Chapter 20
Shower Wisdom told her to:
Phone Mum before she heard about Hogget and Simpson from someone else – cripes!
Get a manicure for her chewed nails.
Get a blow-dry as a morale boost.
OK none of it was earth-shattering, but wasn’t that the whole point? It wasn’t the huge things but the little ones that made a big difference in how you felt. By making those small plans, she already felt better.
As far as being fired went, she was clearly the victim of an injustice, so that was some consolation. She felt a tiny surge of euphoria; Shower Wisdom had never let her down.
As if by magic, her phone pinged with a rather baffling text from William, who seemed to be getting started on his food prep.
Hope you’re not part of the 10% of the population for whom coriander tastes like soap.
No, boringly average, in 90% ??
Oh well, it was sweet that he’d enquired.
Ally made a mug of tea in her second-favourite mug – of course, also given to her by Rosemarie – which read Sorry, did I roll my eyes out loud?
and decided that New Ally would look surprisingly well groomed but at the same time not give a hoot what Pete, or anyone else, thought. Fabulous. What could possibly go wrong?
* * *
She fired off a text to Mum, who she knew would be starting her anti-ageing Gua Sha for ten minutes, followed by ten minutes on her cross-country ski machine while wearing her LED mask, followed by a whizzed-up blue-green algae-infused smoothie, followed by a fag.
‘Hi, Mum, it’s me.’
‘Leggie?’ She sounded thrilled.
‘No, Mum – me, Ally, your daughter.’
‘Oh.’ Less thrilled. ‘Darling, I just didn’t expect to hear from you at this hour. Why aren’t you answering the phone to all those high-powered solicitors and their clients?’
This was clearly Mum’s fantasy about Ally’s job, which she’d be sprinkling across her ladies’ lunches like confetti.
‘So, anyway, Mum, I have a day off and I was wondering if you’d like to meet for lunch?’
‘Oooh, goodness . . . gosh, now, you’ve caught me all unawares. I’ve Allegra and Bonnie for lunch, followed by my volunteer visiting . . . then I was going to do Pilates, so I could see you before all that at, say, 10.15?’
Yikes. Ally’d been hoping for a bit more time to get her head in order, but at least she’d face her mother early and get it over with.
* * *
They met in Mayfield Café, which was charming and full of greenery, delightful knick-knacks and a smattering of well-to-do female customers.
Mum swept in five minutes late, as usual, dressed in dove-grey cashmere, with her ox-blood long boots, and emitting a haze of Creed Les Royales.
She was obviously one of the regulars, who helped to set the tone of the place, so she received a rapturous greeting from the flamboyant proprietor.
‘Darling, to what do I owe this pleasure?’ Mum cooed, kissing Ally on the cheek.
Crap, she’d probably have been better off doing this on the phone – still, she was here now and, frankly, fancied the look of the French toasted brioche.
‘Darling, you look . . . a little tired. Did they give you a day off for good behaviour?’ Mum winked coyly.
‘Not exactly . . .’ Ally waited until their coffee had arrived and then took a big gulp of dark steamy strength. ‘I don’t work there anymore.’
Mum blinked rapidly, like a set of Christmas-tree lights. ‘That job I got you? Why on earth not?’
‘It’s complicated . . .’ She took a deep breath and explained to Mum about the ramifications following the bar-fight video.
‘And you’re absolutely sure it didn’t look like you were starting the trouble?’ Typical Mum.
‘You must be joking – unless you count accidentally getting stuck beside large drunk men punching each other.’
There was a tense pause. This was teetering on a knife-edge.
‘Rotters!’ she burst out at last. ‘I met some of those in my time too, although of course I was a lot younger than you at the time . . .’ Thanks, Mum.
‘And once Georgina gives you a reference, you can forget all about it. Now, what are we going to eat?’
Their food arrived. Mum had ordered a single almond biscotto with her Americano, while Ally tucked into the luscious spongy French toast with syrup and bacon. ‘This is brunch,’ Ally explained through a mouthful of food.
‘I do worry about you, darling . . . What about that nice chap you said you’d met at work?’
Ally groaned. God, she’d only said that as a sort of deflection at the family dinner.
‘I’ve said it before . . . you should never have let Francis go.’
‘Oh, Mum, I think he’s got somebody else now.’
‘I know, and she’s very young, my goodness. And from God knows where – nobody knows her family, even. Between ourselves, we bumped into them in Avoca at the weekend.’
‘Mum, if you knew all along, why are you only telling me this now?’
‘Only since Sunday . . . I don’t know . . .’ Mum went on, oblivious. ‘She was all smiles but is she a bit . . .’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know . . .’
‘Oh, come on . . . what?’
