by Sue Watson
Whatever happens today, we have plenty of time and I can introduce him gradually. If things go well I can invite him over again for another family gathering, but the secret is the softly-softly approach. I hope that slowly but surely he’ll be included in family events, that Anna will invite him to hers for lunch and Isobel will include him in barbecue invites. It would be nice to be part of a couple for those things again. It’s important to me because his mother never accepted me, and my own mother never accepted him either. Now I want my family to change all that and I really believe their acceptance will help us both to move forward.
The first to arrive are Anna and James, and I’m glad to see they are holding hands and she’s smiling. I ask James if he’d open the wine and Anna follows me into the kitchen with her home-made banoffee pie.
‘Is all okay . . . with you two?’ I ask in a low voice, taking the plastic container holding the pie and expressing my deep lust for the contents.
‘Yes,’ she says excitedly. ‘He’s thought about it and he’s moving in.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful.’
She nods her head eagerly. ‘We talked about it on Friday night and he said I’d sprung it on him and demanded an answer, and he wanted me to realise I wasn’t in charge of everything. He said I was being bossy.’
‘That’s not at all like you,’ I say, poker-faced, and she laughs at my sarcasm.
‘Yeah, okay, I wasn’t exactly subtle but he just wanted to make his point and . . . ’
‘And you’re back to being in charge?’ I smile.
‘Something like that,’ she giggles. ‘But with James it feels right.’
‘Good. I’m delighted for you, darling,’ I say, putting the pie into the fridge. James is good for Anna, he may let her win the battles, but he’s smart enough to win the war.
‘Well, the girls are getting older, I’m no spring chicken and I’m damned if I’m going to wait around for him to decide what he wants,’ she’s saying. ‘I told him, life’s short, you have to grab it while you can.’
‘So true,’ I say to her, carrying a jug of iced water through the French windows and into the garden.
‘Oh, Mum, it looks lovely out here,’ she says, following me through and stepping out onto the patio.
‘Well, I wanted it to be special . . . ’ And just at that moment Katie appears, followed by Emma and her boyfriend Greg. In my concern about Peter I’d almost forgotten about that invite and shoot a look at Anna who, to my relief, nods reluctant approval with her eyes.
‘Greg, I’m so glad you could come,’ I say as the teenager smiles shyly, nodding his head in my direction and Anna’s.
Isobel walks in soon after, followed by Richard who’s brought with him a box of wine and the plans for his loft conversion which I’m sure we will all ‘enjoy’ in far too much detail later. But I’m not worried about Richard boring everyone because Peter will charm them all with his stories and his adventures taking photos all over the world. And I will just bask in Sainsbury’s tea lights, Delia’s tart and everyone’s approval.
With half an hour until Peter’s arrival I decide it’s time to prepare the girls, so I ask Isobel and Anna if they’d like to help me with ‘the salads’, a euphemism we’ve often used in our household. ‘Help me with the salads,’ has, over the years, meant anything from ‘Come away from the table with that attitude,’ to ‘Don’t eat all the strawberries, leave some for our guests’ when they were younger.
I think to pre-warn the girls and ask them (Anna) to play nicely, will avoid any problems when Peter arrives and in the unlikely event of either of them having any issues (Anna) we can deal with them before Peter turns up. I don’t want some embarrassing little niggle (Anna’s) in the air curdling Delia’s goat’s cheese and ruining all my meticulous planning and culinary expertise.
I smile as the three of us congregate in the kitchen and suddenly feel incredibly nervous about their reaction.
‘I just want to say . . . thank you for coming today—’
‘God, Mum, it’s not the queen’s garden party. You don’t have to give a speech.’ Anna laughs and sips on her wine. I’m obviously coming over as a little formal, addressing them both from my place by the oven.
‘Have you been drinking?’ asks Isobel.
‘No,’ I say, horrified, though I’m so nervous I did consider a glass before anyone came.
