The Peas and Carrots Series Boxset 1, page 34
part #1 of Peas and Carrots Series
‘I always do,’ she said, and she glided out the front door, her tinselled tiara glinting as she went.
‘Peculiar woman, your mother-in-law,’ Jerry said, watching the front door close. ‘Just offered to show me how to do the Argentine tango.’
‘She’s a dancer,’ Eric said.
‘In the bedroom,’ Jerry replied.
Chapter 9
ERIC WAS WOKEN by the smell of coffee wafting temptingly beneath his nostrils. There was an intense fuzziness to his head that was somewhat disorientating. He rolled over, clicking the joints in his back and his neck. He wasn’t in his bed, he could tell that, but the actual knowledge of where he was, or how he got there was almost entirely missing. His eyes flickered beneath their lids.
‘Freshly made,’ Suzy said. ‘Colombian. Your favourite.’
Her voice hit like a sledgehammer. Eric gasped and jolted upwards. Five seconds later and there was still a reverb echoing around between his temples.
‘Woah …’ Eric covered his ears as he struggled to sit himself up, finding it rather more difficult to maintain his balance than expected.
A few seconds later, he opened his eyes.
‘Why’s it so bright?’
He grabbed for a pillow, but underestimating the distance between his hand and the cushion, he fell back onto the sofa with a thud.
‘It’s not bright,’ Suzy said. She pushed him back up into a seated position, pulled his shirt back down over his middle, and placed the mug of coffee in his hand. ‘That’s what happens when you drink for six hours straight.’
‘My head hurts,’ he said.
‘That’s not a surprise.’
Eric blinked and attempted to move his eyelids again. The pain of a thousand needles puncturing his skull and impaling whatever grey matter lay beyond shot through to the back of his head.
‘Oh my God. How much did you let me drink?’
‘Let you? Since when did I let you do anything?’
‘Urgh, this cannot be real.’
The room was spinning. Suzy’s choice of baby-blue coloured walls that had once seemed bearable now caused waves of seasickness. The aroma of the coffee, undoubtedly freshly ground and Colombian, went instantaneously from mouth-wateringly appealing to gut-wrenchingly nauseating.
‘I’ll just leave this here for you, shall I?’ Suzy said, then moved the coffee table a good ten inches closer to Eric before she took the coffee cup back from his grip and placed it down on the table top.
After twenty-minutes of lying perfectly still, Eric found that if he focused his attention on one single point, he could slow the room’s motion enough to move his coffee mug, but any accidental sideways glances and he was back to where he started. As such, he decided that the gap from the table to his mouth – although substantially reduced due to Suzy’s kind heartedness – was still too far to risk. He lowered himself off the sofa and onto his knees. In a carefully considered movement, he lifted the mug up to his mouth for a sip. The drink was stone cold, but the response was instant. As well as a double shot, the coffee had been spiked with several spoons of sugar and a good-sized glug of rum. She was a good woman, his wife, Eric decided.
He was half a mug in before he found the spinning had lessened to a more controllable level.
‘Drink this too,’ Suzy said, returning to his side with a glass of water. ‘And take these,’ she added, passing him two small painkillers.
While Eric tried to decide whether the swirly pattern on the ceiling was an optical illusion or just another result of his ridiculous lack of balance, Suzy perched on the end of the sofa.
‘I’m worried about Mum,’ she said.
‘You’re always worried about your mum,’ he slurred.
‘I know, but this is different. And I can’t get through to Dad either.’
‘I thought Lydia was dealing with him.’
‘She’s tried. He just says he’s really busy and gets off the line as soon as possible.’
‘Perhaps he is really busy.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Look,’ Eric said, sensing his wife’s need for support and recalling their conversation at the tapas restaurant only days earlier.
