Jilly Cooper - Prudence

‘Fay’s got a part. Jack said we’d hang on to Lucasta until Thursday, and have her birthday party here. Maggie had a go at Fay and Lucasta. Jack stuck up for them.’

‘A bit too much?’

‘Much too much.’

Ace sighed. ‘Christ, they never let up, do they? What d’you want for supper?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How about some smoked salmon, and a glass of champagne?’

‘Oh God, that’d be lovely.’ Suddenly happy again, I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes. ‘Won’t that give me a complete setback?’

Ace laughed. ‘Probably. I’ve given up.’

‘I liked your piece,’ I said. ‘It was wonderful.’

He seemed surprisingly pleased.

‘But you must be used to people telling you how good you are.’

Ace shrugged. ‘All writers run on flattery; you must know that.’

Coleridge chose that moment to clamber heavily on to the bed, with the kitten swinging for grim death on his tail. Pretending to ignore Ace, Coleridge circled three times then curled up on my feet and closed his eyes with a deep sigh.

‘I may have given up,’ said Ace, ‘but I’ve still got some standards left. Get off Coleridge.’

He won’t be nearly so attractive when his suntan fades, I tried to tell myself.

After breakfast on Monday morning Lucasta wandered into my room, her eyes brimming with tears.

‘My tooth’s still there,’ she wailed. ‘The fairies forgot to come.’

‘Oh poor darling,’ I said, putting my arms round her.

‘And Daddy’s gone off to the office without even saying goodbye.’

She sobbed even louder. I suddenly realized how insecure she was, behind the precocity and apparent sophistication.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Ace appearing in the doorway.

‘The fairies forgot to come.’

‘They’re terribly busy at this time of year,’ he said, ‘helping Father Christmas sort out all the toys. Sometimes they turn up a bit late.’

‘Why don’t you try again tonight?’ I said.

‘Keep her here,’ Ace mouthed to me over Lucasta’s head.

‘That’s a nice nightie,’ I said.

Lucasta sniffed. ‘Can I have a sweet?’

‘It’s a bit early. Would Maggie let you?’

‘Oh Maggie doesn’t mind what I do,’ said Lucasta bitterly. ‘She likes me being naughty, then she can grumble to Daddy.’

She unwrapped the lemon sherbet, dropping the paper on the floor.

‘Shall I draw you a picture?’

‘Why don’t you do one for Maggie?’

‘I hate her.’

‘If you were nicer to her, she might be nicer to you,’ I said. ‘And Daddy’d be so pleased.’

‘Daddy doesn’t like her. He’s always shouting at her. What’s a “slut”, by the way?’

‘That’s enough, Lucasta,’ said Ace, coming back again. ‘For very special people, the fairies work overtime. Why don’t you go and have another look?’

‘All right then,’ said Lucasta, and scampered off.

‘Poor little sod,’ said Ace, ‘too much spoiling, too little attention. Look, I’m going into Manchester today. The BBC want to see me, and I’ve got to have dinner with the Granada people tonight. I thought I might as well kill two birds. Will you be all right?’

‘Of course I will,’ I said quickly. ‘Oh, do look at McGonagall.’

The kitten, having pounced on Ace’s shoe laces, frenziedly pedalling at them with all paws, suddenly shot up his trouser leg, leaving only a ginger tail sticking out.

‘The fairies have come, the fairies have come,’ screamed Lucasta, thundering down the passage. ‘They’ve left me 50p. I must go and show Granny.’

‘You make a lovely fairy,’ I said to Ace, after she’d gone.

‘Wish I could magic up some fairy gold to pay a few bills,’ said Ace. ‘Talk about walking into the valley of Debt.’

It was a relief to joke. I was still dismayed how much I disliked the thought of him going off all day.

‘If you don’t overdo things,’ he said as he was leaving, ‘I’ll drive you down to the sea tomorrow.’

‘Can I wash my hair?’ I said.

‘No, I’m not risking you catching cold.’

I got up for lunch, still feeling very shaky. I was appalled at my appearance in the mirror. I’d lost pounds, and my hair was hanging round my grey little face like damp seaweed. I couldn’t go out with Ace looking like this. I heard voices whispering outside.

‘You ask her,’ I could hear Rose saying.

‘No you ask her,’ said Maggie. ‘It sounds better coming from you. Anyway she seems to rather like children.’

I opened my door. They were in the passage dressed to go out. I felt so pale and drab beside them.

‘Darling,’ said Rose, ‘Mrs Braddock’s going to Bingo this afternoon. She’s been so grumpy recently, I thought she needed cheering up, and Maggie and I are going out to lunch in Ambleside, so we thought you wouldn’t mind looking after Lucasta.’

After lunch Lucasta and I walked down to the village shop to spend her 50p. It was a dull, cloudy day; the lake was as black as satin. Every tree was bare now — December naked. On the way home we walked through the churchyard, sucking humbugs and playing hide and seek behind the tombstones.

‘My Aunt Elizabeth’s buried over there,’ said Lucasta, pointing to a new white tombstone under a willow tree.

‘Elizabeth, beloved wife of Ivan Mulholland 1951–1975,’ I read. She’d been so young. Only a year older than me. On the grave somebody, probably Ace, had laid a bunch of freesias. Oh God, why did everything make me cry at the moment?

‘When you die, God lives you and turns you into a fairy,’ said Lucasta.

When we got home we made hot buttered toast in front of the fire and looked at family photographs.

‘There’s Mummy and Daddy’s wedding,’ said Lucasta.

I was surprised that Fay was so pretty. From Maggie’s descriptions, I’d expected her to be an old frump.

‘And there’s my christening. Wasn’t I a sweet little baby?’

It was a picture of Fay holding Lucasta in long white frilly robes, and Jack looking on fondly and proudly. I hoped Maggie didn’t look at these photographs very often. She’d be lacerated with jealousy.

The person I found myself looking at most was Elizabeth, with her cloud of dark hair, and her huge eyes. I noticed how besottedly she smiled up at Ace, and how handsome and young and carefree he’d looked in those days. What wouldn’t I give to make him look happy like that again?

Later Lucasta and I were watching television after supper when Rose arrived with Professor Copeland.

‘Ace won’t be back for hours,’ she whispered, coming into the study, ‘so we’re just going to have a little drink.’

‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ I said.

‘That’d be kind, darling. James is terrified of catching your cold.’

Wearily I went upstairs. I still had cotton wool legs and felt absolutely knackered. I was appalled how much I was missing Ace. Suddenly I caught sight of my awful hair in the landing mirror. I’d never get him that way.

To a counterpoint of Lucasta’s chatter, I did my nails, plucked my eyebrows, shaved my legs, and had a bath.

‘I really think you ought to go to bed,’ I said feebly.

‘I’m not tired.’

To hell with Ace; I must wash my hair. I could dry it by the time he got back. Oh, the bliss as the dirt streamed out!

The only socket that fitted the plug of my hair-dryer was on the landing under the cuckoo clock. I sat in the passage on a carpet worn almost bare by generations of Mulholland children waiting for the cuckoo to come out. Lucasta wandered off to watch Starsky and Hutch. I’d only just started drying my hair when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked round and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw it was Ace.