‘I’m trying to find the right word . . .’ Mum hummed frustratingly for a while. ‘Clever?’
Wow, that was interesting.
‘Clever? Why do you think that, Mum? I mean, what did she say?’
She certainly hadn’t said anything particularly brilliant when Ally had met her.
‘We-eeel, it wasn’t what she said . . . more what she was wearing. It was this see-through skirt. I don’t know how the child didn’t get pneumonia. Showed everything from her knickers down. Your daddy thought it was nice, but I don’t know.’
‘Ah, Mum, those skirts are the fashion now.’
‘Fine . . . If you say so. I’m not going to say another word, except . . . have you thought again about popping into Allegra’s man for a bit of Botox? Everyone’s getting it done, and you’ve such a pretty face . . .’
The end of that sentence – ‘so you’d better hang on to it’ – hung in the air above them, alongside the smell of coffee and cinnamon.
‘And did I tell you that Allegra, Bonnie and I are going away for a week? To Fuengirola, in January.’
‘What does Daddy think?’
‘Oh, he’ll be fine. I’ll number his dinners and pop them in the freezer. A bit of low-season fun, just the three of us girls – is that dreadful? We’re going to splurge on some gorgeous new swimwear in the January sales and then head off the week after. I can’t wait.’
Frankly, it sounded heavenly, though Ally began to feel a teeny bit sorry for Dad. Was that what happened? For years you were leading the posse and then, suddenly . . . you weren’t any more. Must give him a buzz, she thought to herself.
‘Oh, is that the time?’ burst out Mum. ‘I’ve to drop into the gym on my way to lunch to book in for my course of personal training sessions. I’d better be in shape for the hols. No flab in Fuengirola. You stay and finish, darling, this is on me,’ she quipped as she headed for the door.
Seeing as it was her day off, and she’d half an hour before her manicure, Ally ordered a nice frothy cappuccino and scrolled peacefully on her phone. Just then a notification flashed up from ‘Fran’. What the hell?
Hey Ally, gr8 to see you last week. Sorry about end. Would you like to meet for chat?
That was a spooky coincidence, after her parents had met him with the Tadpole. Did he really think she was that much of a pushover? Let him stew for a bit, she decided.
A few minutes later, Ally was sitting in the nail salon with her earbuds in while Rosemarie was on an early lunch break, because Crystal was guesting on a podcast entitled #TastyOrTrashy, about how much skin the over fifties could get away with showing during the festive period.
‘Seriously,’ said Rosemarie. ‘When did she suddenly become the expert? I wouldn’t take advice from her if she was the last human with skin on earth. So, what colour nail varnish have you gone for?’
‘Bubblegum pink.’
‘Nice.’
She told Rosemarie about Francis, and how Mum talking about him seemed to have magically drawn him to her.
‘Come on, Ally, do you not think if you were really meant for each other, then you’d still be with him? So, what did you really phone me for?’
Ally told her all about Pete and their lovely drink in the Hole In The Wall with Patsy the puppy, but then explained how he’d said his ex was a very attractive woman and, at the end of the evening, it had all come to nothing.
‘What’s going on, Rosemarie?’ said Ally. ‘What’s wrong with me? It’s like I can only ever get part of a man, like a timeshare.’
‘Stop that. Nothing has actually gone wrong. Grammatically speaking, what tense did he use when talking about his ex – past or present?’
Rosemarie had a point. ‘Past.’
‘There you are. And he didn’t accept the offer of legal help from your sister? Then step back. He doesn’t want help. He wants to sort it out himself. That’s my hunch.’
‘Right. That’s why I’m focusing on grooming.’
‘Very wise. You want to look your best for William’s curry tonight. And make sure your phone is charged – I want photos, star signs . . . nothing vague.’
In truth, Ally had barely thought about William’s dinner. She felt more like staying in with reruns of Bridgerton than sitting in a lad’s house probably full of giant white trainers.
* * *
By 6.40 p.m. Ally was admiring her sleek, wavy hair.
Once she’d arrived at the hairdresser’s, the girl had talked her into a restyle and full-on highlights, and to hell with the expense.
At least now she could see out of both eyes again.
She slipped into a pair of high-waisted loose jeans, ankle boots and a slightly sparkly grey jumper that flattered her curves but looked effortless.
Ideal for a casual dinner. Bit of jewellery – no need to look like a Pandora window display – a spray of Miss Dior and she was good to go.
On the way past Spar, she dashed in for wine.
Red or white? Look, keep it simple – red and drinkable, so Cab Sauv – and don’t forget a big bag of crisps, very important.
Lads loved crisps and with their hypersonic metabolisms they weren’t nearly as paranoid about their figures as women, she decided.