In-Laws and Outlaws

by Kate Fulford

  “It’s difficult for us to get away what with the animals and the children, and Mum doesn’t particularly like coming to the country so . . .” Helen’s voice trailed off.

  “Well, they send their regards,” said Gideon.

  “Their regards! Oh my, that is thoughtful of them.” I could sense there was something unspoken beneath this exchange, but it was clearly going to remain that way, for the time being at least. “But that’s enough about us, I want to know about Eve.” Helen turned to me. “Eve,” she said, cupping her face in her hands, “what do you think of our family?” We were still laughing when an unfamiliar voice with a strong Australian accent boomed out from behind me.

  “What’s so bloody funny?” the voice demanded to know. I turned to see someone who I very much hoped was Helen’s husband Joe as whoever it was had a shotgun slung over his arm. You really don’t want strangers brandishing firearms demanding to know what you’re laughing at, especially not when you are in the middle of nowhere with no mobile phone coverage and a landline that could easily have been cut. Joe, for thankfully it was he, was very tall, very well built, and very hairy (hair was clearly a big thing in this neck of the woods). He sported a thick beard as well as wavy hair down to his shoulders. He was an impressive sight, even more so as in addition to the shotgun he had a brace of what I assumed were pheasants thrown casually over his shoulder. He also had a very large, very muddy black hound that wouldn’t have disgraced the name of Baskerville standing obediently at his side. “I hope you’re not scaring Eve off with stories about your family. You all right Gid mate?”

  “Eve doesn’t look like the sort that scares easily,” said Helen. “You’re not easily scared are you Eve?” She looked at me enquiringly.

  “I don’t think so,” I said, wondering where all this was going.

  “I expect Mum adores Eve, doesn’t she Gid?” Helen shot a mischievous look at her brother.

  “Of course she does. She and Mum get on really, really well.” One ‘really’ would have been overplaying it, but I had perhaps been more effusive in my praise of Gideon’s mother than I really, really thought she merited.

  “Well, that’s good, that’s great in fact.” Helen gave me a little pat on the arm. She seemed to feel that I needed reassurance that all was well, which had the complete opposite effect to that intended. Why, I wondered, was it necessary to reassure me that it was great news that I got on with Marjorie, unless getting on with Marjorie was of the utmost importance?

  “Is there any tea in that pot, I’m parched?” asked Joe who, having dropped the pheasants onto the kitchen worktop, had walked over to stand behind Helen’s chair. The hound, now presumably off duty, was settling itself in a huge basket by the Aga (of course they had an Aga), preparing itself, I assumed, for a lie down. I had never knowingly spent a night in a house that contained both firearms and a hound of such monstrous proportions and I wasn’t sure whether it made me feel very safe or quite the opposite.

  “I don’t think so,” Helen replied to Joe’s enquiry. “I can make you some more,” she said, making as if to get up.

  “No, you stay there love, I’ll do it,” Joe replied, laying a hand on her shoulder. She reached up and covered his hand with her own and they shared a brief glance. If Marjorie and Malcolm had left me feeling that Gideon’s family was rather less than I might have hoped for, it looked as if Helen and Joe might more than make up for their deficiencies, guns, dogs, and a total lack of twenty first century technology notwithstanding.

  “So you’ve passed the test then Eve?” Joe called over his shoulder from where he was filling the kettle.

  “What test?” I asked.

  “The Marjorie test,” Joe explained. “Marjorie, you see, has very strong views on her son’s girlfriends. Who was that girl? Red hair, came from Carlisle. Marjorie tried to . . .”

  “Shut up Joe,” said Helen, interrupting Joe’s reminiscences. “I’m sure that Eve doesn’t want to talk about Gideon’s old girlfriends. And we haven’t got time to go through all of them, not in a single weekend anyway.” She ruffled her brother’s hair as she spoke and he responded by poking her in the ribs. They were clearly very fond of each other.

  “Didn’t she tell you that one of them was a junkie, Hels?” Joe continued as he came and sat at the table with his tea.

  “I told you to shut up Joe,” Helen said firmly, “and I meant it.”

