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‘Do you know any single women aged between twenty-five and thirty-five?’ said Michelle.
Connie stared at Michelle over her coffee cup. ‘For you?’
Michelle returned her gaze evenly. ‘Yes, Connie. I’m going to fill in the time until Chad gets back with forays into Sapphic dalliance.’
‘There’s a Japanese bathhouse on Fillmore that has women-only nights,’ said Connie, unperturbed. ‘Apparently, you can find lots of lesbians there.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Michelle. ‘But you didn’t answer my question. Single, young, in this case straight women. Know any? How about in your Pilates class?’
‘Oh, I don’t do Pilates anymore.’ Connie shook her head.
‘Aren’t you risking excommunication from the bitch-wives club for arse-sag?’
Connie smiled. ‘You are so rude.’
‘Watch and learn,’ said Michelle. ‘So why did you ditch Pilates?’
‘Oh!’ Connie blushed. ‘Oh, I can’t say. Really, I can’t.’
Michelle raised an eyebrow. ‘You have to now, I’m too interested! What happened? Did the instructor cop a feel?’
Connie looked bewildered. ‘I have no idea what that means.’
‘Bad touching.’
‘Oh! No.’ Connie’s shoulders were hunched in embarrassment. ‘No, it wasn’t that.’
‘You will tell me,’ said Michelle. ‘There is no escape.’
‘Oh, I can’t,’ Connie almost wailed. ‘It’s — not nice.’
Michelle sat back and slapped her knee. ‘My God, I’ve got it!’ she said. ‘I know exactly what you mean! I did a yoga class once. Same thing!’
‘Please don’t say it,’ Connie whispered.
‘Lady-part farts!’
Connie sank her forehead onto Michelle’s kitchen table.
‘It’s all those upside-down positions,’ Michelle continued relentlessly. ‘Sucks the air right up there. Then you stand up and it gets squeezed right out again.’
She reached across the table and patted the shoulder of a still-prone Connie. ‘You’re right. Unexpectedly razzing out your vag is freaking embarrassing.’
With a deep inhalation of breath, Connie sat up. She gave herself a little shake.
‘Oh my,’ she said. ‘I feel like Sandy at the start of Grease. Pathetically naive.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve seen Grease,’ Michelle frowned. ‘It’s a filthy movie! Pure smut!’
Connie was wide-eyed. ‘It is?’
‘You’re the One that I Want is not a love song,’ Michelle informed her. ‘And I’m not even going to start explaining the lyrics to Greased Lightning.’
‘Beauty School Dropout was always my favourite,’ said Connie wistfully.
‘I’ll bet,’ said Michelle. ‘Anyway. Back to the single women.’
Connie pursed her lips. ‘Well, there’s our housekeeper, Agnesa. She doesn’t speak much English, though.’
‘Not necessarily a problem. Is she pretty?’
‘Well...’ Connie was clearly trying to be generous.
‘Right,’ said Michelle. ‘Scratch Agnesa. Anyone else?’
Connie thought for a moment. ‘I suppose there’s Phil’s P.A. She’s very pretty.’
Michelle raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Brandi.’
‘With an i?’
Connie nodded.
‘Has she been known to dot the “i” with a little love heart?’
‘Why yes!’ said Connie. ‘I saw it on the Christmas card she gave Phil! How did you know?’
‘Benedict is far too intelligent for a girl who punctuates with love-hearts,’ she said firmly. ‘Is that all you have?’
‘I think so.’
Jeepers, observed Michelle. She’s trying to frown but her forehead’s staying as smooth as a billiard ball. For God’s sake, she’s not even thirty-five!
‘Connie,’ she said, ‘do you have botulism injected into your face because Phil makes rude remarks about your wrinkles?’
For a second she thought Connie was about to cry.
‘Sorry,’ said Michelle. ‘That was a bit full-frontal even for me.’
‘It’s not Phil.’ Connie’s lower lip was wobbling. ‘It’s me. Is it that obvious?’
‘Connie, if it wasn’t obvious, you’d still have forehead lines, which would somewhat defeat the purpose. Why do you do it?’
‘Because I don’t want to get old!’
‘You will whether you want to or not,’ said Michelle gently. ‘But you’re nowhere near old now. So why the angst?’
Connie bent down and fumbled about in her Birkin. She came up clutching a tissue, on which she delicately blew her nose.
‘Oh my.’ She crushed the tissue in her hands. ‘Why? Because I have done absolutely nothing with my life, that’s why. My only achievements to date have been being voted Miss Congeniality at high school and finishing James Joyce’s Ulysses.’
‘You finished Ulysses?’ said Michelle. ‘I’ve never got past page twenty!’
‘I started Finnegan’s Wake, too. But I stalled halfway through. Couldn’t get going again.’
‘Connie,’ said Michelle, ‘why do you feel you’ve done nothing with your life when you’ve mastered one of the most challenging novels in the English language?’
‘I never thought it was important.’ She shrugged. ‘What can I tell you? I am a walking cliché. The dutiful only daughter of well-to-do parents, brought up to with excellent manners and to aspire only to marriage and children. A cliché and an anachronism!’ She waved the crushed, sodden tissue in the air. ‘And I haven’t even managed to fulfil all of those expectations. No children! What a failure! That’s why I don’t like the thought of getting old! I feel like I’ve already reached my use-by date, and from here on in I’ll do nothing but quietly fade away.’
‘Why no kids?’ said Michelle. ‘Phil lacking in swimmers?’
‘No, we were Rhesus negative,’ said Connie. ‘I had three miscarriages before they decided to test. We could have taken drugs over the next pregnancy, but I couldn’t do it. I was too afraid they wouldn’t work. Phil didn’t push me.’
