Cow.
Small, blonde and bubbly cow, now back to working for Drew, Drune and Tibbs as a secretary Shes a bit tarty. In my head I call her the secretarty and if Im not careful, one of these days itll slip right out.
Mind you, one of the things we originally had in common, James and I, was that wed both been thrown over by someone else.
We seemed to have a lot in common only lately we seem to have more not in common, if you see what I mean.
How did I get home from the gallery? Ive no recollection of it, so I must have been running on automatic pilot, fired by a need to dive into my dark basement like a scared rabbit into its burrow, and be quiet for a while.
Quiet, that is, except for the muffled thumps and howls as Bess alternately throws herself at the kitchen door and vociferates her desire to be with me, and the deafening silence from Toby the parrot, building himself up for the wild eldritch shrieks my eventual appearance will generate.
I can deal with Toby. He can and often does manage to open his cage door and escape, but let me see him fight his way out of two layers of candlewick bedspread, thats all I can say.
As for Bess, her idea of silent sympathy is to stuff her wet, germy black nose into my hand, which breaks up the train of thought, since I then have to go and wash the said hand. A dogs nose is so unsanitary: if they havent got it stuck up another dogs rear theyve got it stuck up their own.
Its odd how the mundane weaves its way in among your thoughts when youve had a shock, isnt it?
Thoughts of Bess, and not having defrosted anything for dinner, and what time James would arrive back from seeing his client in Worcester, and whether the spirit would move the extremely evangelical born-again Christian girl on the third floor to try once more to convert me tonight, all performed a sort of mournful morris dance through my mind, bells muffled.
I could always get Bess to drool the girl to death. Death by Drooling would probably make a saint of her. In stained-glass windows she could be depicted dripping, with the sort of wholesome, earnest, sincere expression that makes you want to take pot shots with an air gun
After a while I became aware of the flashing light on the answerphone, reached over and pressed the playback button.
Hi, James, this is Vanessa. You forgot your Filofax. Ill just drop it in tomorrow morning in case you need it over the weekend. Its no bother Im practically round the corner now. Around ten? Byeee!
Find your own husband, you cow! I told the answerphone, and it bleeped thoughtfully.
Merry and Little! boasted a gratingly cheery voice.
Wrong, buster: big and miserable.
But the next words made me sit up.
This is Merry and Little estate agents, regarding your offer for 2 Dower Houses, Nutthill. Im pleased to say your offer has been accepted. Could you call us back at your earliest convenience?
The cottage?
My cottage?
Part of my brain began to function cohesively. The vendor had accepted the offer wed made for the cottage an offer James insisted we made ludicrously low, in the hope, Im sure, of having it rejected out of hand.
And I had let him, spineless wet object that I am!
It seems to me that rather than going all out for things I want, Ive just been passively letting things happen to me. Except for the novels, of course. Im determined enough there, though I always imagined myself as a writer living in the country, and now the realisation of that ambition is within my grasp.
A rosy vision of Eden beckons enticingly: James, his interest in gardening rekindled, growing vegetables; myself inside, writing busily by the light of a log fire, and a sleeping baby in an antique wooden cradle at my feet. A clock ticking, distant sounds of cows going to be milked, birdsong
A room of my own, even.
Not just a corner of table to work on in a dark dining room, but a whole room just for me. The little bedroom with the gable window, I think, looking out at the park.
Its time to put the past behind me and go forward, with James, towards the future we wanted.
Only it seems to have taken a hell of a long time to get here.
Lost as I was in this healing Elysian dream the sudden clicking on of the light was a painfully dazzling intrusion.
James stood in the doorway, looking almost as startled as I felt.
Tish? Why are you sitting in the dark? And why is Bess howling in the kitchen?
As usual he let his coat and briefcase drop where he stood for the little fairies to come and pick up. They do, too: I must be mad.
