The Age of Misadventure

Adie was different, cunning: he saw Bonnie as a trusting, good-natured clip-on status symbol. I disliked him the first time I saw him and my views never changed. She was shy with him, but I could tell she was smitten, her heart lost in a moment. And Adie was cardboard-stiff in his best suit, like he’d just stepped down from the witness box, straight-faced and slimy, taking a slice of cake and murmuring, ‘You make the best gateau in Liverpool, Mrs Turner.’ Bonnie had giggled into her hand and turned shining eyes on him, as if he were a saint.

I was going out with a drummer called Magic who played in The Shipperies every Sunday night, wore eyeliner and looked like a Greek god. I had no time for my sister’s creepy suitor. As she poured tea, my mother said, ‘And what do you do, Adrian?’ His smile was just teeth and no expression in the eyes. ‘I buy old property, do it up and sell it on, make money.’ Bonnie was all breath and excitement. My mum managed to make it to their wedding, but she wasn’t well. She died a few years after that. She’d have hated to see Bonnie now.

I was a godparent at Demi’s christening seven years after they were married. Jade was two years old, wriggling and bawling in Terry’s arms all the way through the starched service. Bonnie hovered by the altar in a pink fitted suit and heels, nervous with little Demi Adrienne in her arms, the tiny baby swathed in metres of shining silk looking like the Christ child, while Adie shook the vicar’s hand and whispered, ‘Thanks for letting me have the Saturday afternoon slot at such short notice. I’ll give you a cheque for the Orphans of Somalia. Will a grand be enough?’ I saw Terry’s face. He didn’t like Adie either: he found him too competitive, too flash, whereas Terry was laid-back, good-natured, kind.

Then years later, Bonnie became thinner because Adie said he preferred women to be fashionably slim and she started to wear dresses that came to her knees because he said he liked his women tastefully glamorous. He paid for Dad’s funeral eight years ago and Terry hung back in the corner staring at guests he’d never seen before, his hands in his pockets, while Adie told everyone he’d given his beloved father-in-law the sending-off he deserved.

I sat with Nanny Basham in a corner while she’d cradled a bottle of brandy and sobbed, telling me about Dad and Mum and Wilf, the good times I’d heard about a hundred times before. Terry grumbled afterwards that he’d never had respect for Adie. That was something we agreed on. Adie Carrick was only out for himself. Bonnie was just a trophy, his in-laws just an opportunity to show how magnanimous he was.

Demi went to a private school, where she was demure in a grey blazer and tartan skirt. Jade was popular at the local comprehensive; it was a good school and she was sporty and bright, but Adie insisted on making comparisons. ‘You get what you pay for in this life.’

I always replied, ‘I’m not having my child at school with kids whose parents are politicians and gangsters.’

I’ll never forget how he looked at me. Eyes like bullets. Then Terry moved out. We’d been arguing a lot. I’d been doing the arguing; Terry retreated into himself: he met Rabbity Alison and the rest is history. I became Georgie Turner again, not Georgie Wood. After Terry left me, Adie squeezed my arm one day when I was making coffee in Bonnie’s kitchen, his lips against my ear. ‘If you need any money, Georgie, just say. We’re family, and family sticks.’ But I walked away, stared through the window at the patio and the swimming pool complex, and promised myself I’d manage just fine without his charity.

Meanwhile, Bonnie stayed in the background smiling sadly; years passed and she became quieter, more timid. Then she found lipstick on his collar, not her shade, and suggestive messages on his phone. A year later, there was a lacy G-string in his car. He claimed he knew nothing about it, then he suddenly remembered he’d lent the car to a friend the night before. I’d have left Adie for that, but Bonnie swore it was a one-time incident, she’d been neglecting him, it’d never happen again: he loved her.

Of course, Adie simpered, playing the part of the trustworthy brother-in-law; he told me that now I was by myself, now my man had left me, he’d keep an eye out for me, or lend me money. As he turned away, I pointed down my throat with two fingers and thought I’d rather roll naked in the gutter. I’m not afraid of Adie Carrick. I’ve never liked him or the way he treats my good-natured sister. I have suspicions about the property he buys and sells, and the money he makes, which seems to slide through his fingers like poker chips.

