by Clare Ashton
“So, who’s coming tonight?” she said, a tentative start to conversation.
Maggie yanked at the string of lights. “Everyone. Absolutely bloody everybody.”
“Who’s everyone?”
“You know. Auntie Kate, cousins, the kids.”
“Good,” Jude said. Maggie adored her two nephews and they’d help ease whatever troubled her.
“Abby said she’d pick up Celia,” Maggie continued, her voice agitated. “In fact, is Abby bringing anyone? I told her she could. I always do.”
“No, I keep telling her to ask the woman from the cheese shop.”
“Oh.” And the room chilled noticeably.
Jude felt guilty bringing up the issue. It was a frustrating source of contention with Maggie, one normally so liberal.
“I do wish she’d find someone.” Maggie nodded. “But–”
“Not a woman.” Jude couldn’t help the teenage tut in her voice.
“It’s all very easy for you to say – settle down with a woman. But you’re not the one who has to live with it.”
“What, the shame of knowing a lesbian?”
“Not for me.” Maggie’s cheeks knotted. “You know that’s not what I meant. Abby would have to live with it every day and it wouldn’t be easy. And when the hell have I been ashamed of Abby?”
“Then what is it, Mum? What do you have against Abby settling down with a woman?”
“It would be hard.” Maggie fixed her with a look over her glasses. “Every day she’ll have to watch her back as she walks into town with her partner. Every day people will stare and none too kindly. People will attack their home. People will attack their rights. They will never be as safe as you and Bill and never be able to relax. Abby’s life will be harder at every turn. It has a terrible effect on relationships. They break down. And Abby couldn’t handle that.”
“Not deep-seated homophobia at all?”
“It’s not homophobic to want a safer life for my…for my Abby.”
Jude stopped, her retaliation hanging on her lips.
“She’s as dear to me as you are,” Maggie snapped. “I want only the best for her, after everything that’s happened to the dear girl.”
“I want the best for her too, Mum. I always have. I watch out for her more than I do Bill. But it’s not up to me what makes her happy. We have to support what she wants.”
“Even if it ends in disaster?”
“Yes, actually.” Jude didn’t hide any of her annoyance. “Because she is not a child, and it’s up to Abby what’s best.”
“Well, let’s give her the freedom to find happiness where she thinks best then. People are meant to be fluid these days, aren’t they?”
Jude almost, almost, rolled her eyes. How she hated it when her mother provoked her into immaturity. “Maggie, I think Abby has a strong preference and, brace yourself, it’s for muff munching.”
“Don’t use shock tactics on me.” Maggie stared at her, eyes wide and penetrating.
She had a point. Her mother had a far filthier delivery than she. It’s just for all Jude’s composure as a doctor and serenity as a woman, her mother could wind her up in a second. With Maggie’s confounding mass of contradictions Jude didn’t know where to start, and she seemed particularly antagonistic today.
“I hate it when you use my name,” Maggie added.
Jude took a long deep breath, not knowing what to do at the end of it.
“Sorry about that.”
Mother and daughter snapped their heads round.
It was Abby, striding toward them and pocketing her phone.
“Mrs Malady needed reassurance,” Abby said, her face pink from pacing outside and breathing lightly through her smile.
“Maggie,” she cried, as if it had been an age, rather than a couple of days, since she’d seen her. She embraced Jude’s mother without a second thought and drew the smaller woman into her bosom. To Jude, it seemed the whole room filled with warmth. There was something about Abby’s affection and raw love that was infectious, even though it came from a fragile place.
Jude’s spirits lifted watching her friend shower her mother with what Jude realised was much needed tenderness. How grateful she was Abby could give it so freely without the complexity Jude felt.
“Right.” Abby clapped her hands together. “How can I help? You must have a ton of things to do.”
“Lord, people will be arriving in a matter of minutes.” Maggie massaged her temples. She seemed to feel the pressure particularly today.
“How about I relieve you of these lights?”
