Skeletons (4 page)

Jessie turned to Jen, happy that she was the main topic
again. ‘Like crazy. I think she – or he, obviously – is going to be a dancer. I’ve been doing this pregnancy yoga and I swear the baby
tries to join in –’

‘She’s probably just attention seeking. I wonder who she takes after?’ Poppy chipped in.

‘I’m not even listening to you.’ Jessie held up her hand. ‘It’s like you don’t exist.’

If she ignored the way they had all aged, Jen could have believed she was back in the early 1990s. The arguments were the same, the decor had barely changed – except for a few coats of the same colour paint, which had all then been completely
recovered with the same old artwork. Even Jason’s misshapen pot still held pens in the middle of the table. She wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

‘What else can I do?’ she said, putting her arms round her mother-in-law from behind as she stood at the stove.

‘Nothing.’ Amelia lifted up one of Jen’s hands, and kissed it. ‘Sit down and enjoy yourself.’

At lunch Charles liked to rehash old family in-jokes. When he took his first mouthful of lamb, he clutched his throat dramatically, like he always did, and pretended to keel over in a death throe.

‘Charles, stop it,’ Amelia said, smiling.

Charles, as always, sat up with a triumphant look on his face. ‘Just kidding. It’s delicious.’

He took another bite. Did it again. Maisie squealed hysterically, exactly as Simone and Emily used to when they were little. The more times he did it, the funnier she thought it was.

Then the reminiscences started. Just as in all families, the old well-worn anecdotes would be aired again and again, with everyone chipping in to add their favourite parts. Typically Amelia or Charles
would run through the time Jason got his thumb stuck in a bottle of ketchup and had to go to Casualty, the time Jessie made a snowman and brought it inside and hid it under her bed, not realizing it would melt all over the floor, and the time Charles drove the car to Battersea with
Poppy’s favourite bear and the house keys on the roof.

‘And they were still there when he arrived!’ Amelia would say. Then everyone would join her in the next sentence. ‘All the way from Twickenham to Battersea.’

And then they would start on stories that included Jen, so she didn’t feel left out. The time they had all gone away for the weekend and Jen had cooked a chicken with the giblets still tucked up in their plastic bag inside, the time
she’d offered fifty pence to what she thought was a tramp only for it to turn out to be one of Charles and Amelia’s wealthy bohemian neighbours enjoying a short rest on a park bench.

There were countless running gags in the Masterson family. Not to mention rituals and traditions. Tangible evidence of a shared happy past. They were incomprehensible to the outside world and, no doubt, rather self-indulgent and annoying to those
not involved. A little bit ‘Aren’t we great?’, a touch ‘Do you see how close we must be?’, a smidgen ‘We’re very pleased with ourselves!’.

As for Jen, they made her feel warm and fuzzy. Included. Loved.

Then Charles would toast Amelia and thank her for the
meal, as he always did. They would all clink glasses, echoing his thanks and secretly congratulating themselves on how fortunate they were.

‘I hope we’re like them when we’ve been married for forty-five years,’ Jen said to Jason in the car on the way home, not for the first time.

‘What? Me making the same old jokes and you still laughing?’

‘Exactly. It’s so sweet.’

‘Well,’ Jason said, reaching out and putting a hand on her knee. ‘I can certainly keep to my end of the bargain. It’s you who’ll have the hard job of pretending you still find me funny.’

‘I’ve already got away with it for twenty-two,’ Jen said, laughing. ‘What’s the difference?’

For Charles and Amelia’s upcoming forty-fifth wedding anniversary Jen and Jason had organized a few days away near Oxford for the four of them. That is, Jen had done all the organizing and Jason had cheered her on from the sidelines. They
had wanted to get the whole clan down there, but it had proved impossible to pin down dates they could all do, so they were having a family party the following weekend too. Simone and Emily had already booked their train tickets home for that one.