He pushed himself a little higher in the seat and immediately rued the decision. The speed of his action resulted in a spiral head rush. Images of dancing with Jerry to ‘Radio Ga Ga’ surfaced from some recess of his mind. Closing his eyes, Eric took several deep breaths before deciding he was stable enough to move again. He took one more substantial breath, opened his eyes, and tried to muster his most sensible husbanding voice.
‘Your parents are adults,’ he said, attempting to fixate on only one of Suzy’s several sets of moving eyes. ‘If something was up, they would have said. Perhaps they just need a little break from one another? They live on a boat together. They probably need a little space now and again.’
‘They live on a six-hundred-foot cruise liner. It’s hardly like they live on a barge.’
‘Still, it probably gets claustrophobic now and then. Where is your mum, by the way? Please don’t make me eat that granola again. I can’t do it. Not today.’
‘She’s taken Abi sale shopping.’
‘You mean we have an empty house?’
‘We do,’ said Suzy with a smile.
Eric and Suzy took immediate advantage of the empty house. After a very brief discussion on the merits of indulging in a little X-rated adult-only time, Eric instead went back upstairs to sleep off some more of the alcohol in his system while Suzy tucked herself away in the office and carried on writing. It seemed like a much more productive use of time, considering Suzy’s impending deadlines and Eric’s horrific hangover.
By midday Eric found that he could open his eyes without thinking he was going to vomit. He showered, cleaned his teeth with a double swill of a mint mouthwash – which he regretted instantly given the menthol schnapps tang still clinging to his tongue – and took another two paracetamol before heading back downstairs.
‘What did you have planned for today?’ Suzy said. ‘I thought if you had time, we could pick out colours for the bedroom.’
‘As long as I don’t have to think.’
‘You very rarely do,’ Suzy answered.
It was slow work, narrowing down the hundreds of sample colours to one final choice. It was particularly hard work given that Eric was having extreme difficulty understanding exactly why thirty-six different shades of white were necessary, and if there was actually any difference between light white, pristine white, and perfect, bright white. But it was time spent with Suzy, and in the recent months that had been hard to come by.
The pair were sitting at the kitchen table, with Suzy deliberating between a buttercup and primrose yellow for the kitchen and Eric picking at various scratches, gouges, and encrustations that covered the ancient table top, when the slam of the front door echoed through the house. The single noise was followed by the rustling of paper and much excited shouting.
‘Mum? Daddy?’
‘In here,’ they called in unison.
Eric took a large gulp of his coffee and debated whether it was too early to risk yet another two paracetamol. Given that the previous two had been swallowed only minutes before, he decided it was probably not a good idea.
Abi emerged through the doorway submerged in a sea of paper and plastic. Her hair was draped around her shoulders and a new, purple handbag dangled from her arm. Her striped bobble hat had been replaced by a canary yellow beret, which perched on her head at a jaunty angle. Around her wrists jangled three inches worth of metal bangles.
‘Granny and I went shopping,’ she said.
‘I can see,’ said Suzy.
‘We bought stuff. A lot of stuff.’
‘I can see that too.’
There must have been forty bags of every colour, shape, size, and texture ever manufactured. Yvette followed Abi into the kitchen, equally cloaked in bags, and complete with a matching canary yellow beret.
‘Well, what is a grandma for?’ she said.
‘Look at these,’ Abi said as she pulled out her fifth pair of shoes in a row and piled them onto the mountain of clothes already built up on the kitchen table. ‘They’re tap shoes. Granny’s going to teach me tap dancing, aren’t you, Granny?’
‘I am.’
‘As well as ballet, jazz, and ballroom?’ Eric said.
‘Children need a well-rounded education, Eric. And there’s nowhere around here she can learn.’
‘And wait until you see this dress, Daddy, it’s amazing.’
Abi bent down to rummage in the shopping bags around her feet.
‘Which one is it in, Granny?’
‘Is it over there?’
As Abi leant to the side, reaching for a yellow, polka-dot bag, something glinted in the light.
‘What’s that?’ Eric said.
Abi bolted upright.
‘Nothing. What? There’s nothing.’
