Women of a Dangerous Age (9 page)

‘No,' she said, her fingers stroking the stem of her glass. ‘Not Tom. Nic.'

As he stared at her, she thought his head might explode. His face grew a deeper and deeper shade of red until he let all his breath out in one convulsive rush. ‘Nic? No. She must have made a mistake.'

‘There's no mistake.' Keep calm, breathe deeply. If anyone's going to make a scene, it's not going to be you.

Hooker seemed genuinely flabbergasted at first, as if unable to believe such a thing of his beloved daughter. Watching his face, Lou saw his thought process: from shock, to confusion, to denial, to acceptance, to fury. With his anger came the return of his power of speech.

‘Who's responsible?'

Pointing out that Nic inevitably bore fifty per cent of the responsibility would not help. Instead, Lou said, ‘Max, I think.'

‘You think? Why aren't you sure? When I see him, I'll …' He stopped, unable to think of a sufficiently terrible threat.

The people on the next two tables had paused in the conversation and turned to see what was going on.

‘Shhh,' Lou cautioned. ‘There's no point getting worked up.'

‘Worked up? What the hell do you mean? I've every right to be worked up. You walk in here and tell me that my daughter's having a baby and expect me to be calm.' He lowered his head into his hands. ‘Oh, my God. A grandfather.' His earlier pride had given way to despair. He angled his
head so that he could see her. ‘I definitely need something stronger. A whisky.'

‘And you want me to get it?' Lou bridled at being asked to go to the bar for him a second time. Nor did she relish the idea of a repeat encounter with Tess and her fashionista companions who she'd noticed looking in their direction.

‘No, no. I'll get them. Same again?' He picked up her empty wine glass as he edged out of the narrow space, his other hand already foraging for the change in his pocket.

She nodded, relieved to be left on her own for a moment.

By the time he returned, his expression was something approaching normal. Having finally accepted that a man had defiled his precious only daughter without his consent but with hers, he had moved on to a new tack.

‘Presumably you've persuaded her that the sensible way to deal with this is for her to have an abortion?'

Here we go.

‘No, I haven't.' She registered the taut straight line of his mouth. ‘This is Nic's life and Nic's decision. She wants to keep the baby and I only want to support her.'

‘For God's sake, Lou. She's far too young. Surely even you can see that.' He was speaking to her as if she was irredeemably stupid. ‘A single mother. My daughter. No.' He gave a heartfelt groan. If what they were talking about weren't so serious, Lou would have laughed at the theatricality of his response.

‘Hooker, get a grip. Yes, she's your daughter but she's not the toddler you built sandcastles with every year any more. She's not the thirteen-year-old whose pocket money you
stopped when she threw her Bacardi Breezer bottles into the neighbours' garden. She's got her own life now and she doesn't have to account to us for what she does any more. Whether you like it or not. Our job's to give her all the help we can. That's all we can do.'

‘But her career …' His voice was muffled, as he nursed his whisky glass in front of his mouth.

‘Thousands of women have babies and return to work. That won't be a problem because she's already thought everything through.' Echoing Nic's words made Lou share her daughter's confidence that everything would work out.

‘You say that …'

‘I know that,' Lou said firmly. ‘She's always loved looking after things so perhaps having a baby … Let's see.'

‘Do you remember when she rescued that pigeon with a broken wing? She was always such a softie.' Hooker smiled at the memory.

Lou's recollection was less of the softie and more of the pigeon shit that had covered the living room when the bird had escaped its cardboard box. Nor had she forgotten the hours that it had taken to clear up the room to Hooker's satisfaction, but without his help. Oddly, Nic too had found something urgent to do. But she was glad that Hooker's mood was changing as the whisky took hold. ‘And Ripper, her hamster whose hair fell out.' She smiled too, remembering how Nic had lavished affection and mite dust on the poor little wrinkled, bald creature until it had finally died.

As they began to swap reminiscences, their differences were put to one side. Whatever happened between them
in the future, these memories would always be theirs alone. Their shared family experiences interested no one else in the world but them.

Once she leaned over and touched his arm. Still talking, he covered her hand with his just before she swiftly removed it. But one memory led on to the next and, as they travelled back in time, Lou began to recognise the Hooker she had once fallen for, the man who could make her laugh. She checked herself. Perhaps she should go home. But, memories and tongues loosened by alcohol, the two of them stayed where they were in the warmth of the fire, drinking and reminiscing, till the chairs were being put on the tables around them. By then she was aware of how pleasantly hazy the world seemed.

