The Mother-in-Law(15)

“Like meal replacement shakes?”

“But with actual fresh food, instead of chemicals. Superfoods.”

Eamon has said “superfoods” at least seventeen times since we arrived and I find myself desperate to ask what a superfood is because I suspect he doesn’t know. But again, for Ollie’s sake, because they have been friends since kindergarten and their parents know each other, I force myself to abstain.

“Interesting. Well, good luck!” I say.

He’ll need it.

But Eamon isn’t listening to me, he’s too focused on Ollie. “How are things with you then, old boy? How are things in the recruitment world?”

“Things are good. Did a great placement last week, actually. The guy, Ron, was sixty, and he’d been out of work for six months. He really needed to work for another five years before he could retire, but everyone was telling him he had no hope, because his entire specialty was in a system that was now obsolete. I promised him I’d find him something and then boom, last week, I found a client who was upgrading their ERP from a system that Ron virtually wrote during the eighties. Now he’s the head of data conversion. Neither Ron nor the client could believe their luck.”

Ollie beams. I love seeing him like this. He lives for putting the right candidate in the right job, particularly the ones that are hard to place. He listens to candidates during the interview process and by the time they leave, they are friends. Unfortunately it is an asset that is rarely rewarded in an industry that values goals and targets, and for this reason most of Ollie’s colleagues have risen ahead of him into management while he stays exactly where he is, agonizing over placements for candidates like Ron.

“Cool, cool,” Eamon says. “You’ve been there a while though, right? Don’t suppose you’ve thought about extending your wings a bit? You’ve got some pretty valuable contacts now. The world’s your oyster. You can’t keep working for the man forever.”

This little speech reeks of someone who wants something. I feel myself brace.

“All right, spit it out,” Ollie says, clearly interpreting Eamon’s speech the same way I had. “You want me to join your business, is that it? Or start a new business with you? Or invest in a business?”

Eamon tries to look insulted. “Can’t a guy be interested in his old mate’s career? But . . . since you mention it, I might be looking for a business partner.” He grins.

“In your smoothie business?”

“Meal replacements,” Eamon corrects. “With superfoods!”

“How could I possibly help you with that?” Ollie asks.

You could give him money, I think to myself. Or, rather, your father could. At least that is what Eamon is thinking.

“Don’t undersell yourself, mate,” Eamon says. “You’d be a massive asset to any business. You’re a people person. Every business needs that.”

Ollie doesn’t respond right away, and for a horrible moment, I think he might be considering joining Eamon in his smoothie business. I look at him. He appears to be thinking deeply. But this proposition doesn’t require even a moment’s thought. Does it? Unless . . . have I missed something? Is Ollie not happy in his job? What about what he just said about placing sixty-year-old Ron? Surely a man happy in his job wouldn’t consider a career move on a whim just because his friend suggested it at dinner?

“Have you all had a chance to look at the menu?” the waitress says, appearing at the table. But none of us have had a chance to look at the menu. I’ve studiously avoided looking at the menu, afraid of seeing the prices. But suddenly the prices at Arabella’s seem like the least of our worries.

“Why don’t I tell you about the specials?” the waitress suggests, when none of us speak. “We have a lovely thrice-cooked pork belly tonight and the fish is blue grenadier with a Parmesan crust.”

“Give us a few minutes,” Eamon says to the waitress, his eyes not leaving Ollie. He’s practically salivating, ready to go in for the kill. Ollie’s eyes are skyward, his lips pinched as though he’s actually taking this seriously.

“Ollie,” I say, desperate to interject before he says something he can’t take back.

“I’m just not sure,” he says. “Pork or fish?”

Eamon explodes. “Pork or fish? I thought we were talking about S’meals!”

“What?” Ollie frowns. “Oh, your smoothie business. No, listen, I wish you all the best, mate, but come on. Mixing business with pleasure. Bad idea, right? Everyone knows that.”

I feel Ollie’s hand squeeze my leg under the table and I exhale. My husband may have his pride, but he’s not stupid. Maybe, when it comes to money, Ollie is savvier than I thought.





7: LUCY


THE PRESENT

The next day, I focus on the kids. Despite the police showing up last night the kids seem to be narcissistically unaware that anything is up, even though Edie has been allowed to chow through seven squeeZ-fruit pouches (normally her limit is two per day), and Archie and Harriet haven’t been taken to karate or gymnastics or forced off their devices yet at midday on a Saturday. But now we have to tell them. We might not be able to tell them how she died, but at least we can tell them Diana is dead. We can say that we don’t know why yet, that the doctors are looking into it. That will satisfy them. Honestly they’d probably be satisfied with “she was very old.”