‘Mum, you don’t have to thank us for coming, we were delighted, saves us cooking.’
‘Well, it’s just that—’
‘Oh my God, are you ill?’ Anna the worrier pipes up, reaching out to me, her brow immediately concertinaing into lines.
‘No, no, it’s nothing like that. Don’t frown, you’ll be sorry when you’re my age. No, it’s just . . . I feel a bit foolish, I’m making a big thing out of this and it’s nothing really.’
‘You’ve got to tell us now,’ Isobel sighs, putting down her glass and crunching on a breadstick.
‘Okay – well, as you both know I want to introduce you to Peter, because . . . we’re growing very fond of each other.’
‘He’s officially your boyfriend?’ Isobel is smiling.
‘So I was right – this is where all this “moving house” talk has come from,’ Anna starts. ‘I knew it. He wants you to sell the family home, doesn’t he?’
‘No . . . of course not. I haven’t even mentioned it to Peter – it’s got nothing to do with him.’
‘What about Dad?’
‘Well, Dad’s, not . . . it doesn’t mean I didn’t . . . don’t love Dad. It doesn’t change . . . anything.’
‘No, but it’s a bit soon to start flogging the house and running off with other men, isn’t it? How long have you known this guy?’ Anna says.
‘Forty-eight years . . . and I’m not running off with anyone.’
Isobel tries to intervene. She’s clearly uncomfortable about Anna’s reaction, but I’m afraid my eldest tends to put her mouth into gear very quickly, always has.
‘Mum, he dumped you. Who’s to say he won’t do the same thing again?’ Anna is desperately looking for the negative outcome. I can see now that my mention of selling the house has played on her mind. She can’t believe that I’d want to move, she sees it as a personal betrayal, a desertion, and finds it less painful to blame Peter. I’m battling Margaret all over again.
‘Anna, he was eighteen, we wanted different things then . . . and he’s changed. I’ve changed.’
‘Mum, no offence,’ Anna starts, which usually means there will be deep offence arriving any second now, ‘but you only went out with him for a few months, you didn’t really know him. And now you’re selling the house, introducing him to the family—’
‘We were together for almost a year and I knew him . . . know him . . . well, and as for selling the house, you must try to see it from my perspective. I know it’s our family home, but both you and Isobel have your own homes and your own families. If and when I sell the house it will be my decision.’
I look to Isobel, who smiles sympathetically. ‘Anna, it’s okay for Mum to have a boyfriend,’ she starts. ‘And it’s not like he’s a stranger . . . ’ I smile a ‘thank you’ smile to her.
‘I am not objecting to Mum having a boyfriend – I just didn’t realise it was serious. And I wish she’d told us about it so we could check him out first.’
‘Anna, he’s an old friend . . . and since when did we “check out” anyone’s new boyfriend in this family? I never checked out any of yours, though perhaps I should, it could have saved us all some heartache.’ I am being mean, because we all know I’m talking about her ex-husband who led her a merry dance for years with various dalliances. I hate myself for saying that and want to hug her, but she’s not in the mood for hugs from her mother.
She is about to respond when we are saved by Emma who’s obviously heard raised voices and is now marching into the kitchen, darting an accusing look at her mother.
‘What’s the matter? You look nice, Nan.’ She puts
her arm on mine protectively and looks into my face for signs of distress which makes me feel a little tearful.
‘Thanks, darling, I’m just telling your mum and auntie Isobel that I have a boyfriend.’
Anna is now standing with her arms folded. Tightly.
‘I just hope he doesn’t move in, convince you to sell the house then when you’re homeless he’ll run off with the money. It happens, Mum.’
Emma is used to battling Anna and is straight in there: ‘Leave her alone, it’s Nan’s life. Who cares if he’s homeless? God, can’t a girl have a man around here without everyone getting in her grill?’
If I wasn’t so upset I might have laughed and even Anna can’t help smiling at this. ‘No, darling, he’s not homeless. Peter has a home, a lovely home in Oxford . . . and it’s all fine.’