In a moment of madness Jen had come up with the idea of making a DVD as a present for her in-laws. A document of the whole extended family sharing memories and mementos. As soon as she’d suggested it, she had been overwhelmed by the
practicalities of making it happen – until Jessie, surprisingly, had offered to drive across the country to the various aunts and uncles and cousins, recording their messages on her camcorder and trawling through their old family photos. That was the thing about Jessie. She could be
infuriatingly selfish and thoughtless at times, but then out of nowhere she would do something so incredibly generous or kind that everything else would be forgotten.

‘You and Poppy have work,’ she’d said, when she’d called Jen to suggest her plan. ‘And this is probably the last time I’ll be of any use to anyone before the baby comes and I’m out of action for God knows
how long.’

‘I’m sure we can just ask them to record something on their phones and email it to us,’ Jen had said.

‘No way. If we’re going to do it, we need to do it properly. Plus it’ll give me an excuse to get away while Martin decorates the nursery.’

Meanwhile, Jen had arranged to spend an evening round at Poppy’s, making a list of everyone who should be included and emailing them to let them know what was required.

‘So I’ve got a date,’ Poppy said, as soon as Maisie had been tucked up in bed and the wine opened. They had got as far as writing down the names of all Charles and Amelia’s siblings before they got sidetracked. A job that
had taken them approximately one and a half minutes.

Poppy’s announcement, in itself, wasn’t really news. Poppy often went on dates. First dates, second dates, third dates. A few times she had seen someone for a couple of weeks, or even months, before either she or he – usually she, it
seemed to Jen – decided they could do better. Jen had always found her sister-in-law’s tales of single life both entertaining and alarming. Her relationships always came with bucketfuls of added drama. She had a predilection for complicated men – ones with addictions and neuroses and,
occasionally, although she never found out until it was too late, wives. It was a constant whirl of fights, tears and extravagant make-ups in Poppy’s world. Jen couldn’t see the attraction herself.

‘Good for you. Who is he?’

‘Well, his name’s Ryan, he’s forty-two, separated, soon to be divorced, two children – eleven and nine – that he has at the weekends, and he runs his own company. Importing furniture from the Far East.’

‘Where did you meet him?’

Poppy paused just long enough for Jen to start to wonder what was going to come next.

‘Well … OK, I’m just going to tell you and then you can laugh in my face.’

‘Poppy! What?’

‘You have to promise not to tell the others first.’

‘Of course.’

‘I met him online, all right? I signed up with one of those dating sites. So. Now you know.’

Jen realized she was sitting there open-mouthed. She couldn’t have been more surprised if Poppy had told her she’d met this man at a Christian prayer meeting, or a stamp-collecting convention.

‘You’ve been online dating, and you didn’t tell me?’

‘I’m telling you now, aren’t I? He’s the first one I’m meeting.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I knew you’d just say the only people on there would be saddos or rapists. Or both.’

‘Well, actually, I wouldn’t, because you’re on there now, and you’re not a saddo. Or a rapist. Honestly, I think it’s a good idea.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. It’s the only way anyone seems to meet anyone these days, according to the papers.’

Strictly speaking, this wasn’t the truth. Jen actually did feel quite alarmed that Poppy would look for her future among the kind of people who, she imagined, would put themselves out there, on the internet. Drop-dead gorgeous Poppy, with
her line in smart put-downs and the
way she could fill a room just by smiling. She had always been the crush object of all the cool blokes – the desirable, moody ones. Did she really need to advertise for a date?

‘You don’t think it makes me look desperate?’

‘No more than usual.’

‘Gosh, you’re funny.’

‘I know. I can’t help myself. Seriously, though, even though I don’t think it’s sad at all, be careful. Promise me you’ll meet him in a public place and you’ll tell me exactly where you’re going to be and
when. Just in case.’

