Women of a Dangerous Age (4 page)

Nic confined herself to shaking her head in a despairing sort of way. She slipped it on over her dress, then went upstairs to find a mirror. Despite Rose's quiet ‘Wow!' and Lou's feeling of satisfaction in seeing a perfect fit, Nic's appreciation was less than impressive. When she returned to the room, she slung it over the back of her chair and kissed Lou's cheek. ‘Thanks, Mum. It's lovely.' Her lack of enthusiasm had been barely hidden. ‘It'll be great for that flappers and gangsters fancy dress party at New Year.'

Stuck in her airline seat, blanket over her head, Lou could still feel her disappointment. How she longed to have one of those close mother–daughter relationships instead of
one that blew hot and cold with no warning. The jacket should have proved to Nic how beautiful vintage-inspired pieces could be, how successful Lou's business venture would be, but she should have known better. Nic had been as dismissive as Hooker sometimes was. They rarely thought of the effect their words might have. Well, she'd bloody well show them that she could make a go of this. If anything, Nic's scorn had only served to stoke the fire of Lou's determination. Who knew? Perhaps her success would bring them closer together. Success was something that Nic, like her father, respected.

The rattle of the trolley was getting nearer. She wondered what the time was, but was reluctant to brave the glare of the cabin to look at her watch.

‘Excuse me.' An unknown voice sounded right by her ear. ‘Would you like orange juice?'

Annoyed by the disturbance, she peeled the blanket from her head and took off her eye mask only to be confronted by a familiar face in the next seat. Her knicker rescuer. Beyond him, the third seat was empty. Where was Ali? He was passing her a plastic beaker from the stewardess. She took it and unfolded her table. ‘Thanks. But that seat's taken.' Realising how rude she sounded, she apologised. ‘I'm sorry, that sounded awful.'

‘Not at all.' He inclined his head and gave a slight smile. ‘Your friend was taken ill so she took the aisle seat, but I think she may now be sleeping at the back of the plane.'

Lou composed herself. She was a fifty-five-year-old woman, for God's sake. This man had only tried to help her, not stripped her naked in front of the whole airport.
Even if that was what it had felt like to her at the time. The memory of his hand holding out her knickers came into her head and she fought a desire to laugh.

‘I'm sorry about earlier on at the airport, too,' she said. Then, ‘I'm Lou.'

He held out his hand, at least as far as the movement was possible in such a confined space. ‘Sanjeev Gupta.'

They shook, elbows digging into their sides. Before they could continue their conversation, a stewardess was leaning across, offering trays of breakfast. Lou stared at the separated lumps of scrambled egg and the warm burned sausage that floated in a thin sea of tomato juice, before turning her tray around and picking up the yoghurt.

‘Have you been on holiday?' her neighbour asked while cutting his sausage as if expecting something foul to crawl out. He gave up and turned his attention to the roll and butter.

Within minutes, Lou was detailing their route through Rajasthan, remembering the highlights, excited to be able to talk about what she'd seen without the rest of the group, who were scattered through the plane, interrupting. She only stopped to allow the breakfast to be removed. Sanjeev was an attentive listener, concentrating on what he was hearing, interrupting only to ask whether she had managed to visit certain places she didn't mention: Jaisalmer, Bikaner, Deogarh. By the time they'd finished their coffee, Lou was laughing.

‘Two weeks obviously isn't anything like long enough. We've missed so much. I'll just have to come back.'

Responding to her laugh, Sanjeev smiled back. ‘To Rajasthan? Or maybe somewhere else?'

‘What do you think?' Lou wanted the opinion of someone who knew the country far better than her.

He began to tell her about the other very different parts of his country, from the unspoilt mountain state of Sikkim that lay in the Himalayan foothills in the shadow of Kanjenjunga, to the gentle white-sanded paradise of Kerala in the south. Lou listened, entranced by his descriptions and the stories of his visits there, at the same time making plans for countless future visits. Would her new business provide the necessary income? She would have to make sure it did. He took her journeying down the mighty Brahmaputra in the state of Assam, conjuring up the crowded ferries, the riverine island of Majuli, his visit during light-filled Divali, the ubiquitous tea plantations. He was describing the steep noisy street up to a Hindu temple outside Guwahati lined with stalls stuffed with devotional objects, crowded with holy men and pilgrims who had travelled there to have their wishes granted, when Ali returned to the outside seat.

Lou smiled a faint welcome but continued to let Sanjeev talk. So caught up was she in the places he was describing, she didn't want him to stop. However, seeing he'd lost her attention for a moment, he broke off and twisted round to see Ali. He immediately asked her if she wanted her seat back. ‘Your friend has missed you. So, if you are better …' He let the sentence hang.

‘Thank you.' She stood to let him out, so she could slide into the vacated middle seat.

