A Question of Us

by Mary Jayne Baker

  ‘S’pose. So where’d she meet this one then?’

  Clarrie shrugged. ‘Dunno. Where do old people usually go to pull?’

  ‘Swingers’ parties?’

  ‘Oi,’ she said, nudging him. ‘That’s my mum.’

  He grinned. ‘Sorry, Clar. Nun parties.’

  ‘What’s a nun party?’

  ‘Dunno, made it up,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Wholesome family fun with wimples?’

  She smiled. ‘Stop being daft. We have to behave, remember? No inappropriate wimple humour.’

  Si pulled his Clio into the gravelled drive of Kath’s semi and they piled out.

  ‘So are we really not allowed to mention this guy’s moustache?’ he whispered as Clarrie rapped the brass door knocker.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or smoke?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘God, this is going to suck.’

  ‘I know.’ She gave his arm a squeeze. ‘Thanks for keeping me company, Si.’

  Kath opened the door, dressed like a proper mum for once in a powder-blue wraparound dress. A short, round man with grizzled black hair and a matching moustache, kitted out in what was probably his best suit, had his arm around her waist.

  They were wearing a pair of his-and-hers nervous smiles that Clarrie guessed were for her benefit. Her eyes couldn’t help lingering on Greg’s fingers brushing her mum’s hip.

  ‘Hiya kids,’ Kath said. ‘Come on in, tea’s just ready. Roast chicken, I hope that’s okay.’

  ‘Sounds lovely, Kath.’ Si leaned down about a foot to peck her cheek. He nodded to Greg. ‘Are you going to introduce me?’

  ‘This is Greg, my, er…’ Kath stopped, blushing. Clarrie fought against the sarcastic roll she could feel creeping dangerously close to her eyeballs.

  ‘It’s all right, love, you can say it,’ Greg said with a laugh. He smiled at Si; a self-satisfied smile, Clarrie thought. ‘I’m her boyfriend.’

  Kath shook her head. ‘Such a daft word at our age, isn’t it? Still, it’s the best we’ve got.’

  Si shook hands with the older man. ‘Nice to meet you, Greg.’

  ‘Simon’s Pete and Yvonne Dewhirst’s lad,’ Kath informed Greg.

  ‘Oh right.’ Greg examined Si with interest. ‘Should’ve known really, shouldn’t I? You’re the spit of your dad.’

  ‘Yeah, I get that a lot.’

  ‘And this is my daughter, Clarissa,’ Kath said proudly, drawing Clarrie forward.

  ‘Hi,’ Clarrie said with a polite smile. ‘Just Clarrie, please.’

  She was about to put out her hand when Greg spread his arms.

  Oh God, he was a hugger…

  Suppressing a wince, she submitted to the embrace, followed closely by the face-angling cheek kiss that could so easily turn into a smacker on the lips if it was misjudged.

  How come Si had got away with a nice, civilised handshake while she had to have her personal space invaded? Honestly, you’d think feminism had never happened.

  ‘So Greg, where did Kath pick you up?’ Si asked when they were seated in the dining room behind a steaming plate of chicken and a glass of white wine each.

  ‘Oi. I’ll have you know he did the picking up.’ Kath shot Greg a fond smile. ‘Swept off my feet, wasn’t I?’

  Greg laughed. ‘I think at my age it was more dragged off your feet. Don’t want to put my back out.’ He turned back to Si. ‘We met at a fundraiser at the memorial hall. The Denworth kids’ footie team did a race night.’

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ Clarrie said, glaring at Si.

  ‘Don’t I dare what?’

  ‘You were about to make some godawful crack about backing a winner or something.’

  Si held his hands up. ‘Would I?’

  He helped himself to another spoonful of carrots from the middle of the table and drizzled over a generous helping of gravy. ‘So, Greg. Looks like you really backed a winner.’ He winked at Clarrie. ‘Thanks for the material,’ he mouthed.

  ‘I certainly did.’ Greg reached out to pat Kath’s hand. ‘Lucky bugger, aren’t I?’ Clarrie suppressed another eye roll when she heard her mother actually giggle.

  ‘Ah, give over, you soppy old thing,’ Kath said, lightly rapping Greg’s wrist.

  ‘So where did you two meet?’ Greg asked.

  ‘Primary school,’ Si said. ‘We’re not a couple though.’