  “And that girl Nicole,” Joe was clearly as determined to keep the conversation going as his wife was to end it. “She really got it in the neck, poor cow.”

  “It’s true that she wasn’t particularly fond of Nic.” Gideon conceded.

  “Why didn’t she like Nicole?” I asked.

  “Marjorie said she looked odd.” Joe explained.

  “In what way odd?” I was keen to get to the bottom of this as Marjorie had recently made much of the fact that I reminded her of Nicole. “When I saw you standing on our doorstep the first time we met I really thought it was Nicole for a moment,” she had said. “I said to you, didn’t I Malcolm, I said ‘don’t you think she has a look of Nicole about her’, didn’t I Malcolm? So similar.” Neither Malcolm nor Gideon had passed any comment and the conversation had moved on. I had been a little put out as I didn’t want to think that I was simply a type that Gideon routinely picked up. Gideon had assured me, however, that I looked nothing like Nicole and that I shouldn’t give it another thought.

  “She said,” Joe continued, “that Nicole always looked as if she was up to something, and as if she needed a good wash. She used to call her Dirty Nicole, and not in a good way.” He gave a throaty laugh.

  “I think that really is enough about Gideon’s past girlfriends, don’t you?” Helen gave Joe a look that clearly implied he had gone too far.

  “Don’t worry about it, Hels,” said Gideon, putting his hand over mine, “All Eve needs to know is that I’m going to marry her, aren’t I Eve?” Gideon looked at me for confirmation.

  “Yes, you are, you most certainly are.” I concurred.

  “Wow! Really? You’re finally going to get married? Joe, I think we need something stronger than tea!” Helen looked thrilled, although I wasn’t so sure that Joe shared her delight. It was difficult to tell, what with all the hair, but it looked to me as if he was unsure whether or not this was a good idea.

  “Keep it to yourselves though will you? I haven’t told Mum and Dad yet.” Gideon continued.

  “Oh, good luck with that then,” said Joe, winking at me, and thereby confirming my suspicions that he didn’t think this was unalloyed good news.

  “Oh shut up you,” said Helen, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “And that’s what you think people wear in the country?” Joe was looking at me appraisingly as we stood by the back door the next morning.

  “Isn’t it?” I replied, somewhat taken aback. I had put quite a lot of thought into my sartorial choices for this weekend and I felt that I had pretty much nailed it.

  “Well,” he said, clearly unimpressed my attire, “it’ll have to do.”

  I had, in preparation for my countryside sojourn, visited a wide range of charity shops in and around Chiswick and finally come across a quite stunning waxed coat. It was almost floor length and had an extra flappy cape bit that covered my shoulders. It also had more pockets than all the other coats I had ever owned combined. I presumed they were for putting the kind of things in that people in the countryside routinely need to have about their person, what with their being so far from shops so much of the time. What these things might be I had no idea, but should I ever find out I would certainly have the pockets for them. The coat was a little on the roomy side, but you can’t have everything. I had teamed it with some black wellies borrowed from Claire, whose feet are only marginally bigger than mine so a thick pair of socks almost made up the deficit, and a very fetching, if also rather over large, waterproof hat that I had found abandoned in Richmond Park some months previously. I was, I will admit, quite ple
ased with my ensemble. I looked every inch, or so I had believed, the countrywoman.

  “Come on then,” said Joe, “we’ve got provisions to get. See you guys later.” This last remark was directed towards Helen and Gideon who were sitting at the table, which still contained the detritus of breakfast. The plan was that Joe and I would go and obtain the necessaries for supper while Gideon and Helen had some quality sibling time together. I had readily agreed to Joe’s suggestion as I felt that he had things to tell me that he didn’t feel could be said in front of Helen. So here I was heading off in my rather oversized country attire, to get provisions.

  “Aren’t we driving?” I asked as Joe strode passed the mud encrusted Land Rover (what else?) parked outside.

  “No. We’re heading this away.” Joe pointed to what looked like a very dense forest that covered the hillside behind the house.