Lou was disappointed to lose Sanjeev but Ali wasn't to know how much she had been enjoying his company.

‘What a bloody awful night,' announced Ali, who was looking pale despite the make-up that she'd obviously applied in preparation for landing.

‘I'm sorry. I'd no idea. How are you feeling now?' Lou felt guilty that she hadn't even bothered to go to the back of the plane to find out. But Ali seemed not to mind.

‘Much better. Once I was lying down and the Imodium kicked in, I was OK. But I had so much going around my head, I couldn't sleep for ages.'

‘Once you see Ian, everything'll fall into place. You'll see.' Lou wasn't sure why she was speaking with such confidence when she knew so little about either of them. ‘Is he meeting you?'

‘I wish. No. I don't know when I'm going to see him. Depends on how things have gone with his wife, I guess.'

The pilot's voice broke into their conversation, announcing the start of their descent into Heathrow. Lou stretched her ankles back and forth, suddenly aware that she had barely moved on the flight and that a blood clot might be lurking in a stagnant vein, waiting to finish her off. Why hadn't she worn those awful white compression socks that had briefly graced the airport floor and were now buried somewhere in Ali's case? Confusion and vanity had combined to prevent her retrieving them. Her grip tightened on the armrest again as her hearing buzzed and blocked and she struggled to catch what Ali was saying. She gasped as a sharp pain drilled into her eye socket, then swallowed hard. Cutting loose from her neighbours, she focused on the pain in her head and on all the methods she knew that might relieve the pressure: holding her nose; swallowing; yawning;
drinking the last of her water; trying and failing to find the chewing gum buried in her bag. Just when she thought she couldn't bear it another moment and her head would split in two, the plane hit the tarmac. As it bumped along the ground, the pain began to recede as they taxied towards the airport buildings.

Lou's eyes felt as if they'd been forcibly removed, sandpapered and returned to their sockets. Her limbs were leaden as she slid her suitcase through the melting snow along the path to her front door, vowing never to catch another overnight flight again. She stopped to look up at the windows, wound about with bare wisteria stems. Jenny's home was hers now, and waiting to welcome her back. Even so, it was strange not to be returning from holiday to the home she and Hooker had shared for so long. For a second, she felt more alone than she had since their split. As she rummaged in her bag for her key, she felt Sanjeev's business card. Would he make good his promise, hurriedly made as they walked towards Immigration, to invite her to dinner while he was in London? And if he did, how would she respond? Positively, she decided, given what she remembered of his manner, his way of conjuring up places, palaces, myths and Mughals, not of course forgetting his Bollywood good looks. And why not? There was no reason why she shouldn't indulge in a little post-marital entertainment.

As soon as she was inside, she swapped her too-thin mac
for her voluminous knee-length leopard-print faux-fur coat that was scattered with Minnie Mouse faces. Walking through the house, inhaling the familiar scent of home, reacquainting herself with everything, she glanced out of the window into the garden. In contrast to the black slush covering the London streets, here was a frozen winter wonderland, only interrupted by the paw prints of local cats and foxes. Despite having put on the coat, she shivered and went to turn up the heating, exchanging her holiday shoes for her Uggs, before making herself a cup of tea, builder's strength.

Even though the house belonged to her now, she still felt Jenny's presence. After months spent grieving for her younger sister, wandering round the place, remembering, Lou had finally galvanised herself. Being practical was one of the things she did best. At first she had planned to rent the house until the property market improved. She'd sorted out all her sister's belongings before starting on a round of charity shop visits to get rid of the rest. Stuff – that's all her sister's possessions were now – just stuff that had little or no significance to anyone else, not even to Lou. She had found that terribly sad. Any tales about how Jenny came by certain things or why she kept them had died with her. Letters, old postcards from her friends, ancient bank statements and bills, diaries and notebooks: only fit for the bin. Lou had to go through them all first, despite hating the invasion of her sister's well-kept privacy. Apart from one or two personal mementoes, some gifts for the children and a few clothes, all that Lou kept were the basics necessary for a rental property. If it was to appeal to any potential
tenant, her job was to neutralise Jenny's home, get rid of its character altogether.

But there wasn't going to be a tenant, after all. The moment of realisation had come three months ago, as she planned the redecoration of the main bedroom. She was poring over a paint chart with a couple of fabric swatches in her hand, undecided between shades – Raspberry Bellini, Roasted Red or the one she knew she should choose: safe, innocuous white – when a blinding light dawned. Why do the place up for a stranger when it could be hers, done up exactly as she wanted? This could be her chance for a new start in life. How Jenny would have liked that: so infinitely preferable to the idea of a stranger taking over her home. Her sister had been the only one in the world who knew what Lou really felt about her husband in recent years, about her marriage. She would be so pleased to have helped her to an escape route. If her death was teaching Lou anything, it was to squeeze every drop out of life while you had it. There was no knowing when it would end. That same evening she had told Hooker she was leaving him.

