Mum in the Middle

by Jane Wenham-Jones

  I’d finally settled down to the latest job, when the bell rang. Jinni strode into my front room, a sheet of paper in one hand and her phone in the other.

  ‘That FUCKING woman,’ she yelled, by way of greeting. ‘I shall wring her scrawny neck.’

  I walked through to the kitchen and shut the lid of my laptop. Workstations for twenty in an office block in Cardiff would clearly have to wait. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘What’s she done now?’ I asked as the kettle boiled, pushing the latest missive from Ingrid – urging us to protest on the steps of the town hall about the state of the footpath through the allotments – out of sight before it inflamed Jinni further. Her hair was twisted up on top of her head and fixed with a turquoise scarf that matched her bright boiler suit. She undid it, shook her tresses about a bit, screwed them back up into a knot and retied it all.

  ‘Well HE will have done it, of course – it’s just the sort of sneaky, smarmy, underhand thing he would do. Anything to make life difficult for me.’ She thrust the piece of paper at me, opened the back door, stepped out and lit a cigarette. A gust of cold air came in. ‘Sorry!’ she shouted, shutting the door after her and standing the other side of the glass, puffing furiously. ‘I didn’t know you smoked!’ I called back, trying to make sense of the document I was looking at.

  ‘I don’t. Only when under duress.’ She abruptly dropped the cigarette and ground it out under her foot, before carrying the squashed end back in with her. ‘One of the plumbers left them behind. Bin?’

  ‘Under the sink. So someone has put a tree preservation order on your horse chestnut.’

  ‘Exactly! Now I’ve got to have this bloody “Mr Turner” looking at it. He’s bound to be a wanker too and if I can’t cut it down it’s going to block out half the light in the back bedrooms, fuck up my plans for the garden, not to mention probably crash through the roof in the next big storm and kill me in my bed!!’ Jinni glared. ‘All because that bitter old bag and her weedy son can’t stand to lose out to anyone else.’

  ‘Weedy?’ I asked, surprised, a fleeting image of the tall, masculine David popping into my mind. I cringed as I remembered my floppy hand extended into nothingness.

  ‘Tosser, then’, said Jinni, dismissively. ‘Smug bastard.’

  She picked up her phone, tapped at it and presented it to me with a flourish. ‘And guess what I found on my doorstep at the same time?’

  I looked at the screen. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  ‘A turd!’ Jinni confirmed.

  I peered at the photo again. A small brown, sausagey-looking object lay on the stone slab. ‘Could it be an animal?’ I asked cautiously.

  ‘Well, yes, obviously. Fox shit, I think,’ said Jinni impatiently. ‘Or a very small dog. But look at the position. Dead symmetrical.’

  ‘I really don’t think …’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past these zealots. God knows who Ingrid’s wound up on social media. I emailed it to Gabriel – he thought it was suspicious too. He wanted to run something, but that miserable git of an editor–’

  I stifled a smile at the thought of Malcolm faced with a picture of a fox poo and a conspiracy theory.

  ‘We had foxes in the garden at my old house,’ I said, reasonably, my face as straight as I could manage. ‘Sometimes they’d leave mess right in the middle of the path up to the front door. Probably just how it came out.’ The ludicrousness of this sentence made me giggle despite my best intentions. Jinni gave me a sharp look.

  ‘Well, I think someone’s been sniffing around my garden,’ she said. ‘I thought I saw someone the other night.’

  At this, I felt a frisson of alarm. I had only just started to sleep better, without imagining an axe murderer lurking in every shadow.

  ‘It might have been his tricky mate,’ said Jinny. ‘He doesn’t like me either, since I got the size of his extension knocked back. But, bloody hell, it was bigger than the bloody house – and looked right over my garden …’

  ‘It might also have been a trick of the light,’ I said, grasping the coffee pot and pouring the contents into two mugs.

  ‘Have you got sugar,’ asked Jinni. ‘Or brandy?’

  Visitors are like buses. No sooner had I packed a slightly glazed Jinni off across the road, suggesting that she left the knocking down of the next partition wall till she’d had an afternoon nap, than Gabriel appeared.

