Spencer's List Part 28

'She's supposed to be here. Helping.' Mrs McHugh had gone out in search of the finis.h.i.+ng touch for her cake, a hand-built Victoria sponge in the shape of a vintage car. It was sitting in the living room in wheel-less splendour, awaiting the liquorice tyres with jelly hubcaps that the recipe specified. 'I'm not sure you can get those any more,' Iris had said, doubtfully, eyeing the recipe book; the photo was greenish with age and the original list of ingredients included powdered egg.

'Och, nonsense,' Mrs McHugh had said airily, clattering her wheeled shopping basket through the hall. That had been two hours ago.

'Who's Tammy?' asked Leslie.

Aunty Kath, dreaming over the eggs, seemed to click into focus. 'Ooh, hasn't he told you about Tammy?'

'He's found himself a lady friend, has he?' Leslie sat up keenly, and smoothed his fringe in antic.i.p.ation.

'Well, she's ' The doorbell rang again and Iris put down the spoon and went to answer it.

'Hi, Mum.' The boys clumped in, dripping, their arms laden with bags. 'p.i.s.sing down out there.'

'We've brought the gla.s.ses, Mum,' said Robin.

'Thanks,' she said, distractedly, looking along the road. There was no sign of Mrs McHugh, but to her dismay she could see the Woodentop gait of Dov Steiner jerking into view, and behind him what looked like the entire indoor bowls team, cl.u.s.tered beneath a couple of gigantic golf umbrellas. They were dreadfully early the match wasn't supposed to finish for at least another three-quarters of an hour; furthermore, she realized, they must have her father with them, unless they'd run away and left him. A grumble of thunder rattled the gla.s.s in the fanlight above the door.

'What do you want us to do?'

'Oh, er...' She tried to marshall her thoughts. 'You could open out the dining-room table, and arrange all the plates and cutlery and gla.s.ses on it.'

'OK.'

'And get the drink out of the fridge.'

'OK.'

'And you could ask people to move out of the kitchen. Politely.'

'Are you a bit hara.s.sed, Mum?' asked Robin, curiously.

'Yes, a bit.'

'They all turned up early, didn't they?' said Tom, pleased with his prescience.

'Tom ' she said, warningly.

'Ooh, something serious.' He looked at her, his expression a facsimile of sombre attention.

'No, it's just... there's a man in the kitchen with a funny hairstyle. I wanted to prepare you. So you wouldn't stare.' He looked at her for a moment longer, then glanced at Robin.

'We wouldn't do that, would we, Rob?'

'Nope.'

'Well, good,' she said, unconvinced. She heard a rattling noise and turned to see Dov closing the gate.

'Hey, Mum,' hissed Tom behind her, 'there's a man with a funny head coming up the path.'

The front hall of her father's house was fairly narrow a corridor rather than an atrium and certainly far too small to accommodate seven members of the bowls team with Dov standing in their midst like a sentient hatstand. Her father was not amongst them and as Iris tried to disentangle the story of the afternoon there was an influx from the kitchen.

'We've been given our marching orders,' said Leslie, heading the contingent and holding a chair in front of him like a cowcatcher. 'Where do you want us?'

Iris raised her voice. 'Could everyone please move into the front room.'

'Left, right, left, right,' said Leslie, amidst laughter. There was a surge of bodies, a sudden bottleneck during which Iris was pinned against the banisters by a wall of flesh redolent of Old Spice and damp tweed and then the crush subsided into an orderly queue. From the kitchen, a number of yelping noises became audible.

Robin was actually lying on the floor, face scarlet, knees drawn up to his chest, while Tom sat with his back against a table leg. Two slices of bacon were draped over his head. 'Hey, Mum, I'm... I'm...' His mouth wobbled out of control again and he emitted a series of cheeps.

'Well, thanks for your help,' said Iris. She opened the fridge and began to take out bottles of squash and wine. 'Grandad's disappeared,' she added.

It took a while for the words to register. 'Wha?' said Robin.

'There was a power cut at the leisure centre and when the rest of the bowls team got out they couldn't find him.'

'Uh.'

'So let's keep our fingers crossed that he hasn't decided to go to the cinema for the afternoon.' She pawed through the cutlery drawer for the corkscrew and then closed it with a satisfying smash.

'So, uh...' Robin heaved himself up and leaned against the sink. 'Do you want us to... to...'

'Hey, Rob.'

'Wha?'

Tom lifted a hand and smoothed the bacon fringe over his eyebrows. His brother jackknifed silently to the floor and Iris picked up the bottles and left the kitchen. The phone and the doorbell rang simultaneously just as she'd squeezed between the bodies and deposited the drinks on the table and she waved the corkscrew at Leslie.

'Rely on me,' he said, taking it with a gallant bow.

Ayesha was at the door, her swirl of stiffened hair pearly with raindrops, a silver helium balloon with '70' written on it floating above her. 'You're the only person on time so far,' said Iris, over her shoulder as she hurried back to the kitchen. Tom was just reaching for the phone and she s.n.a.t.c.hed it from the cradle before he could get there.

