Wayne was hovering near by, fiddling with a table setting. She asked him how the fish tank was cleaned. Wayne told her that he paid a pensioner in thigh-high waders to actually climb into the tank and scrape the sides. Pandora asked how much the pensioner was paid.
Wayne said, ‘He don’t get paid in money. He takes it in a week’s worth of chicken chow mein and a big carrier bag of prawn crackers. He’s happy, I’m happy, the fish are happy and the tax man don’t have to be bothered.’
I was anxious to draw her attention back to me so said, ‘How often do you think about death, Pandora?’
‘Death?’ she laughed. ‘How did we get from cleaning fish tanks to death?’
‘I think about it all the time now,’ I said.
‘Well, you would, wouldn’t you? You’ve got a potentially fatal disease.’ She looked at me and said, ‘Did you know that certain men get better looking as they get older?’
I said, ‘No, all the men I know have aged very badly. My father’s face looks like a fossilised scrotum.’
She said, ‘You’ve grown to be an incredibly attractive man. You’ve kept your figure and, thank God and hallelujah, you’ve finally had a haircut that suits you. I’m so glad to see the back of that dreadful side parting, and you’ve finally taken my advice and stuck to dark clothes. Any man in pastel clothing looks like he’s on holiday in Majorca.’
I said, ‘You’re such a snob.’
She said, ‘I love Majorca. I’ve been there several times, as a house guest of Prince Felipe and his wife Letizia.’
A waiter came up with a bowl of prawn crackers. Pandora spoke to him in Mandarin and they had a long conversation. When he’d gone, I asked Pandora what they had been talking about.
‘He asked me if I could speak to Gordon Brown about his visa,’ she said.
I said, ‘Hasn’t Mr Brown got better things to do than to be bothered with damp and visa problems?’
Wayne brought us two bowls of liquid in which floated something from the poultry genus. I asked him what it was.
He said, ‘It’s duck’s foot soup. It’s a delicacy.’
I said to Wayne, ‘You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’
He said, ‘Are you mocking my cultural heritage, Moley?’
He and Pandora exchanged a few words in Mandarin, which made them both laugh. As a non-Mandarin speaker I was beginning to feel excluded.
I said, ‘Am I actually supposed to eat these toenails?’
Pandora said, ‘The toenails are meant to be an aphrodisiac.’
When Wayne had gone, I said, ‘That was cruel, Pandora. You know my sexual function is not a hundred per cent at the moment.’
She took my hand and said, ‘I’m sorry, Aidy. Is there anything I can do to help?’
I pushed my duck’s foot soup away.
She did the same with her bowl and said, ‘I’m quite prepared to help you in any way I can.’
I asked, ‘Is that a proposition?’
She said, ‘I was at dinner the other night with a sex therapist called Marsha Lunt, I could get her number.’
‘No, thank you,’ I said tersely.
There was an awkward silence. We both stared into the fish tank. Eventually she said, ‘My mother had her loft insulated the other day and when she was clearing all the junk out she came across a box with Bert Baxter engraved on the lid.’
‘What was inside?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It was locked.’
I said, ‘I think I may have found the key to that box.’
She looked me directly in the eye and said, ‘Then we must get together soon and you can put your key into my box.’
Wayne brought several dishes and laid them on to the lazy Susan in the middle of the table. I did not recognise anything.
I said, ‘It looks as though somebody has stir-fried the droppings from an abattoir floor.’
Pandora said, ‘Try something different, broaden your horizons.’ She took up her chopsticks and with great expertise dropped some pieces of unrecognisable food into my empty bowl. ‘This is the food the Chinese eat,’ she said. ‘Go on, try it!’
I reluctantly picked up my own chopsticks and attempted several times to put a slimy morsel into my mouth but only succeeded in dropping the food on to my lap. Pandora reached across and fed me with her own chopsticks. Her nearness, the scent of her perfume and the unsettling cleavage she displayed made it hard for me to swallow.
The food wasn’t too bad but not a patch on chicken in black bean sauce. I was glad when Wayne brought out a dish of recognisable noodles.
