‘Not at all. I always feel I’m in danger of being over protective,’ I said. ‘I suppose most single mothers are the same.’
She refilled my teacup thoughtfully. ‘Ian is very fond of the boy,’ she said glancing up at me.
‘I know.’ I took the cup from her. ‘And it’s mutual. Jamie couldn’t have a better music teacher. He adores Ian.’
‘I shouldn’t ask – but are you and he…?’
‘Yes,’ I told her. It was a tricky moment. ‘I don’t know whether he’s mentioned it to you but he’s asked us to move into the cottage with him.’ I held my breath, wondering whether she would share Mary’s views. To my relief she smiled and nodded.
‘Well, yes. I confess that he has hinted that he hoped it would happen and I’m so pleased for you both, my dear. Ian has spent far too much time on his own since he decided to leave the orchestra. I know he keeps in touch with his musician friends but he really needs someone who understands and cares for him.’ She shook her head. ‘Do I sound like an interfering old busybody?’
‘Not at all.’
‘It’s just that I don’t think he….’
‘Eats enough?’ I suggested. She laughed.
‘Exactly! He forgets to get his hair cut too, and he’s always forgetting things like dental appointments and paying bills.’
‘Well, I think I can promise that he won’t in future.’
‘I’m so glad he’s found you,’ Janet said. ‘I hope you don’t mind but he’s told me what happened between you and Jamie’s father. It was a very brave decision you made.’
‘It didn’t feel brave at the time,’ I told her. ‘I felt I had no choice. But I was lucky. I had a good friend who helped me.’
‘And now you’ve got Ian.’
‘I have and I’m very lucky. I love him very much, Mrs Morton.’
‘Janet, please. Aunt Janet if you prefer. He loves you very much too, my dear. You can be sure of that.’
‘Ian told me you used to be a singer. That must be where he gets his musical talent from.’
She smiled. ‘There was always music in the house when he was little and Ian has loved the piano ever since he was big enough to reach the keys,’ she said. ‘I gave him his very first lessons but when I could see he had real talent I found him a proper teacher.’
‘He was lucky to have you and his uncle.’ I glanced at her. ‘He told me about his mother.’
‘Amanda? Ah, yes.’ Janet sighed. ‘But then who are we to judge? None of us can help who we are, and Ian has always been the son George and I would never have had if Amanda hadn’t been the way she was.’
I looked at the photograph on the mantelpiece. It showed a younger Janet and Ian at about six; with them, his arms around them both, was George Morton, tall and dark-haired with laughing brown eyes.
‘Is that your husband?’ I asked, nodding towards the photograph. Janet nodded.
‘He adored Ian. They were inseparable.’
Ian came back in with Jamie, the little dog at his heels and Janet chased them off to the kitchen with orders to wash their hands while she made a fresh pot of tea.
Jamie tried each of the sandwiches in turn and did justice to the iced buns while Brownie, the dog, sat beside him, watching every mouthful with appealing brown eyes. I wondered if Janet noticed the titbits that Jamie occasionally posted into his open jaws.
‘You must be quite a connoisseur of sandwiches and cake,’ she said, ‘with Mummy and your auntie running a catering business. I bet you get to scrape the bowl all the time.’
‘Oh, they don’t let me do that,’ Jamie proclaimed airily. ‘I’m not even allowed in the kitchen when they’re cooking.’
Janet looked at me inquiringly.
‘Health and safety,’ I explained. ‘The rules are very strict, although Jamie doesn’t starve, I can assure you.’
She laughed. ‘I can see that.’
When tea was cleared away Janet looked at Ian. ‘I’ve got something for Jamie,’ she said. ‘It was yours and I’m sure you’ll want him to have it.’ She went out of the room and the three of us looked at each other, Jamie fidgeting on his chair with excitement.
‘What is it?’ he whispered to Ian, but Ian shook his head.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ he said.
Janet came back into the room with a leather case under her arm. She opened it and took out a junior-size violin and bow which she handed to Jamie.
‘You’ll have to get Ian to teach you to play it,’ she said. ‘It’s been languishing in the cupboard ever since he grew out of it and it’s high time someone played it again.’