Reluctantly they dragged themselves out into the night air. Feeling definitely the worse for wear although triumph ant that Hooker had eventually taken on board and almost accepted Nic's news, Lou stepped forward to give her ex an affectionate peck farewell. Slightly surprised at herself, she overbalanced, righting herself with one foot in the gutter, her hand on his chest. ‘Whoops. Shouldn't have mixed my drinks. Sorry.' She giggled and removed her hand as if it was burned.

He smiled. ‘I've missed the sound of your laugh, you know.'

What? She struggled to get a grip of herself but she was at least one glass of wine too late. If only she'd had more than a packet of peanuts to soak it all up. But she hadn't thought.

‘Let me see you to a taxi, Lou. I'm sure we'll find one if
we go this way.' Always the gent, and always the one in control. But the combination of drink and the cold air had done for her defences. Instead of sobering up, she was giddy with forgotten affection.

‘My knight in shining armour.' She stifled another laugh as she concentrated on walking in a straight line beside him, trying and failing to use the breaks in the paving stones as a guide.

‘Take my arm. Go on.' Hooker angled his elbow outwards so she could slip her arm through, just as she would have done years before. Old habits. Hard to resist.

As they made their uneven way along the pavement, Fred Astaire's and Judy Garland's couple of swells unaccountably danced into her mind. She began to sing under her breath.

For once, Hooker didn't comment on her questionable musical ability. In fact she thought she heard him hum a note or two himself, before he said, ‘Grandparents, Lou. Just think of it. Us!'

As they walked and talked and sang, they hardly noticed that not one single taxi made an appearance in the empty streets as they drew closer and closer to Jenny's house.

When she woke the next morning, Lou's head seemed to be gripped in a vice that tightened with each new waking moment, the focus of the pain drilling into her skull just above her right eyebrow, then rippling outwards through her brain. She rolled slowly onto her left side, then paused until her head stopped swimming. Propping herself up on one elbow, wincing at the slight sensation of nausea, she reached for the glass of water. Almost empty! When had that happened? She had no memory of drinking it. The little that was left trickled onto her tongue with as much effect as a couple of raindrops in the Sahara. She ran her tongue around her mouth in a vain attempt to improve the bottom-of-a-birdcage taste. Someone had fur-lined her teeth during the night. She must have brushed them before she came to bed. Surely? That was routine. Looking down, she saw that she was naked. Her pyjamas were in a ball that just edged out from under the pillow. She spotted her bra at the end of the bed. She groaned.

Oh, God, please no! I didn't.

From behind her came confirmation in the form of a gentle rumble like the sound of a gathering storm.

Oh, God. I did.

We did.

She inched herself into a sitting position, swung her legs out of the bed and reached for her purple velveteen dressing gown, a gift from the boys two Christmases ago, that was hanging on the back of the door. In the dim light that leaked into the room through the narrow gap between the curtains, she could make out the silhouettes of their discarded clothes on the carpet. Cue another groan. Wrapping her robe round her, unable to steady her spinning head completely, she collapsed back onto the duvet, welcoming the comfort of the pillow. Vodka, wine, then brandy when they'd arrived indoors – a cocktail mixed in hell. What had she been thinking?

She turned her head. Beside her Hooker lay beached on his side, his back to her, naked as the day he was born, reeking like a brewery. As he farted and moved backwards a smidgeon, she spotted a couple of old scratches between his shoulder blades. Not recent enough to have been put there by her, thank God. Her eyes closed as she tried to piece together how she had got herself into this situation.

Fuelled by alcohol, all that talk of the children's childhood, all those shared memories, had made Lou feel a warmth towards her ex that she hadn't felt for years. She couldn't remember the last time they'd run over so much shared ground together: ground that was uniquely theirs. Or, indeed, when they'd had so much to say to each other. What on earth had happened?

They'd emerged into the winter night and she remembered linking her arm through his, leaning against him,
enjoying the unfamiliar sense of mutual support. ‘Imagine. Us as grandparents,' he said as she stumbled against him. ‘I'm not sure that I'm ready for this.'

‘Of course you are.' She concentrated on walking in a straighter line. ‘It had to come sometime. We just weren't expecting Nic to be first.' At least she thought that's roughly what she had said given that, oddly, she couldn't remember every word. With her coaxing, Hooker had come round to the idea that they should support their daughter whatever he felt. She at least recalled the result of their conversation, if not the exact means of achieving it. He had finally accepted that, with or without his blessing, the baby would be born.

