Much as she would have loved to plug Andre for information, Helen wanted to make sure it was she who said this first. She had to show Andre that she wasn’t as monstrous as Paul might have made out.
‘Well, what else are we going to talk about?’ said Andre, only half joking.
‘The weather?’ said Helen. ‘The dog?’
‘OK. Nice weather.’
‘Nice dog.’
Paul hadn’t even arrived, and already Helen had made significant progress. Both the boyfriend and the dog seemed to like her, and she liked them. From the moment he’d described himself as Andrex without the ‘x’, she had known he was OK.
A tiny but muscular man with a shaven head thundered down the stairs and began clattering wordlessly through the cupboards, without a glance at Andre or Helen. It was odd to be so small, and yet so body-built. Such wasted effort. It wasn’t as if anyone that size could ever be physically threatening or even particularly strong. Why would anyone with that body pick the gym as their hobby? It reminded Helen of the deaf people who painstakingly attain some kind of mastery of a musical instrument. However good they are, you just want to ask, ‘Why?’
Ripping open what looked like some kind of power bar, the muscle midget turned and glared angrily at Helen.
‘Well, thank God you’re here,’ he said. ‘You’re two hours late.’
‘Am I?’ she said.
‘She’s not the new clean – ’ said Andre.
‘Have you sorted out the wages and everything?’ he said. ‘And have you told her that if she touches a single fucking thing in my studio she’s sacked?’
‘You can tell her yourself,’ said Andre, ‘but there’s not much point, since she’s not the new cleaner.’
‘Christ, do I have to do everything myself?’ he said, and clomped back up the stairs, as if attempting to impress on them how much he weighed.
‘You get used to him,’ said Andre, after a pause. ‘He’s an acquired taste.’
‘I thought he was charming.’
‘He’s OK. He just has bad days.’
Then, suddenly, there in front of her was Paul, looking as heart-stoppingly Larrylike as ever: his broad chin exactly replicating his father’s, his curved, dark eyebrows frowning Larry’s frown.
‘I didn’t hear you come in,’ said Andre, standing, walking across the room and kissing Paul on the lips.
Paul recoiled from the kiss and stared from Helen to Andre and back again, in the manner of someone teleported without warning to a place they’ve never seen before. What had just happened, it appeared, simply did not compute. Andre, equally befuddled, gazed at Paul and Helen. The way Paul was staring at her made it clear that he absolutely wasn’t expecting her, as Helen had told him, and the way he had recoiled from the kiss gave the distinct impression that he was not, after all, out to his mother.
Only Helen kept her cool, smiling warmly at Paul. ‘Hello, darling,’ she said. ‘Just thought I’d pop in.’
Gillian and Daniel
why is not having a lemon typical?
‘That’s a nice greeting!’
There is a window of truth in all relationships that exists in the fraction of a second between opening a front door and composing a polite response to an unexpected visitor. The more alert you are, the greater your chances of drawing the curtains over this window before anyone gets a chance to look inside. Women are swifter than men. Sociable men are quicker than unsociable men. The happy can move faster than the unhappy. This put Daniel in the slowest category of all. For a full second, at the unexpected sight of his mother on the doorstep, his face betrayed sheer, unadorned dismay.
‘What’s a nice greeting?’ he finally managed. ‘I haven’t even said anything.’
Gillian had already walked past him into the flat, and was unbuttoning her coat in the living room by the time he finished speaking. She held out her coat and scarf (which she wore ten months of the year) without even glancing in Daniel’s direction. She was looking around the room in the manner of a policeman at a crime scene. Daniel took the garments and tossed them on to a chair.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said, returning to the living room.
‘I came on impulse.’
‘Impulse? It’s four hundred miles.’
‘I’m your mother. Distance has nothing to do with it.’
‘But … why didn’t you phone?’
‘I told you, it was a sudden impulse.’
‘You still could have told me you were coming.’
Gillian’s gaze suddenly latched on to the novel splayed open on the coffee table. ‘What’s that?’ she said.
‘It’s a novel. You want some tea?’
‘I can see that, Daniel. I’m not stupid.’
‘So why are you asking?’
‘What’s it doing there? Are you reading it? I mean, is that what you were doing just now? That’s your evening?’
‘Yeah. It’s good.’
‘This is worse than I thought. I need to sit down.’
‘What’s the big deal?’
‘You’re thirty-four!’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Saturday night!’
‘So?’
‘You’re single!’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘And you’re sitting at home, on your own, reading a … a … novel! What’s wrong with you? I mean, have you given up? Is that it? Thirty-four isn’t young, but it’s not old. It’s too early to give up. Isn’t it? Tell me you haven’t given up.’
‘Do you want tea or not?’
‘Of course I want tea, and I want to know why you’re sitting around like a pensioner when you should be out there finding yourself a nice girl and getting ready to give me some grandchildren.’
‘Grandchildren. Here we go,’ said Daniel, walking to the kitchen, closely followed by his mother.
‘It’s not a lot to ask.’
‘So ask Rose.’
‘Don’t worry, I ask her every week. But I don’t see why you should get off so lightly.’
