How We Met (20 page)

Mia abandoned her efforts to stop the alarm and just took the goddamn batteries out of it instead, gathering herself in the face of what she always forgot was her mother’s overwhelming capacity for self-centredness and a total inability to help.

Very attractive in a Hertfordshire, well-put-together way, life for Lynette Forrest was one big, grand gesture without chipping her nail varnish. She had groomed blonde hair, large, expertly made-up blue eyes and a penchant for expensive, diamanté-covered T
-shirts with slogans like
PARIS, JE T’AIME
, even though she’d never been to Paris, and preferred the Canary Islands for its all-year-round sunshine and potential for holiday flings.

Today she had her uplifted breasts (present to herself for her fiftieth, three years ago) poured into said T-shirt, a cream leather, tasselled jacket that obviously cost a fortune but still looked cheap, a lace and leopard-print skirt – probably also cost a fortune from her favourite shop, Karen Millen, and zebra-print stilettos. The look said ‘glamorous and expensive’ –
and also WAG.

Mia was Lynette’s only child, the product of a brief fling with a car dealership owner named Ray in the late seventies; after splitting up from him (the relationship had broken down before Mia was born and Mia had never known her father), Lynette had gone straight back to where she’d left off, palming her daughter off to whoever, so she could resume life as a single person and life could be one long shopping trip to Brent Cross.

Of course she’d had copious boyfriends; Mia had lost count of the number of times she’d been introduced to one of her mummy’s ‘friends’, only to find that ‘friend’ kissing her mother in the kitchen in the morning. They were always rich. Always had big cars and stank of aftershave. She’d married two of them: Barry, who then ran off with a Thai girl he met in a strip bar. He was classy was Barry. And Claud, an American, whom she’d met on a Caribbean cruise and who’d turned out to be a kleptomaniac. Still, she’d got some nice handbags from him. Apart from that, it had been a constant string of vain, younger men who seemed to last as long as her last shade of nail varnish.

Lynette owned a beauty salon – sorry, spa – in a posh Home Counties village near Chesham in Bucks, the town where Mia grew up. To be fair to her, she had made a real success of it and seemed to have an endless flow of cash, which she’d lavished on Mia as a child, in the shape of private schooling and expensive holidays, but which of course never made up for her not actually being there.

When Mia looked back at her childhood, all she remembered of her mother was the lipstick stain she left on her cheek before she went out – then the heady waft of Ysatis as she closed the front door.

Now, it seemed, she wanted to make up for being a shoddy parent by being a good grandparent – which would be great, but sadly this seemed not to consist of actual time or help, but in the ludicrously ostentatious presents she insisted on buying. At Christmas, she’d bought Mia a mother-and-baby photoshoot with makeover, so that Mia had then had to hang hideous soft-tone photos of herself throwing Billy in the air whilst lying on a sheepskin rug, with hair and make-up that made her look like Elaine Page.

After dumping the sausage rolls in the bin – sod it, sausages on sticks it would have to be – Mia went back into the lounge where Billy was pawing unsuccessfully at the tightly wrapped Cellophane. Then got bored halfway through and wandered off.

‘Billy, that’s not very nice, is it? You’ve upset Nanna, now,’ said Lynette (yes, she was actually trying to
emotionally blackmail a one-year-old), as Mia tried to
entice Billy back. ‘Come on, baby, look at this nice paper. Come and see what Nanna has brought you.’

Eventually, after a rather embarrassing few minutes, she and her mum unwrapped the box themselves

‘Ta-dar! Look, Billy, it’s a car! Nanna’s got you a
brand-new car! And not only that
, but a Ferrari car!’

They opened the box and Billy looked, unimpressed,
at the various bits of metalwork and bags of nuts and
bolts.

‘Of course, you have to put it together,’ Lynette said. ‘But Daddy will be able do that and then it’s big enough for you to sit in and drive!’

Mia looked at the instruction book, as big as a telephone directory, and her heart sank. Where the hell was she supposed to put this car? And what was the likelihood of Eduardo ever putting it together? In this lifetime?

But of course, being a privately educated, Home Counties girl, she said, ‘Wow, thanks, Mum, it’s fantastic. What do you say to Nanna Forrest, Billy?’

Billy wandered off to play with his xylophone.

