10 p.m. V. sad. Looked expectantly round table as everyone took first mouthful of confit. There was an embarrassed silence.
'What's this, hon?' said Tom eventually. 'Is it marmalade?'
Horror-struck, took mouthful myself. It was, as he said, marmalade. Realize after all effort and expense have served my guests:
Blue soup
Omelette
Marmalade
Am disastrous failure. Michelin-star cookery? Kwik-fit, more like.
Did not think things could get any worse after the marmalade. But no sooner was the horrible meal cleared away than the phone went. Fortunately I took it in the bedroom. It was Dad.
'Are you on your own?' he said. 'No. Everyone's round here, Jude and everyone. Why?'
'I – wanted you to be with someone when . . . I'm sorry, Bridget. I'm afraid there's been some rather bad news.'
'What? What?'
'Your mother and Julio are wanted by the police.'
2 a.m. Northamptonshire in single bed in the Alconburys' spare room. Ugh. Had to sit down and get my breath back while Dad said, 'Bridget? Bridget? Bridget?' over and over again in manner of a parrot.
'What's happened?' I managed to get out eventually. 'I'm afraid they – possibly, and I pray, without your mother's knowledge – have defrauded a large number of people, including myself and some of our very closest friends, out of a great deal of money. We don't know the scale of the fraud at the moment, but I'm afraid, from what the police are saying, it's possible that your mother may have to go to prison for a considerable period of time.'
'Oh my God. So that's why she's gone off to Portugal with my two hundred quid.'
'She may well be further afield by now.'
I saw the future unfolding before me like a horrible nightmare: Richard Finch dubbing me Good Afternoon!'s 'Suddenly Single's Jailbird's Daughter, and forcing me to do a live interview down the line from the Holloway visitors' room before being Suddenly Sacked on air.
'What did they do?'
'Apparently Julio, using your mother as – as it were – 'front man,' has relieved Una and Geoffrey, Nigel and Elizabeth and Malcolm and Elaine' (oh my God, Mark Darcy's parents) 'of quite considerable sums of money-many, many thousands of pounds, as down payments on time-share apartments.'
'Didn't you know?'
'No. Presumably because they were unable to overcome some slight vestigial embarrassment about doing business with the greasy beperfumed wop who has cuckolded one of their oldest friends they omitted to mention the whole business to me.'
'So what happened?'
'The time-share apartments never existed. Not a penny of your mother's and my savings or pension fund remains. I also was unwise enough to leave the house in her name, and she has remortgaged it. We are ruined, destitute and homeless, Bridget, and your mother is to be branded a common criminal.'
After that he broke down. Una came to the phone, saying that she was going to give Dad some Ovaltine. I told her I'd be there in two hours but she said not to drive till I'd got over the shock, there was nothing to be done, and to leave it till the morning. Replacing the receiver, I slumped against the wall cursing myself feebly for leaving my cigarettes in the living room. Immediately though, Jude appeared with a glass of Grand Marnier.
'What happened?' she said.
I told her the whole story, pouring the Grand Marnier straight down my throat as I did. Jude didn't say a word but immediately went and fetched Mark Darcy.
'I blame myself,' he said, running his hands through his hair. 'I should have made myself more clear at the Tarts and Vicars party. I knew there was something dodgy about Julio.'
'What do you mean?'
'I heard him talking on his portable phone by the herbaceous border. He didn't know he was being overheard. If I'd had any idea that my parents were involved I'd . . . He shook his head. 'Now that I think about it, I do remember my mother mentioning something, but I got so upset at the mere mention of the words 'timeshare' that I must have terrorized her into shutting up. Where's your mother now?'
'I don't know. Portugal? Rio de Janeiro? Having her hair done?'
He started to pace around the room firing questions like a top barrister.
'What's being done to find her?' 'What are the sums involved?' 'How did the matter come to light?' 'What is the police's involvement?' 'Who knows about it?' 'Where is your father now?' 'Would you like to go to him?' 'Will you allow me to take you?' It was pretty damn sexy, I can tell you.
Jude appeared with coffee. Mark decided the best thing would be if he got his driver to take him and me up to Grafton Underwood and, for a fleeting second, I experienced the totally novel sensation of being grateful to my mother.
It was all very dramatic when we got to Una and Geoffrey's, with Enderbys and Alconburys all over the shop, everyone in tears and Mark Darcy striding around making phone calls. Found myself feeling guilty, since part of self – despite horror – was hugely enjoying the fact of normal business being suspended, everything different from usual and everyone allowed to throw entire glasses of sherry and salmon-paste sandwiches down their throats in manner of Christmas. Was exactly the same feeling as when Granny turned schizophrenic and took all her clothes off, ran off into Penny Husbands-Bosworth's orchard and had to be rounded up by the police.
8st 10 (hurrah!), alcohol units 3, cigarettes 27 (completely understandable when Mum is common criminal), calories 5671 (oh dear, seem to have regained appetite), Instants 7 (unselfish act to try to win back everyone's money, though maybe would not give them all of it, come to think of it), total winnings ,10, total profit ,3 (got to start somewhere).
10 a.m. Back in flat, completely exhausted after no sleep. On top of everything else, have to go to work and get told off for being late. Dad seemed to be rallying a little when I left: alternating between moments of wild cheerfulness that Julio proved to be a bounder so Mum might come back and start a new life with him and deep depression that the new life in question will be one of prison-visiting using public transport.
Mark Darcy went back to London in small hours. I left a message on his answerphone saying thank you for helping and everything, but he has not rung me back. Cannot blame him. Bet Natasha and similar would not feed him blue soup and turn out to be the daughter of criminal.
Una and Geoffrey said not to worry about Dad as Brian and Mavis are going to stay and help look after him. Find myself wondering why it is always 'Una and Geoffrey' not 'Geothey and Una' and yet 'Malcolm and Elaine' and 'Brian and Mavis.' And yet, on the other hand, 'Nigel and Audrey' Coles. Just as one would never, never say 'Geoffrey and Una' so, conversely, one would never say 'Elaine and Malcolm.' Why? Why? Find self, in spite of self; trying out own name imagining Sharon or Jude in years to come, boring their daughters rigid by going 'You know Bridget and Mark, darling, who live in the big house in Holland Park and go on lots of holidays to the Caribbean.' That's it. It would be Bridget and Mark. Bridget and Mark Darcy. The Darcys. Not Mark and Bridget Darcy. Heaven forbid. All wrong. Then suddenly feel terrible for thinking about Mark Darcy in these terms, like Maria with Captain Von Trapp in The Sound of Music, and that I must run away and go to see Mother Superior, who will sing 'Climb Every Mountain' to me.