When we were drinking Wayne’s terrible coffee and Pandora was talking about the prostate awareness campaign she is involved with and how I could be of help to her, I only half listened. I was studying her beautiful face and had an overwhelming need to stroke her hair and tell her that I loved her when she was thirteen, loved her now, and would always love her.
Later, over complimentary brandies, I told her about my various problems, Daisy’s unhappiness, the closure of the bookshop and my mother’s imminent appearance on The Jeremy Kyle Show.
Pandora said, ‘Oh, I adore Jeremy Kyle’s show. It keeps one in touch with the underclass without having to visit their dreadful council estates. I’ll definitely watch it.’
I said, ‘Apparently, it’s pre-recorded but I’ll ring you when it’s due to be broadcast.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘we must keep in touch, mustn’t we?’
I agreed that we must.
*
She gave me a lift home, driving like a lunatic down the country lanes. Had we met a tractor coming in the opposite direction we would have faced certain death but, as she pointed out, nobody would be driving a tractor at one o’clock in the morning.
When we drew up outside the house, Pandora said, ‘You’d better go in, Daisy’s still up.’ She sighed. ‘I wish there was somebody waiting up for me.’
I said, ‘But you’re so clever and beautiful. Men must be throwing themselves at your feet.’
She replied, ‘I terrify most men. And the rest are either married, gay or bipolar.’
Diary, she looked so desolate that I wanted to take her in my arms. Instead I said goodnight, and went into the house. Daisy was sitting in the kitchen. There was a full ashtray in front of her, an empty bottle of wine and a half-empty glass.
She said, ‘That was her, wasn’t it?’
I said, ‘Yes, we bumped into each other at Wayne Wong’s.’
She shouted, ‘To think I had that woman in my house, eating my shepherd’s pie.’
We slept in the same bed, but it was as if I was at the North Pole and she was at the South.
Monday 19th November
Woke with a heavy heart at 6 a.m. Worries crowded in on me. Got up to make coffee. Glenn was sitting at the kitchen table in his boxers and a camouflage T-shirt.
I said, ‘You’re up early.’
He said, ‘I’m used to it, Dad. We ’ad to leave the compound before the sun came up.’ While we waited for the kettle to boil he said, ‘Dad, can I ask you something? Why don’t you write to me every week like the other parents do?’
I said, ‘To be honest, Glenn, there’s not much to write about. Nothing interesting happens here.’
Glenn said angrily, ‘I’m interested in everything, it don’t matter how small. An’ I want to know how you are, don’t I? I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to die, Dad.’
Gracie came in and climbed on to Glenn’s knee. She stroked his unshaven chin and said, ‘You know that dead hedgehog we saw, Dad. Is it in heaven?’
I was about to explain the points of difference between the proponents of creationism and intelligent design when Glenn said, ‘Yeah, course it is, Gracie. It’s in ’eaven. And it’s ’appy.’
While we were eating breakfast Daisy appeared wearing incredibly high-heeled boots. She was carrying a large black patent bag that was also new to me. I offered to make her a bacon sandwich.
&
nbsp; She said, ‘I’ve got a breakfast meeting with Hugo.’ She kissed Gracie and Glenn and went out.
I went to the living-room window and watched her circumnavigating the potholes in the drive. She could have been walking down Oxford Street.
Gracie’s school uniform was laid out on a chair next to her bed, but she refused to wear it and was sitting unconcernedly in the living room watching a DVD of High School Musical.
I shouted, ‘Gracie, we have ten minutes before we have to leave this house!’
I ordered Glenn to find the hairbrush, picked Gracie up and took her into the bathroom. Then, while I cleaned her teeth, Glenn brushed her hair and pulled it into an untidy ponytail. We wheedled, cajoled and bribed her to wear her school uniform, but eventually I gave in and let her wear her Little Mermaid outfit. She wouldn’t wear her school cardigan with it until I pointed out that it was only the bottom half of a mermaid that was a fish. She conceded that this was true.
