Mrs. Fry's Diary (6 page)

'Audacia's Eulogy' by Edna Fry (Mrs)

Stock up the fridge, make a nice pot of tea,

Distract the kids from fighting with a DVD,

Set out the pies and hide the good rum,

Bring out the coleslaw, let the mourners come.

Stick Enya on the hi-fi, tie black balloons to the gate,

Put the cheese and pineapple hedgehog on my best china plate,

Lay out the platters of nuts, crisps and fags,

Scribble names of the sandwiches on tiny white flags.

There's my pork, my cheese, my egg and cress,

My corned beef on rye and my anyone's guess.

There's my black forest gateau and my egg foo yong,

I thought that quiche would last forever: I was wrong.

The guests are not here now: they ate every last thing;

Packed away the drumsticks and dismantled the prawn ring;

Knocked back the ham salad and crusty French bread,

Now no one can say I don't put on a good spread.

On reflection, it may have been a bad decision to leave Stephen in charge of the punch while we went to the church; but all in all, apart from the occasional request for a deckchair and Stephen's snoring, the event passed successfully enough. In fact, I was on the verge of calling an end to proceedings when the doorbell rang. I was astonished to see it was that American doctor from the care home. Right there on the doorstep, his shirt drenched and clinging tightly to his taut, muscular frame.

'Hello,' he said.

He blinked as rivulets streamed down his chiselled cheekbones and dripped from his strong, square jaw. 'Could I possibly come in out of the rain?'

'Is it raining?' I said. 'I hadn't noticed.'

I led him to the bathroom and handed him a towel and one of Stephen's less embarrassing T-shirts. 'Doctor Hausmann,' he said when he finally emerged, extending his large hand. 'Doctor Laurie Hausmann.' He was everything Stephen isn't - suave, sophisticated, conscious . . . I took his hand in mine and for a brief moment I felt a spark.

'I'm sorry about that,' I said. 'It's these nylon towels.'

He smiled. 'Listen,' he said, 'I had to see you.'

'Really?' I said, my voice for some reason slightly higher-pitched than normal.

He proceeded to tell me the reason for his visit. I was astounded to hear what he had to say. It turns out the woman I spoke to at the care home wasn't my Great Aunt Audacia at all - she was, in fact, a retired lollipop lady called Maude Blenkinsopp. Apparently, she thought she was Boudicca the week before. The home hadn't said anything because increasingly regular funeral costs had pushed them over their budget, so they were happy for me and Stephen to take care of it for them. Dr Hausmann had only just found out, and felt he had to let me know as soon as possible.

On reflection, I suppose I should have had my suspicions when I saw all those names on my family tree - Louis Pasteur, Marilyn Monroe, Sherlock Holmes . . . I sighed. My life no longer made sense. I'd been lied to by a tea towel.

I didn't know what to say so I offered him a cup of tea. He looked at his watch.

'I'm afraid I must go,' he apologised in deep transatlantic tones. 'I've been transferred back to Los Angeles. My flight leaves in an hour.' Then he kissed me softly on the cheek and said, 'It is my sincere hope that we shall meet again.' And with that, he was gone. Out of my house. Out of my life. I bit my lip and stared first at Stephen and then at the door. 'Damn,' I thought. 'I should have asked him to take the bins out.'

26 Saturday

Had the strangest dream last night. There I was, standing at the kitchen sink, when suddenly a giant kebab leapt out at me, but I couldn't escape because I had a huge ball and chain around my ankle. Then, out of nowhere, this extremely handsome, very damp American came bursting through the door, cut through the chain with a surgical saw and carried me out to safety. Oh, and I was naked. And so was he. And there was a sunset. Most peculiar. I must remember to ask Mrs Winton what she thinks it means when I next see her.

27 Sunday

Stephen was being extremely difficult today. He's demanding the right to spend every other weekend with his children. I had to tell him that was only the privilege of the divorce, although that could be arranged.

28 Monday

Received a very odd letter this morning. From a firm of solicitors, Emerson, Lake and Palmer, inviting us to their offices tomorrow. I wonder whatever it can be? I hope Stephen didn't take what I said yesterday seriously. I'd never divorce him. I'd get far more if he had a fatal accident.

29 Tuesday

Well, well, well. Who would have thought it? PS80,000! Who would ever have imagined that dear, sweet lady would have so much money hidden under that huge hat? That's online poker for you, I guess. Turned out she didn't die when I was there at all. That was just the whisky. She actually passed away during the night, but not before re-writing her will. And composing several limericks. Must have been a single malt. It looks like, for once, our luck has really changed for the better. I asked Stephen how he thought we could best use the money, but he was too busy flicking through jet-ski catalogues.

30 Wednesday

Another surprise! Stephen's just told me over dinner that he's hanging up his chamois leather and bucket. He's asked me to go around all the customers on his window-cleaning round to let them know. Apparently he'd go himself, but he claims he can't bear the thought of all their shocked faces.

31 Thursday

I have to say Stephen was right. His customers were shocked when I told them. They all thought he'd quit years ago.

