‘Darling, that’s not a job, that’s just an amusing anecdote.’
Mum’s face was incredulous as they sat in the discreet luxury of the Westbury Hotel and sipped strong coffee on Ally’s day off. Mum looked so perfectly in place, with her Toteme ankle boots and Gabriela Hearst grey knit dress which clung to her carefully maintained figure. She daintily lifted her cup with a manicured, beringed hand.
‘First of all, darling, I think it was dotey of you to jump in and help like a little Girl Guide, but I’m sensing there’s a piece of this you’re not telling me.’
Ally weighed up hiding the whole ‘stingy CEO story’ but it was too exhausting – she might as well own up to it. Mum sat with the cup suspended in front of her Chanel-lipsticked mouth, shade number 99, Pirate.
‘Fired?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t think anyone in our family has ever been fired before.’
‘Well, now they have. Please don’t tell Dad.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t hide things like that from each other. I mean, you’re reduced to skivvying.’
‘I am not, I’m working.’
She felt protective towards her co-workers – Pete, Dave andEvelyn – and the hard work they did.
‘Sorry, darling, you know what I mean, it’s just a figure of speech. But we need to find you something else before someone spots you. I happen to know Allegra Carmichel has some sort of a gallbladder specialist around there – we don’t want her blabbing her mouth off at the golf club after a few gin and tonics. Tell you what, I’ll buzz Maeve – they’ve always someone on maternity leave or whatever – until we can find you another job. Never mind, sweetie, this could be all for the best. I have an intuition.’
‘What do you mean “we”, Mum? I’m thirty-five years old.’
‘All the more reason you can’t muck about. I shouldn’t have to be getting you a job.’
‘I’m not asking you to get me a job. You’re imposing your own outdated standards on me and I don’t bloody need it.’
‘On the contrary, unfortunately you do. If I’d had your standards, you can be damn sure you wouldn’t have grown up with all the advantages you take for granted. It’s too easy to knock me and your daddy. But let’s see you build something like we’ve done.’
Damn, there was no answer to that.
‘You know what, Mum, I have to go.’
‘Please yourself.’
And with that, Ally threw on her oversized coat and flounced down the broad steps. She fumed all the way down to catch her Luas. Truth was, Mum had built feck all. She’d had a job as a typist in her uncle’s firm until she was married at twenty-two. Even then, as a young businessman going out on his own, Dad had been a dodgy prospect with her father. Of course, everything had been justified in retrospect. But then again, what if she was the idiot and Mum was right? She’d provided them all with a wonderful upbringing, which was more than Ally was doing for anybody right now, apart from her fish. That was a soberingthought, so she pushed it down.
An hour later she was sitting cross-legged on her sofa, forking mixed-bean salad into her mouth while, between bites, she spelled out the whole situation to Harry and Sally, who nibbled their food from the surface of the water and, of course, listened intently without interrupting.
‘I know I’m the black sheep of the family .?.?. I know I’m the one Mum could never boast about. I once walked in and overheard her referring to me as having “some little job at least” with a big eyeroll to those poxy friends of hers, Allegra and Sophia, who were listening to her with big sympathetic heads on them. I know I’m the one Mum gossips about when she wants to appear humble in company. I mean, she’s not stupid, far from it, believe me, she’s .?.?. pragmatic and a plain, old-fashioned snob. How does someone manage that? How do they decide on their place in the world and then assume everyone will treat them that way, so it’s kind of self-perpetuating? Genius, I suppose. Then here’s me, a dreamer, using my fish for therapy. Sure, who am I to criticise?’
* * *
‘Why are you filling a dog’s bowl?’
It was 8 a.m. on Friday and Evelyn was off sick. Pete was wearing a T-shirt that had once been pink but was now a uniform plasterboard beige. There was stubble on his chin, so he hadn’t had time to shave.
‘It’s erm .?.?. for Patsy.’
‘Patsy?’
‘Wait there.’
A moment later he reappeared with a ball of white fluff under his arm.
‘That’s him. Meet Patsy the cockapoo.’
