Still Me
Page 80
I held it in the palm of my hand and Mum came to look over my shoulder. It’s rare that my mother chooses not to speak. But this time she squeezed my shoulder, dropped a kiss on the top of my head and went back to the washing-up.
27
Dear Louisa Clark,
My name is Vincent Weber – grandson of Margot Weber, as I know her. But you seem to know her by her maiden name of De Witt.
Your message came as a surprise because my dad doesn’t really talk about his mom – to be honest, for years I was led to believe that she wasn’t even alive, although I realize now that nobody ever put it in those exact terms.
After I got your message I asked my mom and she said there had been some big falling-out way before I was born, but I’ve been thinking and have decided that’s really nothing to do with me, and I would love to know some more about her (you seemed to hint that she’d been unwell?). Can’t believe I have another grandma!
Please email back. And thank you for your efforts.
Vincent Weber (Vinny)
He came at the agreed time on a Wednesday afternoon, the first really warm day of May when the streets were full of abruptly exposed flesh and newly purchased sunglasses. I didn’t tell Margot because (a) I knew she’d be furious and (b) I had a strong feeling she would simply go out for a walk until he had left. I opened the front door and there he stood – a tall blond man with his ear pierced in seven places, wearing a pair of 1940s-style baggy trousers with a bright scarlet shirt, highly polished brown brogues and a Fair Isle sweater draped around his shoulders.
‘Are you Louisa?’ he said, as I stooped to pick up the flailing dog.
‘Oh, my,’ I said, looking him slowly up and down. ‘You two are going to get on like a house on fire.’
I walked him down the corridor and we whispered a conversation. It took a full two minutes of Dean Martin barking and snarling before she called, ‘Who was at the door, dear? If it’s that awful Gopnik woman you can tell her her piano playing is showy, sentimental tripe. And that’s from someone who once saw Liberace.’ She started to cough.
Walking backwards, I beckoned him towards the living room. I pushed open the door. ‘Margot, you have a visitor.’
She turned, frowning slightly, her hands resting on the arm of her chair and surveyed him for a full ten seconds. ‘I don’t know you,’ she said decisively.
‘This is Vincent, Margot.’ I took a breath. ‘Your grandson.’
She stared at him.
‘Hey, Mrs De Witt … Grandma.’ He walked forward and smiled, then stooped and crouched in front of her, and she studied his face.
Her expression was so fierce that I thought she was going to shout at him, but then she gave what sounded like a little hiccup. Her mouth dropped open a half-inch and her bony old hands closed on his sleeves. ‘You came,’ she said, her voice a low croon, cracking as it emerged from somewhere deep in her chest. ‘You came.’ She stared at him, her eyes flickering over his features as if she were already seeing similarities, histories, prompting memories long forgotten. ‘Oh, but you’re so, so like your father.’ She reached out a hand and touched the side of his face.
‘I like to think I have slightly better taste,’ Vincent said, smiling, and Margot gave a yelp of laughter.
‘Let me look at you. Oh, my goodness. Oh, you’re so handsome. But how did you find me? Does your father know about …?’ She shook her head, as if it were a jumble of questions, and her knuckles were white on his sleeves. Then she turned to me, as if she had forgotten I was even there. ‘Well, I don’t know what you’re staring at, Louisa. A normal person would have offered this poor man a drink by now. Goodness. Some days I have no idea what on earth you’re doing here.’
Vincent looked startled, but as I turned and walked to the kitchen I was beaming.
28
This was it, Josh said, clapping his hands together. He was sure he was going to get the promotion. Connor Ailes hadn’t been invited to a dinner. Charmaine Trent, who had recently been brought across from Legal, hadn’t been invited to a dinner. Scott Mackey, the accounts manager, had been invited to a dinner before he became accounts manager, and he’d said he was pretty sure Josh was a shoo-in.
‘I mean I don’t want to get too confident, but it’s all about the social thing, Louisa,’ he said, examining his reflection. ‘They only ever promote people if they think they can mix with them socially. It’s not what you know, right? I was wondering if I should take up golf. They all play golf. But I haven’t played since I was, like, thirteen. What do you think of this tie?’
‘Great.’ It was a tie. I didn’t really know what to say. They all seemed to be blue anyway. He knotted it with swift, sure strokes.
‘I called Dad yesterday and he said the key thing was to look like you’re not dependent on it, right? Like – like I’m ambitious and I’m totally a company man, but equally I could move to another firm at any time because I’d be so much in demand. They have to feel a sense of threat that you might go somewhere else if they don’t give you your due, you know what I’m saying?’
‘Oh, yes.’