Jamie’s face was a picture of delight as he fingered the instrument. He looked at Janet. ‘Is it really for me?’
She laughed. ‘Yes, if you want it.’
He nodded eagerly. ‘Thank you.’ He looked at Ian. ‘Will you teach me to play it?’
Ian laughed. ‘I can see I’m going to have my work cut out. It’s a good job you’re coming to live with me.’
Jamie looked at me, his eyes wide with delight. ‘Are we? Wow! That’ll be really cool!’
He fell asleep on the back seat of the car on the way home, the violin case cradled in his arms like the precious possession it was. Later as I tucked him up in bed he opened his eyes and smiled at me.
‘Are we really going to live with Ian?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘And will he really teach me to play the violin? I didn’t dream it – it did all really happen, didn’t it, Mum?’
I laughed. ‘Yes, it did.’
‘And is the violin really mine – for keeps?’
‘Yes, it is,’ I said gently removing it from under the duvet. ‘Now go to sleep.’
Downstairs I kissed Ian. ‘Thank you for today, darling – and for everything. Jamie is over the moon.’
‘No, thank you. When will you move in? I’ve got rid of all the junk in the spare room and I thought maybe next weekend I’d paint it.’
‘I’ll come and help. The sooner we get it done, the sooner we can move in.’
He hugged me close. ‘I can’t wait.’
Four
We painted Jamie’s room a bright sunshine yellow. It was at the back of the cottage and overlooked the garden, which, Ian admitted, was an overgrown disgrace. I made him promise that we’d get to work on it as soon as we settled in. Jamie passed his grade three piano exam and Ian began to give him violin lessons which he took to as eagerly as he had the piano.
Virginia Cottage was not ‘in the sticks’ as Ian had described it, but in a pleasant suburb of Greencliffe, about five miles out of town. It was an end of terrace Victorian two up, two down house which had been updated by a previous owner. It was clear from the beginning that Jamie and I were going to feel quite cramped, especially after being used to Mary’s spacious semi.
Downstairs, the two rooms had been knocked into one and a kitchen built on at the back. A lot of space was taken up by Ian’s baby grand piano, which Jamie adored on sight. The kitchen was big enough to use as a dining room so it was clear from the start that I would be spending much of my spare time there. Upstairs the tiny third bedroom had been converted into a bathroom. The house fitted the three of us like a tight shoe. Ian promised that we would look for a larger house as soon as we had saved enough money.
On the weekend before we moved, Dad came down from Yorkshire to meet Ian. To my relief they seemed to take to each other on sight. I begged Dad to stay longer but he shook his head.
‘I’d love to but I can’t leave your mother for too long,’ he said. ‘She’s not at all well and she seems to need me more and more these days.’
I was quite shocked. In all her life Mother had been completely independent. She was what people call a ‘private person’. In other words she preferred to shut everyone else out and favoured her own company. As far as I could see she’d never been much of a companion to Dad and it didn’t seem fair that she was making demands on him now. But perhaps this was how he liked things
; maybe it was what he had always wanted, a wife who needed him.
‘How bad is she, Dad?’ I asked him.
‘Well, as you know it’s her heart,’ he told me. ‘And it’s not going to get any better. She’s all right as long as she takes things very easily. No excitement or extra exertion.’ He grinned good-naturedly. ‘I do most of the cooking nowadays. I’m getting to be an elderly Jamie Oliver. We have a cleaning lady once a week and in between I run around with the Hoover. We manage just fine.’
I squeezed his hand. ‘I wish there was more I could do, Dad. I’d bring Ian up for a visit but I know she’d disapprove of us living together and I’ve no wish to upset her.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s your life, love. As long as you and young Jamie are happy that’s all I want for you both. I’m afraid your mum will never change.’ He patted my shoulder. ‘And for what it’s worth, I think you’ve got one of the best in Ian. He’s a grand lad.’
On the morning we moved out, Mary was quite tearful. She stood on the front step as we packed the car, clutching a handkerchief and when I went to kiss her goodbye she clung to me, choking back a sob.