To begin with he hadn't believed her. ‘Don't be ridiculous,' he'd said. ‘You don't mean it.' But she did, and over the following two weeks of protracted and painful rowing had finally got him to accept that her mind was made up. ‘You'll be back,' he said. ‘You won't like being on your own.' But the more he poured scorn on her plan, the more determined he made her. Any reservations she might have had were quashed.

In the living room, everything was as she'd left it. She tucked her knitting bag under the Eames chair that had been Jenny's pride and joy, then sat and opened her laptop on her
knee. With tea and a small(ish) slice of home-made Christmas cake on the low table by her side, she lifted her feet onto the ottoman and began to download her photographs. Unpacking could wait. As the images materialised in front of her, she was ambushed by memories: Jaipur's Palace of the Winds; a Brahmin village chief preparing the opium ceremony; the swaying elephant ride up to the Amber Fort; groups of enchanting dark-eyed children; an old woman cooking chapattis over a fire in her front yard; and so they kept on coming.

At the same time as wishing herself back there, Lou also felt a deep pleasure at being back home. Now India was over, she was ready to concentrate on making a new life alone. The trip had given her a necessary shot of energy. Her current exhaustion aside, she felt stronger, empowered (though she hated the word), braced for whatever life would throw at her. Breaking up with Hooker had not been easy and she had an unpleasant sense that her problems might not be entirely over, but she felt ready to deal with whatever he threw at her next. The colours of Rajasthan had inspired her as much as the fabrics that she'd been shown in the large fabric emporiums where roll after roll of silk and cotton had been pulled out for her. She was itching to get on with her new summer designs for the shop. As she gazed at a photo of a sari stall in the Jodhpur market – all clashing colours, crowds and chatter – the phone rang.

‘Mum?' Nic's voice sounded different.

‘Darling! Did you have a good Christmas?' Lou felt the familiar fillip to her spirits that came whenever she heard from one of her children.

‘I need to see you.'

Lou hit earth with a bump. Not even a Did-you-have-a-good-holiday? So this was how it was going to be. And just because she'd decided to absent herself for a fortnight to avoid any awkwardness over the Christmas break. She hadn't only been thinking of herself, but of the kids who would have been caught between their feuding parents. ‘When were you thinking?' she asked. As the high that had accompanied her arrival home from the flight began to dissipate, Lou thought with some longing of her clean-sheeted bed that was waiting upstairs.

‘Today? Now?' Was that urgency or was her daughter just being her usual demanding self?

‘Has something happened, Nic?'

‘I'll tell you when I see you. I'll be about an hour.'

‘And I can show you—'

But Nic had hung up. Lou took a bite of leftover Christmas cake. Mmm, possibly the best she'd made yet. Outside, a train rattled by on the other side of the garden wall: a sound that made her feel at home.

An hour. Not long enough for that sleep which was becoming increasingly pressing. Instead Lou woke herself up with a shower, so that by the time the doorbell rang, she was feeling just about semi-human. She had discarded the coat, knowing the scorn it provoked in Nic. The thick burned orange sweater she wore over her jeans almost compensated for the fact that the water had been lukewarm and the heating had yet to make any noticeable impression on the house. Nic's disapproving glance at the jeans as she walked in didn't go unnoticed. And her ‘Mmmm, very
ashram' directed at the sweater was quite unnecessary. Why was it that her daughter felt she had to sanction – or otherwise – all her mother's life choices, including those in her wardrobe? However, once Nic had hung her overcoat on the end of the stairs Lou welcomed her with a hug, then took her into the kitchen, the warmest room.

‘How was Christmas? Dad OK?' She pulled out a bag of coffee beans from the freezer.

‘Quiet. Tom was with us. We missed you.' That reproving tone again, something Lou hadn't missed while away.

‘Having someone to do all the cooking, you mean.'

They didn't speak while Lou ground the beans for the cafetière, then: ‘That's so unfair.' Wounded now. ‘I just think the two of you should be together.'

Lou decided to ignore her daughter's last remark. However uncomfortable Nic was with Lou's decision to move out of the family home, Lou was not going to let her be the arbiter in her parents' relationship. ‘I'm only joking. Don't be so sensitive, Nic. Of course I missed you too, but going away was the right thing for me to do.'

Nic shook her head.

‘No, really. India was amazing. You'd love it there.' Would she though? As well as everything that she had enjoyed, Lou remembered the dirt; the stink; the poverty; families living on the pavements, in the stations; child beggars tapping at car windows; Delhi belly; the drains; the reckless driving. None of that had been enough to negate her own thrill at experiencing the country – but would her over-fastidious daughter react in the same way? ‘Look. I've brought you a couple of things.' She pushed across the table
a yellow and green drawstring jewellery purse, a paper bag containing a scarf she'd bought at a stall in a gateway at the Mehrangarh Fort, and a newspaper-wrapped statue of the elephant god, Ganesh, for luck.