It was the same conversation we had had fourteen times over the past week. I wasn’t sure it even required answers on my side. He checked his reflection again, and then, apparently satisfied, walked over to the bed and leant across to run a hand down the back of my hair. ‘I’ll pick you up just before seven, okay? Make sure you’ve walked that dog so we don’t get held up. I don’t want to be late.’
‘I’ll be ready.’
‘Have a nice day. Hey, it was great what you did with the old lady’s family, you know? Really great. You did a good thing.’
He kissed me emphatically, already smiling at the thought of the day ahead, and then he was gone.
I stayed in his bed in the exact position he had left me, dressed in one of his T-shirts and hugging my knees. Then I got up, dressed and let myself out of his apartment.
I was still distracted when I took Margot to her morning hospital appointment, leaning my forehead against the taxi window and trying to sound like I understood what she was talking about.
‘Just drop me here, dear,’ said Margot, as I helped her out. I let go of her arm as she reached the double doors and they slid open as if to swallow her.
This was our pattern for every appointment. I would stay outside with Dean Martin, she would make her way in slowly and I would come back in an hour, or whenever she chose to call me.
‘I don’t know what’s got into you this morning. You’re all over the place. Useless.’ She stood in the entrance and handed me the lead.
‘Thanks, Margot.’
‘Well, it’s like travelling with a halfwit. Your brain is clearly somewhere else and you’re no company at all. Why, I’ve had to speak to you three times just to get you to do a thing for me.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Well, make sure you devote your full attention to Dean Martin while I’m inside. He gets very distressed when he knows he’s being ignored.’ She lifted a finger. ‘I mean it, young lady. I’ll know.’
I was halfway to the coffee shop with the outside tables and the friendly waiter when I found I was still holding her handbag. I cursed and ran back up the street.
I raced into Reception, ignoring the pointed stares of the waiting patients, who glared at the dog, as if I had brought in a live hand grenade. ‘Hi! I need to give a bag – a purse – to Mrs Margot De Witt. Can you tell me where I might find her? Please. I’m her carer.’
The woman didn’t look up from her screen. ‘You can’t call her?’
‘She’s in her eighties. She doesn’t do cell-phones. And if she did it would be in her purse. Please. She will need this. It’s got her pills and her notes and stuff.’
‘She has an appointment today?’
‘Eleven fifteen. Margot De Witt.’ I spelt it out, just in case.
She went through the list, one extravagantly manicured finger tracing the screen. ‘Okay. Yeah, I got her. Oncology is down there, through the double doors on the left.’
‘I’m sorry, what?’
27
Dear Louisa Clark,
My name is Vincent Weber – grandson of Margot Weber, as I know her. But you seem to know her by her maiden name of De Witt.
Your message came as a surprise because my dad doesn’t really talk about his mom – to be honest, for years I was led to believe that she wasn’t even alive, although I realize now that nobody ever put it in those exact terms.
After I got your message I asked my mom and she said there had been some big falling-out way before I was born, but I’ve been thinking and have decided that’s really nothing to do with me, and I would love to know some more about her (you seemed to hint that she’d been unwell?). Can’t believe I have another grandma!
Please email back. And thank you for your efforts.
Vincent Weber (Vinny)
He came at the agreed time on a Wednesday afternoon, the first really warm day of May when the streets were full of abruptly exposed flesh and newly purchased sunglasses. I didn’t tell Margot because (a) I knew she’d be furious and (b) I had a strong feeling she would simply go out for a walk until he had left. I opened the front door and there he stood – a tall blond man with his ear pierced in seven places, wearing a pair of 1940s-style baggy trousers with a bright scarlet shirt, highly polished brown brogues and a Fair Isle sweater draped around his shoulders.
‘Are you Louisa?’ he said, as I stooped to pick up the flailing dog.
‘Oh, my,’ I said, looking him slowly up and down. ‘You two are going to get on like a house on fire.’
I walked him down the corridor and we whispered a conversation. It took a full two minutes of Dean Martin barking and snarling before she called, ‘Who was at the door, dear? If it’s that awful Gopnik woman you can tell her her piano playing is showy, sentimental tripe. And that’s from someone who once saw Liberace.’ She started to cough.
Walking backwards, I beckoned him towards the living room. I pushed open the door. ‘Margot, you have a visitor.’
She turned, frowning slightly, her hands resting on the arm of her chair and surveyed him for a full ten seconds. ‘I don’t know you,’ she said decisively.
‘This is Vincent, Margot.’ I took a breath. ‘Your grandson.’
She stared at him.
‘Hey, Mrs De Witt … Grandma.’ He walked forward and smiled, then stooped and crouched in front of her, and she studied his face.