  ‘I was just passing,’ he said, ‘and thought I’d say hi. Am I disturbing you?’

  ‘Not at all.’ I shut my laptop lid for the second time and put the kettle on again. ‘How’s it all going?’

  Slowly, was the short answer. Gabriel reported a dull week in which he’d been scratching about for a decent lead story for Malcolm, who’d been more than usually grouchy. The revelation about the strategically placed poo had gone down particularly badly, with Malcolm bellowing that if it was the best Gabriel could come up with, he’d better go for a job in the chippy. Gabriel did not look traumatised about this – he grinned widely as he took off Malcolm’s voice with impressive accuracy. ‘And you’d probably mess that up too!’ he finished loudly. We both laughed.

  ‘A fox had done it,’ I said. Gabriel nodded. ‘I know. But there is some backlash going on. You know the woman with the holiday cottages who had her tyres slashed?’ He looked serious again. ‘She’s had quite an unpleasant anonymous letter.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, I only found out when we were right up against deadline so I’m holding on to it till next week – in case anything else happens. I haven’t even told Malcolm yet.’ He lowered his voice. ‘So if you can keep it to yourself …’

  ‘Of course.’ I looked into his solemn face and once again suppressed the urge to snort. The whole thing had a bizarre village who-dunnit feel to it, and I couldn’t believe Gabriel and Jinni were taking it so seriously.

  ‘What are you doing for Easter?’ I asked. ‘Going home to see your parents?’

  Gabriel shook his head. ‘I’ve only got Good Friday off. He imitated the editor’s gruff tones once more. ‘News doesn’t stop because it’s a bank holiday!’ Gabriel pulled a face. ‘I’ve got to go to the Easter Fair on Monday – my punishment for the window company thing.’

  I smiled. ‘Well, my boys will be home for the whole weekend if you want to pop in and have a drink.’ I was filled with a warm glow. All my children would be home …

  ‘I’d like that,’ said Gabriel.

  He gave me another kiss on the cheek as he left. I wondered if he had any friends to invite round to the tiny studio flat he’d mentioned. I guessed he was homesick and a bit lonely and I reminded him of his mum.

  As I waved him off, I saw Ingrid walking slowly past the Rectory.

  Jinni was right – she did come along this road a lot.

  I hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to scuttle indoors or take the lead and call out hello.

  But Ingrid’s was staring straight ahead. She didn’t look over at me at all.

  Chapter 8

  Shopping - done

  House – cleaned

  Downstairs loo - painted

  Beds - made

  Fridge - full

  Washing – up to date (Ben and Tilly were bound to descend with bags of their own)

  Ironing board – held together with tape. (See above) NB must get new one but do not let Ben use.

  Turkey – collect Saturday

  Work – shit!

  I grabbed my office bag, throwing the last of my tea down the sink. There was a key hidden under a brick in case Tilly arrived early or Ben had forgotten his again. My train to London left in twenty-two minutes and it took at least fifteen to walk to the station. I’d asked for the meeting to be brought forward so I could leave early. And I was seeing Caroline at lunchtime. I really couldn’t be late.

  It was cold for April but by the time I turned the final corner into the drab road that approached the station, I’d broken into a sweat. I pulled off my scarf and flexed my toes. The heels of
my new ankle boots weren’t that high but already the balls of my feet hurt.

  As I walked through the double doors, I caught sight of my reflection in the booking office window. My face was red and what little style my hair possessed had disappeared in the wind.

  Moving past the figures waiting, I started to make my way along the platform.

  ‘Excuse me. Isn’t it Tess?’

  I turned round to see Ingrid’s son David standing behind me. Last time he’d been in casual clothes. Now he was every inch the sophisticated gent, dressed in a clearly expensive suit and tie and carrying a brief case.

  He was holding out his hand.

  Even as my brain was telling me to ignore it and be as rude to him as he’d been to me, I was aware of my hot palm against his cool one.

  He shook my hand firmly and kept holding it.

