by Clare Ashton
“I gathered.” Maggie grinned, rigidly.
“I can’t believe she’s here.”
“Indeed, I was surprised.”
“She’s the lecturer I was telling you about. You know when I met Selene. Her research topics include the Cathars, that’s why I attended the lecture.”
They’d never finished that conversation, had they. With all the commotion of Eli’s engagement and the aftermath of Bill’s untimely proposal, they’d never resumed the polite conversation, getting to know the happy couple’s background. Damn it. Maggie was so mad she could spit. Spit on those expensive black heels of Juliette’s.
“Isn’t it strange that Juliette’s speciality and the topic of your PhD should bring us together,” Eli continued. “I bet you have a lot in common.”
“You’d be surprised,” Juliette joined in.
“Perhaps he won’t be.” Maggie narrowed her eyes.
“Are you free for dinner?” Eli asked.
“Non, non. I can’t impose on your family.” Juliette blushed. A little rose on those lily white cheeks.
“You wouldn’t be. Dad was saying to Abby we have plenty to go around.”
Damn Richard. “That was very generous of him,” Maggie muttered.
“Well,” Juliette shrugged. “If you insist.”
Really? She was coming in. Why? Like this could be any pleasure for her.
“Brilliant,” Eli said. “Isn’t this great, Mum? You can get to know each other properly.”
“Fabulous.” She was as familiar with Juliette as she ever wanted to be. More so in fact. “Just fabulous.”
“Would you believe we’re having roast beef,” Eli said as he made his way up the steps, Juliette beneath his arm. He glanced back to his mother. “We were joking the other day how the English think the French all smoke Gauloises and drink gallons of red wine.”
Maggie flushed pink. “Ha. Yes. What a stereotype.”
“They still call us Roast Beefs. And here we are having that for dinner.”
“How funny,” Juliette laughed.
“Hilarious,” Maggie muttered, and she followed the joyful pair into her home.
“This is Juliette,” Eli boomed as they entered the main room.
Celia, who was sitting at the dining table, almost choked on her glass of Laphroaig.
“Dear God,” she said. “Have I died in the operating theatre and entered the twilight zone?”
Thanks, Mother. That was subtle. Although the poor dear genuinely looked shocked. But had anyone else noticed her mother’s reaction or Juliette’s entrance?
Richard was in the kitchen tapping away on his phone, and going by that silly grin on his face was probably sexting Caroline. Maggie shuddered. Her two nephews were asleep on the far sofa. Jude was still transfixed by Abby and the latter was staring at her hands in her lap. It was only Eli and Selene who seemed in the least bit with it.
“Maman,” Selene cried. “Quelle surprise.”
The girl leapt up and kissed her mother many times. The likeness was obvious now. No wonder Selene’s appearance had stirred Maggie’s emotions and fears for her son. She shook her head. Who had Juliette found to father a child? Selene had never mentioned anyone. The existence of a child from Juliette was surprise enough, but a father to it incredible. Another galling element to the whole fiasco.
“Let me introduce you all,” Eli said. “They’re being such a dull lot.”
He bounded over to the piano and surprised Jude from her reverie. “This is my sister Jude.” Jude stared blank and pink at them all. “Selene’s mother has come for dinner.”
“Oh,” Jude said, apparently still not in the moment.
“You’ll have to forgive my sister,” Eli continued. “She’s distracted and pretending to be heartbroken after leaving her tedious boyfriend of five years.”
“Oh Eli!” Maggie shouted. Poor Jude. That was unforgivable.
“Well, it’s true,” Eli protested. “Bill was a bore. In every respect. A boring boor.”
“Time to grieve would be appropriate,” Maggie said, but Jude seemed beyond distraction.
“Abby.” Eli turned his attention to Jude’s alarmed friend. “Dearest Abby is friend to the entire family. Nay. She is family. And she has already fallen foul of my jesting today. You have a reprieve.”
Abby relaxed.
“Celia!” Eli leapt across the room to his grandmother. “Celia is a resident at the local care home. She claims she doesn’t want to burden the family, but secretly hankers after the company of the delightful Desmond.”