‘Oh dear, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this,’ she said crossly, dabbing at her eyes.
I hugged her. ‘Mary! I’m not off to Siberia. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I’ll be here bright and early every day, reporting for work just as usual.’
She nodded, swallowing hard. ‘I know, but it won’t be the same. I’ve got so used to having the two of you around the house and I’m going to miss you like crazy.’
‘Go on,’ I chided. ‘I bet you’re secretly sick of the sight of us and longing for some peace and quiet.’
She shook her head. ‘You want to bet?’
Jamie loved his new room. He’d brought all his favourite posters, books and toys and in no time he’d made the room his own. Downstairs I looked round the kitchen. Ian was very fastidious and everywhere was spotlessly clean, but as I told him, the place could do with a lick of paint and some new curtains. He laughed.
‘In other words, the woman’s touch!’
I frowned at him. ‘Don’t you dare suggest anything so sexist!
A month later both kitchen and living room had been decorated and I’d made new curtains for both rooms. My portable TV was installed in the kitchen and we moved the sofa in there, buying a new one for the living room. Virginia Cottage began to feel like home.
Our individual routines worked well. In the daytime while I worked with Mary and Jamie was at school, Ian taught his pupils at the cottage or drove out to teach them at their homes. If one of Ian’s gigs coincided with a Mary-Mary event Jamie would stay the night with his friend, Daniel, whose mother Cathy had become a good friend.
After a few weeks of struggling with unreliable public transport I bought myself a little second-hand car so that I was able to drop Jamie off at school before going on to Mary’s. In our spare time at weekends Ian and I cleared the garden and planted bulbs ready for the spring.
With the arrival of winter the question of Christmas arose. After some discussion we decided to spend it at Mary’s, which was what she had suggested. She extended the invitation to Ian’s Aunt Janet, who happily accepted. I asked Ian about his mother but he shook his head.
‘Amanda and Janet together in the same house for more than half an hour is a recipe for disaster,’ he said.
‘But they’re sisters,’ I argued.
‘Exactly!’ He laughed. ‘As far as I can see that only makes matters worse. Anyway, Amanda never seems short of invitations. I vote we just don’t mention it.’
Ian had been putting off a visit to his mother ever since Jamie and I moved in. I’d always known they didn’t enjoy the closest of relationships so I didn’t press it, telling myself he would suggest introducing me to his mother when he was good and ready.
Jamie came home from school, excited at the prospect of auditioning for the school orchestra and when he was accepted two days later I don’t know who was the more delighted – him or Ian. Life was good and I fell more and more in love with Ian as the weeks went by. He was loving and considerate, easy-going and wonderful with Jamie, who adored him. We were a family.
We were having supper one evening at the beginning of December when Ian suddenly looked up and said, ‘I had a letter from Amanda this morning.’
I looked up. ‘Your mother? Is that unusual?’
‘It tends only to happen when she wants something,’ he said dryly. ‘And this is no exception.’
‘Oh, what does she want?’
‘Oh, she’s very subtle.’ He took the letter from an inside pocket and passed it to me across the table. ‘You have to read between the lines.’
I unfolded the single sheet of notepaper and read with interest.
My dear Ian,
I am rather surprised that you have not had the courtesy to introduce me to your partner yet. I wonder what the reason for this can be. Surely you are not ashamed to be living with an unmarried mother and her child in this day and age! As you know, I am very broadminded on the subject. I would love to meet her and, as you know, I am always here – mostly alone at the flat. I don’t get many visitors so it would be a treat to have a visit from you.
I shall be spending this Christmas alone, alas. It is very sad to be old and unwanted as you will surely discover one of these days. But there – I know you are busy with your own life and who could blame you if you forget sometimes that you have a mother.
Hoping that you might find a few minutes to spare for me one of these days, I remain, your affectionate mother, Amanda.
P.S. I am always out at my bridge club on Wednesdays and Fridays.
‘To be fair, I suppose we should have gone to see her before now,’ I said, folding the letter and handing it back.
Ian pulled a face. ‘If I were you I’d reserve judgement on that.’
