Mum in the Middle

by Jane Wenham-Jones

  ‘She’s got some voice-over work on Monday,’ Tilly told me. ‘Said the money was too good to turn down, but she’s going to London today to see some friends.’ Tilly grinned. ‘Said she was on a promise. She wants us to keep an eye on the house. She’ll be back Monday night.’

  She poured herself a coffee, added milk and unwrapped the chocolate cookies. ‘What time are we going, Dad?’ she said, flicking open her magazine.

  Rob had agreed to drive her to Angel Village, a designer outlet shopping centre twenty miles away and frankly I couldn’t wait.

  Rob looked at the clock. ‘In thirteen minutes,’ he said.

  What sort of promise?

  I walked into the front room, narrowly avoiding tripping over the waist-swivelling thing, and collected mugs. David’s car had gone.

  ‘I’m surprised she didn’t come over and tell me herself,’ I said, opening the dishwasher.

  Tilly got another biscuit from the pack. ‘She was in a rush …’

  Now I came to think about it, Jinni had only sent the briefest ‘good’ by text when I’d let her know Ingrid had found my mother.

  ‘We agreed 11.30 last night,’ Rob added.

  ‘And you expect her to remember that?’ I jerked my head at Tilly, who was still munching. I was trying to be supportive but I still felt furious with her for producing her father and not bothering to tell me what was going on in her life, but as usual she had managed to dismiss my objections with a flick of her hand. She’d rolled in from her evening out, flushed and happy, assuring me she’d been just about to talk about her job opportunity but had been sidetracked by ‘the crisis with Granny’ and then Gabriel arriving.

  Rob gave me a look. ‘We really will go out to dinner tonight,’ he said in jovial tones as he methodically patted his pockets for wallet and keys. ‘You book somewhere nice.’

  ‘Tilly can,’ I said tersely. Rob had always had a habit of addressing me as if I were his secretary. Even if he didn’t look at my legs in quite the same way.

  ‘Ingrid says there’s a new French place,’ I told my daughter. ‘Look it up on your phone while Dad’s driving.’

  She nodded. ‘Gabriel could come with us?’ she said hopefully. ‘He said to send you his love and he’d see you soon.’

  ‘Ask your father.’

  Gabriel was delightful, but I’d rather the three of them went on their own. When Tilly and Rob had finally departed, somewhat over-schedule at 11.42, after Tilly had mislaid her phone, and Rob had stood by the front door twitching, I stomped through to the kitchen, where the breakfast things were still piled up on the counter, filled the dishwasher, kicked the washing machine and went upstairs to strip the spare bed.

  David probably hadn’t come in because he’d seen Gerald’s car and thought I was busy …

  As my eyes flicked towards my laptop I wondered if he’d emailed me the spec for his job. I was keen to do the work – now I was feeding the five thousand and my house was falling down – and it would provide a good reason to get in touch.

  But there were only the usual shopping offers, an anxious memo from Paul about a meeting on Tuesday and a missive from Caroline with the link to a potion that would magically thicken my eyelashes, of which she had procured me a sample.

  David had promised to make an effort with Jinni – that’s why Tilly had seen him brokering peace talks.

  He could have put his head around the door …

  I remembered him leaving after giving me the jigsaw, the way he’d waved a hand without glancing back. Perhaps the suggestion of a drink had been a nicety. Maybe when he’d copped another look at me in daylight (had I been wearing make-up? Unlikely), he’d rather changed his mind.

  I was still dithering about whether to text him when the doorbell rang. I rushed to the mirror and tried to smooth my hair, grabbing at a lipstick and scrabbling in my handbag for my tube of tinted moisturiser or anything that would make me look less dishevelled and knackered.

  As I rubbed a stray blob of make-up into my chin I recalled the optician telling me that over the age of 45 more than ninety per cent of people needed reading glasses. If I got up close enough, all my imperfections should blur before David’s eyes. ‘Coming!’ I yelled, heart thumping, as the doorbell rang again.

  ‘I was beginning to think you were out.’ Malcolm thrust two huge carriers at me and gave me a keen look. ‘Or are you about to be?’