  ‘I am SO sorry,’ he was saying. ‘My mother told me I was most terribly rude the last time we met. You were holding out your hand and I didn’t even notice. I really do apologise. I’m not usually so discourteous.’ He gave a huge and charming smile.

  ‘I’m afraid you happened along at rather a fraught moment. My mother and I were having a slight contretemps. Not that that is any excuse for ignoring you.’ He smiled again. He looked as though he were in an advert for the cloud of aftershave that drifted around me. All super-smooth shiny dark hair and crinkly eyes. I imagined he knew he looked like that.

  I had to look upwards to hold his gaze. I could feel a crick in my neck but I wasn’t going to be embarrassed this time.

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ I said stiffly. ‘I shouldn’t have interrupted.’

  ‘You weren’t to know.’ He bestowed another gracious smile on me. He really was very attractive.

  No I wasn’t, you dick.

  ‘In the usual way, I’d have been delighted to meet you,’ he said. ‘I am delighted to meet you. I hope you will forgive me for the way we got off to a bad start. I promise I’ll make it up to you …’ Those sexy eyes were still fixed on mine.

  ‘It’s fine really.’ He was going over the top now and I felt awkward. I clumsily retrieved my fingers and looked at my watch.

  ‘Are you going up to town too?’ he asked, his tone solicitous.

  I felt a twinge of alarm. Was he going to sit next to me? I thought wildly of pretending I was only going to the next station, getting off and getting on again at the other end. Except that was the plan that had gone so horribly wrong with Ben’s geography teacher, who’d seen me again when she changed carriages herself – presumably to get away from somebody else.

  ‘Yes – I have a meeting. I’ve got my laptop with me,’ I gabbled. ‘I have to prepare for it. I’m always so behind on everything. Lucky I’ve got the journey to catch up …’

  ‘Oh, I’m the same,’ he said. And then he laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I loathe being stuck having to make conversation too …’

  I stared at him. He raised an amused eyebrow. I felt myself flush.

  ‘I didn’t mean that.’ I began, even though it was bloody obvious I had.

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t.’ He was still grinning. ‘It’s been very nice to talk to you. I look forward to next time.’

  With that he turned and strode away to the far end of the platform. I felt annoyed all over again. That was where I liked to sit too. As he reached the spot where I would have waited, he turned and gave me a wave. Then abruptly turned his back again. But not before I saw the pleased-with-himself smile plastered across his face.

  Jinni was right. For all his apologies and hand-grasping, David was one smug bastard.

  ‘Okay,’ says Caroline. ‘So, aside from Fran, who’s knee deep in babygros, we’ve got the suave poser known as Smug Bastard, the mad actress, the even madder campaigner, a grumpy editor, the owner of the newsagent’s and the butcher. And that’s the sum total of your social circle in the entire town, is it?’

  She crosses her elegant legs, takes a sip of her white wine and looks at me with reproach.

  ‘Oh and a sort of extra surrogate son.’ I tell her about Gabriel. And as an afterthought and to bulk the numbers out a bit – the young girl Emily.

  ‘You don’t want any more bloody sons, darling,’ says Caroline. ‘You want lovers. One would do, to start with.’

  ‘I’m not sure I do,’ I say nervously.

  ‘You’ve wrapped yourself up with those kids for so long, you’ve forgotten.’

  Caroline sweeps on. ‘Of course I adore them too – you know I do – but you’ve got to let go now. Shall we try the internet dating again?’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’

  I have never fully forgiven Caroline for the night in Finchley when she filled in an unsolicited and completely fictitious profile on my behalf while I was cooking the spaghetti, then chatted up likely suitors and agreed, as if she were me, to meet someone called Quentin, who looked amazing but who turned out to be passionate about military aircraft and visiting battlefields and who I couldn’t shake off for months.

  She tried to make it my fault for getting dinner together so late, saying her judgement was impaired after too much Soave on an empty stomach, and that we should do it properly, but I have told her in no uncertain terms: Never Again.

