Falling in Love Again

by Sophie King

  From the minute Paul had brought her home to meet his mum, they’d got on like a house on fire. Not that it had been easy to get a word in edgeways. Doris could have talked for England.

  But she’d been warm and kind and so nice when Karen had mentioned that her own mother had died when she was at uni (which meant she’d taken a year off to go back and look after her already-frail dad), that she had almost fallen in love with Paul’s chaotic, busy, loving household before Paul himself. Had she, as an only child, just wanted a substitute family?

  ‘I’m ashamed of him,’ had been Doris’s reaction ten years ago, when she’d heard about what her son had done. ‘Can’t you give him another chance, love? It’s you he cares for.’

  Was it? Karen wasn’t so sure. But even though her marriage was, as she told herself firmly, well and truly over, that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep up with Doris who had become a substitute for her own mother. Amazing to think that she was pushing seventy five next birthday.

  ‘Hello love!’ Doris held out her arms. Karen hugged her back, breathing in her signature scent of lavender water and taking in her trademark open-toed sandals with that thick rim of 60 denier flesh-colour stockings underneath. Doris didn’t believe in tights. Trapped the air, she always said. ‘Go on. Park your seat and tell me how you’re doing.’

  Karen sat down opposite, looking around for a waitress to wipe down the table. Doris liked this place; they usually met here because they did great egg and chips for the over-sixties. But frankly, it seemed to be going downhill. Rather like Doris. Was it her imagination or was she thinner?

  ‘I’m fine, Doris. Just fine. How about you?’

  Her mother-in-law’s eyes narrowed. She was a tiny woman – it had been Paul’s dad who’d been big and passed his height onto his son – but Karen had often thought that she wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her mother-in-law.

  ‘Only fine?’ she repeated, ignoring Karen’s own question.

  Should she tell her about Hayley? No. Not yet. She’d promised.

  ‘Really good!’ She beamed across the table, handing Doris the menu at the same time.

  ‘I’ve already ordered for both of us. The usual.’

  Thank heavens for the sandwich which saved her from egg and chips. ‘You have mine; I ate on the run.’

  Doris nodded. They always went through this little ritual; it was incredible how much she could eat, considering how tiny she was. And they both knew that when it came to the bill, it would be Karen who paid. It was, as she always said, the least she could do. Doris had been good to her over the years.

  ‘Busy are you?’

  Karen nodded.

  ‘Love your page!’

  Doris spoke as though she wrote it like a journalist instead of just taking ads down the phone. ‘Always read it! Got any good bargains for me?’

  The other month, she’d found her mother-in-law an almost brand new black leather sofa (something Doris had always wanted!). It had belonged to a bachelor whose bride had decided it didn’t go with the new décor she was planning.

  ‘Not unless you want a dented table tennis ball or a puppy.’

  Doris whipped out a hospital specimen bottle from her handbag and poured the contents into her cup of tea much to the horror of the table next to them. Karen tried not to giggle; she always did this, partly to shock others and partly for convenience. ‘It’s whisky, not urine,’ she wanted to tell the disapproving table. So what!

  ‘Look, love. I’ve got to be honest. When I rang the other day, it wasn’t just a social call.’

  Karen felt a prickle of unease. Something was coming.

  ‘It’s Paul.’

  She sat still. Doris hadn’t mentioned her son’s name in front of her for years. Somehow, they had both skirted round it, sticking instead to safe topics like Adam and Hayley even though now they weren’t safe any more.

  ‘He’s in a bit of a pickle, to be honest.’

  What’s that to me, Karen wanted to scream. Suddenly, all the wellbeing flushed out of her body and she had a ridiculous urge to light up a cigarette after all these years.

  ‘Why?’

  She fought to keep her voice even; made herself breathe out through her arms to stop the shoulders that were already rising with tension.

  ‘He asked me not to tell you.’