“Eli!” Celia snapped. She tried to slap him on his calf but he leapt away again. “You impertinent little shit.” Now Eli had managed to make Celia squawk vulgarities. He couldn’t have looked more pleased.
“In the kitchen we have Richard, the paterfamilias.” His father peered up from his phone blankly. “And as such has absolutely no say in this family.”
“Don’t be rude about your father,” Maggie said.
“Because,” and Eli came to a stop before her, a triumphant grin on his face, “we all know who wears the proverbial trousers in this house. My mother, Maggie. Sometimes Mags. Never Margaret.”
She wanted to kiss and kill him at the same time.
“Enchante,” Juliette cried. “I’m so happy to meet you all.”
“The pleasure’s all ours,” Maggie deadpanned.
“Well,” Juliette sighed. “This is a pretty home.”
She sauntered around the main room as if they all hung on her verdict. Which was closer to the truth than Maggie wanted to admit.
“Interesting to see where you have been living all these years.”
The family would assume she meant Eli, but Juliette threw a satisfied and mocking glance at Maggie. Juliette ran her gloved hand over the sheen of the mahogany table, the material sliding without resistance.
“A beautiful piece. I am very envious, Richard.”
It needled Maggie that she pronounced his name Rishar. She knew the English version well enough. She also knew Maggie well enough to guess the piece was hers.
“Oh that’s one of Maggie’s finds,” Richard said amiably. “Anything you see of taste, Maggie deserves the credit.”
“Vraiment?”
“Apart from the literature and other books. They tend to be mine.”
“Are you not a great reader, Margaret?”
Again. So unnecessary.
“Of course I am.” Maggie squirmed. “But Richard is such an unusually voracious reader that books tend to be his, unless it’s by a female author.”
“C’est normal. Non?”
No-one seemed to dare comment.
“This is an unusual item.” Juliette stopped. It was sculpture of a nude woman carved from wood. The smooth form reclined, breasts exposed to the sky. The piece had become polished over the years, from fingers enjoying the pleasing surfaces, especially the chest. The children had been fond of pointing out the naked lady’s boobies to every guest.
“By Gabriel Bent I believe,” Juliette said.
“Well spotted,” Richard said. “I would never have guessed. Maggie’s again.”
She knew that. Juliette already bloody knew that.
“But what about here? There is something missing. Non?” Juliette pointed to gaps between the ornaments on the bookcase where Richard had removed items more precious to him than Maggie. “And here?” The clean rectangle of wallpaper and its darkened frame. “There used to be a picture?”
“Ah. That’s in the attic,” Richard stumbled. “For now. For a change.”
“D’accord,” Juliette said. “I wonder that you don’t fill out the gaps again though.” And she raised an eyebrow at Maggie.
It was as if Juliette knew where to prod. How did she do that? Did she have a sixth sense for needling Maggie where she was most vulnerable? Juliette had been in the house a matter of minutes and she’d sniffed out trouble already.
“Just a question,” Juliette said sweetly
.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Richard stuttered. “Red wine?”
Maggie tutted, not altogether fairly. “It’s not compulsory for the French to drink red wine, Richard.”
Juliette smiled. Just a curl at the corner of her mouth. “You are right, Maggie. But actually Richard,” again Rishar. It made Maggie’s teeth ache every time. “You are correct. I love a glass of red wine. I am quite thirsty though. Do you have herbal tea?”
“Herbal tea,” Maggie snorted. When the hell did her rampant coffee habit change. Herbal tea.
“Oui. I love my tea. Especially a cup of camomile.”
Maggie couldn’t help the grimace. “Of all the drinks, you choose the one that smells like urine.”
Juliette fixed her with narrowed eyes. “Really? I’ve never found that so. Perhaps you should check yours with a doctor.” She offered her arm to Richard to escort her to the kitchen.
And if looks could throw daggers, knives would have flown across the room that moment.
“Well, tuck in everyone,” Richard said. He sat at the nominal head of the table by the kitchen. Maggie was grateful he’d taken charge, because her brain was in several other places and times at once.