  ‘Oh.’ Greg flashed them a puzzled frown, clocking the body language, the natural gravitation towards each other that had left them sitting almost shoulder to shoulder while they ate. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Pretty sure.’ Si threw a sideways smile at Clarrie. ‘Couples tend to have sex sometimes. Well, so I’ve been told.’

  Kath shot him a look. ‘That’s my daughter you’re talking about. Behave, Dewhirst Junior, or I’ll tell your mother of you.’

  Si grinned. ‘Too late, Kath, she already knows.’

  Greg laughed. ‘You know, you’re just like your dad. Same sense of humour.’

  ‘Inappropriate?’

  ‘Er, yeah.’

  ‘You know him well then, Greg?’ Simon asked, tucking into a roast potato.

  ‘Propped up a few bars with him, back in the days before people like you came along to ruin our social lives. How’s he doing, all right?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s good. Well, apart from the mid-life crisis.’

  Greg laughed. ‘Don’t tell me. Sports car and a leather jacket? I can just picture that.’

  ‘Worse. A static caravan.’ Si took a sip of his wine and tried not to pull a face. ‘Mmm. Good year.’

  Kath leaned over to prod him. ‘Nice try, lad. Okay, suppose I’ve tortured you long enough. You want a beer?’

  ‘Ooh, is there beer? Yes please.’

  Clarrie looked up from the green bean she was chasing round her plate. ‘I want a beer.’

  ‘Bloody hell, the kraken awakes,’ Kath said, frowning. ‘Didn’t ask you, did I?’

  ‘Fine.’ Clarrie tossed back the last of her wine and helped herself to a refill from the bottle on the table. ‘I’ll keep going with this stuff then.’

  She felt Si kick her ankle under the table.

  ‘Don’t worry about the beer, Kath, I’ll fetch it,’ he said, standing up. ‘Greg, can I get you one?’

  ‘That’d be great. Cheers, Simon.’

  Si mouthed a ‘be nice’ at Clarrie before he left the room.

  ‘So what do you do, Clarrie?’ Greg asked. ‘Your mum said you aced your exams.’

  Clarrie shrugged. ‘I did all right.’

  ‘Oh, she’s just being modest,’ Kath said with a nervous smile. ‘Clarrie studied English Lit at York.’

  Simon came back in and put a can of beer down in front of Greg, then took his place next to Clarrie with one of his own.

  ‘Cheers, son.’ Greg nodded at Simon, then turned his attention back to Clarrie. ‘York, eh? Good university.’ He grinned from under his odd-looking moustache. ‘You know, we used to have a joke about English students when I was at uni—’

  ‘Was the punchline “Do you want fries with that?”’ Clarrie said.

  ‘Er, yeah.’

  ‘Heard it.’

  ‘Oh. Right. So what did you do with your degree?’

  ‘Not a lot. I’ve got a little bookshop down in Wickden.’

  ‘You enjoy it?’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  Clarrie finally looked up at him, her gaze lingering on the way the foam from his beer flecked his stupid little moustache and his hand occasionally reached over to graze her mum’s fingers. She wasn’t sure what it was about Greg but he was getting right on her nerves.

  She could feel her mother’s frown boring into her across the table and turned her head to one side to avoid eye contact.

  Greg gave up on her and turned his attention back to the chattier Simon.

  ‘What about you, what do you do for work?’

  ‘I teach History at the old secondary modern in Colley Bridge.’

  ‘Reall
y?’

  Simon smiled. ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘You just don’t look much like a teacher.’

  ‘People are always telling me that,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’m going to have to get a mortar board and go the full Bash Street.’

  Greg gave another of his belly laughs and Kath smiled at Simon, obviously pleased that at least one of her dinner guests was making an effort to be bright and entertaining.

  ‘Right,’ Si said, pushing his empty plate away and standing up. ‘That was delicious, Kath, thanks. Sorry guys, going to be naughty for five minutes, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh no, Simon.’ Kath shook her head at him. ‘You know, those things’ll kill you.’

  He gave an apologetic shrug. ‘I’ll quit next week, Scout’s honour.’

  ‘You weren’t in the Scouts.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Look, just the one. I’ll be back in a minute.’ He grabbed Clarrie’s hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on, kiddo. I want some company.’

  In the back garden, Clarrie jabbed him in the arm. ‘You’re going to get me in trouble. Can you seriously not do without them for one night?’