  ‘I’ll come down for the weekend and we’ll find him together,’ she declares now. ‘I’ve got to see your gorgeous new house, anyway. I’ve found this sublime cushion shop in Kensington. I’ll get you something stunning for a house-warming present when you’ve told me the colour schemes.’

  ‘There’s nothing gorgeous about any of it at the moment. You’ll have a fit.’

  Caroline’s own flat is immaculately tasteful – all fresh gloss, with a throw here, a perfectly placed pot there and designer floorboards.

  I look at her now, in her beautifully cut shift dress and glass beads, highlighted hair smooth against her flawless skin, lipstick the exact shade of wine red to bring out the green of her eyes, and was lost in admiration.

  I could wear that exact combination of clothes and make-up and would still look as if I’d thrown it together while running for a bus. If Caroline put on anything in my wardrobe, she’d be straight off the catwalk. But she’s funny and kind and generous and hugely supportive – sometimes too much so, a la Quentin. We have nothing in common, really, except I was once married to her brother – but she’s become just about my best friend ever.

  ‘Lucky I love you,’ I say.

  ‘Love you too, darling. That’s why I want you to have a wonderful man.’

  ‘I can’t play the games. I’ve forgotten what to say. It’s difficult to get up the confidence when you’re my age …’

  Caroline flicks a manicured finger in the air and a stylish young man appears at her elbow. ‘Could you please bring my friend another glass of wine – and one for me too – she’s delirious and making no sense.’

  ‘I’ve got to go back to work …’

  Caroline narrows her eyes. ‘May I remind you I am a year older than you and have no intention of ever giving up my sex life, however many times I need a fresh start!’

  ‘Ah yes – how are they all?’

  Caroline sighs. ‘I had to end it with James – he started getting maudlin and talking about leaving his wife – Rick flies in and services

  me when he has a long enough stopover and Laurence is still Laurence.’ Caroline gives a small secretive smile, as if she can’t decide whether this is a good or a bad thing.

  ‘You are incorrigible,’ I tell her as I always do. ‘And you look amazing.’

  ‘It’s all the endorphins, darling. And lots of botox. You, on the other hand, are naturally gorgeous but not making enough of your assets.’ She looks at me critically. ‘You have the most wonderful eyes, beautiful skin and great breasts. Really darling – men should be falling at your feet. Come to stay and we’ll give you a revamp!’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m too busy. I’m behind with work, the kids are coming down and my mother hasn’t been well. I need to see h
er more.’ I can’t face saying anything else.

  ‘Rob okay?’ I ask, wanting to change the subject. ‘Tilly saw him last week but she hasn’t said much.’ I have a sudden image of my ex-husband stalking about switching off lights and think fondly of my new home, where I can have two radios on at once without anyone turning purple.

  ‘Still a boring old sod,’ says Caroline cheerfully. ‘We’ll find you someone more exciting next time.’

  She presses a lipstick on me as we leave. And a new mascara that will give me an instant false-lash look without clogging.

  ‘Kiss my nephews and niece,’ she instructs, ‘and keep your eyes peeled for opportunity. You can have fun now – unfettered by offspring! I’ll visit soon,’ she adds, ‘and assess the situation.’

  She kisses me on both cheeks and then hugs me. ‘In the meantime darling, at least do your roots …’

  Chapter 9

  Tilly was at full volume. Standing in the doorway of what had until now been Ben’s bedroom, she tried once more to prise her brother out.

  ‘You’ll only turn it into a total slob den again and I’ve got more stuff than you!’ She swung around and addressed me. ‘Tell him, Mum. If he sleeps in the small room it will be easier to air.’

  ‘Ben’s still got stuff in here,’ I said mildly. ‘Those drawers are full of sweatshirts’

  ‘Well, he can take them all back with him,’ Tilly rustled a black bin bag. ‘He’s already said he’s going back on Thursday for this gig thing. I’m staying much longer.’

  ‘Are you?’ I asked her in surprise.

  ‘Danni really is mad. Even her mum says she’s got to see someone. It’s intolerable,’ Tilly added dramatically. ‘I can’t live there.’

  ‘What about your job?’

  Tilly waved a hand as if the latter was a minor detail.