  “Oh,” I replied, “I see.” I didn’t see, but followed Joe anyway, running slightly to keep up. Gideon walks fast and so, as general rule, do I. I have to run for a few steps occasionally to keep up with him, but it’s never been a problem for me. I am fit and healthy and well able to manage. This was, however, something else altogether. For a start the hill was rather steep and my socks weren’t quite thick enough so my boots threatened to come off with every step. On top of this my lovely coat not only weighed a ton, it also made me substantially wider than normal so I kept getting caught on branches whilst trying to get through gaps I would usually have been able to negotiate with ease. As a result keeping up with Joe proved rather more challenging than I might have hoped, and he made me no concessions, striding on ahead at an Olympian pace. Having fought my way through what seemed like several miles of forest we came to the top of the hill. Joe looked as if he wasn’t going to stop so I managed to indicate that I would like to take a moment to admire the view. I had to do this largely through sign language as I was too breathless to speak, and when I did turn around to see how far we had come I was disappointed to note the house was only a few hundred yards below us.

  “How . . . how . . . how . . . much further?” I finally managed to gasp, having pushed my hat back so that I could see Joe, as it had the unfortunate habit of falling over my eyes if I didn’t keep regularly adjusting it.

  “Just over the next rise,” he assured me, pointing to another hill that must have been at least thirty miles away. It was almost obscured by the curvature of the earth.

  “Oh, great.” I muttered.

  “Right, now I’ve got you alone, we need to have a little talk.” Joe had begun walking again, so I had no choice but to do the same, much though I longed to collapse in a heap on the ground.

  “Do we?” I asked.

  “Now, Eve,” Joe began, “Any idiot can see that you and Gideon are very happy.”

  “Yes, we are,” I concurred.

  “And that’s great, really great, but I have to warn you, you don’t know what you’re getting into.” Joe continued.

  “Don’t I?” I responded.

  “The thing is that Marjorie, well Marjorie is a very strong willed woman.”

  “Is she?” I asked, disingenuously.

  “Yes, Eve, I’m afraid she bloody is. And she thinks that she knows what’s best for everyone, especially her children.” Joe continued.

  “Does she? Think she knows what’s best I mean, rather than actually knowing what’s best.” I could see that Joe was quite angry but at least he wasn’t armed, although Baskerville (turned out that was actually the hound’s name) was with us.

  “If I didn’t love Helen so bloody much she might have scared me off.” Joe continued. “Why do you think we live out here, in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Because you like it?” I ventured, unlikely though this seemed.

  “Yeah, there is that, but it’s also because Marjorie doesn’t like it. She and Hels, well they . . . to be honest Marjorie can be a first class bitch. If it was up to me we’d never have anything to do with her, but Helen, well, she just keeps going back for more, whatever I say. Hels says she’s not going to put up with her mother anymore, and then . . . well, she does, Put up with her that is.”

  “What does Marjorie do?” I asked, intrigued.

  “She uses Hels.” Joe sounded quite angry.

  “What do you mean, uses her?”

  “If Marjorie wants to play happy families, then she’s all over us, but then she’ll be so bloody critical she makes Hels feel like shit. Marjorie knows better about everything and is quite happy to say so. She criticises where we live, how we live, how we’re bringing up the kids, everything.” Joe was on a roll now, and really quite furious, but he had stopped walking to vent his anger so I could have a little rest and catch my breath. “Once, when they came for the weekend, she even brought her own sheets because she said Helen didn’t use the right conditioner on ours. Can you believe that? Anyway,” he continued, “I’ve tried to get her to cut the old bitch out of our lives, but she won’t. I’ve no idea why. It’s the only thing we ever argue about.”

  “Oh.” I said. “And what about Gideon?”

  “He’s the golden boy, isn’t he? Marjorie’s perfect son.” Joe had resumed walking at a cracking pace but the trees had thinned and the ground levelled so I could almost keep up. “Look,” he said, “you must have wondered why he’s never married? Good looking, if that wussy metropolitan look’s your thing, financially solvent. Never married.”

  “Well,” I said, silently cursing my coat for being so damned heavy, and I didn’t even have anything in the pockets, “he’d never met me.”