'h.e.l.lo?'

'Iris?'

'Tammy? Where are you?'

'I'm back at my house. Listen, dear, there's been a wee bit of a problem I've got your dad with me.'

'Is he all right?'

'Oh yes, he's fine it's not a physical problem. It's more psychological.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well it was just bad luck really. You see I'd popped into Woolworths for the liquorice sweeties and you know it's just opposite the leisure centre? I thought there'd be no chance of b.u.mping into him but would you believe there was a power cut and '

'I heard. The rest of the team's just got here.'

'Well. Your dad spotted me coming out of the shop and he was a bit puzzled because you know I'd only just rung him to say I had a bad tummy and I was going to miss bowls and have a bit of a lie-down instead and the next thing he knows, there I am das.h.i.+ng along the high street with my face on and all dressed up for a party. So anyway, he wanted to know what was going on.'

'Oh. You told him, did you?'

'I had to, dear,' said Mrs McHugh gravely. 'He thought there must be someone else.'

'So what did he say?'

'He's not keen. Not keen at all. He says it's all too much fuss and bother and he's sitting in the front room with his arms folded.'

Iris felt a sour surge of triumph. 'I knew he'd hate the idea,' she said, and her voice was fat with satisfaction; she saw Robin shoot her a startled look. From the front room there was a burst of laughter and the doorbell rang again. The feeling of triumph dissipated and she felt suddenly wretched.

'You know there are nearly twenty people here already,' she said, 'practically everyone's turned up early and I haven't even finished the food yet.'

There was a rattle from the door knocker and a further ring on the bell, and Robin unfolded himself from the floor. 'I'll get it.'

'Well I can't seem to budge him,' said Tammy, 'you know what he can be like. And between you and me I think he might be a bit ' she lowered her voice ' embarra.s.sed about introducing me to his old friends. You know, the thought simply hadn't occurred to me but of course he's a bit old-fas.h.i.+oned about all that sort of thing. Anyway I thought that maybe if you '

'Hang on.' Leslie had popped his head round the door of the kitchen and, seeing her on the phone, started to mime something something circular, about five inches high, hollow, a container of some kind...

'Raiders of the Lost Ark,' said Tom in a m.u.f.fled voice.

'Gla.s.ses?' hazarded Iris.

'That's the one.'

'In the bags by the stairs. They're on hire.' He disappeared again. The front door slammed and she could hear the shuffle of footsteps in the hall.

'Mum,' shouted Robin, 'someone wants to talk to you.'

'Tell them I won't be a minute.' The doorbell rang yet again and continued ringing, as if someone were leaning on the bell push. Tammy said something inaudible and Iris stuffed a finger in her free ear.

'Sorry?'

'I said maybe you should have a word with him.'

She hesitated, the noise drilling through her head; she could hardly remember the last time she'd had a proper conversation with her father, one that wasn't bulging with unvoiced topics. 'All right then,' she said, reluctantly.

'I'll go and get him.'

As Iris waited, the doorbell stopped at last and then restarted immediately, stopped again, started and was finally replaced by the sound of knuckles on wood.

'Will somebody get that?' she called. 'Robin?'

'I'm not supposed to,' he shouted back.

'What? What are you talking about?'

'Sorry, Iris.' Spencer, looking damp and hara.s.sed, came into the kitchen. 'I asked him not to.'

'What?' The doorbell started ringing again. 'Why?'

'Because it's Callum Strang. He followed me from the surgery.'

'But ' She heard the snap of the letter box and the unintelligible roar of Callum's voice.

'What does he want?'

'To thank me.'

'To thank you?'

'Yes, I gave him a free baseball hat that was kicking round the surgery and he's very happy about it. I'm sure he'll go soon. He'll get bored and wander off.'

'Do you want me to ring the police?' shouted Ayesha.

'Give it five minutes,' shouted Spencer back.

The doorbell began a series of little trills of varying length, and Iris closed her eyes for a moment and imagined herself all alone in a field, sitting quietly with a book. She opened them again and looked at the phone in her hand.

'Tom.'

'What?' He was still sitting on the floor, bacon on head.

She covered the receiver with her hand. 'You're articulate. Persuade your grandad to come to his own party.'

'All right.'

'Tell him that we're all longing for him to arrive, and that Leslie's brought home-made potato wine just like they had at Catterick and tell him ' she took a deep breath ' tell him you've already met Mrs McHugh and you think she's lovely and I think she's lovely, and I think it's about time he introduced her to everyone.'

'I've already met who?'

'Dad's girlfriend. She told you and Robin off for smoking in the street.'

He gaped at her.

'She's about four foot eleven. Tartan skirt, white hair, Scottish accent?'

'What, her? That's Grandad's girlfriend?'

'Yes.'

'Jesus, she could talk for Europe.'

'Yes.'

'He probably had to snog her to get her to shut up.'

'Tom '