Page 39 of Annabel and Her Sisters

I took my old-fashioned views back to the word processor– oh yes, as antediluvian as that; I only call it a computer to stop the children snorting in derision– and dragged two-timing Giles out of Sara’s bed to meet Antonia in a restaurant for dinner, except that when he kissed her he smelled of Chanel, and Antonia wore Dior, so she dumped him on the spot.

And then I gave Giles a nasty dose of crabs just for good measure.

No, Antonia hadn’t slept with him yet. As I saved the document and closed my machine some hours later, I gazed at the darkening sky outside my window: raised my eyes heavenward.

I mean, obviously I didn’t have the power that He did.

But being an author certainly gave one a measure of control.

Pammy’s retirement village was in leafy Kent, near the family home where she and Bob had brought up the children, a rambling old vicarage which had become too much for her.

A pretty market town was on her doorstep, walking distance in fact, and I admired the antique shops as I drove through, thinking that if I was in a different mood I’d stop for a quick browse.

A brick and flint archway led to a neat gravel area where not many cars were parked– not many occupants still drove, presumably– and I found a space easily.

I walked through another arch which took me to a courtyard with a fountain in the middle and lots of well-kept flower beds.

Little town houses surrounded it, all of which, I knew, had patches of garden behind.

This would be a godsend for Pammy, who was a keen gardener, and I noticed the front of her house sprang with attractive lime-green Alchemilla mollis and cream Crocosmia, whilst next door was a bit more nasturtiums and marigolds.

Pammy came to the front door in a baseball cap and skinny jeans with lots of long chains dangling round her neck: she had a cigarette on the go and shrieked with delight before wafting me a couple of air kisses and waggling her hands excitedly in the air. Pammy was not a great hugger.

‘Darling! You’re here!’

‘Hello, Pammy,’ I grinned.

‘Isn’t it hideous?’ she hissed, when she saw me glance at the riot of colour next door. ‘Makes you want to reach for your sunnies. Any minute now she’ll be adding a gnome– ghastly old busybody.’

‘I thought you said you had a lovely neighbour who liked a drink?’

‘Oh, that’s Andrea, that way,’ she jerked her head.

‘She’s a riot. No, this one, Linda, is the pits.

Come in, darling, and see my little shack.

I hope you don’t mind, but Ted will be joining us in an hour or so because I stupidly told Linda I’d swallowed an ear plug and the silly fool told Simon of all people– he’s the warden– and he insisted the next of kin had to come down, even though I told him you were coming and that anyway I was sure to pass it in my next ponky. I mean, honestly .’

I followed her into the house, which was full of gorgeous but eccentric antiques– a naked stone man, full sized, loomed from a corner, complete with baseball cap and a fag hanging from his lips. I remembered him from the vicarage. I turned, concerned.

‘You swallowed an ear plug?’

‘Thought it was one of my gout pills. I have the plugs by the bed in case the old fool’s snoring– her headboard’s next to mine and the walls are like paper.’

‘Right.’ I blinked. ‘How big was it?’

‘Tiny! Wax! Like a fruit gum!’ She held long red finger- and thumbnails a fraction apart.

‘I mean, honestly. That’s the only problem with this place.

’ She lowered her husky voice and leaned forward in the lovely grey linen bergère on which she’d perched her tiny backside, knees crossed, leopard print trainer swinging.

‘You have to keep your secrets. Particularly medical ones. The walls have ears. Drinky, darling?’ She hopped up again. ‘I’ve got vino on the go.’

‘A small one, I’ve got to drive, thanks.’

She came back and handed me a bucketful, chains jangling.

‘So, Ted’s coming, but not for an hour or so, he’s in a meeting.

And he agreed it’s ridiculous. He googled it for me and told me it said eat a banana and don’t go scuba diving!

’ She threw her head back and roared her throaty gin-and-fags laugh.

‘So I’ve done– or not done– both! Want to see my pad? ’

She got to her feet again and I followed as she proudly showed me round.

Our drinks sloshed a bit and her ash dropped as she nipped from room to room, light on her feet as ever.

No stairlift for her, although there was one installed, I noticed as we went up.

As we went from one tastefully decorated room to the next– Pammy had a very good eye– she told me about the frightfully attractive owner of L’Arco’s where we were going for lunch.

Apparently he often shared a mid-morning ciggie with her on the pavement, when she nipped out for her coffee.

‘Too young for me, of course, but one can have a laugh, can’t one?

And so much more fun than the geriatrics in here.

’ She rolled her heavily made-up eyes. ‘They all play bridge , for God’s sake.

Want to know if I’d like to join their knitting club.

I said no, why don’t you join my poker club?

There’s a marvellous one up the road, incidentally, above the chippy. You’d love it.’

‘I thought you said they were fun, the residents?’