She flattened her hair down against the side of her cheek. Another glint snuck its way out from underneath. Eric jumped up from his seat.
‘There,’ he said. ‘What is that?’
‘Dad!’
‘What the hell have you done to yourself?’
‘Dad, get off!’
‘You get here right now, young lady.’
‘Eric!’
Abi squirmed and wriggled as Eric tried to get a hold on her. A two-minute wrangle later and he had his daughter bent over his knee, her hair tucked behind her ear, the tiny gold studs sparkling in her ear lobes.
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ Eric said.
Abi slipped out of his grip and ran over to her grandma.
‘Eric, please,’ Yvette said.
Eric’s eyes flashed.
‘You? You are behind this. You mutilated my daughter.’
‘It’s not a big deal, Dad. All the girls at school have it done.’
‘If all the girls at school got a tattoo of a leprechaun on their faces, would you do that too?’
‘What’s a leprechaun?’
Eric couldn’t answer. The blood pounded in his veins. Every muscle quivered. He took a step towards his mother-in-law.
‘Eric, leave this to me.’
The coldness in the voice stopped Eric in his tracks. Suzy was standing behind him. Her hands were relaxed, hanging loosely at her side, and her lips were held in a soft, upward curl that, if you didn’t know her, may lead you to believe she was perfectly at ease with the current situation. However, Eric did know his wife, and the cold look that simmered deep behind her pupils caused an icy chill to run all the way down his spine; a sensation he saw reciprocated in both the youngest and oldest member of the family.
‘Abigail,’ Suzy said with a voice so calm it prickled the skin on Eric’s neck. ‘Go upstairs to your bedroom please. Daddy and I need to have a word with your grandmother.’
Abi turned to go.
‘But don’t think you’re off the hook either, young lady. I will deal with you later.’
Abi offered her grandmother a last apologetic look before darting off up the stairs.
‘Shall we sit down?’ Suzy said, her voice still dangerously quiet.
Yvette stiffened and sucked in her cheeks.
‘I tend to find my back gets a little—’
‘Sit,’ Suzy said.
Eric shot down into a chair.
Despite causing the initial uproar, Eric felt it was best to sit back and let Suzy administer the reprimand. He did, however, offer his support through strategically placed coughs and unwavering glowers at Yvette.
Two minutes into Suzy’s carefully procured silence and Yvette’s lips began to twitch. As did her feet, then her fingers.
‘What’s wrong with a grandmother spoiling her granddaughter?’ she said, finally obliterating the silence. ‘Is it that wrong that I want her to be happy?’
Suzy pursed her lips a little but emitted no sound. Yvette’s blinking grew more rapid. Eric could see the sweat beading along her brow line.
‘So, I might have gone a little overboard. I got carried away. You can hardly punish me for that? I hardly see her. And you move her to this backward little town where they don’t even have dance lessons. I mean what kind of parent—’
‘Our parenting is not what’s being questioned here. You knowingly went against our wishes,’ said Suzy. ‘You knew she was not allowed to get her ears pierced. You deliberately undermined Eric and me.’
‘I wouldn’t say—’
‘You turn up out of the blue and knowingly disrespect our wishes.’
‘All the girls—’
‘Mother!’ Suzy slammed the palm of her hand against the table, causing several pairs of diamante-studded tights to fall to the ground.
Suzy took a deep breath in through her nose. Eric followed suit.
‘Here’s what is going to happen. Tomorrow, you and Abi are going back to Chelmsford, and you’re going to return every single item you bought—’
‘Susan—’
‘This is not up for debate. You will return every item on this table. And if it can’t be returned, you will give it away. Red Cross, Salvation Army, I do not care. You will make Abi explain to every single shopkeeper that the reason she is returning them is because she deliberately disobeyed her parents. You will record every single exchange and send me the video as it happens. If you do not—’
‘You can’t seriously—’
‘If you do not,’ Suzy continued. ‘I will ring up the Barbican Centre and tell them exactly who was responsible for the vandalism of the ladies’ toilet in 2004.’
