Nadia Knows Best (25 page)

Clutching his face as blood gushed out, Piers bellowed, “You broke my nose! You broke my fucking nose!”

“Excellent,” said Laurie. “That's just what I was aiming for.”

“I'll sue you for this,” Piers shouted as blood trickled through his fingers onto his blue and white striped shirt.

“Think yourself lucky.” Clare smiled sunnily down at him. “Imagine if he'd broken your dick.”

Nadia was impressed.

“You actually broke his nose? Fantastic.”

“It was,” said Clare, hugging her knees and grinning across at Laurie, who was trying to look suitably modest. “He was like a superhero—
bam
—and it made a noise like ripping into an old chicken carcass. Oh, you should have seen the look on Piers's face. Not to mention the blood all over his shirt. Ralph Lauren,” she added with satisfaction. “And then, the best bit of all, as we were leaving, this sweet little old lady who lives in the flat next to Piers flung open her window and yelled out, ‘Bravo, bravo,' just like she was at the opera. When she'd finished clapping, she shouted, ‘I've been waiting years for someone to do that!'”

“Bit of a nightmare neighbor then,” Nadia remarked.

“Actually, I've spoken to her a few times. She seemed really nice.”

“Not the little old lady.” Nadia raised an eyebrow at her sister's stupidity. “I was talking about Piers.”

Clare appeared to have cheered up. Nadia wondered how long it would last.

She found out three hours later when she took a mug of tea upstairs and knocked on the door to Clare's room.

“I hate him, I hate him.” Clare was sitting in front of her easel, slashing away at the canvas with a brush. The painting wasn't something that would ever sell; it was the kind a monkey might produce if he'd been on the Guinness. Lots of black sloshed around with gashes and streaks of bottle green and gentian blue and purple. Even a serious fan of modern art might turn his nose up at this one.

Oh well, it was probably cathartic. You couldn't put a price on that.

“Tea,” said Nadia. Clare had been crying again; quite a lot, by the look of her eyes. “Come on, you'll be OK. You deserve so much better than Piers.”

“I
know
that. I just feel so stupid. He's made me look like an idiot. I want to hurt him like he's hurt me,” Clare raged.

“Didn't Laurie do that when he broke his nose?”

Clare jabbed at the canvas with a brushful of crimson acrylic, splattering it like ketchup.

“I've been fantasizing about smashing up his flat. Doing the prawns-in-the-curtains thing. Cat food under the floorboards. Graffiti on the walls, trashing his precious DVD collection.”

“Getting done for breaking and entering,” said Nadia.

“Ooh, and then there's that brilliant thing about planting mustard and cress seeds in people's carpets.”

“They'd need watering. He might notice if his flat's turned into a paddling pool. And he might set his solicitor on to you,” Nadia pointed out. “You could get sued. You'd end up having to pay for a new carpet. You'd lose, he'd win. Come on, drink your tea.”

Clare sighed and picked up the mug. Gazing out of the window, she saw the lights on in Edward and Laurie's house across the road.

“You know, Laurie was brilliant this afternoon. He only offered to come along to give me some moral support. You don't realize how lucky you are.”

Lucky that my boyfriend buggered off to America for a year and a half, thought Nadia. Getting up to all sorts, no doubt, while he was over there. OK, so she hadn't been pregnant, but what Clare didn't seem to grasp was that if it hurt being dumped by a bastard like Piers, it was fifty times more painful being chucked by someone who everyone agreed was wonderful.

“He's not going to hang around forever,” Clare went on. “If you're not careful, someone else'll snap him up.”

“Don't nag.” Nadia felt her stomach muscles tighten automatically at the thought of Laurie being snapped up by someone else. Like Jay had been by the predatory Andrea, except she'd vowed not to think about that.

“Then you'd be sorry,” said Clare with a shrug.

“Snapping up. You make him sound like a bargain in the sales.”

“But he
is
. Laurie's a perfect Versace suit in an Oxfam shop. You can't dither around and think he'll probably still be there next week. Because he won't,” Clare concluded bluntly. “He'll be gone.”

***

Miriam had issued strict instructions that any post arriving while she was away and addressed to her should be left in the top drawer of the dresser in the hall. Now, she took a deep breath and slid open the drawer. Everyone else was out; she had the house to herself. Across the road, Laurie was lifting Edward's cases out of the boot of the Volvo. The holiday had been wonderful but Edward was still pressing her to marry him. Once or twice she'd been tempted to tell him everything. But she couldn't bring herself to go through with it.