  ‘I don’t want a fag, Clar, I want to talk to you. Only excuse I could think of.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About what the hell you’re playing at,’ he said, frowning. ‘You’re being a right dick. It’s upsetting your mum.’

  Clarrie glared down at the lawn. ‘I’m not being a dick.’

  ‘You are though. Can’t you even manage to be polite? He’s pleasant enough, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s all right,’ she admitted grudgingly.

  ‘Why’re you being so rude then? You’ve barely spoken a word to him.’

  ‘I don’t know, I just… I don’t know, Si.’ To her disgust, she found herself blinking back tears.

  ‘Oh God. Now you’re upset.’ Si drew her to him and enfolded her body in his. ‘Is this about your dad?’ he asked gently. ‘They aren’t going to get back together now, you know. It’s been years.’

  She snorted. ‘That bastard? They’d better bloody not get back together. Anyway, she’d have to find him first.’

  ‘What is it then? Why don’t you like Greg?’

  ‘He’s… not good enough for her, that’s why. I mean, he’s just some bloke, isn’t he? Just… ordinary. She’s my mum.’

  Simon shushed against the top of her hair.

  ‘Look, we all know your mum’s brilliant and she brought you up like a trouper after your dad fucked off. But she has to make her choice herself, you can’t make it for her.’

  ‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘You’re right. I’m a terrible person.’

  ‘No you’re not, you just love your mum. Not the best way to show it though, eh? She looks about ready to throttle you.’

  ‘I just wish she could meet someone nice, you know?’

  ‘This guy is nice, isn’t he? And you can tell he’s smitten with her. Her too. Not seen her this serious about anyone since your dad left.’

  ‘Mmm. That’s what worries me.’ She watched a ladybird settle on Si’s shoulder, explore him for a second then fly off again. ‘Why does he have to keep touching her like that? They’re as bad as your parents.’

  ‘Because they’re happy. Which means we should be happy for them.’ He held her back to look into her face. ‘Come on, Clar, put the effort in. If she likes him, isn’t that good enough?

  ‘S’pose,’ she muttered.

  ‘Anyway, you don’t really want to scare away the first non-trainspotting, non-pompous, non-borderline racist she’s met in ten years, do you?’

  ‘No.’ She pressed herself against him again; breathed in his comforting scent. ‘Why are you always the mature one, Si?’

  ‘Maybe because you’re so little,’ he said, smiling down at her.

  ‘I’m not little. I’m big for a girl.’

  ‘Oh yeah, you’re big for a tiny little girl.’

  ‘Shush, you,’ Clarrie said, prodding him. ‘Okay, let’s go back in. I’ll behave.’

  ‘Good lass. I’ll wingman for you.’

  14

  Kath glared at them as they came back in. ‘Worth it, was it?’

  ‘Yep,’ Si said, reclaiming his chair. ‘Don’t worry, your darling little girl’s lungs are untainted. I had one, that’s all.’

  She eyed her daughter sceptically. ‘I bet.’

  ‘Honest to God,’ Si said, crossing himself. ‘She told me it was a filthy habit and I should be ashamed. Then she, er, saved a baby dormouse from drowning.’ He lowered his voice to a stage whisper and leaned over to Clarrie. ‘See, told you I’d make you look good.’

  She smiled. ‘Daft sod. Go on, tell them how I scored the winning goal in the ’66 Cup Final and coached the Jamaican Bobsleigh Team the year they entered the Olympics.’

  ‘You sure that wasn’t John Candy in Cool Runnings?’

  ‘Well, it was one of us. Pretty sure it was me though.’

  Greg laughed. ‘You two are funny. I mean, strange. But funny strange.’

  ‘I’m not laughing,’ Kath said, the little curve at the corner of her mouth suggesting that wasn’t quite true. ‘Stop messing about and help me clear the table, Simon Dewhirst. I’ve got cheesecake for pud.’

  ‘Ooh! Cheesecake.’ Si stood and started collecting plates. ‘For cheesecake I can be helpful.’

  When Kath and Simon had exited, plate-laden, for the kitchen, Clarrie summoned a bright smile from down in her toes and turned to Greg.

  Right. Charm. Charm and small talk. She could do that.

  ‘So have you got any kids, Greg?’ She felt pretty secure, this time, that he wasn’t going to respond with a wad of ultrasounds and diagrams of sex positions.