Yvette’s jaw dropped.
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Wouldn’t I? I have the photos, remember? And from what I recall, they’re not taken from your most flattering angle.’
Yvette swallowed.
Later than night, Eric sat on the bed, the handful of Polaroid photos having nearly burnt a hole through his cornea.
‘Apparently it was a protest against modern art,’ Suzy said.
‘She doesn’t look like she’s protesting,’ Eric said. ‘Why did you show me these exactly?’
‘I’ve had to bear the burden too long, it’s only fair you should have some of it too,’ she said.
Somewhere in one of the walls a pipe growled.
‘Oh, that reminds me,’ Eric said. ‘The plumber called. He can’t make it until next week.’
Suzy let out a groan, which transformed part way through into a yawn.
‘What’s another couple of days?’ she said.
Chapter 10
ON THE TUESDAY, Abi went back to school. While it gave Eric more space to deal with things like mould-riddled floorboards and paint stripper, Suzy was having to spend the week up in London; an April deadline appearing infinitely closer in January than it had only days before in December. This meant that Eric had an even more undiluted Yvette to deal with. By Friday, he had reached his limit.
Every corner he turned she was there, offering to help, be it stripping the hallway carpet or offering to whip him up a nut roast.
‘I can run that to the tip, if you like?’ she said as Eric worked on the staircase.
Starting at the top, he yanked the first part of the banister away from the railing. It wasn’t just a case of aesthetics when it came to the staircase. Since the moment they’d moved in, Eric had been paranoid that the banister was going to collapse, and Abi would end up in A&E as a result.
‘Won’t take me a jiffy,’ Yvette continued. ‘And you might as well make the most of this insurance you’re paying for.’
‘It’s fine,’ Eric panted as he moved upwards before throwing another piece down with a clatter. ‘I’m going to be repurposing the wood.’
Eric busied himself with the next balustrade.
‘I saw some lovely bar stools made from old belts,’ Yvette continued. ‘And picture frames made from toilet seats. You can do some wonders with just a little imagination and lacquer. What were you thinking of doing? Something for the house, I assume, although I suppose you could make something for that little allotment of yours too.’
Eric groaned inwardly. After the earring incident, Yvette had been on her best behaviour, even to the extent of baking vegan lemon drizzle cake to try to appease them. She spent the days running around with the vacuum, washing all their laundry in organic non-biological liquid and soap nuts. Four days of Yvette’s constant helping had seen his patience grow increasingly thin, but her attempts to help with the DIY were the most trying. So far, Eric had managed to deter her, mainly by sending her on endless errands to the shops.
‘Well, I think that’s a marvellous idea. Make do and mend. That’s what I say.’
‘Yes, well, that’s the plan,’ Eric mumbled. ‘Sorry, Yvette, was there something you wanted?’
‘Silly me. I’m in the way again, aren’t I?’
‘Well …’ Eric smiled apologetically.
‘Don’t say another word,’ she said. ‘You won’t hear a peep out of me for the rest of day. I promise.’
Without so much as a goodbye, she trotted off downstairs whistling a Rodgers and Hammerstein melody. Eric waited for half a minute before casting his gaze down the length of the staircase. It really was a mess. He had hoped he could just remove and replace the worst of the balustrades, but now he wasn’t so sure. There seemed to be more wonky parts than straight. Squinting, he cocked his head; it was difficult to get a clear picture of how bad it was from where he was standing. What he needed was to be on the other side.
Without giving himself a chance to rethink the action, he slipped his leg over the banister onto the outside of the staircase, hoping the different angle might throw up a better solution to the problem. His foot wobbled precariously as he tried to balance his weight.
‘Peppermint tea?’ Yvette asked, suddenly materialising at the foot of stairs and causing him to start backwards. ‘It’s organic.’
Eric grabbed the handrail and pulled himself tight in, his heart racing.