‘I know he’s got his own place, it’s just that I’m only thinking of you, Mum,’ Anna says, softening.
‘Look, I can see where you’re coming from, but I’m not stupid. Your dad and I worked hard for all this and I won’t be giving it away to anyone – but for the record Peter has plenty of money of his own.’
‘Okay, he’s probably not after your money – but Dad was here . . . what about the memories?’ Anna says. This is the crux of it for Anna, she doesn’t have anything against Peter but she doesn’t want him to replace
Mike.
‘I told you, it’s not about the place, it’s the people. We all carry our memories inside us, they stay in here,’ I say, touching my chest. ‘No one can take those away. And don’t think because I’m with Peter I can just move out of the house and forget Dad and everything that happened here – it doesn’t work like that.’
‘I don’t know, it just feels like one thing after another. Dad goes, you meet someone else and then you want to sell the house. I didn’t even know you were seeing Peter like that,’ she sighs.
‘That’s why I’m doing this today. I wanted to tell you together and for you to meet Peter again. It’s only in the last couple of weeks that things have moved on with us and I haven’t been sure of what I want and if we fit together after all this time. But I didn’t want to make a big announcement before because if things hadn’t worked out I may never have felt the need to tell you.’
‘Never told us?’ Anna says.
‘Yes. I’m sure there are things in the past, even now, that you haven’t told me about your lives. You didn’t tell me the first time you stayed over at James’s flat . . . and Isobel didn’t tell me about Richard until she’d been going out with him for a month, and that’s okay,’ I say. ‘The only difference is that I respect your privacy, and don’t expect you to tell me every little thing about your personal lives. Please afford me the same respect.’
‘We do . . . we just . . . I just worry about you and wish you’d tell us what you’re doing. I thought you went to the odd garden centre with him, had the occasional lunch, fed him ice cream. I don’t know – I just didn’t realise it was serious. I just want to know what’s going on.’
‘And I will tell you what you need to know, but I won’t be calling you from Peter’s bedroom to say, “Hi, Anna, we just got the bulbs from the garden centre and now we’re about to go to bed together”,’ I say, my voice raised in exasperation, causing everyone to look a little surprised.
‘Nan . . . ’ Emma murmurs.
‘No one is asking you to do anything like that, Mum.’ Isobel is talking gently, trying to keep everything calm.
‘Look, all I’m saying is treat me as I would treat you. We’ve always had a good relationship, even as teenagers I gave you respect in the way my own mother never did me. And you need to know it’s my life, girls – including my sex life.’
Anna rolls her eyes, Emma gasps.
‘Yes. For your information I have slept with him, but it’s not like I’ve been on Timber or anything.’
‘Tinder, it’s called Tinder, Mum, and I should bloody hope not,’ Anna snaps.
‘WTF? Whoa . . . I’m outta here,’ Emma says and turns on her heels.
At this we all look at each other and I can’t help it, my face breaks into a smile and Isobel catches my eye, while trying not to laugh.
‘Come on, Anna, lighten up,’ I say. ‘You’re worrying about stuff that won’t happen for a long time. There are other things I want to do before moving house and I promise I won’t sell up or do anything big without discussing it with you first.’
‘Good.’
‘And I said “discussing” with you, not “agreeing” with you or being told what to do by you – those things are quite different.’
‘Yeah, Anna seems to have a few problems with that concept,’ Isobel laughs. Anna shoots her a look, but I can see it’s not too serious.
‘Family hug?’ I say, and the girls both walk towards me, their arms outstretched. I hug them to me, stroking their heads as I did when they were little girls. ‘I know in an ideal world things would be as they were, your dad would be here and we’d all be the same family we were eighteen months ago. But we’re not, the rug was pulled from under us, and now our life has to move on. I’ll always love your dad, I’ll always miss him, but he would want me to be happy and Peter makes me happy. I feel seventeen years old when I’m with him.’