We decided to go and visit Amanda the following Sunday afternoon. Ian suggested that, on this first occasion, it would be better if it were just the two of us so it was arranged that Jamie would stay with Daniel for the afternoon.
Amanda’s flat was on the fourth floor of Ocean Heights, the private block of flats on the cliffs overlooking the sea. We took the lift up to the fourth floor and as I glanced at Ian I noticed to my surprise that he was nervous. I reached for his hand.
‘Don’t worry.’
He shook his head. ‘The trouble with Amanda is that she always has an agenda. You never know what she’s going to come out with. She seems to think she has the right to be “open and honest” as she puts it, whether she offends people or not.’
I gave his hand a squeeze. ‘I don’t take offence easily. What can she say anyway?’
‘Mmm,’ He pulled a wry face. ‘You’d be surprised.’
She opened the door to our ring immediately, almost as though she’d been waiting behind it. Unlike her sister, Janet, she was tiny and doll-like and had obviously been very pretty in her youth. But unlike Janet she was clearly refusing to accept the advancing years gracefully. She wore a long black velvet skirt and a glamorous white blouse with a profusion of lace ruffles at the neck. Her blonde hair was swept up in a girlish explosion of curls with tendrils escaping over her forehead and neck. But her efforts to retain her youthful looks only enhanced her age and although she was only two years older than Janet I would have guessed that the age difference was greater.
The china blue eyes were openly appraising, sweeping me up and down as Ian introduced us. She offered a small white hand, heavy with rings.
‘How nice to meet you,’ she said, touching my hand briefly with her scarlet fingertips. ‘Though not before time, I must say. Still, better late than never – even if I did have to write to you, Ian.’ She gave him a withering look then led the way on four-inch heels into the living room, which was furnished with a pink velvet-covered chaise longue and two rather uncomfortable looking chairs. One wall was entirely covered with signed photographs.
�
��All my showbusiness friends,’ she explained with an airy wave of her hand. ‘Do feel free to look at them. I’m sure you’ll find many famous names that you’ll recognize among them.’
A coffee table was laid for tea with delicate eggshell china and embroidered napkins but no actual food.
‘I’ll go and bring in the tea,’ Amanda said. ‘Make yourselves at home.’
When she’d gone Ian let out his breath. ‘Phew! I told you she was heavy going.’
‘Shhh, she’ll hear you,’ I told him. ‘She’s fine.’
‘She’s in her best leading lady mode,’ he warned. ‘So don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Amanda returned with a plate of minute sandwiches and a chocolate Swiss roll. ‘I hope you like fish paste,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I’m not a domestic goddess like my sister. I have to rely on the supermarket, but do help yourselves.’ She looked at me. ‘Where is your child? A boy, isn’t it? Nothing wrong with him, is there?’
Her tone indicated that we might be hiding the fact that he had two heads and Ian answered for me. ‘There’s nothing at all wrong with Jamie. He’s a very promising pupil of mine.’
‘I see.’ Amanda poured extremely weak tea from a silver teapot. ‘And is that how you two met?’
‘Not exactly,’ I told her. ‘Ian and his quintet were playing at a wedding where my friend and I were doing the catering.’
‘Oh.’ She looked up at me. ‘So – you’re a waitress?’
I refused to look at Ian. ‘No,’ I said calmly. ‘My friend and I run a catering business. It’s called Mary-Mary.’
She raised a delicately plucked eyebrow. ‘Really, how quaint.’ She passed me a cup half full of pallid liquid. ‘So you’re really a glorified cook?’
‘We do prepare most of the food ourselves,’ I conceded.
She passed me the plate of fish paste sandwiches. ‘Of course, I know nothing about such things,’ she said airily. ‘I spent most of my life on tour and living in hotels where things like that were done for me.’ She gave a tinkling little laugh. ‘I can’t boil the proverbial egg, darling. Nowadays I exist on microwave meals and takeaways. Unless, Henry, my gentleman friend takes me out to dinner, of course, which fortunately he does several times a week.’ She looked pointedly at Ian. ‘Which brings me to the question of Christmas. What are your plans, Ian?’
Too Late to Paint the Roses Page 7