‘Yvette!’
‘Is this not a good time?’
‘Clearly not.’
‘Peculiar woman, your mother-in-law,’ Jerry said, watching the front door close. ‘Just offered to show me how to do the Argentine tango.’
‘She’s a dancer,’ Eric said.
‘In the bedroom,’ Jerry replied.
Chapter 9
ERIC WAS WOKEN by the smell of coffee wafting temptingly beneath his nostrils. There was an intense fuzziness to his head that was somewhat disorientating. He rolled over, clicking the joints in his back and his neck. He wasn’t in his bed, he could tell that, but the actual knowledge of where he was, or how he got there was almost entirely missing. His eyes flickered beneath their lids.
‘Freshly made,’ Suzy said. ‘Colombian. Your favourite.’
Her voice hit like a sledgehammer. Eric gasped and jolted upwards. Five seconds later and there was still a reverb echoing around between his temples.
‘Woah …’ Eric covered his ears as he struggled to sit himself up, finding it rather more difficult to maintain his balance than expected.
A few seconds later, he opened his eyes.
‘Why’s it so bright?’
He grabbed for a pillow, but underestimating the distance between his hand and the cushion, he fell back onto the sofa with a thud.
‘It’s not bright,’ Suzy said. She pushed him back up into a seated position, pulled his shirt back down over his middle, and placed the mug of coffee in his hand. ‘That’s what happens when you drink for six hours straight.’
‘My head hurts,’ he said.
‘That’s not a surprise.’
Eric blinked and attempted to move his eyelids again. The pain of a thousand needles puncturing his skull and impaling whatever grey matter lay beyond shot through to the back of his head.
‘Oh my God. How much did you let me drink?’
‘Let you? Since when did I let you do anything?’
‘Urgh, this cannot be real.’
The room was spinning. Suzy’s choice of baby-blue coloured walls that had once seemed bearable now caused waves of seasickness. The aroma of the coffee, undoubtedly freshly ground and Colombian, went instantaneously from mouth-wateringly appealing to gut-wrenchingly nauseating.
‘I’ll just leave this here for you, shall I?’ Suzy said, then moved the coffee table a good ten inches closer to Eric before she took the coffee cup back from his grip and placed it down on the table top.
After twenty-minutes of lying perfectly still, Eric found that if he focused his attention on one single point, he could slow the room’s motion enough to move his coffee mug, but any accidental sideways glances and he was back to where he started. As such, he decided that the gap from the table to his mouth – although substantially reduced due to Suzy’s kind heartedness – was still too far to risk. He lowered himself off the sofa and onto his knees. In a carefully considered movement, he lifted the mug up to his mouth for a sip. The drink was stone cold, but the response was instant. As well as a double shot, the coffee had been spiked with several spoons of sugar and a good-sized glug of rum. She was a good woman, his wife, Eric decided.
He was half a mug in before he found the spinning had lessened to a more controllable level.
‘Drink this too,’ Suzy said, returning to his side with a glass of water. ‘And take these,’ she added, passing him two small painkillers.
While Eric tried to decide whether the swirly pattern on the ceiling was an optical illusion or just another result of his ridiculous lack of balance, Suzy perched on the end of the sofa.
‘I’m worried about Mum,’ she said.
‘You’re always worried about your mum,’ he slurred.
‘I know, but this is different. And I can’t get through to Dad either.’
‘I thought Lydia was dealing with him.’
‘She’s tried. He just says he’s really busy and gets off the line as soon as possible.’
‘Perhaps he is really busy.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Look,’ Eric said, sensing his wife’s need for support and recalling their conversation at the tapas restaurant only days earlier.
He pushed himself a little higher in the seat and immediately rued the decision. The speed of his action resulted in a spiral head rush. Images of dancing with Jerry to ‘Radio Ga Ga’ surfaced from some recess of his mind. Closing his eyes, Eric took several deep breaths before deciding he was stable enough to move again. He took one more substantial breath, opened his eyes, and tried to muster his most sensible husbanding voice.
