The Only Boy For Me Page 17

  We spend most of Sunday in bed, reading the papers, and I talk to Charlie who says Nana has made a tragic mistake with the breakfast cereal again – this time the culprit is Cheerios – but apart from that he’s having a brilliant weekend. We have lunch in bed, and then spend most of the afternoon in the bath soaking the bathroom floor. We leave just after tea, bidding fond farewells to our new friends. We manage to escape just as Georgia is heard in the distance barking at Peter to hurry up. I sleep during most of the journey back to London, and Mack helps me retrieve my car from the agency car park with the help of his special card which opens all the gates.

  ‘Thanks for a lovely weekend.’

  ‘My pleasure, Moneypenny. My pleasure. I’ll pick you up next Friday ready for the off, then, shall I? Kids, cases and Valium. Got that?’

  ‘Yup. And buckets and spades and fishing nets. Charlie won’t go anywhere without his fishing net now. It’s really tricky in Safeway’s.’

  I get home to discover that Charlie has made a camp in the garden, and slept in it last night. Mum and Dad were up half the night peering out the window and checking he was alright. In the end Dad slept out there with him, and now has a terrible crick in his neck so he has to talk with his head on one side, a bit like a parrot. Mum’s done all the ironing and given the house a good tidy. I must go away more often. They depart, with much kissing and waving, and Charlie runs down the lane after them. Then he saunters back and says, ‘I’m starving.’ I make bacon and eggs, which we eat inside the tent in the garden. I stupidly put the pond pump on and it goes into hyperdrive and nearly flattens the tent with a torrent of water. Charlie is outraged and we have to spend ages restoring his camp to its former glory.

  Packing for our holiday with Mack turns out to be something of a challenge. Charlie wants to take all his toys, but finally settles for one rucksackful, and his fishing net. But the combination of clothes and other vital supplies fills up an enormous suitcase, and then I spend the entire journey remembering things I forgot to pack. The children all sit fairly happily in the back of Mack’s car, which is enormous and has three seats and three seatbelts, and listen to different story tapes on their Walkmans, in between falling asleep and having the occasional light bicker. But nobody is sick, and we only stop twice. The motorway service stations are hideous as usual, and Mack spends ages in a video arcade on a ski-simulator game, hurling himself down mountains while the children stand and watch him and yell useful hints like ‘You idiot, you’ve just skied into that cliff’. Then they all insist on having a go, and all score higher than Mack.

  We arrive at the hotel just in time for tea, and are ushered up to a palatial suite by a very obsequious man who turns out to be the assistant manager. He keeps calling me madam, and insists on showing me how to operate all the remote controls. One is dedicated entirely to opening and closing the curtains. The children run about yelling, and then discover the balcony, spot the pool, and beg to go for a swim. As if by magic there’s a knock on the door and a woman announces she’s come to take the children for their first swimming lesson. I can’t help but be impressed by Mack’s arrangements. The phone rings, and Mack’s PA says she’s just ringing to check we’ve arrived safely, and to let us know she’s faxing through the itinerary as she knew Mack would lose it, and reception are bringing it up now. Do we want fax in our room, since this can easily be set up? Christ. I realise what I’ve needed all these years is a really good PA.

  I study the itinerary over tea, and it turns out we have half an hour a day with the children, if that. But a window of family time has been scheduled for the last day, with an alternative activity pencilled in just in case this proves too much for us. I suggest we talk to the children over supper and see what they’d like to do. Mack thinks this is a very bad idea, but eventually relents. The children come back from swimming, and we get them changed and go down for supper. The dining room is enormous and full of families who are clearly not used to eating together. There are high chairs everywhere, and lots of toddlers hurling food about. One man looks like he’s gone into shock, and sits staring into the distance while a small girl sorts through the food on his plate and helps herself to anything she likes the look of. The family on the table next to us are in the midst of a bitter dispute about broccoli: their small boy is sitting looking very determined with his arms crossed and his lips tight shut.

