(Previously: We're on our way round to babysit for almost-strangers, as you do. Naturally, the baby has a Victorian name. Not that that's important.)
* * * * *
WE'RE standing on the steps outside India and Malcolm’s house. The front door is newly painted a muted, expensive shade of aubergine. The brickwork has been cleaned up and original features such as ornate stained glass panes in the bay window and a brass boot scraper point to money and taste. For some reason I feel nervous, a bit like a child who has booted a ball into the grown-ups’ back garden and is about to ask for it back. V raps on the door. We hear a muffled but echoey “I’ve got it!” from the other side and presently the door swings open to reveal Malcolm.
“Hello!” he booms at us, in a surprisingly thick Yorkshire accent. “Come in guys!” He shepherds us into the front room and we shake hands.
“Tek a seat. So good of you to do this for us. Seriously, we really appreciate it. We don’t get out much, you know, what with Nan and all that malarkey,” he says, waving an arm towards the ceiling. “India’s just giving her some grub before we go out. Care for a beverage?”
“I’d love a glass of wine,” says V. "Red if you have any."
“Any particular grape? I’ve got quite a few bottles gagging to be opened.”
“I’ll leave it to your discretion.”
“Mark? Beer is it?”
“No," I reply, a tad defensively. "Red's good for me too. The more obscure the better.”
It's a pretty sad day when a bloody Yorkshireman thinks he's more sophisticated than you.
“Champion. Excuse I.”
Malcolm thuds out of the room, pausing to bellow upstairs (Gotta be mobile in five, Inders! Get a bend on!).
V surveys the room, looks to me and pulls a face: niiice. She’s referring to the general loveliness of the room in which we are sat – massive bay window looking on to the mature trees in the park; not just original wooden flooring but the most professionally restored and artfully stained original wooden flooring in Hackney, if not Europe; expensive sofa and armchairs (unshowy), original art on the walls, Bang & Olufsen stereo, massive TV; no sign that there is a one-year-old baby residing here. It’s all beautiful. I want to weep – for India and Malcolm’s good fortune, obviously.
“He seems like a reet decent sort,” I whisper to V.
“Mm,” she replies distractedly, failing to laugh at my hilarious Yorkshire accent. “It’s pristine in here. Spotless. Not even a trace of dust.”
“Dust?” cries Malcolm, who catches us unawares by striding surprisingly swiftly back into the room. “Forgiveth us our sins – the place could do with a bit of elbow grease and a spot of Monsieur Sheen.”
He hands us our wine and fills his own glass close to the brim from the elegant crystal decanter in his hand.
“You’re joking, right?” chuckles V. “This place is cleaner than ours. We don’t even have kids to use as an excuse.”
“Oh. Really?” asks Malcolm.
“Don’t worry though,” says V quickly, sensing Malcolm’s nervousness. “We’ve got tonnes of experience of them. Don’t we Mark?”
I nod and murmur. Malcolm takes a big swig of wine and laughs. “Oh well. I’m sure you know what you’re doing. It’s not as if you’re on the sex offenders register or anything!”
The next few moments seem to last about an hour.
Presently, India wafts into the room. We stand up.
“Heyy, Victoria, how’s it going love,” she says, standing on her tiptoes to give V a big hug and a quadruple cheek-kiss.
“You look amazing,” coos V. The pixie-like India does indeed look amazing in her little black dress – a far cry from the ‘peasant with a fondness for timpani’ look she was rocking last time I saw her. She turns to greet me with a battering of kisses. I like this woman, I decide.
“Fill tha glass oop Moother,” she asks Malcolm in an amusing Yorkshire accent. Malcolm obliges and hands her a glass. He tops V and me up, even though we have barely had a sip – presumably to atone for rather inappropriately raising the topic of paedophilia with people who he has just met, and who are indeed babysitting for him this very eve.
“So,” says V, as we all sit down again, “Sadler’s Wells, eh? Do you go to much dance?”
“Can’t stand it normally,” shrugs India. “It’s buggerlugs here who’s the dance fan.”
V raises an eyebrow. Malcolm blushes. Suddenly his little trainers make perfect sense.
“It’s all true,” he laughs. “I admit my dirty secret. I am a fan of modern dance. But I still support Wednesday, right? Don’t fookin’ mark me down as a poofter.”
“He’s being satirical of course,” says India, very swiftly.
After a bit of chat about what we all do, Leonie's wedding preparations (leonie is V's sister), the pros and cons of having kids and so on, India gets to her feet.
“We should get going Mal. Now listen you two. There’s plenty of wine in the fridge, help yourself to stuff from the freezer. V has our mobile numbers should Nan be possessed by Satan in the next three hours. Okay? great!”
“Erm, shouldn’t you introduce us to Nan before you go?” asks V. I mean, we’ve never met her. It just seems… ”
“Of course! Yes!” says India. “Come with me.”
We walk up the stairs to the dark first floor landing.
For some reason India's throwaway 'Satan' comment is resonating through my mind as the door to the nursery is gently pushed open...
hi do u have borthers and sister and how are your perents and what are all there names
from chelsea
p.s.this is for my homwork i am doing it all about u.
thank hope u are reading this i am a fane and are u in the 2008 olimcis and if your are hope u do well (GO NEW ZEALAND U ROCK MY SOCKS OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!):):::):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):) THESE ARE SMILE FACES.
:):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):) and more smile face so bye for now write back i really hoe u do and if u dont it is ok i will understand and i have read alot about u but i dont no how your family pleses writ back and i will be really upset if u dont write back and i will never like u again fuck u if u dont beep beep beep just joking
Posted by: chelsea | Aug 11, 2008 at 06:00
Arf you. Coffee/computer screen interface moment type thing.
Posted by: Emma C | Sep 10, 2007 at 10:32
Arf you. Coffee/computer screen interface moment type thing.
Posted by: Emma C | Sep 10, 2007 at 10:32