Lucy gives her a slightly quizzical look. “I’m afraid not, Nessa. I have a cleaner. Nearly as old as Mum, but she keeps going.”
It turns out Lucy pays half as much as Vanessa, and the cleaner comes for twice as many hours as Anya. “One day I’m moving to the country,” says Vanessa. “You can’t imagine how hard it is, in London. I mean, cleaners have us over a barrel, they aren’t even English, and we pay through the nose—”
Of course it’s OK to say this to Lucy, who lives in the country, and will understand. Then Vanessa remembers, with a sinking heart, that Mary is standing listening in the doorway. “I don’t mean you, Mary, of course,” she blusters.
Mary smiles at her, enigmatically. “Of course not, Vanessa. You cannot mean me. I am not your cleaner. And remember — when I was your cleaner you paid me very little.”
Vanessa hopes that Lucy did not hear her.
“I hope you’ll be all right at Mum’s,” Lucy says. “She does her best, bless her, but Dad is exhausting, it’s not his fault, but she has to do everything. I would have had you here but then the girls said they wanted to bring the kids for the knees-up, and I have to say, I’m the original doting grandma — I think that’s them!” And she rushes to the door.
And there they are, the next two generations. The daughters are stylish, handsome women; one is a solicitor, one a doctor; one is a Chloe, the other a Serena. They are warily friendly, at first, to Vanessa, as if they have heard too much about her. The grandchildren range between two and eight, and all have cut-glass middle·class accents, and either have nannies or go to prep school. The daughters are protective of their mother Lucy, and make a fuss of her, and praise her food, and admire her garden, so Vanessa does too, and they all get mildly tipsy together. Mary chats intensely to Serena, the solicitor, who turns out to have done VSO in Kenya, and Vanessa ends up with a grandchild on her knee, and there is a lot of shouting and laughter.
The first night, Vanessa says, aside, to Mary, “Mary if you don’t mind, I will have a bath. As you know, I have headaches when I don’t get my exercise, and the hot water helps me to relax.”
Mary doesn’t demur, though she is sweaty from driving.
But when Vanessa makes the same speech to her hostess, Aunt Isobel’s mouth tightens on a drawstring. “Oh no, we don’t really have baths at night. The water’s gone cold again by now. I expect we could manage one in the morning.”
Vanessa washes glumly in the bathroom. She’s asleep by the time Mary joins her in the bedroom. Vanessa jerks awake and looks at her watch. It is nearly midnight. “Mary, what have you been doing?”
“I was talking with your aunt and uncle. They are very interested in my life in Uganda.”
“Really?” asks Vanessa, disconcerted. She feels vaguely cheated by this news. Surely Mary should talk about Uganda to her? “I too am very interested, Mary, you know. Particularly as I have been to Uganda.”
“Yes, Vanessa, you have mentioned it.” Mary goes to sleep smiling, and does not say, “But you never asked me about life in Uganda. You were always too busy telling me about it.”
When Vanessa comes down to breakfast next day, Aunt Isobel is in the kitchen. She gestures conspiratorially at the garden, smiling, showing stained and broken incisors. “Look who’s managed to get outside. And your friend’s with him. Heart of gold, that girl.”
“Really?” Vanessa goes out to join them. She has a heart of gold, as well.
Stan and Mary are propped against the garden wall, looking down the path towards the bird-table. And they are smoking. Mary’s doing it again. Vanessa stares at her, mute, accusing.
“Ah, Vanessa.” Mary smiles, and blows smoke. “Stan has asked me to join him for a cigarette. Although, as you know, I have given up smoking. But of course, I respect your uncle very much. I think it is a cultural thing, to join him.”
“She’s a laugh a minute, this girl,” says Stan. His voice sounds stronger, although he is coughing. “See, Izzie’s given up, so it’s nice to have company. I’m showing her my birdies, look there, down the garden.”
“I like the blue and yellow ones,” says Mary, indicating them with a flourish of her fag.
Not to be outdone, Vanessa joins in. “Your tits are absolutely wonderful, Uncle.”
And Mary quickly seconds her. “Very nice tits.”
Both of them are puzzled when Stan bursts out laughing, choking and heaving against the wall. But this visit is going really well.
Soon after, the day dissolves in grey rain. Mary and Vanessa try to wander round the village, but Mary has no Wellington boots, and the traffic soon sprays them with thin slurry. After a bit they give up and go back. The house feels small for the four of them.
Mary Tendo volunteers to help Aunt Isobel with the ironing, though Vanessa whispers, “You don’t have to, Mary.” She demolishes a mountain of linen in an hour. “I am an expert,” she says, when Isobel thanks her.
After tea they get ready for the village party.
“My outfit is OK?” Mary asks Vanessa. Her dress has a high neck, and a knee-length skirt, but to Vanessa it seems slightly too red and too tight, and generally makes Mary Tendo look too — what?
Too pretty, she realises, ashamed. Mary looks really pretty in her smart red dress. It shows off her curves, which have surely grown curvier. Surely, in London, her bosom has grown? Vanessa inspects her own spare, lean form. ‘Tensile, like a dancer’, she remembers. Men didn’t like women who were—blowsy. Did they?
43
“So nice to meet new family,” Chloe shouts at Vanessa, trying to rise above the noise of the band in the revamped village hall, which is fast filling up with people. “We really enjoyed yesterday evening at Mum’s. And you are, you know, from the old village. I don’t know who half these people are.”
Vanessa is flattered, pleased to be welcomed. “Well Mary and I don’t know a soul.” (But in fact, Mary has quickly made friends with two men who are laying cable under the road, men with shadowy jaws and big muscles and sharp, metropolitan haircuts. They are the best-looking men in the room. She is dancing energetically with both of them, shimmying her hips in a frank, rhythmic fashion that makes Vanessa wince and look away. Though Vanessa can dance with the best of them, and so she would, if anyone asked her — Why don’t they ask her? She is looking nice. She isn’t so much older than Mary.)
Sighing, Vanessa turns back to Chloe. “I wish you could have met my Justin. All of you children would get on so well.” She realises that she actually means, “You have all become middle class, you children, everything about you, your voice, your style, whereas your mother and I…” It was a small miracle.
Then Serena comes up. “Someone’s dying to meet you,” she says, and leads Vanessa towards the kitchen.
On the way, they pass Vanessa’s first boyfriend. It is Raymond Biggins, now fat and red-faced. She recognises him by his fleshy lips. He surely looks twenty years older than she does. But he stops and stares. “It can’t be Vanessa. Hallo there, darling…Bloody hell, you’ve aged.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, he’s fucking pissed,” shouts his equally fat wife, slapping his bottom.
“Ah,” says Vanessa, a little shaken. She swigs at her drink, and tries to smile. Ray Biggins always was a loser. And aggression could be a sign of desire.
In the kitchen, a large grey-haired woman is sitting drinking on her own. When she sees Vanessa come into the room, she puts down the glass, slowly, deliberately, and peers at Vanessa, and then she smiles.
“Do you recognise me?” she asks Vanessa.