Next to him was their errant son, mighty pleased with himself, and Selene who was as tranquil as ever. Jude came next around the circular table staring across at Abby. Juliette sat by her side, also unnervingly sedate. Celia sat between the two antagonists, switching her gaze between Maggie and Juliette while swigging a large glass of red. Then Abby sat by Maggie’s side, red-cheeked and apparently famished by the way she devoured her meal and remained oblivious to Jude’s attention.
Maggie sat rigid, cutlery in her fists brandished more like weapons than culinary instruments.
“So,” Richard started. He looked at Maggie, then Celia, then nodded at Juliette. “Yes, um, tuck in everyone.”
Things had to be bad for Richard to pick up on any awkwardness.
“So, Abby.” The surprise interjection came from Juliette. She put down her fork and dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Eli tells me you’re a lesbian.”
“What?” Poor Abby choked on a morsel of beef which shot from her mouth in a cough. “Excuse me.” Abby hiccupped before dissolving into a fit.
“Here you go, my dear,” Maggie said, passing a glass of water. She shot Juliette a venomous look which was received with perfect tranquillity. In fact, a smile began to curve at the corner of Juliette’s mouth again.
“Thanks, Eli,” Abby coughed. “Thanks for passing that on.”
“You’re welcome,” Eli grinned.
“There’s no need to worry,” Juliette said. “Because I am one too.”
“Jesus.” It was Celia’s turn to choke on her dinner at Maggie’s taboo subject and the usual elephant in the room.
Jude almost dropped her fork and failed to keep her lower jaw in place. A pea may have fallen from her mouth.
Maggie’s heart raced and Celia was gripped by another paroxysm. Maggie slapped her mother on her back until the old woman returned to the right hue.
Well thanks, Juliette. Maggie sent another set of daggers flying across the table. Fuck her. She’d managed to keep that quiet for all of two seconds. So she’d come with the gloves metaphorically off then, if not literally.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Juliette asked. She was unperturbed, nonchalantly placing another neat forkful in her mouth.
“No,” Abby spluttered.
“Odd. I imagine you have a lot of, how do you say, interest.”
“Yes. I mean ‘interest’ is the right word. But, no. There’s not a lot of interest.”
“Really,” Eli squawked. “That’s not true. I bet there’s a dozen interested folk within half a mile, closer even.” He turned to Jude. For some reason Jude’s face was stormy in response. Abby had resumed dining, the poor thing as red as her glass of wine.
“Abby is a beautiful woman in every way,” Maggie interrupted, hoping to ease her embarrassment. “I imagine many men and women would love to date her.”
“Mum!” Now Jude aimed her thunderous expression at her.
“Well someday,” Maggie said, exasperated at this constant source of friction between them, “Abby might welcome a man’s attention. It’s not unheard of.”
“Abby has never had any interest in men whatsoever. The issue is getting others to accept she likes women. Why do you always hark back to it?”
“Isn’t that the vogue now?” Maggie said. “Sexual fluidity.” Her two children shuddered as she said the word “sexual”. “Well, is it not? After all, whoever thought Eli would find a nice young woman?”
“You don’t approve of gay relationships?”
It was Juliette, and she’d said it with an even mix of incredulity and disapproval. She sat stiff, focussed on Maggie, then she suddenly eased. “How very strange. Intriguing indeed. Especially for you.” She took a mouthful and left the words hanging there, chewing delicately over her food with a smile.
“Really?” Jude asked. “Why for Mum?”
And Maggie wondered how quickly she could leap across the table and shove her hand in Juliette’s mouth.
Celia was squirming by her side. “More wine anyone? I’ll get it from the kitchen.”
It said a lot about the awkwardness of the situation that the woman needing a hip replacement was virtually running for more alcohol.
“Sit down, Mother,” Maggie said sharply, hauling Celia back into her seat. “It’s not that I don’t approve.” She spoke in her firmest classroom delivery. “I am not homophobic.”
The effect was somewhat marred by Jude’s huffing.