April

1 Friday

We told the kids a homicidal clown lives in their wardrobe today. It wasn't an April Fool, we just thought they should know.

2 Saturday

We had a family conference this afternoon. I felt it was important we should all have our say about what to do with our enormous windfall. It was so nice, all of us sitting together like that, without it being some kind of intervention. Everyone had their own ideas about how we should spend it.

Of course, Brangelina wanted a pony. Viennetta wanted a boob job; Stephen Junior a stretch limo, a lifetime's supply of Cristal and a subscription to the Playboy channel; and the twins wanted matching My Little Uzis. Hugh Junior had some ridiculous notion about a stethoscope and a biologically accurate model of the human digestive system, while Stephen suggested a bouncy lap-dancing castle and a biologically accurate model of Angelina Jolie. In the end, we decided to postpone the decision for a while and just use some of the money to go away this weekend. Stephen says he'll book something online. I can't wait!

3 Sunday

I'm taking advantage of all the kids being out by doing those little jobs - cleaning the oven, defrosting the fridge, changing the locks . . .

4 Monday

Had a bit of a shock today. I got back from shopping earlier than I expected to find Stephen lying on the sofa. Obviously, that wasn't a shock, but there he was, sipping a glass of brandy and listening to some sort of classical music, of all things! Of course, he jumped up as soon as he saw me come in through the door. Then he gave me that big, sly grin of his and shouted 'April Fool!' Instantly, my mind was put at ease. Trust Stephen to get the wrong day!

5 Tuesday

Rang Stephen Junior's school this afternoon. I'm not happy about him having to dissect a frog today. I'm sure there must be other ways to teach fractions.

6 Wednesday

Our mini-break tickets came today. I eagerly tore open the envelope. Where had Stephen booked? Brighton, Edinburgh, Cornwall? I looked at the stubs: Liverpool. I checked the calendar. Grand National weekend. I might have known.

7 Thursday

We took the 10:22 to Liverpool. A lovely journey apart from the baby howling a few seats away. Perhaps I would have been better off putting it in the next carriage.

It turned out Stephen had splashed out a bit and booked us into a Travelmansion right next to Aintree racecourse for three nights. It's ever so luxurious. We've got a family room with en-suite jacuzzi, tea, coffee and champagne-making facilities and a sofa that folds down into a three-piece suite. Even the mini-bar comes with its own mini-barman.

8 Friday

We went down to breakfast early so as not to miss the good food, but we needn't have worried. The serving troughs were full to the brim with bacon, sausages and
foie gras
.

After breakfast we took the Tributles tour - an open-top bus ride through the city, taking in the most famous haunts of the official world's worst Beatles tribute band. They piped out hits such as 'Strawberry Vodka Forever' and ''Ey, Judge' as we passed by their childhood homes and the Gavin Club. We even caught a glimpse of the city's iconic landmark, the Lagerbird. It really was a wonderful trip down halfpenny lane.

In the afternoon, Stephen took me round Liverpool's finest boutiques so that I might, in his words, look 'a bit of all right' at the racecourse tomorrow. He bought me a new bag from Handbags at Dawn and a hat from Hatty Jacques, before whisking us all off to
dinner at Mickey Hollywood's Meatzeria. The kids and I went for the Jurassic Pork, while Stephen ordered their largest steak
-
Apocalypse Cow. It's so embarrassing eating out with Stephen. He always plays with his food. Sadly, the food usually wins. He's sleeping it off now. Hopefully he'll wake up soon. They're putting the chairs on the tables.

9 Saturday

I was still full from last night, so for breakfast I just had a coffee and a bit of caviar on toast. Stephen, of course, had his usual full English. I don't know where he puts it, really I don't. After breakfast, we headed straight out to the racecourse, done up to the nines. The place was buzzing. No sooner had we arrived than Stephen said he had to go and see a man about a horse - him and his euphemisms! When he returned he had a big grin on his face. He said we were going to make a bet - an accumulator, I think he said it was called. Apparently you bet on a few races and whatever you win in the first one goes on to the next race until all the races have been run. I told Stephen it sounded terribly complicated, but he just gave me his Sunday morning wink and told me not to worry my pretty little head about it. It was, apparently, a 'dead cert', whatever that is. He opened up a copy of the
Racing Post
and asked me to pick a horse for each of the four races being run this afternoon. I was reluctant, but he said I was his lucky charm. I must say, this racing atmosphere seems to be bringing the best out in him, for once.

I looked at the lists, hoping something would jump out at me. Incredibly, it did, and I made my choices. Stephen dashed straight off to the bookmaker and then to the stables - probably to feed our horses an extra sugar lump, knowing him - the big softie!

The first race wasn't until quarter past two, so we had time to have a good look round. It was all very exciting. We saw the winners' enclosure where the winning horses parade after their race and the losers' enclosure, which was next to the glue factory. Unfortunately, we missed the first two races but Stephen didn't seem too concerned. When we finally emerged from the champagne and lager tent, it turned out Edna's Folly and Couch Potato had both won, so all our winnings went onto my choice in the third race.