‘Really?’ Anna pulls away slightly. ‘If that’s the case I think I’d like to go out with him too.’
‘It’s early days, girls, but I so want you to like him. I did all this so you could meet in happy circumstances. The sun’s shining and you’re all here and I want you all to welcome him and see how happy he makes me.’
They both smile and I have to hope Peter can convince them of just how wonderful he really is. Or am I blind because I’ve always been in love with him?
‘Come on, let’s go back to the others, he’ll be here in a few minutes.’ I take a breath and they follow me out through the French windows to the garden and the laughter as Greg tells a very funny joke.
‘You see,’ I whisper to Anna, ‘you must never judge a book or a relationship by its cover. And you’re never too young or too old to fall in love.’
She gives me a sidelong look, lips pursed à la Margeret. ‘Yes, Mother, but I will continue to keep my eye on you. I don’t know who’s the teenage rebel here, our Emma or you!’
Peter arrives early. I hear the knock and immediately feel calmer. He’s here – it will be okay now. My daughters will love him and the rest of the family will be charmed by him and we’ll all live happily ever after, I think to myself, over and over like a mantra as I walk down the hall.
Carrying a bottle of wine and a huge bunch of blue hydrangeas, he steps into the hall and I thank him. ‘You always remember . . . ’ I say, looking deep into the flowers.
He’s asking if he’s parked the car in the right spot, but I don’t care – wordlessly I take him by the hand and pull him into the living room. I want him all to myself for a moment, a blissful moment of calm before I unleash him on my family. I kiss him firmly on the lips, put my arms around his waist, feeling the cool linen of his shirt, and I feel guilty even thinking this, but I wish it was just him and me – and everyone else would go home.
Eventually I release him from my grip and guide him through into the garden, still carrying the hydrangeas deliberately, like the spoils of war. I’m holding them high and letting them know what he brought: Look, he loves me – and if you don’t believe it just look at the magnificent flowers he’s given me.
I stand by Peter in the garden and introduce him to each member of the family. Everyone nods and smiles in turn and says ‘Hello, Peter,’ even Anna, albeit awkwardly. I want him to chat to the girls, not Anna on her own. I need Isobel there so when Anna does her ‘bad cop’ Isobel can do her ‘good cop’. But within minutes Richard is giving him the equivalent of a PowerPoint presentation on loft conversions. For a few moments my heart sinks, until I see him smile and hear him ask about Velux windows – nice one, Peter, he’s done his homework, and after a while I can see he doesn�
�t need an intervention and is coping beautifully.
‘You’d think he was actually interested in lofts,’ Anna whispers to me as she passes by to get more wine.
It’s not easy being the hostess, cooking and serving food, and making sure everyone’s happy, but it’s just like being a mother and I’ve been doing that a while. As I bring out the first tranche of food I am disappointed to see my seating plan has already gone to pot. James sat in the wrong seat from the beginning and cocked everything up which means Anna’s next to Peter (where she can intimidate him easily) and Emma’s using the seating mess as an excuse to sit on Greg’s knee and wind her mother up. And trust me, Anna does NOT need winding up any more than she already is. Poor Peter is now pinned next to Richard and what he doesn’t know about loft conversions by the end of today won’t be worth knowing. While sitting all over Greg, Emma is now telling me she’s not sure about her options for sixth form and under normal circumstances I would be all ears but I’m discreetly checking around the table for clues to how Peter is being received. The only silver lining to this whole seating-plan fiasco is that Greg is the one sitting in Mike’s armchair, but it’s little consolation as Emma is now virtually on top of him. I see Anna listening to Peter and seeing her smile for a moment, am delighted. But my wave of joy and relief is immediately replaced with a twist in the stomach as I see she’s smiling at Isobel while Peter talks. I clench inwardly – is it a bitchy sister look or is it a ‘Yep, he’s a keeper’? I’m in agony not knowing.
