Catherine Alliott: A Rural Affair

‘Dad, in the field, as we drove off, d’you remember a couple in a Land Rover beside us?’

‘Too busy trying to stop you falling out of the window to remember a Land Rover. Now, are you going to be all right if I get off?’ He shot his watch anxiously out of his cuff. ‘I’ve got to get back for the horses.’

‘Yes, yes, fine.’ I waved my hand dismissively, drained by the strenuous effort of recall. ‘Go. Be gone.’

‘The kids had breakfast a couple of hours ago and then I put Archie back down so he’s had his kip.’

I blinked. ‘Really? God, what time is it?’

‘Eleven o’clock.’

‘Blimey. Right.’

This surely was kind of my father. The horses would be crossing their legs in their stables by now. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ I looked up as he went to gather his keys from the side, his wallet. Then looked a little closer. There was quite a spring in his step. Quite a jaunty angle to the flat cap he was setting on his head. ‘Did you enjoy yourself last night?’ I asked suddenly.

‘I did, as a matter of fact.’ He turned as he went to the door, reaching for his coat on the back of it. ‘That Peggy’s a nice lady, isn’t she?’

‘She is,’ I said cautiously. ‘But she’s not on the open market, Dad.’

‘Oh, I know. We talked about that. Had a good old chinwag. And were getting on famously until I was told my daughter was – anyway. As I say, she’s a lovely lady.’

‘What did you talk about?’ I asked, curious.

‘Hm? Oh, your mum. How I never got over her. Never found – or rather looked – for anyone else. And her and Roger. Funny. I always had her down as a scatty, frivolous bird, but there’s a very thoughtful side to her. And the funny thing is,’ he looked pensive a moment, gazed contemplatively at the back door, ‘I got the feeling she thought the same about me. That I always play it for laughs.’ I kept very still at the table. ‘It’s our armour, I suppose. Our protective layer. To prevent anyone getting at the soft underbelly. Anyway,’ he shook his head, like a horse ridding itself of flies: a regrouping gesture. Shrugged his coat on. ‘We thought we might go to the evening meet at Warwick on Friday. Just for a laugh, you know,’ he said quickly.

I nodded. ‘Good plan. She’d enjoy that.’

‘Only, sometimes,’ he paused as he got to the door, ‘it’s dull doing everything on your own, you know?’ He turned to look at me. ‘When the world is geared for couples. Restaurants, parties, cinemas – life. It gets tiring. Sometimes it’s just easier to be two. To fit in.’

He said goodbye. When he’d gone, I realized how I’d found that out last night. How, if you didn’t want to look conspicuous, it was easier to be two. My dad had been alone for years, Peggy too, and I’d never appreciated the work behind that. They both did a brilliant job, presenting a breezy exterior to the world, but it was a job: an effort. A very conscious public face. For years they’d both climbed the stairs at night alone, got into bed, alone, and I’m sure that got easier, more of a habit. But I couldn’t see the public bit getting easier. And if you didn’t want to disappear, didn’t want to get a bit blurry round the edges, as some single people did, you had to put your back into it, didn’t you? Into being fun. And interesting. And good to be around. Like Dad, and Peggy. Me too, now, of course. Lessons to be learned. Respect.

I hadn’t realized I’d said it out loud, but my son, watching me from his high chair, echoed it gravely: ‘Rethpect.’

I smiled and leaned across to take the squashed piece of toast he was offering me. Just then my back door opened and Angie stuck her head around.

‘Coo-ee,’ she whispered, head on one side, anxious.

My smile became slightly wan. I dropped Archie’s soggy bread. ‘Coo-ee, Angie. Come in.’

‘Are you all right?’ She shut the door softly and tiptoed theatrically across the room. Sat down terribly carefully at the table making sure the chain of her handbag didn’t make a noise. Annoying. Very dressed up too, I noticed, in a little pink suit.

‘Fine, thanks, just a bit tired.’

‘Blimey, I’m not surprised . You shifted enough to float a small flotilla last night. I’ve never seen anyone so plastered. Mind if I help myself?’ She reached for a piece of toast.

‘Do,’ I said drily, determined not to tell her the smell of the marmalade was guaranteed to make me heave.

‘And there’s nothing worse,’ she said firmly, buttering away, ‘than everyone avoiding you the next day and giving you sly looks in the village, so I wanted to pop round and say it didn’t matter a bit. In fact we all enjoyed seeing you let your hair down for a change. Especially when you went on stage and grabbed the microphone.’

I gazed at her horrified. ‘No.’

‘Mm,’ she nodded through a mouthful of toast. ‘Thanked everyone for coming. And then asked if we’d like to hear “Climb Every Mountain”, but Sam wrestled you from the stage.’

‘Oh, God,’ I whispered, appalled, sinking my forehead into my hands. I had no recollection of that. Odd. Huge memory losses in some areas and wild hallucinations about buttocks in others. What was in those glasses? What was schnapps? It shouldn’t be allowed.

‘And whatever you do, you mustn’t think the whole village is laughing at you over that man.’

‘Are they?’ I yelped, jerking my head up.

‘No, of course not. That’s what I came to tell you. I knew you’d be feeling wretched – and of course I’ve been there myself, made a bit of a fool of myself in that department – so I came to say you absolutely mustn’t worry.’

‘Yes, but you cornered him in his kitchen and stuck a rose between your teeth,’ I said testily. ‘I didn’t do that.’

‘Well, you cornered him in the downstairs loo.’

‘No!’

‘We thought you’d passed out in there and Sam went to find you. You bundled him in and locked the door. He had to stop you swallowing the key.’

I got up, horrified. Stared out of the window at the back garden. Then I swung back to her. ‘Oh God, I was thinking of moving to Clapham, but that’s not far enough,’ I whispered. ‘It’ll have to be Sydney.’

‘That’s where Simon’s going, apparently,’ she said conversationally, as if we were discussing popping to Ikea. ‘Jennie had a long chat last night. He’s been offered a job, wants to make a fresh start. Getting a divorce too.’

Angie had clearly done the rounds this morning.

‘I’ll look into flights,’ I muttered, tottering across to the computer. Ryanair. Quite testing at any time. Particularly now. On second thoughts … I felt my way back to the table, holding on to the furniture.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, everyone drops a bollock now and again. It’s very refreshing. Can’t bear those who don’t, actually. Pious twats. And he is very attractive, Poppy, it’s not your fault.’

‘Whose fault is it, then?’

‘God’s,’ she said firmly, after a pause. ‘He’s no business making men like that. Tom’s back,’ she said, apropos, clearly, of attractive men. She reddened. ‘Or at least, he was last night. Whether or not he’s still there now is another matter. Perhaps I shouldn’t have given in so easily.’ She looked at me anxiously. Ah. So that’s what this was all about. Ashamed of her own behaviour, she’d come round wanting to remind me of mine. But why should she be ashamed of sleeping with her husband?

I voiced this and she gripped my wrist across the table. ‘D’you really think so? I felt so cheap this morning, such a pushover, so I slipped out to see you and Jennie. Didn’t want to seem un-busy. Told him I was going out for lunch, in fact.’