One thing Mia hadn’t thought through when she agreed to Melody hosting Billy’s party, was that Melody was a domestic freak and that generally, domestic freaks and one-year-olds didn’t go together.

Right now, Mia was attempting to hold a conversation with Cameron’s mum, Fiona, whilst keeping one nervous eye on Daisy – Tamsin’s little girl (not as delicate as her name might suggest, let’s say) – as she violently bashed a cheesy Wotsit with a toy hammer into Melody’s glass-topped coffee table.

There had already been a leaking nappy incident on the cream sofa and Billy had pulled down a bowl of golden bracken (one of many ‘naturalistic’ displays in Melody and Norm’s house; you couldn’t put a glass down for knocking over a collection of sprayed twigs or a stone egg) and Mia felt she had to intervene.

‘Daisy, sweetheart, do you want to give me the hammer?’ she said, leaning across Tamsin who was chatting to Jo and seemed entirely oblivious to the proceedings. ‘Maybe come for a
splash with Billy in the paddling pool, outside?’

Tamsin didn’t seem to take the hint and simply stopped mid-conversation to regard her daughter with the same bovine look of adoration she always did.

‘Well, she knows what that hammer’s for, don’t you, Daisy boo? You’re making fine work of that Wotsit, missy!’

And Melody’s table, thought Mia despairingly. She couldn’t bear to watch the ritualistic battering of a cheesy Wotsit any more, so literally climbed over Tamsin (who didn’t stop talking), scooped up Daisy, who howled, and took her outside to the paddling pool to join Billy who seemed to be in the midst of a one-man, naked slapstick show for Cameron and another baby, Georgie.

Although this was Melody’s house, Mia still felt like the hostess, and hosting was not something that came naturally to her, especially when there were different social groups who didn’t know one another.

She looked around her – as she’d feared, it was like
a zoo, each species in their different enclosures. For
the
most part, her ‘mummy friends’ had monopolized the
inside of the house and were all huddled on the cream sofas, some of their offspring at their feet, Melody intermittently attempting to slide a protective towelette or wet wipe into their hand, as she hovered nervously. Her university friends were on one side of the decking outside (Anna and Buddhist Steve, sitting cross-legged alone and in deep conversation); Eduardo and his mates on the other, posing in their sunglasses and drinking expensive bottled beer, as though this was a rooftop party at Pacha.

Neither group was talking to the other and Mia found herself flitting about, unable to have a conversation with anyone, too busy keeping one eye on her mother – who, so far, had spent the afternoon knocking back Pimm’s and flirting with Eduardo’s friends – and Melody’s breakables. She was exhausted already.

There was also the fact that Fraser had not yet turned up.

The last time they’d spoken, they’d had a row, and Mia had told Fraser he was a ‘self-indulgent, narcissistic baby’ – something she now regretted but, you know, things had escalated. She’d tried to talk to him about the phone call in Venice, how she felt he had to start taking responsibility for his feelings, and he’d said: ‘Right. And this is from the woman who’s just got back together with the man who left her, at thirty-six weeks’ pregnant?’ (Were people going to throw this back in her face for the rest of her life?)

‘Also, it’s all right for you, Mia, you weren’t Liv’s boyfriend.’

She knew he’d spoken in the heat of the moment – Fraser was very good at flying off the handle – but, FOR GOD’S SAKE, what an arse! She just wanted him to get here now, she thought, mainly so she could stop being annoyed with him. She hated being annoyed with friends, especially Fraser.

She lowered Daisy, who stopped crying immediately, into the paddling pool, only to hear Melody in the midst of trying to sell a vegetable chopper to a bemused-looking Fiona: ‘It’s amazing, it’s changed my life! Chops carrots, nuts – even nuts!’

‘And how much is it?’ asked Fiona, politely.

‘Seventy-two pounds,’ said Melody, without flinching. ‘But it’s an investment piece – will save you oodles of time in the long run.’

Mia looked over at Norm, who was shaking his head. She smiled and went to sit with him.

‘You want to get her a job on QVC, she’d be brilliant.’

‘It’s alarming, frankly,’ said Norm,
shaking his head. ‘Who’d have thought there’d come a day when my wife would think a vegetable chopper was an investment piece?’

‘Could be worse. At least it’s not a big fat diamond ring, she needs to “invest” in, or a second home in the country …’

Norm took a swig of his beer. ‘There is that.’