There was quite a stack of mail. Miriam sifted through each item in turn, her spirits rising—for once—at the sight of electricity bills, endless junk mail, bank statements and letters from the various charities she supported. No handwritten envelopes, however, and nothing from Edinburgh. Maybe he'd given up at last.

Then she reached it, beneath the glossy cellophane-wrapped car brochures and a catalog from La Redoute. Feeling momentarily light-headed, Miriam stared at the padded envelope bearing her name and address in that all-too-familiar handwriting. A padded envelope containing something that felt like a book. Oh God, what now? Surely he hadn't sent her a Bible with the relevant passages underlined?

It wasn't a Bible. It wasn't even a book. It was a DVD, Miriam discovered when she'd managed to unfasten the sealed envelope.

Leaving her cases in the hall, she made her way through to the living room, slotted the tape into the video, and pressed Play.

Her heart began to gallop as the TV screen flickered, then cleared.

Black and white, not color.

Old cine film, recorded over fifty years ago, now transferred to video.

Miriam watched, almost in disbelief, as the film switched jerkily from one scene to the next. She remembered the day—how could she ever forget it?—yet she'd never seen this film before. She couldn't even recall the name of the person who had been wielding the bulky cine camera. Was it Geoffrey? Gerald? At the time it had been something of a novelty, and they had looked forward to seeing the results. But Geoffrey or Gerald had been called up shortly afterwards, had disappeared to carry out his stint of National Service, and that had been that. They hadn't heard from him again.

And now, fifty-two years later, here was the result. Twisting the diamonds on her fingers, swallowing with difficulty, Miriam watched the day unfold, chopping inexpertly from scene to scene like a slightly too fast silent movie. There she was, wearing a dress that looked pale gray on the video but which had in fact been a glorious lime green. Laughing into the camera without a care in the world. Wearing dreadful shoes, of course—well, that was post-war rationing for you. And carefully darned stockings beneath the narrow, below-the-knee skirt of the dress.

But it was so obviously her. The eyes were just the same, even if the wrinkles around them had been absent then. Her smile was instantly recognizable. Even her hairstyle was unchanged.

It had been such a happy day, crisp and autumnal but still warm for September. Carefully Miriam identified everyone else captured by the camera. Most of all, she studied the man who had sent her the video, the man who had turned her life upside down once before and was now threatening to do the same again.

It was impossible not to wonder how the years had treated him, what he looked like now.

With a shudder, Miriam hoped to God she wouldn't find out.

***

Feeling like a boxer psyching himself up before a fight, Clare made her way downstairs. Miriam was back and dinner was about to be served. Tonight was the night Clare was going to make her announcement. To Miriam and her father and Tilly. Getting it all done in one fell swoop, with Nadia there to back her up.

About to head out to the garden, where she could hear voices, she glanced out through the French windows and promptly shot into reverse.

Bursting into the kitchen where Nadia was mashing potatoes, Clare hissed, “What's
she
doing here?”

“Who? Annie?” Pouring in a carton of double cream, Nadia's bottom wiggled as she resumed her energetic mashing. “Tilly's brought back the video of the school show. We've all got to watch it after dinner. When they called in to the newsagents on the way home, Tilly persuaded Annie to come along with them and see it too. Don't look at me like that,” she went on, because Clare was scowling like a teenager. “Annie's nice.”

“I'm telling Dad and Gran about the baby. It's none of her business. Why can't it just be
us
?”

Nadia sighed. Clare was still wary of Annie, reluctant to welcome her into the family. It was irrational and frustrating, particularly when their father was clearly so happy.

“You might be glad of her. Dad's less likely to go mental.”

“Tuh. And she's always sucking up to Tilly.”

“She's kind to Tilly. What's wrong with that?”

“What's wrong with that?” Clare mimicked. “She's nearly forty and never been married. We don't need someone like her worming her way into our family. Ask yourself what's wrong with it when Dad dies and he leaves everything to her in his will.”

When Dad died. For heaven's sake, he was only forty-eight. Nadia finished piling the mashed potato into a dark blue serving dish, plonked it into Clare's hands, and shook her head sorrowfully.

“Hormones. It's the hormones getting to you. Now take the dish through to the dining room and call everyone inside. I'll bring the rest of the stuff through. And… try and break it to them gently,” Nadia pleaded. She didn't see how this could be achieved, but Clare had a talent for making an awkward situation worse. Subtlety had never been her strong point.