“Good idea.” Jude laughed. “Before she strangles someone with them, probably me.”
Jude marched off without looking back, too cowardly to check if her mother had appreciated her joke. “I’ll get Celia!” she yelled. And she couldn’t have left the room quicker.
Chapter 4.
Jude hadn’t reached the bottom of the front steps when a car, careering around the corner, stopped her in her tracks. A Citroen 2CV with ludicrous suspension leaned precariously around the corner at moderate speed. Jude could have guessed at the passenger. She could hear the whine of Firestarter played at volume and, sure enough, a slight, grey-haired woman furiously nodded her head in time to the music.
The driver Jude could have guessed too – the bulky figure of Desmond, his grey-tinged black hair touching the roof and his mouth wide in a hearty laugh so deep she could hear it over the music. His black, muscular arms wrenched the steering wheel to park at the side of the road. The engine and music cut out and Jude grinned as the mirth of both occupants reached her ears.
Tears rolled down Celia’s cheeks and her mouth formed the word “thanks” as she squeezed Desmond’s forearm.
Jude ran down the last couple of steps and gingerly opened the door of Desmond’s classic car, wary the old chrome handle might fall off.
“Hoodlums,” Jude shouted. “The both of you. Don’t you know this is a respectable area?”
The naughty pair howled at her some more.
Celia wiped away a tear and reached for Jude’s outstretched hand. “Thank you very much, Desmond. I haven’t laughed so much since Abby showed me that stalking cat video.”
“Welcome, Celia. Always,” Desmond said in his rumbling deep voice which pitched with the intermittent highs of a Brummie accent.
“I was just about to break you out of Sunset,” Jude said. “Am I late?”
“Oh no, dear. Desmond had finished his shift and took the opportunity to further my musical repertoire. So.” She turned to Desmond. “Are you going to extend my education into the twenty tens next week?”
“Absolutely.”
“Goodho.”
Celia’s cut-glass accent made Jude smile at the contrast with her companion’s. “Thanks, Desmond,” Jude said, as she put her arm under Celia’s shoulders.
“Welcome. Please say hi to Dr Abby.”
It was funny how everyone at the home called her friend that. One of Abby’s favourite duties was the weekly round at the local care-home. The elderly residents (or inmates as Celia liked to call them) couldn’t address her formally as Dr Hart and insisted on using Dr Abby, and the habit had rubbed off on the staff, including care-coordinator Desmond.
Jude took Celia’s weight as the old woman rose from the car.
“Thank you, dear.” Celia winced as she stood up. “Getting going is the worst.”
Jude took the strain as Celia limped up the first step and they waved goodbye to Desmond’s distinctive ride as it lurched down the hill.
Celia rubbed her hip.
“Bad today?” Jude asked.
“The same.”
“Won’t be long,” Jude said, hoping more than knowing Celia’s hip replacement was booked.
“Well,” Celia sighed. “It’s nice to get out of the institution. If I never see another shade of grey, beige or pastel it won’t be too soon.”
As one of the younger characters at the care home, Celia brought
a lot of colour literally and metaphorically, dressed in maroon with a sequin shawl twinkling around her shoulders.
“Why don’t you accept Mum’s offer and live here?”
“Yes, well.” Celia peered over half-moon glasses with sparking blue eyes that left you in no doubt about the keen intellect behind them. “The poor dear doesn’t realise she’s the one I’m avoiding. If I can’t look after myself I’d rather it be some good soul like Desmond. Family? That’s a recipe for disaster.”
Jude giggled.
“Avoiding Maggie,” Celia said emphatically, “is well worth the price of wall-to-wall pastels and wipe-clean chairs.”
“You do love her though.”
“Of course, dear. As do you. But Maggie and I are too alike. Thank Christ you take after your father. Can you imagine – three generations of drama queens.”
“I don’t need to. Eli will be home soon,” she said, and they laughed loudly.
