Surprise Me
Page 50

And now I’m stricken by a new thought: Will Dan and I be like that one day? Raging silently against each other as we trudge up Swiss mountains?
No.
No. Definitely not. We won’t let that happen.
But isn’t that what every young couple thinks, and then suddenly, boom, they’re old and bitter and not looking at each other properly? According to Dan, Neville and Sue used to have a great relationship. They made jokes and did ballroom dancing and all sorts.
Oh God. How can we prevent it happening? What do we do? Clearly surprising each other isn’t the answer. So, what is?
As we walk to the reception area, hospital staff are gathering and waitresses are handing out drinks. I glimpse a lady in a purple jacket and a heavy gold chain decorating her shoulders, who is chatting to Mummy and must be the mayoress. There’s also a loud sound of drilling, as a guy in overalls, on a stepladder, fixes screws into the wall. The plaque is at his feet, propped against the wall, but everyone is politely ignoring it and trying to make conversation above the din. Esme is standing at the foot of the ladder, saying, ‘Hurry! Hurry!’ and I shoot her a sympathetic smile.
I take a glass of water, have a sip, and unfold my speech. I must concentrate. I must do this occasion justice and stop obsessing about my marriage, because today isn’t about that, it’s about Daddy. The workman has finally finished screwing the plaque to the wall, and there’s an excited hubbub in the corridor, which must be Sinead Brook arriving. I’ll be on, any moment.
I skim over the words I wrote, wondering if they’re OK, knowing they’re not, and realizing I could never do justice to Daddy in a six-minute speech, anyway. It’s all so arbitrary. Three sides of A4. Such a tiny sliver of a man and his life and all he did.
Should I have mentioned his childhood? Or the story about the horses?
Too late now. A familiar, celebrity-type woman in a red clingy dress is suddenly in front of me, shaking my hand and Esme is saying, ‘Sylvie, I’m delighted to introduce Sinead Brook,’ in awestruck tones, and we barely have time to exchange a word before Cedric mounts the podium and taps the microphone.
‘My lady mayoress, ladies and gentlemen,’ he begins, ‘welcome to what is a very special occasion.’
Hmph. He’s pinched my opening.
‘A lot of you here today knew Marcus Lowe,’ he continues, more sombrely. ‘Some, sadly, did not. Marcus was known to all of us here at the New London Hospital as a man of commitment, charm, great intelligence and an inability to take no for an answer.’ His eyes glint, and a lot of the guests laugh knowingly. ‘He masterminded the fundraising for this scanner suite with tremendous tenacity, and quite simply it would not exist today without him. I’m now going to hand you over to his daughter, Sylvie Winter, who will say a few words.’
I mount the podium and look at the faces – some familiar but most not – and take a breath.
‘Hello, everyone,’ I say simply. ‘Thank you for coming today to celebrate both this wonderful scanner suite, and my father, who was so determined to make it happen. Those of you who met my father know that he was a remarkable man. He had the looks of Robert Redford … the dash of Errol Flynn … and the persistence of Columbus. Or maybe I mean Columbo. Or both.’
Even as I’m finishing my speech, I know it was crap.
No, I’m being too hard on myself. It wasn’t crap, but it wasn’t what it could have been. People nodded and smiled and even laughed, but they didn’t look fired up. They didn’t get who Daddy was. I have a sudden urge to take a week off and rewrite my thoughts until I get to the real, real essence of him … and then invite everyone back and tell them properly.
But everyone’s clapping and smiling approvingly, and Mummy looks all misty-eyed and the honest truth is, no one cares about the real essence of Daddy, do they? They just want to swig champagne and start using the scanners and saving lives. The world moves on. As I’ve been told about 56,000 times.
I think I need a drink. As soon as the curtains have been opened, I’m having a drink.
We all watch as the mayoress takes the podium and introduces Sinead Brook, mispronouncing her name twice. (It’s obvious she doesn’t really know who Sinead Brook is.) Sinead Brook gives what is clearly a standard-issue speech about the hospital, then pulls the cord and the plaque is there this time. There’s another round of applause and a few photos. Then, at last, the glasses of champagne start coming around again, and everyone disperses into groups.
The children are being entertained by some younger members of hospital staff blowing up disposable gloves. Cedric is telling me about the new children’s wing campaign, which does sound like an amazing project, and I find myself drinking three glasses in quick succession. Dan’s promised to drive home. It’s fine.
Where is Dan, come to that?
I glance around the gathering and notice him with Mummy, huddled right over in the corner. At once I stiffen. Why are they huddled together? What are they talking about?
I can’t escape Cedric’s constant stream of facts on children’s hospital beds in London, and I am genuinely interested in what he’s saying. But, by reaching for a canapé, I’m also able to move subtly towards Dan and Mummy. I’m also able to tilt my head, and just about pick up snippets of their conversation.
‘… certain that’s the right course?’ she’s saying in a sharpish, anxious sort of tone.
‘… this is the reality of the …’ I can’t hear the end of the sentence, but Dan sounds fairly tense, too.
‘… really don’t understand why …’
‘… discussed this …’
‘… so, what exactly …’
The conversation seems to die out, and I turn, just in time to see Dan mouthing, ‘A million pounds, maybe two?’ at my mother.
My lungs seem to freeze. The next moment I’m choking on my champagne. A million pounds, maybe two? What does that mean? What ‘million pounds, maybe two’?
‘Sylvie!’ Cedric halts his flood of statistics. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine!’ I swivel back. ‘Sorry! Just went down the wrong way. Please do carry on.’ I smile at Cedric, but my head is whirring in a nasty, ominous way.
Is Dan borrowing money? Is Dan borrowing money without telling me, from my own mother? A million pounds, maybe two?
I don’t want to be a suspicious wife. I don’t. I’m not. There’s an explanation; I know there is. Maybe he’s won the Lottery.
No. He and Mummy did not look like Lottery winners. Quite the opposite, in fact.
At last Cedric presses his business card on me and disappears. I glance over at the girls, who are playing safely with Esme, then head towards Dan. He’s on his own now, all hunched and miserable-looking, gazing at his phone.
‘Hi!’ I say in a breezy, non-suspicious way. ‘I saw you chatting to Mummy just now.’
Dan’s eyes lift to mine and for an instant – just an instant – I see undiluted fear in them. But then it’s gone. His eyes have closed up. Did I imagine it?
‘Right,’ he says with a discouraging frown.
I try again. ‘Nice to see you two getting along.’
‘Right. Actually, Sylvie, I’ve got to make a call. Great speech, by the way,’ he shoots back over his shoulder as he strides away.