Friday 21 July 8st 13, alcohol units 4 ( modest), cigarettes 21 (fine), instants 4 (a
mere nothing). At
four o'clock in the office, just when Perpetua was breathing down my
neck so she didn't end up late for her weekend in Gloucestershire at the
Trehearne's, the phone rang. "Hello, darling" - my mother -
"How are you, I've been so worried about you." So worried that
she hasn't rung me for two weeks. "Listen. I've got the most
marvellous opportunity for you." "What?"
I muttered sulkily. "You're
going to be on television," she gushed as I crashed my head on to
the desk. "I'm coming round with the crew at 10 o'clock tomorrow.
Oh darling, aren't you thrilled?" "Mother.
If you're coming round to my flat with a TV crew, I won't be in
it." "But
you must," she said icily. "No,"
I said, but then a horrible vanity got the better of me, "Why,
anyway?" "Oh,
darling," she cooed, "They're wanting someone younger for me
to interview on Suddenly Single, someone pre-menopausal and suddenly
single who can talk about, well, you know, darling, the pressures of
impending childlessness and so on." "I'm
not pre-menopausal, mother," I exploded. "And I'm not Suddenly
Single, either. I'm suddenly part of a couple." "Yes,
but you were Suddenly Single until five weeks ago," she hissed. I
could hear office noises in the background. "I
wasn't." "You
were." "I
wasn't. I was Single, but I wasn't Suddenly. I hadn't had a boyfriend
for 18 months," I said, suddenly glancing over my shoulder at
Perpetua, who was smirking. "Oh
please, darling. I've told them I've found someone." "No." "Oh
pleeeeeese. I've never had a career all my life and now I'm in the
autumn of my days and I need something for myself," she gabbled as
if reading from a cue card. "Someone
I know might see. Anyway, won't they notice I'm your daughter?" There
was a pause. I could hear her talking to someone in the background. Then
she came back and said, "We could blot out your face." "What?
Put a bag over it? Thanks a lot." "Silhouette,
darling, silhouette. Oh
please, Bridget. Remember, I gave you the gift of life. Where would you
be without me? Nowhere. Nothing. A dead egg. A piece of space." The
thing is I've always, secretly, rather fancied being on television. Saturday 22 July 9st 3 (why? from where?), alcohol units 7 (Saturday), cigarettes 27
(positively restrained considering), number of correct lottery numbers
0. The
crew had trodden a couple of wine glasses into the carpet before they'd
been in the house 30 seconds, but I'm never too fussed about that sort
of thing. It was when one of them staggered in shouting "Mind your
backs", carrying an enormous light, bellowed, "Ere Trev, where
do you want this brute?" then overbalanced, crashed the light
through the glass door of my drinks cupboard and stepped in a vase which
was standing by the rubbish bin, then knocked over an open bottle of
extra virgin olive oil on to my River Cafe cookbook, that I realised
what I'd done. Three hours after they arrived they were still crashing
around saying, "Can I just cheat you this way a bit, love?" By
the time we finally got going with mother and I sitting opposite each
other in semi-darkness, it was nearly half past one. |