‘Whatever you say won’t make any difference, Mum. Nagging doesn’t make people breed.’ He flicked on the kettle and began searching a high cupboard for some biscuits.
‘What did I do to get such selfish children? Before I’ve even spoken, my own son tells me nothing I can say will make any difference.’
‘You have spoken, Mum. You’ve spoken plenty. I’ve never met anyone who’s managed to stop you speaking.’
‘Every woman deserves to be a grandmother. It’s half the point of being a mother in the first place.’
‘Oh, so we’re just machines to make your grandchildren?’
‘Not machines, but you do have a job to do, yes.’
‘Mum, your life is your life, my life is my life. It’s up to me to–’
‘That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.’
‘What, my life isn’t my life?’
‘Of course it isn’t!’
‘Whose is it, then?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But you’re not just here for you. You’re here to … pass on the flame.’
Daniel slammed the cupboard door, abandoning his biscuit search, and turned back to his mother. ‘What flame?’
‘If we were all just here for ourselves, life would be pointless.’
‘Life is pointless.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Lemon, not milk.’
‘I don’t have any lemons.’
‘Typical.’
‘What does that mean? Why is not having a lemon typical?’
‘It just is. Me me me. It’s your whole philosophy.’
‘I didn’t know you were coming!’
‘Exactly.’
‘What?’
‘You didn’t know anyone was coming.’
‘No one is coming.’
‘That’s my point: no one coming. Just you in your little world. Me me me. With your little books. At home.’
‘Little books? What do you mean,
“little books”? It’s not little, and even if it was, I don’t see what that would have to do with whether or not I’ve run out of lemons.’
‘Well, if you don’t understand, I can’t explain.’
Gillian felt a prickle of sweat on her upper lip and swiftly dabbed at it with the side of her thumb, a nervous tic she had acquired in the last few years, as her body’s thermostat had taken on a wayward and unpredictable personality.
She was feeling tense and uncomfortable, sensations which invariably manifested themselves in Gillian as aggression. She did not belong here. She had no place barging into Daniel’s life like this, and with a four-hundred-mile journey behind her, she was giving him no choice but to take her in.
She had already spent half an hour in the car outside, pondering the idea of turning round and driving straight back to London. But the longer she sat there, the more confused she became, until she realised that she had lost any capacity to make a rational decision about what to do, and was no longer even thinking about the problem. She was simply sitting there, gazing into space like a mad person.
It was the desire for a cup of tea that had eventually driven her to ring his doorbell. At the moment she pressed the buzzer, she suddenly and decisively knew she was doing a bad thing. It was wrong to force herself on her son like this. But she had buzzed. Now she just had to brazen it out.
With a sigh, Daniel handed Gillian her drink. ‘Is this supposed to be logical?’ he said. ‘Should I be following this, or are you just talking for the pleasure of hearing noises come out of your mouth?’
‘Always the clever words. Trying to act like I’m the stupid one who can’t make herself understood.’
‘You can’t make yourself understood! I’m not calling you stupid – I’d never call you stupid – but I don’t understand what you’re talking about or why you’re here.’
‘Charming! Is this how I raised you? A woman travels hundreds of miles to visit her son, and the first thing he says to her is, “What are you doing here?” ’
‘It’s not the first thing I said to you, and that isn’t even what I said.’
‘OK, I’ll go. You don’t want me, I’ll go. Get me my coat.’ Gillian tipped her steaming tea into the sink and began to rinse out her mug.
‘I don’t want you to go. Stay. I’m just asking why you didn’t ring to tell me you were coming.’
‘I have to ask permission?’
‘You don’t have to ask permission. I’m just asking. You don’t think it’s normal for me to be surprised?’
‘There are thousands of women in this city. Not as many as in a proper city, but you’re a handsome man. She doesn’t have to be Jewish. We gave up on that years ago, Daniel. You can choose anyone.’
‘Oh, now you’re giving me permission?’
‘Women like Jews. They like something exotic. Generations of suffering and a good university degree – it’s what every sensible girl is looking for.’
‘I’m really not getting dragged into this conversation.’
‘You’re handsome. You’ve always acted like you think women are going to say “no” to you, and that’s a terrible mistake. I should have told you more often how good-looking you are, when you were a boy, but I didn’t want to make you conceited. Maybe it’s my fault.’
‘You’re right. It’s your fault. Now how was your journey? Shall I make you another cup of tea?’
‘How can you say that?’
‘Say what?’
‘That it’s my fault!’
‘I was being sarcastic, Mum.’
‘You’re always sarcastic. It’s the modern disease. No one knows what anyone else means any more.’
‘Why don’t we go and sit in the living room?’ said Daniel, knowing she wouldn’t, since she didn’t like living rooms and didn’t like sitting. At home, the lounge was always under-heated and over-lit. It was a place for watching TV or entertaining visitors you didn’t really like. The kitchen was where everything happened.