Once they'd reached her gate … what had happened? In an unwelcome flash of clarity, she remembered asking him in to call for a minicab. After he had walked her back, it had seemed churlish to send him out into the empty streets to find a taxi. If only they had come across one en route, they wouldn't be here now. Hooker would have dropped her off and continued on his way. Instead, she had suggested coffee. Seeing the bottle in her store cupboard, he suggested cognac. Her protests that it was only there for the Christmas cake were short-lived. By then they'd had enough to drink not to care and the phone call was never made.

She opened her eyes. There on the bedside table, beside her water glass, was the evidence – an incriminating tumbler that had once contained her brandy. She didn't want to remember any more. Instead, she got up and went into the bathroom where she stood, eyes half shut, under the shower,
waiting for the jets of water to batter her into some semblance of life. But however much she might not want to recollect what had happened the previous night, random disconnected images floated into her consciousness. Hooker coming up behind her in the kitchen and slipping his arm around her waist. Her laughing him off. Spilling the ground coffee all over the worktop. The brandy. A second glass. Fumbling for the living-room lights. Stumbling towards the sofa. Laughing at a joke. His touch. His whispered endearments. The unexpected comfort of a pair of arms around her. His quiet insistence on taking her up to bed. Her quiet assent. His undressing her. Sex. Oh, God!

Whenever they'd last made any kind of love was lost in the mists of time. She rifled through her memory bank and came up with Fiona and Charlie's anniversary party. That was well over a year ago and memorable for being the last time she'd been drunk, thanks to the imaginative cocktails that had packed a punch as hefty as any from Muhammad Ali. So alcohol had proved her downfall yet again. Note to self: do not ever, ever, drink with Hooker under any circumstances again. Newly resolved, she hopped out of the shower. Yes, definitely feeling better. Rather than return to the scene of the crime, she decided that she'd be better off with a strong black coffee to help her assess her next move and anticipate his.

What must
he
be thinking? At the moment, nothing much judging from the snore that trumpeted from the bedroom. She felt her way down the stairs, pulling open the blind halfway down, allowing a bleak wintry light to illuminate the staircase. A train rumbled past, making the windows rattle.

In the kitchen, she wiped up the coffee, relieved that she'd still got enough for a jug left in the packet. As the smell of it brewing took over the kitchen, she slumped at the table, lost in thought. Succumbing to Hooker's dubious charms was a worrying, not to say decidedly retrogressive, development in her bid for independence from him. Apart from the drink, and the relief at having broken Nic's news, something else had definitely made her respond to him. She couldn't even pretend to herself that she hadn't enjoyed what followed. And just when she had all but accepted that her interest in sex had galloped off to the dying grass of middle age. Obviously not yet.

She made space for their mugs on the table by arranging the newspaper supplements and two days' worth of opened post into an uneven pile among the half-burned candles, the vase of tulips and assorted table mats. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the calendar pinned on the wall by the phone, reminding her that she had an appointment to meet the lettings agent at eleven to look at possible premises for her shop. She contemplated postponing until a time when she'd feel less mothy and in more of a decision-making mode. But no, that would be too pathetic. She couldn't allow one evening that veered off the rails to scupper her future.

From upstairs came the sound of Hooker moving around. She heard the shower being turned on, a door shut, opened, more footsteps. At the sound of his tread on the stairs, Lou braced herself.

‘Morning!' Breezy was the word to describe his entrance. As he pulled out a chair and poured himself some coffee,
he looked as if he hadn't a hangover in the world. ‘Anything to eat?'

‘'Fraid not. I could kill for a piece of toast, but no bread.' She didn't mention her extremely shaky resolution to keep off bread for January. And now alcohol. He'd only sneer at its familiarity and her annual failure.

‘Well!' he said with some satisfaction. ‘Who'd have thought it? It may have been a long time, but you certainly haven't lost your touch.' He stretched a hand towards her knee but she swiftly uncrossed her legs and tucked them out of reach under the table, pulling her dressing gown across them.

Patronising her had always come as second nature to him, just one of so many reasons for her leaving him, all of which were sneaking back into her mind just now. But too late to undo the previous night and besides, despite herself, she couldn't help feeling a little glow of satisfaction at his remark. Good to know that she was still in acceptable working order, even if the compliment came from the one man she'd rather not hear it from.

‘Look, Hooker.' She concentrated on what she wanted to say. ‘What happened last night was a mistake. I was drunk. So were you. It doesn't make any difference to the way things are between us.'

‘Doesn't it?' His grin was wider than the Cheshire cat's.

‘No. Absolutely not.' Yes, that was the tone she wanted: firm, decisive.