“Oh, don't nag.” Clare tried to sound irritated, but her insides were in too much of a knot. She managed a weak smile. “It'll be OK. It's only a baby, after all, not the end of the world.”

Nadia served up the chicken casserole, everyone helped themselves to broccoli and buttered carrots, and James poured the wine. It was, on the surface, a normal, happy, noisy gathering. Miriam was regaling them with tales of Venice, proudly showing off the antique amber and silver bracelet Edward had bought for her in a narrow street off St. Mark's Square.

“What have you done to your arm?” Nadia was distracted by the large bandage on Miriam's tanned forearm.

“Oh, nothing. Slipped and grazed it on a beam as I was putting the cases back in the attic.”

“You should be careful. Next time, let me put them away.” Nadia frowned, because climbing the rickety pull-down ladder wasn't something a seventy-year-old should be doing.

Miriam, who had hidden the incriminating DVD inside the smaller of her two cases, said cheerfully, “Darling, I
was
being careful. I always am.”

Nadia flinched and glanced across at Clare, wondering if she'd take this as her cue. (“Speaking of being careful, what a shame I wasn't!”)

“It's gorgeous.” Annie was admiring Miriam's bracelet. “Amber's so pretty, I just love it.”

“Imagine if it was diamonds instead,” Clare said idly. “Be even better then, wouldn't it?”

Only Nadia picked up on the dig. She narrowed her eyes warningly at her sister.

“Clare, more chicken?” Noticing that she'd almost cleared her plate, James pushed the dish toward her. “You must be hungry.”

Nadia's toes scrunched up in hideous anticipation. (“Well, that's probably because I'm eating for two now!”)

“Starving.” Clare beamed at him and helped herself to more casserole. “Thomas Harrington rang me this afternoon. He's putting on a show next week and one of the other exhibitors has had to pull out.” She spread her arms, ta-dah style. “So I'm in! Isn't that fantastic? Twelve paintings and loads of media coverage. I just know this is going to be my big break.”

Nadia breathed out slowly. Clare was doing the good news, bad news routine, softening them up before delivering the killer blow. James, beaming with pride, ruffled Clare's hair and said, “There, we always knew you could do it.”

Equally delighted, Miriam exclaimed, “My darling, this is brilliant news.”

Clare was basking in their approval, visibly happy, then Nadia saw her take a deep breath.

“And there's something else,” Clare began, her voice trembling slightly.

Nadia felt the urge to dive under the table.

“Isn't everything just great?” Tilly exclaimed. “First me in my show, and now Clare has one too! Gran, can we watch my DVD as soon as dinner's over? I'm so excited, I can't wait for all of you to see it!”

Clare glared at Tilly.

“Darling, of course we can,” said Miriam. “The very moment we finish eating.”

“I've already ordered my own copy,” Annie chimed in with enthusiasm. “Honestly, they were all so good, so professional. None of the others were as good as Tilly, of course.”

Clare shot Annie a look of disdain. Almost under her breath she muttered, “Pass the sick bag.”

Nadia tensed. Annie went red. James said icily, “
What
did you say?”

“Nothing.” Clare pressed her lips together, sensing she wasn't doing herself any favors.

But Tilly was furious. “You couldn't be bothered to turn up for the show. Now you're not even interested in watching the video. Well, that's fine,
don't
watch it,” she shouted. “See if I care!”

Nadia took a gulp of wine. Under the table seemed like an increasingly desirable place to be.

“I wasn't talking about the show,” Clare said tightly. Turning to Tilly, she went on, “When I said that, I didn't mean you.”

“Then you're even more horrible than I thought.” Tilly's voice rose.

“Yes, Clare,” Miriam joined in, “you're being extremely rude.”

With an edge of sarcasm, Clare said, “I wonder why.”

“I know why.” Tilly looked at Clare, then at Annie. Finally she turned to Miriam at the head of the table. “It's because she's pregnant.”

Stunned, Miriam saw Tilly's thin hand resting protectively on Annie's plump one. Around the table, all eyes swung round to gaze in disbelief at Annie.

Hastily recovering herself, Miriam said, “Well, that's… that's wonderful news. Con-congratulations!”

James looked as if he might keel over.

As astounded as the rest of them—more, possibly—Annie blurted out, “But I'm not! I'm not pregnant.”

“Not Annie.” Tilly shook her head vigorously, despairing of her family's stupidity. “I didn't mean Annie. I'm talking about Clare.”