Because we were late I put the child seat on the front of my bike and cycled her to school, even though I was worried that the fishtail would get caught in the spokes. I then cycled to the hospital for my treatment, arriving drained of every last drop of energy.
Sally said that I looked exhausted and ought to give the bike up until my treatment was finished.
When I got back, after calling in at the bookshop, Glenn told me that a car had arrived to take my parents to Manchester, where The Jeremy Kyle Show is recorded. My heart sank. I had been hoping that fate would intervene to stop them from making the Mole family a laughing stock.
Tuesday 20th November
My mother rang early this morning from her hotel room in Manchester. She said that Lucas and Rosie were in the same hotel but they would be going to the studio in different cars. She told me that she and my father had hit the mini bar last night and, after getting drunk, they had talked at great length about their marriage, i.e. was it worth saving?
I asked her what conclusion they had come to.
She said, ‘Neither of us can remember. I told you, we were drunk.’
I pointed out to her that the reason she was going on The Jeremy Kyle Show was to ascertain Rosie’s paternity.
She said that, after talking to a researcher on the show, they had decided to ‘widen the brief’ and had agreed to take lie detector tests about their respective marital affairs.
As the years go by I grow more and more suspicious about my own paternity. I have absolutely nothing in common with my parents.
Glenn has taken Finley-Rose to a hotel in Birmingham for a few days. He wants to buy her a present from Harvey Nichols.
Wednesday 21st November
Treatment.
Went home, and at twelve thirty had a phone call from the school. Headmistress wanted to see me urgently. Cycled to school. Went to headmistress’s office.
Mrs Bull is ridiculously young to be a headmistress. She said, ‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Mole. I’ll cut to the chase, shall I? We have had some concerns about Gracie for some time now. We’ve tolerated her quixotic apparel. We’ve bent over backwards to humour what we thought was a phase, but I can no longer allow my teaching staff to give so much attention to one child.’
I said, ‘Has it crossed your mind, Mrs Bull, that Gracie might be a gifted child?’
Mrs Bull replied, ‘No, it has not crossed my mind for a moment. This morning, when the other children were in the classroom waiting for registration, Gracie was sitting on the shoe rack in the cloakroom wearing that mermaid costume. When I asked her to walk with me into the classroom, she said, in a very patronizing tone, “Fish can’t walk.” When I insisted that she walk, she again refused. She said that the shoe rack was a large rock and that the floor of the cloakroom was the “specific ocean”. I managed to get her into the classroom by allowing her to “swim” on her belly, but she was infuriatingly slow. I quite lost my patience with her, I’m afraid, and handed her over to Miss Nutt. However, at morning break I glanced out of my window to the playground and saw Miss Nutt carrying Gracie in her arms. Your daughter was shouting, “Fish can’t walk,” and it wasn’t long before most of the other girls in the playground were shouting the same and begging Miss Nutt and the other teachers on playground duty to pick them up. This can’t be allowed to go on, Mr Mole. This is not an aquarium. This is a school.’
Inside my head I said, ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, I thought it was an aquarium, which is why I sent my daughter to school wearing appropriate dress.’ What I actually said was, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Bull. I will make sure that Gracie wears her school uniform tomorrow.’
Went to post office to pay my parents’ newspaper bill. Knocked Christmas tree over on my way out. Several baubles smashed. Why can’t they use plastic baubles like everyone else?
This is 2007.
When I got back, the lights were on in my parents’ house. After taking several deep breaths, I called in to question them about The Jeremy Kyle Show. My mother was working on her misery memoir and my father was still in bed.
‘I don’t know why your father’s sulking,’ said my mother. ‘It was him who got the audience’s sympathy.’
I asked why.
‘A sobbing man in a wheelchair who finds out that his precious daughter was fathered by another man? You’d need a heart of stone not to feel sorry for him.’