“Seriously,” Jude continued, “why don’t you live with Mum and Dad until the operation? Then perhaps if all goes well, find a flat. I know they’d have you.”
“Besides being driven around the bend?” Celia raised her eyebrows. “Oh, that I’d kept my fortune. Gave it all away at the encouragement of my socialist husband. No doubt it improved the lives of many poor souls, but what I would give for my own little dwelling and someone like Desmond full-time.” She sighed and Jude wasn’t sure if it was independence or Desmond’s company which appealed more.
“Hold onto that capitalist boyfriend of yours,” Celia muttered. “Nice enough boy and he’ll prove useful.”
“At least talk to them about staying,” Jude said.
“It’s impossible. They couldn’t lug me up and down those stairs every time I need to pee. Besides,” Celia hesitated, “they have their own problems.”
“Do they? Like what?” Jude said, alarmed.
“Oh you know. Things never stay the same in a family. Children are born, grow up and leave. People die. There are long periods of stability where things seem as if they’d last forever. But they can’t. Never can. Then times of upheaval before settling into another state of longevity.”
“Why? What’s happened?” Jude said, concerned after Maggie’s heightened state of irascibility.
“Oh nothing serious I’m sure.” Celia squeezed Jude’s hand. “My guess would be midlife crisis.”
“Who? Maggie?”
“Both, I’d wager.” Celia chortled. “Funny things happen to people in middle age. Their hormones go doolally. Poor Maggie. God, I remember those hot flushes.”
“Is that all?”
“People worry too. They start to think too much. All this worrying who they are after years of work and children.”
“Really?” It was difficult for Jude to conceive of her parents as anything other than their immutable selves. “Then what?”
“They never come to any conclusions – inattention due to hormones makes sure of that. Someone will do something foolish. There’ll be red faces all round. Eventually everything subsides and an equilibrium is achieved again. And when they get to my age they’ll no longer care. They’ll be happy simply to be alive.”
“Oh,” Jude said, “but they’re OK?”
“Insofar as Maggie is ever OK,” Celia said, patting her hand. “Mark my words. Changes are afoot.”
And Jude entered the house with Celia on her arm, her world beginning to shift.
Night was falling and the gathering family filled the house with an excited buzz. Lights were dimmed in the main room and trails of fairy lights and lanterns glowed in the garden. Glasses clinked, bottles popped, children giggled. Jude pinched at her evening dress and steadily sipped at a glass of cool Champagne. It tickled her lips and tongue, but did nothing to quell the building unease inside.
Jude watched as she leant on the doorway to the garden, her father with Celia on his arm beneath the fairy lights and Maggie surrounded by clamouring small children. A four-year-old nephew clung to her dress, while his older brother enthusiastically showed his latest story about killer fart bats. Maggie was engrossed, meaning every word of praise she bestowed on the young boy’s tales.
“Hi.” Abby’s voice murmured close to her ear and her arm slipped around Jude’s back.
“Thank you for being here,” Jude said and she reached around her friend to return the affection. “For Mum and Celia. And I don’t just mean tonight. For everything you do in the week too.”
“You don’t have to thank me. Look at everything they do for me. Besides I adore them.”
Jude pursed her lips. She shared Abby’s joy at Celia’s company, but her mother was a prickly, complicated character.
“I know she annoys you,” Abby said with a sad smile.
“What’s that?”
“Maggie. I know she winds you up.”
“Oh.”
“And I know you don’t like to mention it, because,” Abby hesitated, “because I might think it ungrateful. But I do know. And I can see why.” Abby grinned. “Maggie is not an easy person, especially for family I imagine. But she is wonderful. I mean look at her.” Abby turned towards Maggie, love shining in her eyes.
At that moment Maggie was roaring, literally roaring. The neck of her evening dress pulled over her head and fingers twisted into gnarled talons as she stalked after her nephews as they squealed down the garden. She followed them with dramatic, large steps, her arms grasping at the air above her head.
“Isn’t she brilliant?” Abby smiled.