‘I’m not stupid. We’re having lunch on Wednesday at the Soho Hotel. And I’ve already told him that, if we get on, I want to talk to either his ex-wife or his mother before we go out on a proper date, to check he’s
really who he says he is. I’m not taking the risk he’s happily married and just wants a bit on the side.’

‘And he said OK?’

‘Yep. And I’ve already checked out his company’s website, and it all seems to be above board. His name is on there and they have a warehouse in Acton. I phoned up and asked about ordering a sideboard, and it seemed like
they’d have been happy to deliver one to me if I’d said I wanted it.’

‘Jesus. Now it’s him I’m worried for.’

‘And I’ve told him if he doesn’t look like his picture, then I’m turning round and walking straight out again. There will be no chance to try to win me over with his sparkling personality, so he may as well ’fess up
now.’

‘Oh my God, Pop. You’re being serious, aren’t you?’

‘Of course. He needs to know there’s no point even
trying to get one over on me about anything. Start as you mean to go on.’

Jen couldn’t help laughing. ‘I hope he still turns up.’

‘I know. I might well have put him off for life, but then, if he’s easily put off, it’s good that I find that out now. God, he’d better be nice after all this.’

‘Too right. He’ll have me to answer to if he isn’t.’

Poppy leaned over and filled Jen’s glass. ‘Maybe I’ll bring him to the party, if he turns out to be the man of my dreams.’

‘Now I feel really sorry for him. Being scrutinized by all the Mastersons at once.’

‘You remember what that was like, right?’

‘Terrifying. Let’s hope he’s thick-skinned.’

‘Anyway, like I said, don’t tell anyone.’

‘I’m not even going to dignify that by answering. Again. How many years –’

‘I know, I know,’ Poppy interrupted. ‘Forget I said it. Have another glass of wine.’

Jen was indulging in a bit of Neil-baiting. She and Judy currently had a bet going to see how many times they could get Neil to mention his wife during an eight-hour shift. Judy was currently in the lead with nine, although with no independent
adjudicator Jen wasn’t sure how much she could trust her opponent.

She had started a conversation about running, because she thought she could remember that being one of Mrs Neil’s interests. (Neither of them knew her name, and it didn’t occur to either of them to ask – too much time had passed. And,
anyhow, they couldn’t imagine any name
that would be appropriate and so had decided it was better not to know.) But that attack was thwarted when the phone rang and interrupted her.

She was racking her brain for a way to bring the conversation back round. Or even for anything else to talk about, and sod the bet. Working side by side with someone for hours at a time meant that you soon ran out of things to say. They all knew
far more about each other than they did some of their closest friends.

Neil seemed to have no general conversation. No opinion of his own to offer on anything, just his wife’s. Sometimes hours could pass without him talking at all beyond the repetitive procedural business of the hotel. And then Jen’s
shift would crawl by. She would feel like she was moving in slow motion. Wading through the day as if through a vat of treacle. Hence she didn’t feel too bad about trying to poke him into scoring her a point or two.

They had been locked into a resounding silence for so long that, at one point, Jen felt as if she might doze off. The hotel was quiet, caught in the lull between the summer tourists and the pre-Christmas rush of shoppers and partygoers.

‘What do you think of Woody Allen?’ she said, slightly desperately, remembering that Neil had once mentioned buying Mrs Neil a DVD of
Manhattan Murder Mystery
.

‘My wife thinks he’s a genius …’ Neil said.

Jen congratulated herself silently, and then wondered whether Judy would try to claim her question had been a leading one.

Neil was detailing which of Woody Allen’s films his
wife liked and which she didn’t, the exact moment at which she thought he had lost his touch, her thoughts about his controversial love
life. Jen looked at her watch surreptitiously. Two hours to go. She tried to stifle a yawn.

‘I hate to interrupt your nap,’ a voice said, and Jen jumped.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, looking up and trying to give the impression she was wide awake and fully engaged.

