to be rustling up a delightful dish of squid stewed in tomatoes and lemon before popping off to Broadcasting House to review a new film of
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
for Radio 4.

‘Repeat what you just said to me!’ she told her mother, in a loud voice. ‘What are you implying about Stefan and Linda?’

‘I’m merely saying that if you continue to bloat in the dark in extra large T-shirts with Wallace and Gromit on the front, your husband won’t be able to help himself. Linda is a very attractive young woman, who also happens to be a lot nicer than you are, as well as more talented, and with excellent connections in the worlds of both the media and fishmongery. And, being only human, she fancies Stefan as much as we all do.’

Mother stood up and left the room, leaving Belinda to stare down at her extra large T-shirt in a state of confusion. Her mother had all the wrong values, surely? Stefan had told her just an hour ago how much he loved her. He was extremely supportive about the book, too. Besides, who would be interested sexually in a deputy when he could have the real thing? No, Mother was a silly, interfering woman with artificially arched eyebrows who would find any excuse to disparage her own daughter because she was jealous of her intellect. In fact, Belinda was just about to whisper into the intercom, ‘Linda, did you hear all that? What a ridiculous person my mother is!’ when she overheard Mother entering the kitchen.

‘Linda! Darling!’ she said, as if she’d just come home from a terrible day. ‘Can I help with anything?’

Belinda knew she ought to switch off the device, but somehow she couldn’t. Instead, she placed the speaker on her desk, to hear it better. It was crackly, a bit muffled. But good enough to picture the scene. A scrape of a chair told her that her mother was sitting down. A kettle was filled and switched on. Chopping commenced on a wooden board.

‘You’re looking lovely, Linda,’ Mother said. ‘I was just telling Belinda how lucky she is to have you doing everything for her.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Linda, clattering some pans. She sounded strangely brisk. What was up? Surely she’d been flattered by everything Mother had said. It was true that not many people bridge so gracefully those two distinct worlds of the television studio and the fish shop. Belinda notably had contacts in neither.

‘May I say something?’ Linda said, at last. Sizzling and stirring could be heard.

‘Of course.’

‘I think you’re a wicked person,’ said Linda, in a level tone.
‘I couldn’t see it before, I thought we were all on the same side. But I heard what you said to Belinda just now, and I have to tell you I think you’re a cow.’

Belinda was glad she couldn’t see Mother’s inadequate expression of mild surprise, but was torn nevertheless. Should she rush downstairs to make the peace? Or make sure she didn’t miss anything by staying put? She found she had very mixed feelings at hearing Linda call Mother a cow. She wanted to boo and cheer at the same time.

‘I think you should leave the house and go back to your flat,’ Linda continued. ‘You’ve been very good to me, which makes this hard to say. But I see now you are hurting Belinda, and if you hurt Belinda, you hurt her work. We all know it’s very important for Belinda’s work that she’s not upset.’

‘But Belinda’s work isn’t worth twopence!’ exclaimed Mother, brightly. ‘Face it Linda, you’re twice the person she is. You’re the person everybody likes. Stefan thinks you’re gorgeous.’

‘Take that back,’ warned Linda. She sounded angry.

‘Don’t be absurd,’ said Mother.

‘Take that back.’

‘No.’

Belinda couldn’t believe it. Were they both mad?

‘Put down that frozen salmon, Linda!’ said Mother, her voice rising.

‘Make me,’ said Linda.

At which point, unbelievably, there were sounds of a scuffle.

‘Oh God,’ whispered Belinda. ‘They’re fighting!’