  It turns out this is children’s supper time, and the Adults Only meal is available later. This sounds like the food will be cut into rude shapes or something, which makes me laugh. I share the joke with the children who all adore it, but Mack is less pleased and says please can we get on, because all the noise is giving him a terrible headache. We eat pizza and ice-cream and study the timetable for the next few days. The children are keen to do all the activities on offer, and we promise a few trips to the beach as well. God knows what all this is costing; I’ve offered to contribute but Mack won’t hear of it. Which is a good thing really, as I suspect the bills here would make me faint.

  The children spend their days rushing from activity to activity, and we meet up for lunch before they depart for afternoons of swimming and games. I go along to a couple of the sessions to check them out and they look well organised. Charlie and Alfie learn to dive, sort of, and are having a marvellous time. Daisy is less enthusiastic, and would clearly be much happier if I went home, and took the boys with me. We spend an afternoon on the beach, as promised, and Mack gets deeply involved in building an enormous sandcastle with Charlie, while Alfie runs backwards and forwards to the sea bringing water to fill up the moat. I’m lying on a blanket with Daisy when she says, ‘You’ve got a very big bottom, haven’t you, Annie?’

  ‘Um, yes, I suppose I have.’

  ‘My mummy is much thinner than you, actually.’

  I’m torn between horror that she’s already part of the It is Vital to be Thin conspiracy, and outrage at her being quite so cheeky. I’m also a bit miffed to hear that I am Bessie Bunter to Laura’s sylph-like form.

  ‘That’s nice for her, isn’t it? Do you miss her a bit?’

  ‘Yes. A lot actually.’ She bites her lip and looks at her sandals.

  ‘I’m sure you do. What about ringing her when we get back to our room? And then maybe we could dress up for supper tonight, and you could borrow some of my nail varnish.’

  A look of pure delight flashes across her face, which she quickly masks. Thank God Kate gave me her girl-handling tips.

  Supper turns out to be a bit of a disaster. Mack has been getting increasingly bored over the last few days. We’ve had a perfectly nice time, and lots of clandestine sex, which has been brilliant, but I can sense he’s had enough of Being On Holiday With The Children. He’s taken to ringing the office every morning and shouting at people for a bit, which seems to cheer him up, but it wears off by teatime. We wander down to supper with the children as we ate on our own last night. Daisy has new silver nail varnish on, but Mack hasn’t spotted it. She’s made me promise not to tell him, but I know she secretly hopes he’ll notice and be dazzled. I try to whisper to him a few times but he keeps wandering off. The restaurant is swarming with children, and Mack is clearly thrilled to be sitting surrounded by such chaos. He starts moaning about the limited choice on the menu, and then throws a fit when the melon turns up and is freezing cold. It’s obviously been in the fridge for hours, and is very icy. He sends it back, despite the fact that Alfie has already eaten nearly all of his.

  Then the main course arrives – pasta, but it’s overcooked – and Mack discovers his glass has smudge marks on it. He summons the waiter, a teenage boy obviously only working for the summer and not destined for a career in the service industry.

  ‘I’m sorry about the pasta but there’s nothing I can do about it now, is there? Do you want me to bring you a new glass?’

  Mack narrows his eyes, and says in a terrifying voice, ‘No, just get me the manager. Now.’

  The manager appears and Mack launches into a blistering tirade
which silences the entire room. The manager ends up practically crawling backwards in an effort to placate him. Fresh pasta is promised, a bottle of champagne is produced, and clean glasses. And is there anything else sir can think of which the manager can reasonably acquire without breaking the law?

  The dining room settles back down, and Mack is triumphant. I can’t help feeling he’s enjoyed himself enormously, which annoys me intensely.

  ‘That wasn’t very 007, was it, James? Shaken but not stirred and all that.’

  ‘Oh don’t you fucking start.’

  There’s an audible gasp from Charlie, and Daisy and Alfie slump down a bit further in their chairs and look at their feet.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You heard me. These people have got to be told.’