  ‘Er no, not right now.’ I said looking at the bulging bags, which appeared to be full of vegetables. ‘What are these?’

  ‘Got called into the doctor’s for a cholesterol test this time,’ Malcolm’s disgust was palpable. ‘Nurse said I should be on the Mediterranean diet, whatever that’s supposed to be. Made the mistake of mentioning it to Vera and she brought all this round.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought you could use it as you have all these relatives coming and going–’ he looked around him as if he expected a herd of them to come stampeding down the stairs. ‘Then we could go out to lunch?’ Malcolm looked hopeful. I peered into the bags. I could see celery and tomatoes and avocados and a bag of baby leaf spinach.

  ‘Is Vera your–?’ I paused, remembering the wife who’d died and the wife who’d left him ‘–friend?’

  ‘No,’ said Malcolm emphatically. ‘She just likes interfering.’ He carried the bags through to the kitchen and dumped them on the work surface. ‘What is one meant to do with this?’ He pulled out an artichoke.

  ‘They’re quite nice braised,’ I began. ‘And there’s a salad you can make with mint and–’

  ‘Sounds deeply unappealing,’ Malcolm interrupted. ‘There’s rather a good pub on the way to Bridgeford. Does an excellent chicken and bacon pie, shall we–?’

  ‘We can make lunch from some of this,’ I said, laying out asparagus and red peppers, suddenly cheered by the thought of a bit of jolly banter. ‘It would be much better for you.’ I pointed to a tin of sardines. ‘Oily fish – full of omegas to protect your heart.’

  ‘Don’t you start!’

  ‘We’ll mash it up with a bit of crème fraîche and lemon juice. And have it with toast,’ I added, as Malcolm looked doubtful. He brightened. ‘And a big crunchy raw veg salad,’ I added firmly. ‘You can start chopping!’

  I handed him an apron – suppressing a smile at the sight of his large frame in my cramped kitchen.

  ‘This knife’s blunt,’ he said, halfway through slicing an onion.

  ‘I know. They all are. I keep meaning to–’

  ‘Where’s your sharpener?’

  ‘I think it’s in a box of God-knows-what I haven’t unpacked yet. In that cupboard. Mind the–’

  I laughed as the handle came off in Malcolm’s hand. ‘The whole bloody kitchen is falling apart. I am planning a new one.’

  ‘The place at the top of the High Street is well thought of. Eric’s one of our advertisers – I can probably get you a discount. They do the usual free designs–

  ‘I’ve done one already. I used to plan kitchens for a living!’ I smiled as Malcolm raised his eyebrows. ‘What I could do with is a trade deal on the units and the name of a decent fitter.’

  ‘Can’t your friend David help with that?’ There was a very slight edge to the word ‘friend’, which I decided to ignore. ‘Don’t know, not seen him lately,’ I said lightly.

  ‘I’ll have a word with Eric and email you,’ said Malcolm briskly.

  I rummaged in the box and handed him the sharpening block.

  ‘You seem so part of it all here – do you ever miss London?’

  ‘Never. It’s why I took the job here – I’d had enough of the noise and the traffic and all those bodies on the tube. I wanted some air and some green.’

  He began to expertly whet my largest knife. ‘And the doctor said I was killing myself’.

  ‘Were you really drinking a lot?’

  ‘An obscene amount. That’s what it was like then.’

  ‘So you don’t feel guilty about being a DFL?’

  ‘Certain
ly not.’

  He gave a sudden shout of laughter. ‘Do you ever read Marina O’Loughlin in the Sunday Times? Writes about a lot of poncey restaurants with a reduction of this and an infusion of that, but when I first came across her she was living in Whitstable. When the DFLs came under fire, she wrote a great rebuttal. Said if it wasn’t for people like her buying up unwanted properties, then Whitstable would be ‘just another downtrodden British seaside town that smelled of wee’ – got all sorts of abuse for it.’ He laughed heartily. ‘Top woman!’

  ‘Were you still married when you got first got here?’ I enquired as I blended olive oil and vinegar for a dressing.

  ‘Second one was here for a few weeks. Before she went back to town with Matilda, or whatever her name was. Terrifying creature. Had been some sort of boxing champion – badminton was the least of it.’