I put the mug down and reach for my phone. A text has come in: it’s from Bonnie. I read it, hoping for the best but expecting the worst. Of course, I’m right. Adie and I have decided to give it another go. We’re off to a spa hotel for a week. See you soon. I throw the phone on the table and put my head in my arms. I picture them both, driving from Frodsham in his Boxster to an expensive hotel in Cheshire. She’ll have a facial there, paying ten times as much as I charge downstairs for a better aromatherapy one; he’ll have a full body massage from some young girl in a white overall with make-up as thick as a death mask, who giggles at his anecdotes about how hard he works for his money and how he dines on yachts with film stars.

I imagine Bonnie and Adie at a linen-covered table that evening, fresh from their treatments, him devouring bleeding steak, while she pushes salad leaves around a plate and frets about the four-poster room they’ll slink off to after he’s guzzled another bottle of Beaujolais. Suddenly I feel tired. Tired and glad I’m single. Tired, glad I’m single and yet not altogether sure. I rub my eyes and a feeling of misery lands on my shoulders and sinks into my muscles like cement. I shake off the loneliness, smear a lipstick smile on my face and set to making some supper for Jade and myself. At least we’ll have a pleasant evening together.

By ten thirty, the pan of chowder is cold, a translucent skin settled on the surface. The banana cake I’ve made is untouched and I’m sitting in front of the television, my glass empty after two gin and tonics. A key rattles in the front door and I jerk myself bolt upright.

Seconds later, I beam at Jade, who’s surveying me with arms folded and a frown on her face. She looks cold in the short dress and skimpy jacket she wore to the wedding. Her dark burgundy hair is well cut and hangs perfectly, glossy as glass, framing her face, and her eyes are round, dark velvet and soft as a doe’s. I grin, make my voice bright.

‘I made some lovely chowder. Sit down, love. I’ll bring you some.’

I recognise the glare. She’s about to tell me not to bother but she’s starving – she probably hasn’t eaten all day – so she flops down from full height onto the sofa, ignores me and stares at the television. I know this is the sign for me to bring her food, to wait for the right moment to ask how she is. Or, as usual, I won’t wait, I’ll ask the wrong questions, she’ll bite off my head and then there’ll be an argument.

She sits with the tray on her knee, spooning a stream of soup without shifting her gaze from the screen. She’s pretending to be glued to the new serial about a cop whose wife has been abducted, determined to ignore me, concentrating on waving the spoon towards her face. She clanks the cutlery against the bowl and starts on the banana cake, her movements automatic, her eyes hypnotised, staring at the television. She finishes eating and I wait for a few seconds.

‘Cup of tea?’

She waits a few more seconds.

‘Whatever. If you’re having one.’

I use the interlude as the kettle boils in the kitchen to decide what to say, how to be subtle and frame my questions. Then I march into the lounge, put the cup between her hands and blurt out, ‘So, where the hell have you been since yesterday afternoon?’

I expect her to ignore me or shout at me. Or ignore me then start shouting. I glance at her and I have to focus my eyes to believe what I’m seeing from my usually tough daughter. A tear is rolling down her face. She sniffs and wipes it away with the back of her hand. Another tear tumbles and her voice is tiny.

‘I wouldn’t expect you to know what I feel …’

I rush over to her. ‘Jade …’

She holds out a hand to push me away. ‘Don’t start, Mum.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ve been with friends since this afternoon. I had to talk to someone who’d understand …’

‘Are you in trouble, Jade?’

‘No, no, it’s all right …’

I’m next to her, sitting on the chair arm, trying to hug her. She’s twisting away, furious, her hand over her face, making all the signs that she doesn’t want me to ask her anything. So, naturally, I persist.

‘Jade, what’s happened? Where have you been all night? Has something bad happened? Has someone hurt you? If they have, I swear I’ll—’

She gulps. ‘I’m all right, Mum.’

I put my hands on my hips, stand upright. ‘I can see you’re not. You’re upset. I’m not having this. Come on – out with it. Has someone …?’

She stares up and the anger in her eyes dissolves. Her lip trembles and I squat down, take her hands.

‘Jade …?’

She shakes her head. ‘You wouldn’t understand, Mum.’

‘Why not?’

‘You just wouldn’t. You’re not the type. You wouldn’t get it.’

‘Try me.’ I squeeze her hands in mine. With effort, I make my voice soft. ‘What is it, sweetheart? You can tell me anything.’

Her eyes meet mine and I notice tears, huge spheres swelling and tipping over. Then she swallows, takes a breath.

‘I’ve met someone.’

‘And?’ I lean forwards.

‘And nothing.’ Her breath shudders. ‘I just met someone. I know that he’s the right one for me. I’m sure.’

A motor seems to rev and roar in the vicinity of my heart, a loud, fierce engine, and my mind accelerates with it. So does my mouth. My hands grab her shoulders.