‘So Lucas is Rosie’s father?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said my mother. ‘When Jeremy Kyle read out the DNA result, Lucas leapt to his feet, punched the air, ran around the stage, embraced Rosie, took the card from Jeremy Kyle, kissed it and then sat down and burst into tears. Your father tried to wheel himself over to Lucas to punch him in the face but couldn’t get near enough. Then Jeremy Kyle turned on me and said that I was a “disgrace”. Then Rosie had a go at me, saying that her whole life had been a lie. Lucas said he wanted to make up for lost time and asked Rosie if she would go and live with him. He bragged to the studio audience and the watching millions that he lived in a mansion in Burton-on-Trent and had an indoor swimming pool and that he had already prepared an en-suite bedroom for Rosie. Rosie fell into his arms and sobbed, “I will come and live with you, Dad.”’
My mother’s eyes filled with tears. She choked, ‘I was booed off the stage, but your father was cheered and got a standing ovation. I wish now that I’d never agreed to go on the bloody show.’
I patted her shoulder, it was the least I could do. I then went to the bedroom to see my father. The lights were off and the curtains were drawn. My father was in bed. I knew he was awake. I could hear his wheezy breathing.
I said, ‘I’m really sorry, Dad. It must be terrible to find out that you are not related to Rosie.’
He said, ‘She’ll soon get tired of swimming in that pool. She’s allergic to chlorine.’
Before I left I asked my mother when the show was going to be broadcast.
She said, ‘The producer said she would ring and let us know.’ She then started to cry and held her arms out to me and said, ‘I’ll be the bloody laughing stock of England.’
‘Great Britain,’ I corrected her. ‘In fact, the world. You can get The Jeremy Kyle Show on the internet, and once it’s on the World Wide Web it will be there for ever, until the end of time.’
She thrust me away from her, saying sarcastically, ‘You’re such a comfort, Adrian.’
When I got home, I rang Rosie on her mobile.
A stranger answered and said, ‘She’s in the pool.’
I am very hurt that she hasn’t returned my call. I was there at her birth.
I wanted to talk to Daisy, but she has told me that Hugo has asked her to keep her mobile switched off because he doesn’t want her distracted when they are working.
Thursday 22nd November
Treatment.
Got home in time to see Daisy leaving for work. She was showing far too much cleavage. I asked her to fasten a couple of buttons on her shirt. She did so, but when she got to the lane I saw her undo them again and adjust her
bra straps. I dressed Gracie in her school uniform and sent her to clean her teeth. When she came back, she was wearing her Spanish flamenco dress and shoes and was carrying a Spanish fan. In the struggle to remove the red and black spotted dress the zip broke and Gracie screamed so loudly that my mother came round to find out what was going on. She ordered me out of the kitchen and after ten minutes appeared with Gracie, who was fully dressed in her school uniform and was wearing her hair in two plaits with ribbons at the end. My mother said that she would be taking Gracie to school in future.
I don’t know what she said to Gracie but it certainly worked.
Spent the day sorting out my old manuscripts. Perhaps now is the time to resubmit my serial killer comedy The White Van to the BBC. Wrote a covering letter to the head of series and serials suggesting Russell Brand for the serial killer and Amy Winehouse for his wife. His victims could be: Kate Winslet, Barbara Windsor, Billie Piper, Jodie Marsh, Carol Vorderman, Colleen Rooney, Kym Marsh, Charlotte Church, Lily Allen, Cheryl Cole and Dot Cotton.
I parcelled up the manuscript and took it to the post office. Wendy Wellbeck handed me an invoice for the three baubles I had smashed.
She said, ‘I know you’ve got a very serious illness, Mr Mole, but Tony and me are facing an uncertain future and we can’t afford to have our possessions smashed up.’
She was proposing to charge me £2.50 per bauble! I asked her when she had purchased the glass baubles.
She said, ‘Christmas, 1979.’
I said, ‘Please write out another invoice quoting 1979 prices, then take off the years of use you have had from the baubles. Then, and only then, will I consider reimbursing you.’
I pushed my manuscript under the glass.
She weighed it in silence then read the address, gave a scornful laugh and said, ‘The BBC!’
On my way out I was careful to avoid the Christmas tree.
Friday 23rd November