Nic pulled open the purse and slid out the star sapphire ring that Lou had chosen with such care. ‘It's lovely, Mum.'

Had she actually got a present right for once? Filled with disbelief and pleasure, Lou plunged the knife into the Christmas cake. Just another small slice.

As Nic slipped the ring onto her right hand, Lou thought she heard her sniff. When her daughter looked up, her face was a muddle of emotions, her eyes brimming with tears.

‘Nic? Whatever's the matter? I just wanted to bring you back something special but if you don't like it … well, I can't change it, but …'

Seeing Nic so upset induced immediate and unwelcome guilt. She should never have fled the country. How selfish she'd been. Instead, she should have skipped Christmas by burying herself in Devon with Fiona and Charlie after all. At least she'd have been in reach of home. However old her kids might be, they did still need her. She worried that this still mattered so much to her when she should be letting them go.

‘It's not that, Mum. I do really love it.' There was a long pause during which Nic struggled to compose herself, twisting the ring around her finger, watching the six-pointed star move through the blue-grey stone. Lou stretched out a hand to cover her daughter's. Years ago, she might have been able to soothe any problem away but now, her maternal success rate was much lower. Nic was usually so strong, so
self-contained. Since she'd been sixteen and had decided on a career in family law, following in the footsteps of her godmother, Fiona, she'd always given the impression that she'd rather lie bound to a railway track than seek advice from her parents.

Her daughter gave a final sniff and looked her straight in the eye. That familiar look of defiance was back. As Nic cleared her throat with a brusque cough, Lou had a sinking sensation, recognising that her daughter was about to say something momentous.

‘It's just that …' Deep breath. Twist of the ring around her finger. ‘I'm pregnant.' For a second, Nic looked just as she had fifteen-odd years ago when confessing to some childish prank, anticipating the appalled parental reaction, her justification at the ready.

Lou stared at her, her hand frozen mid-stroke. ‘You're what?' Of all the things Nic might have said, this was the last she would have expected. Until now, her daughter's career had taken precedence over everything, including any boyfriends who were dispatched whenever they got too much.

Immediately Nic was on the defensive, moving her hand out of reach. ‘I knew you'd be like that.'

‘I'm not
like
anything. It's a bit of a shock, that's all.' Lou stood up to pour the coffee, as her mind raced through the implications. Having a baby would get in the way of Nic's life, her work, and she wouldn't like that. Presumably she'd come to ask for her mother's support for an abortion. ‘Are you absolutely sure?' she asked, playing for time.

Nic tutted. ‘Of course. One hundred per cent.'

‘Who's the father? Max?'

‘That's irrelevant.' She made a scything movement through the air with her hand, cutting off any further discussion about her on–off boyfriend of the last year or so. She pushed her cake away from her.

‘Nic! How can you say that? Of course it isn't. You have to take him into consideration too.' But Lou could see that Nic was way ahead of her. She had made all her decisions and, as usual, Lou was going to have to try to catch up.

‘He's made it plain that he wants nothing to do with this. He wants me to get rid of it.' She sounded both outraged and determined.

‘And you? What do you want?'

‘I'm going to keep it. This is what I've wanted for ages.'

Despite the relief she felt, Lou thought it wise not to point out that Nic had never suggested she'd wanted any such thing. A career, yes. A solid relationship, yes. But a baby? This was the first Lou had heard of it.

‘What about your career?' she said, sounding like the sort of mother she didn't want to be.

‘Mum, thousands of women have babies and return to work.' Nic was trying to control the note of impatience that had crept into her voice. ‘You should know that better than anyone. That won't be a problem. I've thought it all through.'

‘You have?' Lou took Nic's plate and transferred the cake back into the tin. Giving herself something to do meant she didn't have to look at her daughter while she tried to catch up with the conversation.

‘Yes, I have. I'm going to take the statutory maternity leave and then find a nanny share. Like you did.'

This was not the moment to elaborate on the difficulties that could come with nannies however lifesaving they might be. Lou remembered how torn she'd been between her job as fashion editor at
Chic to Chic
and her young children. The job had been demanding and competitive, complete with the extra strain of feeling she didn't entirely fit the role with her sometimes off-beat sense of style. And when she'd been at home … How could she forget the soul-lacerating guilt when the smallest thing went wrong, the sense of abject despair when the children turned to the nanny rather than to her, the dull background feeling of in adequacy in both spheres of her life? They were only alleviated when she eventually became a full-time mother – even though that decision was forced on her. But there was no arguing with Nic once her mind was made up. If anything, any objection raised by Lou would only make her dig in her heels. Lou needed time to think through the ramifications of the news before discussing them with her daughter. Nothing had to be decided this second.