  He was pulling other knives out of drawers and honing them too.

  ‘What did your first wife die of?’ I said, hesitantly as I took one of the freshly sharpened implements and began slicing through tomatoes. ‘Oh, thank you – that’s better.’

  ‘She had a heart condition. It got her before she had time to divorce me.’

  ‘Really?’ I said casually – longing to know more but not wanting to appear as if I were interrogating him.

  ‘We were too young to get married.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘The sad truth is I was drunk when I proposed. And she seemed so pleased I didn’t have the heart to disappoint her in the morning.’

  There was a brief moment when he looked almost sad. Then he

  grinned at me. ‘What was your excuse?’

  By the time I was putting the last spoonful of sardine pâté – which Malcolm was eating with surprising enthusiasm – onto his plate and we were finishing off the salad – still viewed with some suspicion – and we’d swapped potted life histories, I really felt we were friends.

  When he got up to leave, we’d had our second coffee and I was laughing at a story from his early days as a reporter when he was sent out to doorstep a suspected conman and got a bucket of water thrown over him.

  ‘At least I hoped it was water – one really didn’t want to dwell on what it smelled like–’

  ‘Ugh!’

  He was reaching for his jacket. ‘Thank you for that unexpectedly palatable lunch,’ he said. ‘I shall buy you dinner next time in gratitude.’

  He took one of my hands in both of his as we stood in the doorway. His eyes looked very blue and I almost found myself wishing he’d stay longer. He paused as if wondering whether to say something, then spoke briskly.

  ‘Have a splendid evening, whatever you’re doing.’

  I pulled a face. ‘It’ll be a bundle of laughs, I’m sure. I’m out with the ex.’

  Chapter 23

  Ben once told me about a breathalyser gadget you attach to your computer. If it decides you’re pissed, it doesn’t let you online. So you can’t shop, gamble, post naked photographs or send messages that are ill-advised.

  I need one fitted to my phone.

  I was not going to have any alcohol on Saturday night. By the time Rob and Tilly returned from their shopping trip – Tilly with several carrier bags and Rob a haunted expression – I really didn’t want to go out at all. I’d had a small doze on the sofa after Malcolm had left and could now feel one of those evening hangovers setting in and knew what was needed was camomile tea, toast and Marmite and an early night.

  Rob and Tilly, however, seemed set on an evening out with bells on – even if Gabriel had to be elsewhere. Both looked aghast when I said I was fragile.

  ‘Still?’ frowned my ex-husband. ‘You didn’t drink that much,’ he added disapprovingly.

  This meant I hadn’t drunk as much as he – who has never admitted to a wine-induced after-effect in his entire life – had, and if he were okay, then so should I be.

  Tilly, keen to show me her new shoes – vastly reduced in the sale – new jacket – twenty-five per cent less than she’d have paid in London – and new jeans, ‘I did need some more, and while they were so cheap …’ was not remotely interested in my faint feelings of nausea and simply informed me the table was booked for 8 p.m. and I’d be fine once I’d had a cocktail.

  ‘And we got this!’ she said, holding up a funny little shrunken jumper in a rather alarming blue. Behind her Rob raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Wonderful!’ I cried. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

  Tilly looked startled. ‘You see,’ I went on meaningfully, pulling her into an embrace and scowling at my ex over her shoulder. ‘That’s what you’ve got that your brothers both lack. An eye for a bargain …’

  She shrugged away from me. ‘You’re being really weird, Mum. You definitely need a drink.’

  The French restaurant was nice, a dry Martini immediately made me feel better, and for a while I felt myself brighten up. I even felt a certain limited benevolence towards Rob who, after all, was the father of my children and who, though it all seemed rather woolly now, like the sort of dream that goes round in circles before one wakes with indigestion, I had spent some twenty years of my life disappointing.

  He was doing his best to be a good host, being solicitous to my needs, guffawing at his own jokes, and saying the right sort of things to Tilly about striving and effort and the best things being worth waiting for.

  ‘It was very tiring for your mother, going back to work when she had three of you,’ he informed her. ‘But if she hadn’t done it, then, she wouldn’t be where she is now.’