‘Your parents are adults,’ he said, attempting to fixate on only one of Suzy’s several sets of moving eyes. ‘If something was up, they would have said. Perhaps they just need a little break from one another? They live on a boat together. They probably need a little space now and again.’
‘They live on a six-hundred-foot cruise liner. It’s hardly like they live on a barge.’
‘Still, it probably gets claustrophobic now and then. Where is your mum, by the way? Please don’t make me eat that granola again. I can’t do it. Not today.’
‘She’s taken Abi sale shopping.’
‘You mean we have an empty house?’
‘We do,’ said Suzy with a smile.
Eric and Suzy took immediate advantage of the empty house. After a very brief discussion on the merits of indulging in a little X-rated adult-only time, Eric instead went back upstairs to sleep off some more of the alcohol in his system while Suzy tucked herself away in the office and carried on writing. It seemed like a much more productive use of time, considering Suzy’s impending deadlines and Eric’s horrific hangover.
By midday Eric found that he could open his eyes without thinking he was going to vomit. He showered, cleaned his teeth with a double swill of a mint mouthwash – which he regretted instantly given the menthol schnapps tang still clinging to his tongue – and took another two paracetamol before heading back downstairs.
‘What did you have planned for today?’ Suzy said. ‘I thought if you had time, we could pick out colours for the bedroom.’
‘As long as I don’t have to think.’
‘You very rarely do,’ Suzy answered.
It was slow work, narrowing down the hundreds of sample colours to one final choice. It was particularly hard work given that Eric was having extreme difficulty understanding exactly why thirty-six different shades of white were necessary, and if there was actually any difference between light white, pristine white, and perfect, bright white. But it was time spent with Suzy, and in the recent months that had been hard to come by.
The pair were sitting at the kitchen table, with Suzy deliberating between a buttercup and primrose yellow for the kitchen and Eric picking at various scratches, gouges, and encrustations that covered the ancient table top, when the slam of the front door echoed through the house. The single noise was followed by the rustling of paper and much excited shouting.
‘Mum? Daddy?’
‘In here,’ they called in unison.
Eric took a large gulp of his coffee and debated whether it was too early to risk yet another two paracetamol. Given that the previous two had been swallowed only minutes before, he decided it was probably not a good idea.
Abi emerged through the doorway submerged in a sea of paper and plastic. Her hair was draped around her shoulders and a new, purple handbag dangled from her arm. Her striped bobble hat had been replaced by a canary yellow beret, which perched on her head at a jaunty angle. Around her wrists jangled three inches worth of metal bangles.
‘Granny and I went shopping,’ she said.
‘I can see,’ said Suzy.
‘We bought stuff. A lot of stuff.’
‘I can see that too.’
There must have been forty bags of every colour, shape, size, and texture ever manufactured. Yvette followed Abi into the kitchen, equally cloaked in bags, and complete with a matching canary yellow beret.
‘Well, what is a grandma for?’ she said.
‘Look at these,’ Abi said as she pulled out her fifth pair of shoes in a row and piled them onto the mountain of clothes already built up on the kitchen table. ‘They’re tap shoes. Granny’s going to teach me tap dancing, aren’t you, Granny?’
‘I am.’
‘As well as ballet, jazz, and ballroom?’ Eric said.
‘Children need a well-rounded education, Eric. And there’s nowhere around here she can learn.’
‘And wait until you see this dress, Daddy, it’s amazing.’
Abi bent down to rummage in the shopping bags around her feet.
‘Which one is it in, Granny?’
‘Is it over there?’
As Abi leant to the side, reaching for a yellow, polka-dot bag, something glinted in the light.
‘What’s that?’ Eric said.
Abi bolted upright.
‘Nothing. What? There’s nothing.’
She flattened her hair down against the side of her cheek. Another glint snuck its way out from underneath. Eric jumped up from his seat.