Jude chided herself. Maggie had been such an inspirational mother when she and Eli were little. She could throw herself into the role of troll, wicked witch of Ludbury or equally Fairy Godmother. She’d sent Jude and her brother squealing around the garden like her nephews countless times. Jude’s guilt twinged inside and twisted with complications. Maggie would love grandchildren. She’d never said, but Jude knew she would. She squirmed in discomfort, partly because she had no plans to have any, partly because of other feelings Jude couldn’t describe, all blended in a nugget of anxiety.
“I do know it’s more complicated for you as her daughter,” Abby said sympathetically, her love for Maggie still warming the sad empathy for her friend.
“Thank you,” Jude whispered, and she kissed Abby on the forehead. “Thank you for understanding me so well.”
She snuggled closer to Abby, cosy in the warm evening and glow of the lanterns.
“Is it OK to stay the night?” Jude asked quietly.
“Of course. The room’s always ready for you.”
“Thanks,” Jude said, already exhausted by Maggie’s company.
“Quiet day tomorrow?” Abby whispered, as if reading her mind.
“Would love to.”
“How about a walk in the hills, followed by hot chocolate and a film?”
“Perfect.” Jude was filled with comfort at the thought and pulled her dear friend closer.
“Hey,” a loud male voice interrupted behind them.
“Bill?” Jude said. She slipped her arm from Abby and turned round. “What are you doing here?”
He was still dressed in his off-the-peg work suit and it seemed his entire pale face and shaved head was filled with a smile. “I wanted to surprise you.” He gave Jude an enormous hug, which lifted her from the ground.
“Wow,” she said, half laughing, half confused. He was never like this. “You don’t have to work?”
“Nope,” he said, his grin still ecstatic. “Hi, Abby,” he said, his smile fading a little.
“Hi, Bill,” Abby replied. “I’m going to help Maggie.”
“See you later,” Jude said, “I don’t know if…,” but Abby was already beyond earshot in the clatter of the gathering. “So what’s happening?”
Bill insisted on putting his arm around her shoulder, even though he was shorter and had to stretch.
“I,” he paused for effect, “have been made partner.”
“What?”
“You are looki
ng at the newest partner of Slater Solicitors.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No. Youngest in the company’s history,” he said, his face colouring with obvious pride.
“That’s amazing. Well done, Bill.”
“How about you get me a drink?” he said, nudging her forward.
“You can stay?”
“Yup. That was the deal I made.” He punched his hips and widened his stance. “Said I wouldn’t keep pulling these weekends and it was time I hired a team to take the strain.”
“That’s brilliant,” Jude said, clutching his hand. “You’ve worked so hard.”
“I have. And it can’t go on forever. Otherwise I’d have to leave. Time to enjoy more money and free time.”
“You deserve it.” She meant it too. He’d worked above and beyond ever since she’d met him. It was an entrenched routine and compromise, seeing Bill in the evening during the week while he played football and worked at the weekend, so Jude could spend time with Abby and family. She was happy for him.
“Where’s that drink?” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Then we need to talk.”
“OK,” she said, put out he was ordering her around. But he was high on his success. She didn’t want to detract from that.
Her father approached. “Bill,” Richard said, putting out his hand, “did I overhear correctly? You’ve been made partner?”
“Yes sir, I have.” Bill gave a mock salute.
It was as if Bill were drunk on success, saluting her father and calling him sir. Her father was such an approachable gentle man nobody addressed him that way.
“Well congratulations,” Richard said. “I hope you’re staying for the party and haven’t come to take Jude away.”
“Happy to celebrate here, sir,” Bill said, hands on hips and legs still apart in a power pose. “How about that drink, Jude?”
Admittedly Bill liked his celebrations on the football field and to indulge in a bit of machismo when on the winning side, but Jude didn’t usually see this side of him. She was more used to his quiet conscientiousness during the working week, which she much preferred. “Yes I’ll get you a glass of fizz,” she said, acquiescing to his order.