  Tilly had glazed over, more interested in the mayonnaise she was spooning onto her plate, but Rob was oblivious. ‘She had a career plan,’ he said, ‘and she followed it.’

  The way I remembered it, it was a case of having a large hole in the roof at the same time as we discovered the dry rot in the upstairs windows, and I wasn’t aware I had a ‘career’ now, but I nodded. If Rob wanted Tilly to believe my scintillating years as a hastily trained kitchen planner for one his clients, had all been part of a grand scheme, then so be it.

  We’d gloss over the fact that I’d just managed to escape kitchens and was building up a nice little business that was both creative and potentially lucrative when he announced he had to ‘find himself’ (aka spend six months shagging the girl on reception) and forced me into the joys of office fittings to keep three stroppy teenagers in lipstick and bacon.

  ‘And we really needed the money,’ I put in, to remind her that in our day there was no father with a cheque book roaring to the rescue.

  Tilly gave us both a tolerant smile. ‘These frites are amazing.’

  All the food was good but as the evening wore on and Rob began to reminisce about family holidays when the children were small, I found myself zoning out and thinking about David. His eyes on my face, the way he’d slung his arm around my shoulders at the gallery, as if …

  I should have been more sparkling, made more jokes. Apologised more for having to leave abruptly. But he’d said he wanted to do it again …

  I shook myself. This was mad. I didn’t even like him when I first met him. Jinni said he dyed his eyebrows …

  But then Jinni said all sorts of things.

  I recalled calling after him as he walked away and gave a small involuntary cringe. Rob’s head shot forward.

  ‘Are you cold?’ I felt his hand clamp down on my knee under the table. I jerked it away, banging my shin on the table leg.

  ‘I’m tired,’ I said glaring.

  ‘Let’s have a port with the cheese.’

  Was it something in the Northstone water? Jinni necked back port, now Rob was ordering me a large tawny. It was rich and warming and I felt myself relax again and my spirits rise a little. I would text David after all and suggest tomorrow evening …

  Rob was chortling over the time Oliver fell off the side of the jetty at Broadstairs and around us tables were clearing. ‘It wasn’t all bad, was it?’ he said, when Tilly had gone to the loo. ‘We did have some good times with the kids?’ He le
ant out as if to take my hand. I ignored it.

  ‘Of course. We just grew apart – as they say …’

  I didn’t add: particularly after you tried to get your leg over the woman down the road who was only in our house to buy a distressed set of drawers and a hand-painted watering can from ME as I didn’t think he knew I knew that and Tilly would kick off if I soured the evening.

  I nodded at the waiter who’d been hovering. ‘Can we get the bill?’

  I walked behind them both on the way home, mentally composing a short, bright message. Jinni’s house was in darkness.

  While the kettle was boiling, I tapped it out. ‘Hope you are having a good weekend. How about a drink tomorrow evening? Tess x’ And then, in a spirit of wild abandon, I added another x and pressed the button before I could change my mind.

  I made lemon tea for me and Tilly and poured out the last remaining port from the bottle Jinni had brought, for Rob, who’d now got a taste for it. He was in the biggest chair again, Tilly was sprawled on the sofa. They were laughing at the way Rob used to shout at Ben for never shutting the garage when he got his bike out and the day he’d dragged him out of bed at 6 a.m. when the door had been banging all night in the wind. ‘What a terrible father I was,’ declared Rob happily, as my phone pinged.

  I hurried back into the kitchen to retrieve it.

  ‘Sorry. Away til Monday.’

  Disappointment rolled over me. No suggestion of an alternative date. No kiss. Away until Monday. Like Jinni.

  I fought paranoia and tears. Jinni didn’t like David. David said she was mad. It was a coincidence, nothing more or less. But he could have sent a x …

  ‘Oh dear,’ Rob was in the doorway. ‘Is this my doing? Talking about the past?’ He put a clumsy arm around my shoulders. ‘You’ll always be special to me, Tess.’ His other hand was still holding his glass. He stretched out and put it down. Then tried to pull me to him. ‘We were married for many terrific years and we have three wonderful children …’

  I shoved him off. ‘It’s not that–’