  “There’s that of course. But it might also be that he’s never married because Marjorie has stuck her oar in every time. She might just think he ought to marry you,” Joe let out a huge ‘ha’ which made me think he thought this unlikely, “but if she doesn’t then I would suggest that you . . .”

  “That I what?”

  “Just watch your back,” Joe said, “that’s all I’m saying.”

  “But she can’t stop him marrying me,” I said, “he’s a grown man.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Just watch yourself, that really is all I’m saying.” It clearly wasn’t all he was saying, but it was also all he was going to say. “Not far now,” he assured me, as we plunged into another densely wooded area, the subject of Marjorie clearly closed. Where the hell, I wondered, were we going, and what sort of ‘provisions’ were we going to find when we got there? Perhaps Joe had set snares for rabbits, or we were going to pick mushrooms from the forest floor, who knew?

  “There,” Joe said, pointing at something in the distance. “Can you see it yet?”

  “See what?” I asked, peering through the trees with no idea what I was looking for.

  “Tesco’s. Now where,” he said, patting his numerous pockets, “did I put the shopping list?”

  “Mum and Sasha were thick as thieves, for a while at least.” Helen said in reply to my question. We were doing the washing up after dinner (they didn’t have a dishwasher, obviously) and I had been quizzing Helen, as subtly as I could manage, about Gideon’s past girlfriends. “But then,” she continued, “it all went very frosty, and not long after that Gideon and Sasha split up.”

  “What went wrong? Weren’t she and Gideon engaged?” I prompted. Gideon had told me about Sasha leading me to admit that I too had once been engaged, but as the fact that my engagement had led to marriage wasn’t relevant to the conversation I hadn’t felt the need to mention it. It wasn’t as if I was married to anyone else when Gideon and I decided to wed, and that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?

  “They were,” Helen confirmed, “not that I thought they were as well suited as you two.” Helen paused as she scrubbed at an already spotless casserole dish. “I really mean that you know,” she continued, “I’m not just saying it. Well I am just saying it, obviously, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

  “Thanks Helen, that’s really nice to know.” I replied, taking the dish from her. “Do you think your
mother had anything to do with their relationship ending?” I threw this in as casually as I could. While I already liked Helen and sensed that she wasn’t as enamoured of her mother as was Gideon there was, I felt, no need to signal how interested I might be in her answer.

  “Well . . . the thing is, I suppose . . . well to put it another way,” said Helen, not having put it any way at all yet. “Sasha, well, she dumped Gideon, not the other way round . . . so that’s not very likely is it?” Helen was lying again, that was the second time since I had arrived. Why do so many people lie, I wondered, especially when they are so bad at it? I know that sounds hypocritical, but really.

  “But you suspect that your mother had something to do with it?” I asked, adopting just the right tone, I hoped, of incredulity.

  “Oh no,” said Helen, far too emphatically. “Sasha just got cold feet I suppose. That must have been it. Cold feet. Nothing more to it than that. Absolutely a case of cold feet, nothing more.” Helen was trying to sound casual, off hand even, but she wouldn’t meet my eye and kept scrubbing at another, also clearly spotless, dish. She was a bad, bad liar. “Isn’t it cold for the time of year?” she said, apparently signalling an end to the previous conversation. “I mean really cold. I’ll get you an extra blanket for your bed. I wouldn’t want you and Gideon to get chilly in the night.”

  The washing up finished and my mind slightly unsettled, we joined Gideon and Joe in the dishevelled but homely sitting room. As if it wasn’t untidy enough already the two of them were sprawled on the floor looking through some old photographs they had strewn haphazardly across the floor. I squatted down next to Joe to take a look.

  “Oh my god, is that really you?” I exclaimed. The photo that had elicited this response was of a very young but still recognisable Joe and Helen. “How old were you?”

  “Fifteen,” Helen replied, “at least I was, Joe was seventeen. That was only about a week after we first met.”

  “You met as teenagers?” I said. “Wow.” Gideon had told me that Joe and Helen had been together a long time, but not quite how long.