  He flashed her a pleased smile.

  ‘Yes, a son and a daughter.’

  ‘Grown up?’

  ‘Pretty much. Josh is twenty-three, just gone. Olivia’s coming up to eighteen. She’s still at home with her mam.’

  ‘You see them a lot?’

  Greg looked down into his beer can. ‘Not as much as I’d like. Nasty divorce. I see a fair bit of my lad now, but my daughter… well, once or twice a year.’

  ‘Must be hard,’ Clarrie said, a note of sympathy creeping into her voice.

  ‘Yeah, she was only a tot when we split up. She’s closer to her stepdad now really. Still my little girl to me though, obviously.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry. That must be awful for you.’

  ‘Well, she knows where her old man is if she wants him. Anyway, she’ll be off to uni soon. All grown up.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Your mam’s lucky to have you nearby.’

  Clarrie flushed. ‘She isn’t, you know. I’m a right pain in the arse.’

  ‘Heh, that’s what she says as well. But she makes it sound like a compliment.’

  It felt like they’d been alone for ages. Where the hell was the cheesecake, were they making it from scratch or something? Or was this her mum’s way of giving her and Greg time to bond?

  Fine. If her mum wanted bonding, she’d bond. Easy.

  ‘Er, so. You seem pretty keen on my mum.’

  ‘I am.’ He grinned at her. ‘Going to ask me what my intentions are?’

  ‘Might as well, since apparently they’ve gone to Alaska for the afters. What are they?’

  ‘Make her happy, I suppose. It’s hard, at our age, to meet someone who’s more than a “you’ll do” sort of deal. But with Kath…’ He hesitated. ‘Oh, go on then. Might as well bite the bullet, if we’re going to be family. We’re in love.’

  ‘Bloody hell! Really?’

  He laughed. ‘What? Old people have those feelings too, you know.’

  ‘But it’s only been a few months, hasn’t it?’

  Greg shrugged. ‘It’s the second time round for both of us. We’re not kids, we know how it all works.’ He looked at her. ‘So is it all right with you, pet? I’m guessing that’s why she’s left us alone so long, to give me the chance to sound you out about it
.’

  ‘It’s not up to me, is it?’

  ‘No, but we’d like you to approve. I mean, your mam would, and that means I would too.’

  His eyes glittered, and his hands were clasped together, almost supplicating. In his too-tight bank manager suit, beer belly poking between the buttons and a film of perspiration on his forehead, he looked so bloody… earnest.

  ‘If it means that much to you,’ Clarrie said. ‘I want her to be happy, Greg, course I do. You seem to make her happy. That should be good enough for me, so… you know, it is.’

  He reached over to squeeze her shoulder. ‘That means a lot, Clarrie, to both of us. Thank you.’

  ‘Just you focus on making her happy, okay? Because if you hurt her, I will, and I mean this most sincerely, hunt you down and do something particularly nasty involving your softer parts and a sharpened teaspoon.’

  ‘Bloody hell. She never mentioned you were terrifying.’

  ‘When it comes to Mum I am. She’s had her share of bastards. And I’m including Paul Midwinter in that.’

  ‘Your dad?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Don’t you see him?’

  ‘Not any more. His choice. He left me some money I could access when I turned twenty-one, then he decided he’d done his duty as a father so it was fine to forget he’d ever had a kid. I’ve not heard from him in years.’

  ‘Really? Kath never told me that.’

  ‘She never does talk about him if she can help it.’ Clarrie shrugged. ‘Anyway, the money leased me my bookshop so I suppose I should be grateful for that. But all the same, he was a selfish, callous bastard. Me and Mum are both well rid.’ She managed a smile. ‘Your daughter’s a lucky girl, Greg. Must be nice to have a dad who cares enough to make the effort.’

  ‘Wish she realised that.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll come round.’

  ‘Maybe. I just hope it’s sooner rather than later, that’s all.’

  The door finally swung open and Kath came through bearing a tray of individual chocolate cheesecakes, Si following.

  ‘Everything okay?’ she asked, looking from Greg to Clarrie.

  ‘Yeah.’ Clarrie smiled at her. ‘We’re good, Mum. Love you.’

  ‘Aww.’ Kath planted a kiss on her daughter’s cheek as she leant down to put a cheesecake in front of her. ‘Love you too, sweety pie.’