‘Oh. I see. You’ve met a man. And I suppose he’s married, is that it? He loves you but he won’t leave his little wifey? Is that how it goes? Some two-timing, sneaky—’

‘Mum.’ She wriggles away from me. ‘I knew you wouldn’t understand.’

I feel my face become hot and I take a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Jade. I didn’t mean to go off the deep end. I just worry.’

‘I’m twenty-four.’

I take a moment, smile, beam, try to make my face resemble an Oscar winner in the middle of paparazzi. ‘I’m so glad you met someone, love. So, tell me all about him.’ She frowns; her eyebrows cross suspiciously, so I grin even more. ‘I’m all ears.’

She waits for ten seconds, another ten, then her voice is quiet. ‘I met him at a private party. We spent yesterday evening and the whole of last night together.’

I’m about to jump in with a comment about it all being a bit sudden and then hit her with the follow-up remark about contraception and STIs, but I clamp my lips together and wait. She snuffles.

‘We were together briefly this morning. He stayed on to be with me. We talked and talked. He’s amazing, Mum. Kind and sweet and really nice. And we both said it together. It’s been instantaneous for us both and we both know it’s right.’ She checks my expression and I make sure I’m not doing my cynical face. I’m doing my happy-adoring-approving-Mum face. She whispers, ‘We love each other.’

My cheeks ache with grinning and I need to relax them by speaking, so I say, ‘That’s wonderful, Jade.’ I pause, hoping she notices my full, unswerving support, then I try again. ‘So, why so sad?’

The tears tumble again and she’s sobbing too hard to find breath to talk. I hug her and she leans on my shoulder. My neck has become damp and she whispers, ‘It’s awful, Mum. He’s gone back home. I won’t be able to see him often. He’s away a lot of the time. It’s his job.’

I try not to say that absence is a positive, to tell her the cliché that it makes the heart grow fonder. I don’t know what to say, so I settle for, ‘Is he in the army, then?’

She shakes her head. ‘No, Mum. It’s worse than that.’

My mind is filling with all sorts of frightening scenarios. She’s fallen in love with a gangster. Drug dealer. Long-distance lorry driver. Illegal immigrant. Travelling salesman. Undercover investigator. Tramp.

I opt for something positive and safe and ask, ‘Is he an airline pilot?’ and wait until her sobs subside.

Then she whispers, ‘No, Mum. He lives in Brighton, works in London. He travels all over the country, all the time. He trains every day, all hours, all week, plays games all over the world. I’ll hardly ever see him. His job is his life … He’s a professional footballer.’

Chapter Three

Business is frantic for the whole week in the salon. Although Jade has several clients in the gym each day, she spends most of her time ringing and texting her new boyfriend. I even hear her speaking Spanish to him, although I’m sure that’s for my benefit, as I know her Spanish isn’t fluent, given her compulsively bad behaviour in modern languages when she was at school. My friend Amanda, who trained as a beauty therapist with me years ago, is my full-time assistant in the salon. She and I are working through a fully booked schedule, doing manicures, pedicures, massages, tanning, waxing. It’s non-stop.

By Friday, we’ve hardly had time for a natter, so I suggest we have lunch upstairs together, especially since Jade is down below in the gym doing one-to-one isometrics with an amateur racing cyclist who’s just turned forty and wants to improve his chances of winning races. Amanda and I go up to the kitchen and I make us a salad sandwich and a cup of tea. She holds up her hands and examines her chipped nails.

‘I’m owed a manicure on the house, Georgie. Look at the state of these nails. I look like an alley cat.’

I put a coffee down in front of her and smile as she attacks it with relish. She’s been my friend since we were at college together and we share so much history. I watch her hunched over the table, her shoes off, wriggling her pink painted toes, her feet stretched out at the end of bright orange-and-black leggings. Her hair is long, wavy and intensely red; although, as she’s told me several times, the bottle proclaimed it was cherry copper. She has laughing blue eyes and loves to wear colourful clothes. ‘Unless I’m avoiding a fella. In which case it’s the SAS jumpsuit and a balaclava.’ Amanda’s been married twice and she’s now living with a firefighter called Rhys, whom she claims is the love of her life. Where romance is concerned, she’s a self-proclaimed expert.

She waves a hand. ‘The problem is, Georgie – we need more help in the treatment room and Jade’s too loved-up to get her backside in gear. I mean, I’ve worked with you here for what? Five years? How many days have I missed?’