‘You're being a bit harsh, aren't you? Perhaps having a break from one another was all we needed.' He tried to meet her eye, but she looked away.

‘No, no, no.' She tried to string together a few coherent thoughts. ‘You've forgotten, that's all. We had separate lives. We don't want to be together.'

‘Come on. It wasn't that bad. Last night proved that.' That hand reached out towards her again, the signet ring glinting on his little finger.

‘Yes, it was.' Indignant, she stood up and backed away as coherency returned. ‘Over the last few years, you've led your life exactly the way you wanted. Sometimes we barely spoke for days on end. I was lonely and felt taken for granted. I couldn't go on like that. Now it's my turn. I'm sorry.' She turned to go upstairs.

‘Where are you going?' His hand was on the coffee pot, ready to pour himself another cup. His ring chinked against the china.

Panicked by the idea of him settling in, she replied without thinking. ‘I'm looking at a shop at eleven, so I need to get myself together.'

‘What shop?' He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You're not seriously going to go through with that idea?'

One of the kids must have told him. Annoyed with herself for not swearing them to secrecy before she went away and not wanting to hear his opinion, which was obviously going to be negative, she tried to dismiss the subject. ‘It probably won't come to anything.'

‘How are you going to afford it?' Money. That's what so much came down to with him.

‘I'll manage.' At least the kids hadn't spilled the beans by reminding him of the savings she'd stashed away after her parents' deaths. Sam and Jenny had burned through their
share – he by taking himself to a new start in Canada, she by buying her house – but Lou had saved most of hers for the rainy day that had finally arrived.

‘Anyway, isn't running a shop a bit, well … I don't know … beneath you?'

‘For God's sake, Hooker! Unlike you, I don't care what other people think.' That, she realised, was almost true. What a great position in life to have reached at last. ‘And I'm not going to be coming to you for a sub, if that's what you're worried about.
If
I go ahead with it, I'll let you know. But don't hold your breath. Now, I must get on.'

‘But don't we need to talk about Nic and what's going to happen?' He adopted that little-boy-lost look. But its once seductive charm cut no ice with her any more. Or, almost none.

‘We did that last night. She's having the baby in about six months and we're going to help her with whatever she needs. There's no more to say for now.' She'd done what had been asked of her – and much, much more besides. Now, all she wanted Hooker to do was walk out of the door and leave her to get on with her life. ‘Anyway, haven't you got anything to do this morning?'

At last, he got the message and rose to his feet. ‘Perhaps you're right. Perhaps we did get a bit carried away.'

‘A bit!'

‘Too soon, I suppose.'

She thought she heard a measure of regret somewhere.

‘Hooker …' Spoken with as much of a threat in her voice as she could muster. ‘It's not too soon – it's too late.'

He waved his hand in the air as if brushing away an
insistent wasp. ‘OK, OK. I'm off. I'll find myself a cab home.' He picked up his overcoat from the back of the kitchen chair. ‘Thanks for the coffee.' Then he winked, before leaning forward to kiss her cheek. She tried not to flinch at the contact. How could she have slept with him? Like an idiot, she had only succeeded in complicating matters between them. Vowing never to let another drop of alcohol pass her lips ever again, she went upstairs to get ready, leaving him to make his own way out.

 

As soon as they walked through the door of the empty shop, Lou fell in love with the place. Just off the High Street, in the middle of a row of four shops and a café, the premises were small but ideal for what she wanted. Between a boutique and a small art gallery, with a deli, two furniture shops, another couple of high-street clothes shops and a paint supplier lower down the hill, she'd be assured of enough passing trade. The large plate-glass window was big enough for imaginative displays of her clothes. Behind it was a light-filled L-shaped space. Immediately Lou could see its potential. If she put a counter across the arm of the L, there'd be enough room behind it for shelves where she could store fabric and stock on the left, and for a central cutting and sewing table on the right. At the very back was a tiny kitchenette and toilet, separated by a window and glass door leading into a tiny courtyard. On the back wall of the main shop, beside her imagined counter, were two changing rooms that had been installed by the previous
owner. The body of the shop was wide enough for hanging rails and shelves on both sides. Perhaps she would put a low chair and table in the corner by the changing rooms. All the place needed was a good clean and a bit of imagination on the decorating front.

‘What do you think?' she asked Jamie who conveniently had the day off from the film set where he was working. He'd been so excited when he'd landed the job of production assistant but the long hours and night shoots were taking their toll. He had seemed happy to come along to give his opinion on the shop instead. At that moment, he was poking his head round the toilet door. He turned to her, pulling a face.