She offered Michelle a brief, wry smile. ‘He was super sweet, really. You shouldn’t be so down on him.’
‘Jesus.’ Michelle blew out a long breath. ‘Connie, that’s terrible. Seriously. I feel like such a cow.’ She inclined her head. ‘Well, I know I’m a cow, but most of the time I don’t care.’
There was a coffee cake on the table. She pushed the plate towards Connie. ‘This is all I have to offer you. Sad but true.’
Connie wiped the tissue under her eyes. ‘You have you,’ she said, and attempted a smile. ‘Doesn’t that count for something?’
‘Really?’ said Michelle. ‘I mean, I’m more than happy to be friends with you. But don’t you think it might be a bit like taking up smoking or Nordic walking or something? More trouble than it’s worth?’
‘I’ll risk it,’ said Connie. ‘That will be a new experience, if nothing else.’
Then she gasped.
Michelle jumped. ‘What!’
‘I thought of someone! A girl!’
‘Go on.’
Connie ticked off the attributes on her fingers. ‘Young. Single. Pretty. Becca’s new nanny!’
‘Another nanny?’ said Michelle. ‘Sounds uncannily perfect. What’s her name?’
‘Isobel,’ replied Connie. ‘But Becca’s children call her Izzy.’
‘Bet Becca doesn’t,’ said Michelle darkly. ‘Bet she calls her “Nanny” or something else that manages to both patronise and dehumanise her all in one go.’
‘Becca’s not so bad,’ said Connie.
‘Connie! Have you learned nothing? Becca is evil! Repeat after me: E.V—!’
‘No, I will not,’ said Connie with prim decisiveness. ‘But I will talk to Izzy and see what she says. I assume your Benedict is a nice boy?’
‘He’s a doll,’ said Michelle. ‘Possible hint of a shady past, but in all other respects a gentleman and a scholar, and handsome to boot. And anyway, most girls love a shady past. Where’s Izzy from?’
‘New Zealand, I think.’ Connie realised what she’d said. ‘Oh! Maybe you know her?’
‘It’s a country, not a commune!’ protested Michelle. ‘There are five million people in it, and I didn’t get around to meeting all of them before I left!’
‘If she says yes,’ Connie had clearly been giving this some thought, ‘should we set them up them on a blind date, or should we chaperone them?’
‘Connie, no young person has been chaperoned since 1855.’
‘I was! On my first date!’
‘Were you under twelve? On second thoughts,’ said Michelle, ‘don’t answer that. However, you do raise a point.’ She drummed the table lightly with her fingertips. ‘I haven’t yet given any thought to how to sell this to Benedict.’
‘I could bring a picture of Izzy if that would help?’ Connie suggested.
‘Listen to us,’ said Michelle. ‘We’re like a couple of yentas arranging a marriage.’
‘Actually, the correct Yiddish word is shadchen,’ said Connie. ‘A yenta is just a gossipy old biddy.’
‘Well, that’s us too,’ said Michelle. ‘Except we’re not old, of course.’
‘If we don’t want to be obvious about it being a set-up,’ said Connie, ‘we could simply tell Benedict that Izzy is new in town and ask him to show her around. That wouldn’t even be a lie!’
‘It would be a well-considered piece of manipulation,’ said Michelle. ‘But you’re right — not an outright lie. Our consciences could be almost clear.’
‘They might not hit it off, you know.’
‘They’re young, attractive and alone. Persuade them to meet at a bar and our work is done. The dynamic duo of alcohol and hormones will take over from there.’
Connie gave her a searching look. ‘If this boy is as handsome and genteel as you say, why hasn’t he found a nice girl of his own?’
‘Genteel? Jeepers, we are in 1855.’ Michelle went on. ‘He has found someone, but she’s neither nice nor a girl. Personally, I like her a lot but she’s terrible for him.’
‘Does he share that opinion?’
‘Don’t look at me with your chaperoning-conscience eyes, woman! As it happens, he doesn’t. He believes she is the love of his life, and if he only tries a bit harder, he will crack her open and melt her icy heart. He’s delusional, of course. Inside her icy heart lie only more icy shards, mixed with the arid gravel of profound distrust.’
‘You sound very sure.’ Connie sounded the opposite.
‘I’m exaggerating,’ said Michelle. ‘You may have guessed. But she is treating him very badly and he’s suffering. I’d like to give this Izzy chick a shot. If she’s a New Zealand girl, she should be a good egg.’
From the direction of the bedrooms came the kind of shriek normally attributed to the Irish banshee. Connie clutched her heart. ‘Goodness!’
‘Not a quality I often attribute to my darling daughter,’ said Michelle. She checked her watch. ‘But I suppose we can be grateful she’s slept this long.’
She pushed back her chair and stood up.
Connie hesitated. ‘May I come and get her with you?’
‘Of course you may,’ said Michelle. ‘You may even hold her. Just don’t let her get her hands anywhere near your face, ears or hair. And don’t put your fingers anywhere near her mouth.’
‘You do know you’re making her sound like a rabid monkey?’ Connie said, as she followed Michelle down the hall.
‘Rabid monkey?’ Michelle paused and tilted her head thoughtfully. ‘You know what? I think that may well become my new nickname for her. It certainly trips off the tongue more easily than Evil Witch Spawn from Hell.’
‘You do love her though, don’t you?’ There was a hint of doubt in Connie’s voice.
‘I love her beyond words,’ said Michelle. ‘I would lay down my life for her in a nanosecond.’
She put her hand on the knob of Rosie’s bedroom door.
‘Brace yourself,’ she said. ‘We’re going in.’