Her expression was so fierce that I thought she was going to shout at him, but then she gave what sounded like a little hiccup. Her mouth dropped open a half-inch and her bony old hands closed on his sleeves. ‘You came,’ she said, her voice a low croon, cracking as it emerged from somewhere deep in her chest. ‘You came.’ She stared at him, her eyes flickering over his features as if she were already seeing similarities, histories, prompting memories long forgotten. ‘Oh, but you’re so, so like your father.’ She reached out a hand and touched the side of his face.
‘I like to think I have slightly better taste,’ Vincent said, smiling, and Margot gave a yelp of laughter.
‘Let me look at you. Oh, my goodness. Oh, you’re so handsome. But how did you find me? Does your father know about …?’ She shook her head, as if it were a jumble of questions, and her knuckles were white on his sleeves. Then she turned to me, as if she had forgotten I was even there. ‘Well, I don’t know what you’re staring at, Louisa. A normal person would have offered this poor man a drink by now. Goodness. Some days I have no idea what on earth you’re doing here.’
Vincent looked startled, but as I turned and walked to the kitchen I was beaming.
28
This was it, Josh said, clapping his hands together. He was sure he was going to get the promotion. Connor Ailes hadn’t been invited to a dinner. Charmaine Trent, who had recently been brought across from Legal, hadn’t been invited to a dinner. Scott Mackey, the accounts manager, had been invited to a dinner before he became accounts manager, and he’d said he was pretty sure Josh was a shoo-in.
‘I mean I don’t want to get too confident, but it’s all about the social thing, Louisa,’ he said, examining his reflection. ‘They only ever promote people if they think they can mix with them socially. It’s not what you know, right? I was wondering if I should take up golf. They all play golf. But I haven’t played since I was, like, thirteen. What do you think of this tie?’
‘Great.’ It was a tie. I didn’t really know what to say. They all seemed to be blue anyway. He knotted it with swift, sure strokes.
‘I called Dad yesterday and he said the key thing was to look like you’re not dependent on it, right? Like – like I’m ambitious and I’m totally a company man, but equally I could move to another firm at any time because I’d be so much in demand. They have to feel a sense of threat that you might go somewhere else if they don’t give you your due, you know what I’m saying?’
‘Oh, yes.’
It was the same conversation we had had fourteen times over the past week. I wasn’t sure it even required answers on my side. He checked his reflection again, and then, apparently satisfied, walked over to the bed and leant across to run a hand down the back of my hair. ‘I’ll pick you up just before seven, okay? Make sure you’ve walked that dog so we don’t get held up. I don’t want to be late.’
‘I’ll be ready.’
‘Have a nice day. Hey, it was great what you did with the old lady’s family, you know? Really great. You did a good thing.’
He kissed me emphatically, already smiling at the thought of the day ahead, and then he was gone.
I stayed in his bed in the exact position he had left me, dressed in one of his T-shirts and hugging my knees. Then I got up, dressed and let myself out of his apartment.
I was still distracted when I took Margot to her morning hospital appointment, leaning my forehead against the taxi window and trying to sound like I understood what she was talking about.
‘Just drop me here, dear,’ said Margot, as I helped her out. I let go of her arm as she reached the double doors and they slid open as if to swallow her.
This was our pattern for every appointment. I would stay outside with Dean Martin, she would make her way in slowly and I would come back in an hour, or whenever she chose to call me.
‘I don’t know what’s got into you this morning. You’re all over the place. Useless.’ She stood in the entrance and handed me the lead.
‘Thanks, Margot.’
‘Well, it’s like travelling with a halfwit. Your brain is clearly somewhere else and you’re no company at all. Why, I’ve had to speak to you three times just to get you to do a thing for me.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Well, make sure you devote your full attention to Dean Martin while I’m inside. He gets very distressed when he knows he’s being ignored.’ She lifted a finger. ‘I mean it, young lady. I’ll know.’
I was halfway to the coffee shop with the outside tables and the friendly waiter when I found I was still holding her handbag. I cursed and ran back up the street.
I raced into Reception, ignoring the pointed stares of the waiting patients, who glared at the dog, as if I had brought in a live hand grenade. ‘Hi! I need to give a bag – a purse – to Mrs Margot De Witt. Can you tell me where I might find her? Please. I’m her carer.’
The woman didn’t look up from her screen. ‘You can’t call her?’
‘She’s in her eighties. She doesn’t do cell-phones. And if she did it would be in her purse. Please. She will need this. It’s got her pills and her notes and stuff.’
‘She has an appointment today?’
‘Eleven fifteen. Margot De Witt.’ I spelt it out, just in case.
She went through the list, one extravagantly manicured finger tracing the screen. ‘Okay. Yeah, I got her. Oncology is down there, through the double doors on the left.’
‘I’m sorry, what?’