A fork clattered onto a plate. Nadia drained her glass. If this had been
EastEnders
, the end-of-episode dum, dum-dum-dum music would have been reverberating through the room. Like Wimbledon spectators, everyone's gaze swiveled in unison across to Clare.

“Oh no.” Her heart sinking, Miriam said, “Tell me this isn't true.”

Tossing back her long hair in defiance, Clare glared at Tilly. “It is true. And how the bloody hell did
you
find out?”

“I overheard you and Nadia talking about it yesterday. You were in the kitchen and the door wasn't closed.”

James looked at Nadia. “You knew about this?”

While Nadia squirmed, Clare snapped, “I had to tell someone. And I was about to tell all of you, until Bigmouth here stuck her oar in. Anyway, it's done now. Everyone knows. Can someone pass the mashed potato?”

Her words were casual but her blue eyes glittered with unshed tears. Annie, the unwilling catalyst for all this mayhem, was looking mortified.

“Oh Clare, how could you be so stupid,” Miriam sighed. “What were you thinking of?”

Phlummph
went the serving spoon as it landed back in the mashed potato.

“Oh great, thanks very much,” Clare shouted. “When you thought Annie was pregnant it was wonderful news! You congratulated her, for God's sake. But as soon as you find out it's me, it's a complete disaster.”

Since James was clearly too shell-shocked to speak, Miriam said, “Are you telling me this isn't a disaster? Clare, you couldn't take care of a cat, let alone a baby. Who's the father, anyway?”

Clare lowered her voice. “Piers.”

“Ferrari boy?” Miriam's eyes narrowed with distaste. “I should have guessed. And how happy is he about this?”

“He's not.” Clare was defiant. “We broke up. I don't need him anyway. I didn't mean this to happen, but it has. And I'll manage.”

“You're going to have the baby?” said James.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it deserves a chance, OK? Think back, Dad. When Leonie found out she was pregnant with me, I don't suppose she was too thrilled, was she? It would have been easier for her not to have gone through with it. But she did. And I'm glad about that.” Clare's eyes swam. “Because I'd rather be here than not here. Even now,” she added, her voice starting to waver. “And I wouldn't call this the best night of my life.”

There was a long silence. Then Miriam said gently, “Oh, darling.”

Clare burst into tears.

As Miriam jumped up from her chair and enveloped her in a hug, Clare sobbed, “I'm s-sorry, it was an accident. I'll look after it, I p-promise.”

“Sweetheart, don't cry. Everything's going to be fine. We'll manage. Sshh, there there, it's all right.”

Clearly ashamed of her earlier outburst, Tilly said bluntly, “I never liked Piers. I'm glad Laurie broke his nose.”

“Laurie?” Over the top of Clare's head, Miriam looked questioningly at Nadia. “Dear God, what else has been going on that I don't know about? One week away from this place and all hell breaks loose.”

“Piers was being vile to Clare, so Laurie punched him.” Tilly shrugged. “Just something else I overheard while they were in the kitchen. Anyway, sounds like he deserved it.”

Clearly feeling horribly out of place, Annie rose to her feet and said, “Why don't I clear away the plates?”

“I can't believe I was so stupid,” Clare sobbed. “I really loved him. I thought he loved me. I've been such an idiot.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.” Miriam's tone was soothing, her capable hands rubbing Clare's heaving shoulders.

“Give us a kiss,” squawked Harpo, doing his careful sideways shuffle along the curtain pole.

“You never make mistakes. I wish I could be like you.” Clare wiped her eyes.

If only you knew, thought Miriam.

“And I won't be a nuisance, I promise. I'll move out.”

Everyone knew this was about as likely to happen as Rod Stewart announcing he was gay.

“Plenty of time to think about that,” James said gruffly.

Annie had finished clearing the plates. Hovering in the doorway she said hesitantly, “Shall I… um, bring in the pudding?”

“Pudding.” Clare heaved a sigh, clearly disgusted that anyone could think about food at a time like this.

“Oh great,” Tilly burst out. “Now we're not even allowed to eat! I suppose we won't be watching the video either.”

For a split second Miriam thought she meant the incriminating DVD that had arrived through the post from Edinburgh. No, panic over, it was safely hidden away in the attic.

“Don't be so silly.” Her tone brisk, Miriam nodded at Annie and gave Clare a buck-up pat on the back. “Of course we're having pudding. And after that we'll all watch Tilly's video.”

A plane was droning overhead. Pointing skyward, Clare said, “Shouldn't we wait until Steven Spielberg gets here? He'll go berserk if he misses it.”