  His eyes are flashing and he looks more animated than I’ve seen him for almost the entire holiday.

  ‘Look. If you want to get your kicks by bullying waiters, then fine, go ahead. But count me out. I mean, it’s not exactly laudable behaviour, is it; they can’t really turn round and tell you to fuck off, can they? Much as they’d like to. So you know what, I’ll do it for them. Fuck off, Mack. You’ve half terrified the children and ruined their evening. I think Charlie and I will have our supper upstairs, and you can sit and rant down here. Oh, and by the way, you might want to take a closer look at Daisy. She’s spent hours doing her nails. I’m sorry, Daisy, but I just don’t think he’s going to notice, do you, darling? They look lovely, by the way, but Daddy is too busy bullying people to notice.’

  Mack stares at me with his mouth slightly open. He’s about to launch into a counter-attack but he misses his moment because I storm out of the restaurant, holding Charlie’s hand, which slows me down a bit. The waiters all throw me looks of undying devotion, and the manager gives me a beaming smile. He’s been hovering by the door listening intently.

  ‘Supper in your room perhaps, madam? I’ll take care of it, on the house; it will be our pleasure. Just go right on up and we’ll be with you in a moment.’ And then he bows.

  Christ. I’ve really done it now. I settle Charlie down, and explain that grown-ups argue sometimes and everything is fine. And no, he cannot use the F-word just because I did. He seems to accept this but still looks worried until the supper turns up, and he spots the puddings: huge ice-creams. There is also Coke to drink, and an enormous bowl of chips. He launches into the food as if he’s not eaten for days, and seems perfectly happy. I have a large gin and tonic, and then give him a bath and lie in his bed reading him stories. Mack seems to be taking a very long time, and I can’t work out what I’ll actually say to him when he does turn up. I lie on the bed trying to read to Charlie and think of possible conversations with Mack at the same time, which affects my reading ability rather badly and Charlie complains so I have to concentrate harder. I end up falling asleep, and I’m woken by Mack gently shaking my arm.

  I follow him out on to the balcony. Alfie and Daisy are asleep: Mack says he wanted to get them settled before he woke me up. It’s nearly midnight and he looks exhausted.

  ‘I’m sorry, Annie.’

  ‘So you should be.’

  ‘I’m not very good at apologies.’

  ‘So I noticed. Anyway, there is some good news. If you let me do the ordering from now on I think you’ll find the hotel staff have adopted me as their favourite guest. The manager nearly kissed me when I stormed out earlier. Were the kids OK?’

  ‘Well, yes, after a bit. Oh, and by the way, what on earth possessed you to let Daisy paint her nails? They look awful.’

  ‘Yes I know. But it’s part of my bribery and corruption plan to get her to stop telling me that my bottom is much bigger than Laura’s.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’ll come off. I’ll make sure she isn’t wearing full make-up and heels when you take her home.’

  ‘That might be best. Laura is pretty fierce about that kind of thing. Do they do homoeopathic nail varnish by any chance?’

  ‘I don’t think so. But it’s a bloody good idea. It’d sell like hot cakes in Harvey Nichols.’

  ‘Anyway, I am sorry. I just get a bit jumpy sitting about for days on end with nothing to do.’

  ‘I’ve noticed. But you can’t take it out on other people, you know, especially not your own children.’

  ‘I know. Look, can we stop talking about my faults now; I’m not really enjoying it, to be honest. Let’s talk about your big bottom instead.’

  Mack behaves perfectly for the rest of the holiday. The hotel staff tend to tiptoe round him as if they’re close to some sort of unexploded bomb, and the manager continues to treat me like a long-lost friend, rushing over to greet me every time we walk through reception. Daisy continues to wear silver nail polish, and moves on to purple for the last day. I have to spend ages getting it off before the journey home, but she accepts this quite happily. Alfie and Charlie become best friends and spend hours stalking round the hotel grounds with their fishing nets trying to collect insects. Charlie confides to me as we are packing that he’d quite like to take Alfie home with us, and Mack can come too, for a bit, but not that Daisy because she’s a girl.