‘There,’ he said. ‘What is that?’
‘Dad!’
‘What the hell have you done to yourself?’
‘Dad, get off!’
‘You get here right now, young lady.’
‘Eric!’
Abi squirmed and wriggled as Eric tried to get a hold on her. A two-minute wrangle later and he had his daughter bent over his knee, her hair tucked behind her ear, the tiny gold studs sparkling in her ear lobes.
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ Eric said.
Abi slipped out of his grip and ran over to her grandma.
‘Eric, please,’ Yvette said.
Eric’s eyes flashed.
‘You? You are behind this. You mutilated my daughter.’
‘It’s not a big deal, Dad. All the girls at school have it done.’
‘If all the girls at school got a tattoo of a leprechaun on their faces, would you do that too?’
‘What’s a leprechaun?’
Eric couldn’t answer. The blood pounded in his veins. Every muscle quivered. He took a step towards his mother-in-law.
‘Eric, leave this to me.’
The coldness in the voice stopped Eric in his tracks. Suzy was standing behind him. Her hands were relaxed, hanging loosely at her side, and her lips were held in a soft, upward curl that, if you didn’t know her, may lead you to believe she was perfectly at ease with the current situation. However, Eric did know his wife, and the cold look that simmered deep behind her pupils caused an icy chill to run all the way down his spine; a sensation he saw reciprocated in both the youngest and oldest member of the family.
‘Abigail,’ Suzy said with a voice so calm it prickled the skin on Eric’s neck. ‘Go upstairs to your bedroom please. Daddy and I need to have a word with your grandmother.’
Abi turned to go.
‘But don’t think you’re off the hook either, young lady. I will deal with you later.’
Abi offered her grandmother a last apologetic look before darting off up the stairs.
‘Shall we sit down?’ Suzy said, her voice still dangerously quiet.
Yvette stiffened and sucked in her cheeks.
‘I tend to find my back gets a little—’
‘Sit,’ Suzy said.
Eric shot down into a chair.
Despite causing the initial uproar, Eric felt it was best to sit back and let Suzy administer the reprimand. He did, however, offer his support through strategically placed coughs and unwavering glowers at Yvette.
Two minutes into Suzy’s carefully procured silence and Yvette’s lips began to twitch. As did her feet, then her fingers.
‘What’s wrong with a grandmother spoiling her granddaughter?’ she said, finally obliterating the silence. ‘Is it that wrong that I want her to be happy?’
Suzy pursed her lips a little but emitted no sound. Yvette’s blinking grew more rapid. Eric could see the sweat beading along her brow line.
‘So, I might have gone a little overboard. I got carried away. You can hardly punish me for that? I hardly see her. And you move her to this backward little town where they don’t even have dance lessons. I mean what kind of parent—’
‘Our parenting is not what’s being questioned here. You knowingly went against our wishes,’ said Suzy. ‘You knew she was not allowed to get her ears pierced. You deliberately undermined Eric and me.’
‘I wouldn’t say—’
‘You turn up out of the blue and knowingly disrespect our wishes.’
‘All the girls—’
‘Mother!’ Suzy slammed the palm of her hand against the table, causing several pairs of diamante-studded tights to fall to the ground.
Suzy took a deep breath in through her nose. Eric followed suit.
‘Here’s what is going to happen. Tomorrow, you and Abi are going back to Chelmsford, and you’re going to return every single item you bought—’
‘Susan—’
‘This is not up for debate. You will return every item on this table. And if it can’t be returned, you will give it away. Red Cross, Salvation Army, I do not care. You will make Abi explain to every single shopkeeper that the reason she is returning them is because she deliberately disobeyed her parents. You will record every single exchange and send me the video as it happens. If you do not—’
‘You can’t seriously—’
‘If you do not,’ Suzy continued. ‘I will ring up the Barbican Centre and tell them exactly who was responsible for the vandalism of the ladies’ toilet in 2004.’