‘Oh, some are. Marley, across the way, and Andrea of course, and the queers opposite, Ray and Charles, they’re terrific .’

‘I’m not sure you can say that now, Pammy,’ I said nervously.

‘Oh darling, you are out of touch– haven’t you heard of LGBTQ? They told me ! I took them to Ted’s for Christmas, you know– they adored it! And the grandchildren were fascinated by Ray’s Botox, Lucy’s eyes were on stalks. He’s so lifted, his knees go up when he smiles!’

I grinned and we made our way back down to the sitting room where we sat down, finishing our drinks. Or Pammy did. I discreetly put mine aside. A silence fell. She stubbed out her cigarette and cocked her head thoughtfully at me.

‘But darling, you look anxious. All well? Not the children, I hope?’

‘No, no, they’re fine and they send their love. Polly loved the scarf you sent, she–’

‘She wrote.’ She waved away my thanks, red nails flashing.

‘No, Pammy, it’s Mum.’

I told her what had happened, what she’d said in the hospital, and then what Joan had said yesterday.

Pammy was fairly unshockable. She took everything in her stride and always had done, but even she looked taken aback by this. She leaned back in her chair. Pursed her lips.

‘So that’s what Joan said, is it?’ she murmured.

She took another cigarette from her packet.

Even for her, this was quick– she’d just stubbed one out.

I couldn’t help noticing she’d replaced the health warning with a sticker with identical writing which read: ‘Like cigarettes? Try drugs.’ She saw me glance and guffawed.

‘Isn’t it fun? Got it off the internet. At least Ray did. Want one? Oh no, you don’t.’

I could tell she was procrastinating. ‘Pammy…?’

‘Tell you what, darling,’ she said brightly, ignoring me, ‘let’s pop round to L’Arco’s. I’ve booked a table and we can chat about it there, hm? I’ve told Ted if he makes it in time, to join us there for coffee. Come on, let’s go.’

I got up obediently whilst, still puffing, she gathered a huge bunch of keys on a flashing skeleton key ring, plonked another baseball cap on top of the one she was already wearing (this one had a fox on it which read Bollocks to Blair, an old trophy from the days when he’d tried to ban hunting) and popped into the kitchen for her bag.

When she came out she positively jingled on account of all her keys, rings, chains and the lime-green cross-body bag.

She was as cool today, Mum assured us, as she’d been when she was young, which she had not been, she’d told us firmly.

‘Oh rubbish, I’m sure you were!’ Ginnie and I would protest.

‘Fashionable. As much as you could be in rural Yorkshire. But not cool, like Pammy. D’you know, her bedroom, even in those days, was papered with newspaper.

She was frightfully avant-garde. The first time I met her, at a pony club dance in Ripon, we were all in taffeta– the East Yorkshire crew– and she was in a long, slinky black dress, acres of blonde hair and silver earrings that reached her shoulders. Stunning.’

‘Your mother was so beautiful she didn’t need to try,’ Pammy would riposte, but I’d seen pictures of Pammy. Knew that she was gorgeous, too. She was gossipy and fun and would tell us things, divulge what they got up to in their youth.

‘Come on, Pammy,’ Polly would urge. ‘Granny won’t tell, what was it like back in the day? You must have wanted to– you know– get with people, just like us?’

‘Lots of heavy petting,’ Pammy would drawl, which would make Polly squeal with disgust.

‘Gross expression!’

‘And so many girls got engaged when they’d only met someone once, at a dance. Well, you had to, you see. Even to kiss. My brothers were always intervening, breaking it off. Rotten spoilsports. One night I got engaged twice!’

‘Just like trying to remember how many boys you snogged in Fabric,’ Polly observed.

‘Just the same,’ Pammy would say. ‘Don’t think for one moment you invented it.’

‘What?’

‘Sex.’

Which, as I waited for her to have a quick pee, was why it bothered me that she hadn’t dismissed my story immediately.

Laughed it out of court. As I waited by her front door, my mouth dried a bit with nerves.

Pammy wasn’t shy. She didn’t mind shedding light.

But she’d been positively tight-lipped back there.

I looked at the Post-it notes she’d stuck inside the door: ‘Take risks!’ ‘Be bold!’ In her lovely italic handwriting.

There was an Ab Fab magazine cutting: Patsy was puffing away saying: ‘Through my taxes on cigarettes, I’ve built three hospitals. I never stop giving.’

Ordinarily it would have made me smile, but today it didn’t raise a flicker.

‘Come on, darling, off we go!’ She came prancing down the hall in a swirling black cape and leopard-print scarf– Pammy was obsessed by leopard print. ‘They do fabulous profiteroles and a gorgeous flaming Sambuca– do try!’

And off we went to L’Arco’s, my heart, like my chatty, glamorous, butterfly-like friend beside me, fluttering wildly.