‘Two. Both hangovers.’

‘I know,’ she sighs. ‘But, I’m always here to work, always good old Amanda ready to paint someone’s nails and dye their eyelashes, spray them fifty shades of orange. We’re flat out, you and me. Where’s Jade? When she’s finished with the client downstairs, she’ll be back on the phone again.’

I sigh. ‘She’s in love.’

‘My point entirely.’ Amanda holds up an empty plate. I dump a sandwich on it and she tackles it instantly. ‘Love should make people happy. If she’s in love, why is she so miserable?’

‘He plays football in London.’ I shake my head. ‘She can’t stop thinking about him, bless her.’ I mimic her low voice and pucker my lips. ‘Te extraño cariño.’

‘And what on earth does that mean?’

‘She misses him, I think. I’ve heard her say it a dozen times. It’s so unlike Jade to mope about a man.’

‘I know. And she’s always on the phone to him.’

I sigh. ‘All the time. She’s going to see him later tonight. Perhaps it’ll cheer her up.’

‘Where’s she off to?’

‘Brighton. He lives in a little village by the coast. She’ll be on the three o’clock train. Then she’s going to London to watch him play in a game tomorrow. She’s not back until Monday night. I’ve had to move all of her appointments.’

Amanda shakes her head. ‘Let’s hope he’s good-looking and loaded.’

‘Let’s hope he doesn’t let her down.’ I fold my arms. ‘Or he’ll have me to deal with, Spanish superstar or not.’

‘He’s called Luis, Mum.’

Amanda and I turn round together and our faces flush like two red lollipops. My daughter’s leaning against the doorpost. I wait for hell to break out and mutter, ‘Sorry, Jade – I didn’t—’

But she’s all smiles. ‘You’ll have to meet him. He’s lovely. I know you’ll adore him. His English isn’t so bad and he’s so cute and funny.’

‘As long as you don’t get hurt, Jade.’

‘I’m fine, Mum. I told you. He’s the one.’

Amanda chips in. ‘Your mum’s only saying – it’s all been a bit quick.’

Jade throws her head back, laughs out loud. ‘And this from the woman who’s had how many husbands and affairs?’

Amanda waggles her head. ‘When you’re a mum, you’ll understand.’

‘I thought you didn’t have any kids, Amanda.’ Jade’s as sharp as glass this afternoon.

I make the peace by hugging my daughter. ‘You have a lovely time this weekend.’

‘I’ll do my best. I have to travel from Brighton to London in a special car tomorrow. Luis’s on the team coach. I won’t see much of him all day. But we’ll make up for it tomorrow night.’

I stare at her and think about calling her a brazen hussy but I clamp my lips together and try to remember what it was like to be in love. I certainly don’t remember being so open about my sex life. I say, ‘That’s nice, love.’

Jade’s beaming. ‘Right. I’m going to get ready. I’ll take a taxi to the station. Luis’ll meet me at the other end. We’re going somewhere glamorous over the weekend so I’ll need clothes.’

She whirls away and Amanda rolls her eyes and murmurs, ‘Fair play. You can’t blame her for it. What a dazzling lifestyle.’

I nod. ‘What are you up to this weekend?’

She purses her lips. ‘Rhys and I are invited to an anniversary party in Blackpool tomorrow night, so I’ll need to shop for a new dress.’

I contemplate the weekend that I’ll spend by myself, a visit to Nanny Basham tonight and on Sunday, and I wonder what Bonnie’s up to, if she’s back from the spa hotel and if she’s happy. I push my salad sandwich away untouched and Amanda looks at me eagerly. I slide it onto her plate.

It’s Saturday morning, clean-up-the-house time, and I’m hoovering four floors for all I’m worth. I push the nozzle in all corners, my arms extended as if I’m part of the machine: I am Hoover Woman. I have the radio turned up loud, my hair knotted into a floppy scarf, and I’m wearing a baggy T-shirt, leggings and no shoes, singing at the top of my voice. I climb to the top floor and hoover the three bedrooms, then I clean the hallway and the kitchen on the second floor, as well as the living room overlooking the raised garden.

I work my way down to the salon at ground level, the three little treatment rooms, the tanning booth, the reception area with the soft sofas, the gurgling pebble fountain and the stone Buddha. Finally, I’m in the basement, in Jade’s gym with music playing through speakers. Cobwebs have gathered in the corners and the main area smells of fetid sweat, testosterone and men’s underpants: a stench that I know hasn’t come from Jade. I resolve to spray some sweet pea room fragrance in the air later; although Jade’ll sniff it out when she’s back and tell me it’s highly inappropriate. Most of her one-to-one sessions are either undersized or ridiculously muscly middle-aged men.