Oh hello, James. I was just thinking. I attempted to contort my features into some semblance of a pleased smile, since it wasnt his fault that he suddenly looked sober and unexciting. Ive had intoxicating and exciting. Been there, seen it, done it, bought the self-igniting T-shirt.
Do you need darkness for thinking? he asked, puzzled,
You certainly dont need light all these magnolia walls may suit you, but they make the inside of my head twice as worth looking at as anything in the room other than my patchwork.
Blink! went his sandy lashes, in that I register what she just said but it didnt make sense way of his.
Has Bess been out? What have you been doing?
Bess hasnt been out yet. Isnt she supposed to be your dog? You take her out, its cold out there.
But I havent got time Im meeting Gerry and Dave in an hour.
Oh, you arent going out tonight, James! Youve only just got back.
Its Friday, he protested, as though it were some immutable law.
It is an immutable law: Friday night out with the boys. Not for very much longer, though! And not for much longer will I have to suffer visitations from Jamess friend Horrible Howard, who infested the flat for a couple of hours the other day. (Hes not really one of the boys, more one on his own.)
The offer we made for the cottage at Nutthill has been accepted, there was a message on the answerphone.
He looked aghast. But
Isnt it wonderful, darling? Exactly what we want, and at such a low price. You are clever! (Only the best butter.)
Well, I
It means well have money to spare for decorating, and sanding the floors and things like that. Ill phone first thing tomorrow and give the go-ahead.
Yes but, Tish, look, lets think before we act hastily.
Ive thought. Were buying it.
He was still making stupid objections when he went out, so I spiked his guns by immediately phoning the Rosens, a young couple with whom weve conducted an on-off affair re selling our flat for the last year or so. They still hadnt found anything they could afford that they liked better, and were delighted to hear that Thunderbirds were Go.
Sweetness is so excited! cooed Charlie. (I kid you not they have to be the most nauseating couple ever.) Shed set her little heart on your flat, the poor darling.
There was a murmur of assent from Sweetness. Id met them a couple of times (too many) and Sweetness had informed me she was a model, though since she was a five-foot anorexic I can only assume she modelled childrens clothes.
Sweetness is so excited! cooed Charlie. (I kid you not they have to be the most nauseating couple ever.) Shed set her little heart on your flat, the poor darling.
There was a murmur of assent from Sweetness. Id met them a couple of times (too many) and Sweetness had informed me she was a model, though since she was a five-foot anorexic I can only assume she modelled childrens clothes.
Shes absolutely delighted, confided Charlie.
Girlish cries of glee could indeed be heard in the background.
Your flat is such a blank canvas for her she has so many wonderful ideas of what to do with it. Were both over the moon.
Excuse me, I thought, but this blank canvas just happens to be my home! However, it did look very bland and boring except for my patchwork throws, the baskets of dried autumn leaves, and the giant lime-green papier mâché bowl from Ikea.
James may insist on magnolia paintwork, but I just refuse to have a magnolia life from now on. Ive been drifting along, thinking Im going somewhere, and Ive finally found where I want to go and when: now.
I must write that book plot down before I forget it: Ley Lines to Love
Fergal: December 1998
Fergal Rocco, pictured with his Frog-eyed Sprite sports car. Although it is his favourite, he also has two Mini Coopers and a Morris Traveller among his rather eccentric collection. He is currently looking for a country house with more room to store them
Drive! magazine
Mr Rooney was a medium-sized nondescript sort of man, with surprisingly sharp blue eyes behind thick glasses, all important assets to a private eye, I expect. Hed come well recommended, at all events.
What did you find out? I asked, as he seated himself and began thumbing through his notebook to the right place, a process that involved a damp finger and more time than I could spare.
Well, Mr Rocco, he said finally, I did a small check on the lady in question as you requested. Shes married to a solicitor called James Drew younger member of Drew, Drune and Tibbs lives in a basement flat. No children. She has a part-time position in a university library.
A librarian? I repeated. Tish?
And she writes.
