Isabel Wolff - The Making of Minty Malone

Mind you, now we’re on the subject, it wouldn’t be true to say that I like everything about him – that would be impossible. No one likes everything about their partner, do they? Between you and me, I really don’t like the way he tries to sell people policies at parties. I do find it a bit embarrassing. Not that I’d mention it to him, of course. And I don’t think he should automatically call people by their Christian names. And I’m not too keen on the way he wears his sunglasses all the time, even when it’s overcast. And the funny thing is that when it’s hot and bright, he wears them on top of his head! And I’m not that crazy about his low-slung, red, Japanese convertible – it’s really not my kind of car at all. I feel a bit idiotic in it, to be honest, and it certainly isn’t eco-friendly on the fuel front, which drives Mum mad as she’s a fund-raiser for Pals of the Planet. And I’m not mad about the way he snaps his fingers at waiters, and does a little scribble in the air when he wants the bill. And it does depress me when he goes on and on about his great days at Uppingham. It’s so unnecessary and, I mean, it’s not exactly a big deal, is it? And one of these days someone will say, ‘Oh, really? I was there too, you know. Which house were you in?’ and then he’ll be sunk. He’s been very lucky so far. And naturally I always keep quiet and change the subject as soon as I can. Personally, I can’t see what’s wrong with saying he went to Sutton Coldfield Secondary Modern. But for some reason he seems rather ashamed of it.

Another thing: he rarely mentions his father. In fact, he isn’t even invited to the wedding, which is awful. Though what can I do? Dominic insists that it would upset his mother if he were there. I think the real reason is that his father’s a mechanic. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Being a mechanic is fine. But Dom doesn’t seem to think so. Whenever I ask him about his dad, or suggest we go and see him, he just changes the subject, and I think that’s a terrible shame. Dom’s much closer to his mother, Madge. In fact, he adores her. It’s ‘Mummy’ this, and ‘Mummy’ that, which is rather sweet. In a way. Anyway, I do think it’s great to be marrying a man who has such a strong relationship with his mother. She thinks the world of him too. She’s terribly proud of what he’s achieved, and he’s been very good to her. Bought her a house in Solihull after her divorce. He’s devoted. And she’d never let on that his real name isn’t Dominic at all. It’s Neil. I discovered this by accident a few weeks ago when I happened to see his driving licence. I was quite surprised, and so I asked him about it. And he confessed that the reason was that when he came down to London fifteen years ago he felt that Neil wasn’t quite the right kind of name for him. To be honest, I think Neil’s a pretty awful name too, so I don’t blame him for changing it. And I mean, I can’t talk, because Minty isn’t my real name either. Or at least, it’s only my middle name. I was actually christened Irene Araminta, after my two grandmothers, but from day one I’ve always been known as Minty. But Dominic just wanted to be Dominic because he thought it had the right sort of ring.

So, as you can see, he’s got his little tender spots, his problem areas and his peccadilloes. And I’m not blind to them. I can see them all. As clear as day. But they don’t affect how I feel about him. Because a) I love him, and b) I understand him. I’m no psychiatrist, but I’ve got him sussed. And when you know where someone’s coming from, then you can overlook their little foibles, because to understand is to forgive.

Because the fact is, despite his confident exterior, Dominic’s pretty insecure. About his background, mostly. Wants to feel he’s transcended his unpromising beginnings, although I’d rather he was open about it and proud of having come so far from, well, a sort of council estate, really. But it seems to bother him, though I really don’t know why. I thought everyone wanted to be working class these days. But his mother says he’s always been very ‘aspiring’. That’s the word she used. Keen to ‘improve himself’, as they say. That’s why designer labels are so important to him, and being seen in the ‘right’ places, and saying the ‘right’ things. And that’s why he’s very keen on books about etiquette, etc. For example, in his downstairs loo, you’ll find The Sloane Ranger Handbook , Jilly Cooper’s Class, The Done Thing , and Miss Manners , because he’s very keen to cut the mustard in smart circles now. He does make quite a lot of money, actually. Commission, most of it. He’s done terribly well out of pensions. And he gets invited to lots of corporate do’s by the insurance companies whose products he sells – they ask him to Ascot and Henley and all that, and so he really wants to pass the test. And that’s only natural, isn’t it? And the point is that I love Dominic. I do, really. I love him for who he is, and for what he’s achieved, and for the fact that he’s worked so hard and come so far. I admire him all the more precisely because he wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth and didn’t have the benefit of granny’s money, like I did, which is how I was able to buy my flat. Dominic had to do it all by himself. And he did. And I do respect that. But I just wish he could have a little more selfconfidence. I hope that’s something that marriage will give him.

So I encourage him as much as I can, and I’d never, ever criticise him – even if I wanted to, which I don’t – because a) he’s always promptly dropped girlfriends who did criticise him in any way whatsoever, and b) I’m certainly not perfect myself. Far from it, in fact, as he often likes to point out. Because here I am letting you in on Dominic’s little foibles, when, let’s face it, I’ve got plenty of my own. For instance, Dom thinks I talk too much. He’s always said that – right from the start. I thought that was a bit odd, to be honest, because no one else has ever said that to me, but I guess I must have been doing it without realising. Dom doesn’t like it if I try and have conversations which he thinks are too ‘serious’, because he thinks that’s boring and not the Done Thing. He read somewhere that smart people don’t talk about serious issues. They mostly like to talk about things that are ‘amusing’. Not politics, for a start. Or King Lear. Or Camille Paglia. So I often have to bite my tongue to make sure I don’t say anything interesting and annoy him. Because he does get quite annoyed. Well, very annoyed, actually.

My taste in clothes is not that great either, but luckily Dominic’s really improved it for me. Because he’s always impeccably turned out. Which I like, because, let’s face it, so many men don’t bother much these days. Anyway, no one had ever pointed out to me that I could do with a bit of advice on that front. He said I looked like a ‘superannuated student’. And he was right. I did. I probably picked it up from Mum. She favours the Bloomsbury look – her things are long and floaty and a bit ‘arty’ – all from charity shops, of course. Dom said he’d never let me go round looking like that. Now, he likes clothes that are well cut, expensive-looking and ‘smart’ – Gucci, for example. Which is a bit hard when you’re on a small salary like I am, though at least I don’t have a mortgage. And so when I first started going out with him I found there were lots of things I couldn’t wear. He called them my ‘nightmares’. And that surprised me too, because none of my previous boyfriends felt like that at all. Anyway, Dom told me to throw them all out, but I objected to that, so I put them in boxes under my bed.