They sat and watched the babies play, Billy holding onto the side of the paddling pool, standing up, then sitting down with a big splash, making the other babies laugh hysterically.

‘He’s quite the comedian, your son.’

‘Oh, yes, his mother’s razor-sharp wit. Watch and learn
,’ said Mia, as Billy did another Norman Wisdom fall to the side.

Mia remembered what Melody had said in Venice and was intrigued – it wasn’t often she got to talk to Norm one-to-one these days.

‘So what about you, Norm, eh? Pitter-patter of tiny feet?’ He rolled his eyes at her. ‘Sorry.’ She grimaced. ‘That’s like the male equivalent of “tick-tock, tick-tock”, isn’t it? Please feel free to punch me, now. Look, right here, punch me in the face.’

Norm laughed. ‘You’re OK, it’s just a bit of a sticky subject at the moment.’

‘Really?’ Mia resisted the overwhelming urge to make a filthy pun involving the word ‘sticky’. ‘Because Melody said you were gagging for a baby.’

Norm turned to her, open-mouthed, and Mia had the uncomfortable feeling she might have opened a marital can of worms …

‘She’s the one who wants a bloody baby!’ said Norm. ‘I can’t look at her without her waving an ovulation stick at me. You’ve got about thirty-six hours, Andrew, to impregnate me! It’s like trying to get tickets for the bloody Olympics.’

Mia sniggered but was confused.
‘Right, so you don’t want a baby, then? So, Melody’s made that up?’ She looked over at Melody, now cooing at Billy. Good God, it was obvious. Of course it was her who wanted a
baby. ‘It’s just in Venice, she said …’ She stopped
herself before it got any worse.

‘Look, I do one day, just
definitely
not yet; but what can you do? I can’t have a headache every night of the week, can I? And can I just say, whilst you’re here,’ he took his bottle of beer back and downed the rest, ‘I’m scared shitless about this homemade porn shoot thing. I mean, what if it turns into some twisted baby-making project? Melody with her legs in the air for fifteen minutes after we’ve done it, me tied to the bed with handcuffs and a gas mask on?’

Mia snorted, then frowned. ‘Why would she have to put her legs …?’

‘So, you know, all the little fishes swim upstream.’

‘Ew …’ The trying-to-get pregnant thing was a mystery to Mia since she’d never had to try. ‘You know, you don’t actually have to do it, Norm,’ she said, as if this option just occurred to her, too. ‘I don’t think Liv would mind. In fact she’d probably be up there squirming with embarrassment if you did.’

Norm looked at her intently and Mia realized, not for the first time, how seriously he was taking this List business. ‘Oh, no, we have to do it,’ he said, resolutely. ‘It’s on the List, Mia. It WILL get done. I’m going to try and get Span to do it anyway,’ he said, scanning the garden for Anna. ‘What with her drama degree and pool of fuck buddies.’

‘You make it sound like a typing pool.’

‘It’d come as naturally to her as selling vegetable choppers does to Melody.’

Mia looked over at Anna, who was sitting, cross-legged, eyes locked with Buddhist Steve. They’d not talked to anyone since they got here. Despite Mia’s efforts to get closer to Anna – calling her more often, asking after Steve, showing an interest in Buddhism, even though she feared Anna had as good as joined a Buddhist cult, she felt that Anna was growing more isolated, more
odd
. And it unnerved Mia. Anna was the undisputed drama queen of the group and yet, of all of them, she was creating the least drama out of the most dramatic thing that had ever happened to them. She just wasn’t herself. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ said Mia, watching her nodding enthusiastically at everything Steve said. ‘She’s changed. Fraser and I don’t think she’ll be making any homemade porn vids these days – for herself, or for Liv … as selfish as that may be.’

‘What, not even if it was with me? Spanner in a foxy police costume, me in a blond moustache.’ Mia was just about to slap him when Melody came tottering over on her new wedges, so high they were cutting the circulation off on her toes, turning them a dark shade of purple.

‘Two vegetable choppers and a mini-muffin tray!’ she announced, beaming, like she was a midwife and had just delivered triplets. ‘I’m doing well, aren’t I? Aren’t I, Andrew?’ She nudged Norm, so the lager he was drinking went up his nose. ‘A hundred and fifty pounds already! That’s our weekend in the Lakes paid for, sunshine …’

Norm was busy wiping the drips of lager off his T-shirt.