  I’m very glad to get home. The holiday has been lovely, apart from the blazing-row episode which I could really have done without. I confide in Leila that although Mack is delightful, apart from the occasional outbursts, it was a bit of a strain spending so much time with him and all the children, and somehow I wish we were still at the stage of an occasional night in town. Leila points out that the first few dates are always the best, but real life is not like that, and anyway Mack is perfect for me. Apparently everyone has hideous rows on holiday, and the added bonus of children is bound to cause tension. She and James had a huge fight at a monastery in the middle of nowhere, and Leila drove off in the hire car and left him because he was annoying her, and then got back to the villa and calmed down. Then she went all the way back to collect him only to find that he’d called a taxi and spent a small fortune getting back to the villa. According to Leila, he sulked for three days. We agree that holidays are actually quite hard work, and really we should all try to remember this when we start packing the factor 20.

  I sort out Charlie’s school uniform ready for next week, and the start of the new term. He no longer fits into half of it, and I search in countless shops but they’ve all sold out. Marks and Spencer only have trousers for four year olds, and one jumper, in the wrong colour. Apparently all the organised mothers bought up everything weeks ago, and it hasn’t occurred to M&S that less-organised parents might want to purchase school uniform during the week before term starts. Bastards. I finally track down two pairs of trousers, and get the sweatshirts with the school logo on from the poor woman who volunteered to do the uniform for the PTA and now has a house full of sweatshirts and PE kit.

  I make a huge mistake and tell Mum about my recent shopping difficulties. Two days later a large parcel arrives with a pair of enormous school trousers made out of some special indestructible material. She bought them in the same shop where she used to buy uniform for Lizzie and me, and says that she got them nice and big so he’d have room to grow into them. I spent years at school in dresses that were three sizes too large, so there would be room to grow, and am determined Charlie will not suffer the same fate, and have to wear trousers which flap round his knees, so I hide them. I ring her up to thank her, and it turns out there’s even worse news: she’s found some lovely navy wool and is knitting him a school cardigan. I explain that I tried to get him to wear a cardigan last winter, because I found a fleece one and thought it would be warm as the school heating had packed in and the children were wearing hats and coats in class. But he refused point blank to even consider it, and announced very gravely that boys do not wear cardigans.

  Mum takes this news surprisingly well and says she’s only done one sleeve, and can easily turn it into a jumper. So that’s alright, and lucky I called, really. Do I want a V-neck or ro
und neck? I settle for a V-neck because the tiny round-neck jumpers she made for him when he was a baby were so tight I practically had to give him a local anaesthetic to get them on. It’s very kind of her really, and a knee-length jumper with arms three foot too long will no doubt come in very handy if it snows. She moves on to telling me, in graphic detail, about the latest operation on the man next door, which sounds appalling until I realise it was actually an operation on his dog. I agree with her that it’s amazing how quickly animals heal, and then get off the phone before she can launch into an update on the woman opposite and her recent hysterectomy. I already know far more about it than I ever wanted to.

  Chapter Nine

  The Heart of Darkness

  Autumn has definitely arrived. The weather has bypassed the season-of-mists-and-mellow-fruitfulness stage and gone into freezing mornings and evenings, with rain during the day. Mack is in Tokyo, pitching for an intergalactic car campaign. He’s dreading it because he says the potential clients tend to disappear into huddles and rattle off torrents of Japanese while you stand there like an idiot. And he never knows when to stop bowing – apparently it’s vital that you stop at the right moment or it can go on for hours.

  Leila is in New York trying to land a big American client and Kate is trying to cope with both James and Phoebe having rotten colds. They’ve taken to lying on the sofa shouting requests for drinks and titbits. I feel shivery and very bad-tempered, which is always a sign that I’m about to get a mammoth cold which Charlie will catch, just when I can least cope, and I’ll be forced to rise from my sickbed and tend to him. Great.