“Well, I’m not,” Maggie continued. What was wrong with Jude today? They had their differences on this issue, but Jude was usually more tactful about it. Why was she publicly laying into Maggie now, of all the bloody times?
“I’m not homophobic. I’ve never disapproved of Abby. You can see I adore her. The rest of the world isn’t as accepting though. Lesbians are battered by men with fragile egos. People die because they are gay.” And she emphasised the point by staring at Juliette. “Which is why I hope for heterosexual relationships. I want my family to be happy and safe. That is all. Abby especially.”
“Abby is gay, Mum,” Jude said, exasperation written all over her face. “The only way she’ll be happy is with a woman.”
For God’s sake Jude. Why now?
“I don’t want that life for her,” Maggie said. “She’s had enough hardship already. Let her have a break.”
Jude glared with the kind of fire Maggie recognised in few but herself.
“You would deny her love?”
“Of course not,” Maggie retorted, with a vehemence inspired by Juliette’s presence. “But happiness is more likely through some kinds of love than others.”
“Isn’t that up to Abby to decide?” Again, where had this attitude come from? She hadn’t seen this fervour from Jude since she was a teenager.
From the corner of her eye Maggie could see Abby, her head bowed and hands wrung in her lap.
“I’m sorry, Abby,” Maggie said, reeling in her anger. “You know my position and reasons. You know I don’t disapprove of you.”
Abby didn’t reply, her gaze fixed on her hands.
“Did you know your mother used to fight for gay rights?”
Juliette. Again. And, as before, she left the words hanging there. At least it silenced Jude. She and Eli had their mouths wide open.
“It is true. Here,” Juliette said, with great felicity. “I have a photo.”
Shit.
Maggie’s heart leapt into her mouth and she readied herself to fly across the table. Juliette reached into her little black bag. Was she deliberately taking her time? She pinched out a phone and examined it with what Maggie could tell was immense satisfaction. “I scanned it when sorting my college memorabilia,” Juliette continued.
Maggie sat tense in her chair, limbs coiled tight and grinding her tee
th. Juliette flashed the photo in her direction before allowing Eli and Jude to feast their eyes on the evidence. Maggie knew the photo well enough to need no second glance and she stayed her flight, for the moment.
“You knew each other?” Selene said.
“We were at university together,” Juliette said with incredible lightness.
“I didn’t know that.”
“C’est vrai.”
“Mum?” Jude looked shocked. “Is this really you?” She turned the screen towards Maggie.
There she was, her hair in a shoulder-length and very unfortunate perm and sporting her favourite pair of dungarees. She had only a vest underneath, no bra, a fact vividly committed to memory when she’d later run for the bus. Her arms were slung around a thin man with pink hair, and woman with none. Behind a great banner demanded research for AIDS. The man was long dead, and the woman lost touch after Eli was born.
“Yes, that’s me,” Maggie replied solemnly. “London Pride I think.”
“One of many marches and protests,” Juliette said quietly. “Gay vegans. Lesbians and gays support the miners. Gays against fascism.”
Maggie could remember it all vividly. Her arm around the young man, his body bony while hers remained plump with vigour. The love and camaraderie of her friend. And Juliette, smiling proud as she took the photo on her Minolta camera, quickly winding on the film to catch another shot. The smell of London, and the old diesel buses which pumped out black clouds. The rubbish on the street, some left by the march, other debris thrown by intolerant spectators.
“You went to Pride?” Eli said, astonished. It wasn’t often she surprised her son. “You used to protest for gays?”
“Then why, Mum? Why are you so adamant about lesbian relationships?” Jude seemed keenly affected as she said it.
“Because what was the point?” Maggie said, and she fought back the lump in her throat. “What was the point of going through all that? Fighting for the right not to be sacked. Being abused for loving the wrong sex. Winning equal marriage rights, all for hate crime to soar again now. The newspapers savage anyone queer, and young lesbians are raped to teach them a lesson. It’s hard enough getting through life without the world taking that extra issue with you. It breaks relationships. It tears people apart. Don’t underestimate what that pressure does to even the strongest of relationships. And when they fall apart, your whole world dies.” Her hands shook.