I’m hoovering under the gym machinery and I notice a spider or two beneath the benches. They’ve expired and become crusty and dry, many legs in the air, so I bend down, nozzle arched, to commit them to dust. My back is flexible and it’s not hard to reach the corners. I view it as good exercise. My favourite band strikes up the opening chords on the music player. I lift the nozzle as a microphone, wiggle my backside and sing along, bawling at the top of my voice, ‘Walk this way.’

Suddenly I freeze. I don’t know why. Then I turn round and he’s standing there with his arms folded, smiling. Dark hair parted at the side, separated in two thick quiff-shaped tufts, navy jacket, roll-neck sweater, navy trousers. He’s pale, shaven so clean his face reminds me of a cricket ball. He’s staring at me. I jump and almost scream. I’m so glad I don’t.

‘How the hell did you get in?’

He smirks. ‘The front door was open.’

I glare at him. ‘Well? What can I do for you, Adie?’

He looks me up and down and his mouth is half-snarl, half-smile.

‘Bonnie sent me over.’

I can hardly imagine that. I lean against the hoover pipe, nozzle in the air, and stare at him like I’m Joan of Arc with my flexible lance.

‘Did she?’

He smirks. ‘She wants you to come over to lunch. I thought I’d come and pick you up.’ He surveys my headscarf, my bare feet, everything in between. ‘You look as if you need taking out of here to somewhere civilised. A light lunch, a chat, two sisters together.’

I wonder why she didn’t ring or text. Perhaps I missed it. I close my eyes and think for a moment.

‘I can take my own car.’

He shakes his head. ‘Bonnie insisted. Have a glass of wine with her. I’ll do the taxi-ing. Anyway, I’m here now.’ He frowns at the leggings. ‘You’ll need to get changed.’

I want to see Bonnie. I’ll put up with the bloodsucker husband from here to Frodsham. Half an hour’s drive.

I nod. ‘You can wait in the car, then. I’ll be five minutes.’

He sits down on one of the benches, adjusts the back flap of his jacket, makes himself comfortable.

‘I’ll be all right here.’ He sniffs the air around me. ‘Make it ten minutes, Georgie. Have a shower.’

Standing outside the oak front door, Bonnie looks pallid and slender in a filmy dress and heels; her hair is glossy, curled in soft ringlets. She smiles and puts her arms round my neck.

‘Thanks for coming, Georgie. Adie and I had such a great time at the spa. I was so looking forward to chatting to you about it.’

She glances over my shoulder – I can feel the tension in her arms. Adie’s behind us, having parked the car.

He smirks. ‘I have a meeting in my office, Bonnie. I don’t want to be disturbed. You girls have a nice lunch together. I ordered in the Chablis and the smoked salmon specially.’

He saunters away, snake hips, hooded eyes, leaving the pungent smell of expensive aftershave in the air.

Bonnie takes my hand. ‘Come on, Georgie.’

I whisper, ‘I thought you were dumping him?’

She shrugs. ‘I’m not strong like you. And he needs me. He said so.’

I sigh loudly and we walk into the dining room, with high glass windows, a magnificent carved wood table. The view outside is of a vast clipped lawn, birds swirling around a feeder: blue tits, robins. Huge poplar trees frame the windowpane, and the steady dark roof of the swimming pool and leisure centre. I frown at my plate, slivered salmon and rocket. Bonnie fills two crystal glasses with pale wine. We both poke at the fish with silver forks, two mirror images. I break the silence.

‘So, tell me about the spa hotel, Bon.’

‘It was lovely.’

‘What treatments did you get?’

She sighs. ‘A pedicure, a massage. A facial where they put little needles in the skin.’

I nod. ‘Abrasion therapy. I’ve seen the machines they use. I’d love one but they’re expensive.’

She shakes her head. ‘I felt like I’d hugged a hedgehog by the time the therapist had finished with me.’ She lifts her head. ‘Does my skin look better?’

‘Marvellous.’ I wonder if she should’ve had a tan. She’s pale as a gravestone. I gulp some wine and ask the question. ‘So, did Adie behave himself?’

She frowns, a little crease between her eyes. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Bonnie. How many other women have there been? You left him. Why the hell did you go back?’

She stiffens, looks perplexed, as if I’ve made a huge mistake or history has been rewritten. She nibbles a small portion of smoked salmon.