Thats more like it. Poetry, I suppose, I said, an errant memory flitting through my mind of long afternoons spent in my flat me painting, Tish wrestling with a poem, or lying on the rug with her A level books spread around her.
So I was surprised when he said, Not poetry, Mr Rocco. She writes romantic novels as Marian Plentifold.
Romantic novels?
She seems to be doing quite well with them, too.
Inspired by her husband, no doubt, I said, and something in my voice made him cast a doubtful glance my way.
Mr Drew seems to be a respected member of the firm, which was founded by his grandfather. Hes older than Mrs Drew by about ten years. His father lives in South Africa with his second wife and family.
So happily married then?
Mr Rooney emitted a small dry cough. General opinion among the office staff obtained from one of the secretaries, a Miss Sandra Walker is that there was some disappointment when he married. Hopes had been cherished, especially by one of the secretaries, whod been having an on/off affair with him for some considerable time. According to Sandra, Mr Lionel Drew, the senior partner, didnt think she was the right material for a solicitors wife. She married someone else, but shes now divorced and has recently rejoined the firm. Apparently shes been making a play for Mr Drew again, but apart from the occasion of the office Christmas party he hasnt responded.
So what did he get up to at the office party?
Having drunk a little too much, he retired with Mrs Vanessa Grey into the small photocopier room.
I see.
There are thirty-four blurred photocopies in existence. He passed me a folded sheet. I expect in the heat of the moment, as it were, the button
Yes. Well, it was a minor peccadillo, I suppose, compared with what Ive got up to in the past. But then, Im not a married man.
He seems to be able to keep his trousers on generally otherwise, then?
There was no hint of anything else, Mr Rooney said primly, and hes been trying to distance himself from Mrs Grey ever since very hangdog and worried his wife will hear.
I suppose every dog is allowed one bite. Or one photocopy.
That was the extent of my brief, sir, but if youd like me to proceed further?
No. No, thats fine, thanks, I assured him.
Who was that? enquired Carlo a few minutes later, passing him in the doorway.
A private eye. I set him on to find out what became of Tish.
Carlo has big, liquid dark eyes, and can look indescribably sad-spaniel sometimes. It goes over well with the girls. He looked like that now.
Tish? After all this time you still care about her?
No, its just my curiosity was stirred by seeing her at the gallery as I suppose hers was in coming to see the show. I just felt Id like to know how she was, what she was doing.
Yeah, and Im Titania, Queen of the Faeries, Carlo said sceptically.
I grinned. Well, thats what I thought I wanted, only it seems deep down I wanted to find her miserable, separated, divorced you know? In need of rescue, anyway. So what does that make me? A complete bastard?
Human. Do I take it shes happily married and living in suburbia with two point five children?
All except the children. And shes turned into a romantic novelist.
Really? So, what now? Drop back into her life like a particularly dangerous spider and invite her to jump into your web?
No, of course not. Im going to keep well clear. And I dont think much of your metaphor, though I might just use it. Ive got this idea for a song
I wonder if she ever feels the drain of you sucking your inspiration from her over so many years? Did the detective comment on whether she looked like the dried-out husk of a woman?
Ha, ha! I laughed hollowly. Now Im some sort of vampire.
Dont you find Nerissa something to write about? he asked curiously.
Shes a distraction, admittedly, and shes got more sticking power than I expected. But Pops threatening to cut her allowance off if he sees one more tabloid photo of his daughter with her hands all over me.
Shell be moving in with you before you know what hit you.
No she wont. You know, I struck a Garbo-esque pose, I often vant to be alooone.
Yes, and you also often say you want to settle down and raise a family. Speaking of which, you havent forgotten its my engagement party tonight?
Of course I havent forgotten. But I just want to rough out this song while its running through my head.
Carlo regarded me sombrely. OK, as long as youre not going to stay here brooding. Its pointless. You can never go back.
Of course not. That was another country, and besides, the wench is dead? I quoted lightly. Something like that.
Dead to me, anyway.