She was relieved when she saw it was one of the regulars, a Mr Hoskins, Sean, standing there with an amused smile on his face. They had many repeat guests – it was one of the things the hotel prided itself on, making sure people would feel so
welcome they would want to come again. Sean was some kind of vintage dealer, with a shop in the Cotswolds somewhere, and he came down every four weeks or so to trawl through the markets and car-boot sales around the seamier parts of London, in search of treasure. Jen remembered one of the
chambermaids telling her he had a life-sized mannequin in his room once, and that he’d left it lying on the bed, under the covers, as a joke.

He was one of her favourites, actually. He always took the time to chat to the staff – something a lot of the guests clearly thought was beneath them – and he had a sarcastic tone that always made her laugh. It didn’t hurt that he was
attractive either. Not in an obvious way. He was in his early forties, she would guess, maybe forty-five. Dark hair that he wore short on the sides and swept back on top, with a few specks of grey appearing around his hairline. Bluey-grey eyes. He was nice enough looking, nothing special.
But when he said something funny – or when he
laughed at something someone else said – his face really came to life. His eyes positively twinkled, the raft of little lines around them giving away that he laughed often.

Not that Jen was interested. That had never been her style. She had never in her twenty-two years with Jason gone beyond a teasing playful flirtation with any other man. It had simply never occurred to her that she might. But having Sean around
definitely made the days pass more quickly.

‘Mr Hoskins. Nice to see you again. And apologies. Again.’

‘Shall I go away and come back later?’

Jen knew he was joking. Neil, on the other hand, completely missed the point. He was one of those people who didn’t always quite get when others were being flippant. He took everything at face value. Jen had long ago learned that using
sarcasm was pointless where Neil was concerned.

‘I can book you in, Mr Hoskins,’ he said, as if Jen might really be about to take him up on his offer to go away so she could have a snooze.

‘It’s fine, Neil,’ she said. ‘It’s all under control. Well, actually, it’s not. I’m afraid the internet’s down, so I can’t check you in officially. I’m afraid it means I have no idea
which room you’ve been allocated either.’

She was relieved that Sean laughed. Some guests would – understandably – be furious if they’d had a long journey and then the hotel couldn’t even offer them anything other than a seat at the bar. Especially when they’d had to
stand at reception being ignored before finding that out.

‘Just give me any old key and I’ll go and make myself at
home. You might have to warn the other guests they could find a strange man asleep in their bed, though.’

‘I am so sorry.’

‘Do you remember the days when we used to write stuff down? What were we thinking?’

Jen smiled. ‘If you’d like to wait in the bar, you can have a drink on us and then I’ll come and get you as soon as we can sort this out.’

‘What if it’s not fixed till tomorrow? Will you bring me in a duvet?’

‘Of course. I hear the floor’s quite comfy in there. It’s sprung, apparently.’

‘Oh, I’m sure it’ll be working soon,’ Neil piped up. He shot Jen a look. ‘If not, we’ll help you find another hotel, obviously.’

‘Oh God, no,’ Sean said. ‘This is why I love this place, there’s never a dull moment.’

‘Nice bloke,’ Neil said when Sean had moved off towards the bar. ‘My wife loves all that vintage stuff he deals in. I’m not so sure myself.’

Bingo! thought Jen. Five mentions, not a bad morning’s work.

By the time lunchtime came round, she was desperate to get out and get some fresh air. She hadn’t seen Charles since the weekend, and she thought it might be fun to catch up and to tell him in depth about Emily’s first experiences
away at uni (her current favourite topic; she could bore for England, and frequently did – it was a shame, really, that she had missed the meeting where they chose the new disciplines for the next Olympics), and so she put
her coat on over her
uniform (brown pencil skirt, green shirt and brown cardigan or jacket, black court shoes; it was channelling Mussolini a little too much for Jen’s liking, but not bad, actually, as uniforms went) and did what she had done many times before, walked round the corner in the hopes of
surprising Charles at his office.