‘You could have done so much better,’ continued Gillian, not budging from her spot beside the oven. ‘Even the women you did go out with, they were never much to write home about. That girl Lucy you stuck around with for years, honestly, she was lumpen. Just a solid, healthy, country girl. OK, maybe that’s interesting for a while, as an experiment, but for a boy like you – an intellectual – it’s totally unsuitable.’
‘I’m not an intellectual, Mum.’
‘Well, I don’t know what the word for it is, but you’re certainly no country boy.’
‘I never said I was. And since when is “healthy” an insult?’
‘And that other one. Erin. What kind of a name is Erin?’ Gillian refilled the kettle and began making herself another cup of tea. ‘It’s like the leftovers from a Scrabble hand.’
‘And that’s a character flaw, is it?’
‘I never liked Erin.’
Gillian wasn’t quite sure how the conversation had taken this turn, and why she had chosen this moment to bully her son with a diatribe against his ex-girlfriends. Something similar often seemed to happen between the two of them. She’d begin a conversation intending to talk to him in the way she spoke to her friends, and within minutes she’d find herself hectoring him as if he was a recalcitrant teenager. Whatever good intentions she started with, she always ended up behaving like this: like – though it pained her to admit it – her own mother.
‘Can we change the subject?’ said Daniel, sitting down heavily at the kitchen table.
The problem was, once she had begun, Gillian found it almost impossible to backtrack. And on this particular occasion she had a good reason for pressing on, as a tactic to divert attention from her abrupt intrusion into his life. The longer she could delay an explanation, the better her chances of getting away with it, and the best way to steer him away from demanding the reason for her arrival was to find something more vexing to talk about. She had to keep him on the defensive. ‘There was a vulgarity, wasn’t there?’ said Gillian, feeling only slightly ashamed of herself. ‘She was very pushy.’
‘You only met her a few times, and you barely spoke to her. You never gave her a chance.’
‘Did you see the way she held her cutlery?’
‘That’s not something that’s burned on my –’
‘Like she’d never seen it before! Like she’d been raised by Chinamen! By the end of the meal, she had food on her fingers!’
‘So you’ve come to insult my ex-girlfriend’s table manners? That’s why you’re here?’
‘Why do you keep asking me that? It’s very rude.’
‘Oh, and it’s not rude to fling racist slurs at all the women I’ve ever loved.’
‘You loved them?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You loved them!’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You did say that! That’s exactly what you said.’
‘It’s a turn of phrase. I was exaggerating.’
‘Well, did you? Did you love them?’
‘Why do you care? It was ages ago.’
‘Well, if you could love them, why are you just sitting around mooching now? It’s not like you’re waiting for someone to match up to them, is it? I thought you were being choosy – and I respect that – but I think you’ve been shopping below your market.’
‘It’s not shopping. I’m not going to talk about it in these terms, Mum.’
‘You’ve always undervalued yourself. It’s probably my fault. I’m going to try and put things right again.’
‘What things?’
‘I’m going to help you.’
‘Help me do what?’
‘Get yourself back on your feet.’
‘I am on my feet. I was never off my feet.’
‘With girls, I mean.’
‘With girls! How are you going to help me? And who says I need help, anyway?’
‘The facts is who. A year is who. Without a girlfriend.’
‘I don’t n
eed help, and I don’t want help.’
‘Well, you’re getting help. I’ve brought an overnight bag. I’m going to stay here for a while and sort you out.’
‘I am sorted out! I don’t need sorting out!’
‘How long did you live in my house?’
‘What?’
‘How long did you live in my house?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Eighteen years! Eighteen years! And now you’re saying one week the other way round is too much to ask?’
‘A week! You want to stay a week?’
‘I’ll go and get my bag. It’s in the car.’
‘You drove?’
‘I told you, it was an impulse. And I like long drives. It’s the only chance I get to sit still.’
Abandoning her second untouched cup of tea, Gillian strode into the hall, closely followed by Daniel.
‘Does Dad know you’re doing this?’
‘Of course.’
‘And what does he think?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask.’
‘This is crazy!’
‘Don’t be stubborn. And I hope that by the end of this week I’ll have turned you into the kind of man who doesn’t send his aged mother out into the street to carry her own suitcase.’
The front door slammed behind her. Checking he had keys in his pocket, Daniel followed her out. A minute later, he found himself carrying his mother’s suitcase up the tenement staircase to the door of his flat. It weighed as much as a piano.
He didn’t understand how this had happened. He had no recollection of agreeing to have her, or of giving even the slightest hint that she was welcome to stay. But she was staying and, judging by the size of her suitcase, which was not so much an overnight bag as a coffin with a handle, she was planning to settle in.
Although part of him thought her stay might well end in matricide, and despite the fact that his mother was possibly the most irritating human being he had ever met, Daniel was surprised to find himself pleased to see her, and flattered that she had driven so far to visit him. He somehow felt equal measures of dread and pleasure at the thought of spending time with her. Even though conversing with her sometimes made him feel like a hedgehog attempting to negotiate rights of way with a juggernaut, even though she rarely said anything to him that couldn’t be read as some kind of barb or criticism, he never felt in any doubt that she loved him.
Whatever Makes You Happy Page 4
