‘So-so. Pregnancy is an exclusive business. Unlike conception.’
Are you looking forward to number three?’
Martin didn’t reply immediately, and when he did he sounded a little troubled. ‘It’s very crowded – life, I mean.’
That worried me a little. ‘Too cryptic for this time of the morning, Martin.’
‘I feel cryptic, Minty. Never mind. Now for the meeting.’ He dropped a kiss on my cheek. ‘See you.’ He raised his briefcase in salute to the watchful Mrs Austen, and we went our separate ways.
Sandwiched between bodies on a packed train, I began to wonder in earnest about Paige and Martin. ‘I’m practically the only mother in the world prepared to put her children first,’ Paige had maintained, and she wasn’t entirely joking. ‘It’s lonely. If we go on like this, there’ll be no population in the West. Look at Italy. Look at Germany. Child-free countries.’ Paige’s zeal was both heartbreaking and infuriating: a missionary among the heathens. Yet there was something reassuring about her straightforward outlook, which did not involve any of the ifs and buts that draw the sting of rules and regulations.
Barry sauntered into my office, but his greeting was sharp. ‘What kept you?’
I cursed inwardly and flushed: I was twenty minutes late. ‘Sorry, Barry. The Tube.’
He glanced at his Rolex. ‘You can make it up later.’
He threw himself into a chair. ‘I’ve got a tricky day. We need the green light for the Aids film, so say your prayers.’ He was dressed in a dark Armani suit and red tie, which meant Big Meeting and probably explained the sharpness. He smelt of aftershave, and a hint of claret from the night before.
Again he checked his watch. ‘Five minutes before the off, and I’m going to waste them with you.’
What’s up with Gabrielle? hovered on the tip of my tongue, but I resisted. On closer inspection, Barry’s collar points were not quite adjusted. Then I understand that he did not, at this moment, require the diversion of a superb body and a sexy giggle. What Barry needed was an adult, sensible, grounding conversation before he went into a Big Meeting. As we talked, I was unsure whether to cry because I no longer occupied the pretty-and-diverting category, or laugh because I had been elevated to ‘serious’.
Barry departed, and I was left to beat the working day into shape. I went through my in-tray and sorted it into ‘urgent’ and ‘pending’. Rose had taught me the tricks and procedures of an office, and the lessons remained with me. Funny, that: she had handed me professionalism and her husband on a plate. I wrote a report, made phone calls. I read scripts until my eyes blurred.
Eventually I pulled the file marked ‘Middle Age’ towards me. I had been avoiding it. Definitely. I opened my notebook and wrote: (1) What is the story? (2) Why are we proposing it? (3) Who will make it? (4) Likely costs?
What was there to say? Wasn’t middle age a furtive, secretive stage? When I’d bought my first bra, there was no one I didn’t buttonhole with the news. Ask the spirit of my dead, unsympathetic mother. But I’d rather die than reveal the existence of a varicose vein in my leg. (Thank you, twins.) I had no desire to discuss my body’s slippage. The first blows of age. It was akin to tourists tramping round a ruin. And which of us would volunteer to examine the mistakes, guilt, regret or banalities of working, nurturing and fretting? Who wished to acknowledge the loneliness of growing older?
‘When middle age creeps up on a woman, she discovers that younger women are just as much wolves as men,’ a newspaper pundit stated in one of the cuttings that Deb had handed over. On that point, I conceded, I was the expert.
I remembered playing the wolf…
Nathan had tracked me down in Bonne Tartine. He must have followed me from the Vistemax offices. He slid into the opposite seat, then nodded at my coffee and the plate on which sat a tiny, untouched croissant. He seemed inordinately pleased with himself, his expression absurdly young and his hair ruffled. ‘Is that just there for temptation?’
‘How did you know I was here?’
‘I watched and waited.’
I swallowed the uneven lump of excitement and apprehension: now that I had got to this point, questions needed to be asked. ‘What about Rose?’
Carefully, Nathan cut the croissant into pieces. ‘Rose is busy with her own life.’ He paused. ‘All things considered, I don’t think she’d mind. I’ve never been her first concern…’ He leant forward and began to feed me the croissant. Its sweet, crumbling texture dissolved in my mouth, and I thought, Rose must be mad or stupid to be so blind.
‘Why did you do it?’ asked the forty-two-year-old Rose, after I had taken Nathan. ‘We were friends.’
Yes, we had been friends. Sweet, sweet friends…
‘You look stuck in.’ Deb sashayed into my office. ‘Anything I should know about?’ Uninvited, she perched on the edge of my desk, and I suppressed the desire to push her off.
‘OK.’ I sat back. ‘Do women feel middle age more acutely than men?’
‘God, I don’t know’ Deb gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘Isn’t it all over for the middle-aged, whichever sex?’ Her eyes drifted past me towards Reception in case anyone useful was waiting.
‘I think my husband feels it.’
Deb transferred her attention back to me. ‘Barry says you’re a second wife. Is he a lot older? Is he nice?’
‘He’s very nice,’ I said flatly. ‘That’s why I married him.’
‘How much older?’
‘Twenty years.’
The corners of Deb’s mouth went down, registering distaste. ‘How… very brave,’ she said, after a few awkward seconds. Then she said. ‘I wish…’
‘You wish?’ She might have been wishing for a new body or a new life. Or maybe she was just wishing she could fall in love, in which case I might warn her off it. Apart from anything else, love is ageing. You fetch up with twins, varicose veins and being hated by a clan.
‘Did I tell you I’m going mad in my flat? It’s above a curry restaurant and it reeks – I reek – of curry. The landlord won’t do anything about the ventilation and is threatening to put up the rent.’ She spread her hands. ‘I long to live in a clean white palace high above the trees. I long to be different. But at the moment the future doesn’t look bright.’ She paused. ‘Did you know that Barry’s taking on another producer?… You didn’t? He’s brilliant apparently’
Annoyance with Barry clocked in. No doubt he’d had his reasons for not mentioning it when I talked to him earlier, which showed that one should never forget the boss always has a hidden agenda. I closed my notebook with a snap. Perhaps things were not going to work out with Paradox. I experienced mild regret at the thought, but there were other production companies and I would allow Nathan an I-told-you-so conversation.
Deb stood up and stretched. The junction between her cargos and T-shirt revealed gooseflesh. I nearly said, I so nearly said, ‘ You’ll catch cold if you’re not careful.’
I returned home in good time to take over from Eve, who was going out. ‘Thanks, Minty.’ A rare, pale smile stretched her lips. ‘This is big night.’
Best not to ask. From the window of the boys’ bedroom, I watched her clatter down the street in a cheap pair of high heels. She looked released, happy, her hair loosened from its customary prison wardress’s clamp, and I reminded myself I must never forget that Eve was entitled to an off-duty life.
‘You are a busy mummy.’ Lucas’s fair hair, which was beginning to darken, was tumbled and mussed, and he was the image of his father.
The Thomas the Tank Engine clock clicked on the chest-of-drawers. Two pairs of socks, two T-shirts and two pairs of underpants dripped off a chair that was stencilled with dragons. Under their duvets, I could see that the boys had a long way to grow before they reached the end of the bed. It would take years and years, in fact.