Yvette’s jaw dropped.
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Wouldn’t I? I have the photos, remember? And from what I recall, they’re not taken from your most flattering angle.’
Yvette swallowed.
Later than night, Eric sat on the bed, the handful of Polaroid photos having nearly burnt a hole through his cornea.
‘Apparently it was a protest against modern art,’ Suzy said.
‘She doesn’t look like she’s protesting,’ Eric said. ‘Why did you show me these exactly?’
‘I’ve had to bear the burden too long, it’s only fair you should have some of it too,’ she said.
Somewhere in one of the walls a pipe growled.
‘Oh, that reminds me,’ Eric said. ‘The plumber called. He can’t make it until next week.’
Suzy let out a groan, which transformed part way through into a yawn.
‘What’s another couple of days?’ she said.
Chapter 10
ON THE TUESDAY, Abi went back to school. While it gave Eric more space to deal with things like mould-riddled floorboards and paint stripper, Suzy was having to spend the week up in London; an April deadline appearing infinitely closer in January than it had only days before in December. This meant that Eric had an even more undiluted Yvette to deal with. By Friday, he had reached his limit.
Every corner he turned she was there, offering to help, be it stripping the hallway carpet or offering to whip him up a nut roast.
‘I can run that to the tip, if you like?’ she said as Eric worked on the staircase.
Starting at the top, he yanked the first part of the banister away from the railing. It wasn’t just a case of aesthetics when it came to the staircase. Since the moment they’d moved in, Eric had been paranoid that the banister was going to collapse, and Abi would end up in A&E as a result.
‘Won’t take me a jiffy,’ Yvette continued. ‘And you might as well make the most of this insurance you’re paying for.’
‘It’s fine,’ Eric panted as he moved upwards before throwing another piece down with a clatter. ‘I’m going to be repurposing the wood.’
Eric busied himself with the next balustrade.
‘I saw some lovely bar stools made from old belts,’ Yvette continued. ‘And picture frames made from toilet seats. You can do some wonders with just a little imagination and lacquer. What were you thinking of doing? Something for the house, I assume, although I suppose you could make something for that little allotment of yours too.’
Eric groaned inwardly. After the earring incident, Yvette had been on her best behaviour, even to the extent of baking vegan lemon drizzle cake to try to appease them. She spent the days running around with the vacuum, washing all their laundry in organic non-biological liquid and soap nuts. Four days of Yvette’s constant helping had seen his patience grow increasingly thin, but her attempts to help with the DIY were the most trying. So far, Eric had managed to deter her, mainly by sending her on endless errands to the shops.
‘Well, I think that’s a marvellous idea. Make do and mend. That’s what I say.’
‘Yes, well, that’s the plan,’ Eric mumbled. ‘Sorry, Yvette, was there something you wanted?’
‘Silly me. I’m in the way again, aren’t I?’
‘Well …’ Eric smiled apologetically.
‘Don’t say another word,’ she said. ‘You won’t hear a peep out of me for the rest of day. I promise.’
Without so much as a goodbye, she trotted off downstairs whistling a Rodgers and Hammerstein melody. Eric waited for half a minute before casting his gaze down the length of the staircase. It really was a mess. He had hoped he could just remove and replace the worst of the balustrades, but now he wasn’t so sure. There seemed to be more wonky parts than straight. Squinting, he cocked his head; it was difficult to get a clear picture of how bad it was from where he was standing. What he needed was to be on the other side.
Without giving himself a chance to rethink the action, he slipped his leg over the banister onto the outside of the staircase, hoping the different angle might throw up a better solution to the problem. His foot wobbled precariously as he tried to balance his weight.
‘Peppermint tea?’ Yvette asked, suddenly materialising at the foot of stairs and causing him to start backwards. ‘It’s organic.’
Eric grabbed the handrail and pulled himself tight in, his heart racing.
‘Yvette!’
‘Is this not a good time?’
‘Clearly not.’