  This must be bad. Doris was even ignoring the plate of egg and chips that the girl had put in front of her. Normally, she’d be wolfing it down.

  ‘He wants to see you. Next month. On the first Saturday at 2 o’clock in the market. No, he can’t make any other time. There’s a reason.’ Doris reached across the table and she felt her mother-in-law’s thin hands clasp hers. ‘You will go, won’t you love? For me.’ Another beady look. ‘After all, love, you are still married. Aren’t you?’

  17

  ED

  ‘Get up!’

  Ed tried to yank back The Kid’s duvet but he was hanging on for dear life. It was hard enough to breathe with the stench of BO and stale beer, let alone have a tug of war at 7.23am. He was going to win this if it killed him! Grabbing a corner of the duvet he stumbled back across the room as Jamie pulled it back – but not before he’d unintentionally caught a glimpse of his stepbrother’s undercarriage. Bloody hell. That was impressive. And unfair.

  ‘Getoffme.’

  There was an indignant jerk of what looked like the top of a half-bleached, gelled cockerel crest; one side was white and the other black. Although the rest of him was hidden, Ed knew that a bit further down was a small silver ring on the bottom lip which accounted for the slight lisp. Silly idiot. He’d regret that one day.

  ‘No I bloody won’t, you lazy sod. You’re going to be late for school and then I’ll be late for work.’

  ‘So what, Mr Perfect? You always have to do everything right, don’t you?’

  Jamie’s voice was muffled under the duvet which he had bundled round him. There was the sound of short bleeps, indicating he was punching numbers into his mobile at the same time. Couldn’t they ever do just one thing at a time? ‘You’re the boss, aren’t you?’

  Ed was still tugging. ‘And how do you think I got there? Not by staying in bed all day. If you hadn’t been on your laptop all night, you wouldn’t be so tired now.’

  No wonder your mother couldn’t cope, he wanted to say, but something stopped him. Jamie, or The Kid as he called him, had always been a challenge (his own father had said as much even though he’d always had a soft spot for him which, to be honest, had sometimes made Ed feel a bit jealous). And although he didn’t believe in nervous breakdowns (especially when it was Angela’s seventh or was it eighth?), family was still family.

  ‘How do you manage with all these step-relations?’ friends often asked.

  But to Ed, it was normal. When you grew up with a father who’d been married several times before and then went on to have two more wives after Ed’s mother, it seemed par for the course. ‘It’s what you’re used to,’ he’d shrug when friends turned up for various occasions like birthdays and found an assortment of stepbrothers and sisters and – on one memorable occasion – a baby in a pram.

  ‘Who’s this?’ asked someone and Ed took a certain amount of satisfaction in replying, ‘My brother-in-law.’

  To be fair, it had been his step-brother-in-law once removed but hey, who was counting? Besides – and this was the important bit – they all got on. That was why he believed in marriage. Really believed in it. Provided you found the right person of course. His father who had been a huge, genial and fantastically wealthy man at times (although skint at others) reminded him sometimes of the late Jimmy Goldsmith in appearance. Dad had been legendary for his hospitality, often inviting ex-wives and a couple of future ones on his yacht and second house in Cannes.

  Maybe that’s why he hadn’t felt too bad about ending his own marriages. If it wasn’t working, why carry on? That was the lesson he’d learned from his father. You could just divorce them and still stay friends.
Somehow, he’d managed that with his first wife who had hardly been his wife anyway to be fair. He’d met Carol when he was still in the upper sixth form at Rugby and had nipped down to the registry office one Wednesday just after his 18th birthday when he should have been playing in the First Eleven. ‘I love her,’ he had told his bemused father when asked why he had done it. And no, she wasn’t pregnant although he was, with hindsight, on the rebound after Claire. No. That was the one girl he really couldn’t think about . . .

  But within a couple of months, he and his ‘bride’ had both decided they fancied other people (especially after that ball with all the St Margaret girls) so his father had – to the girl’s parents’ relief – quietly arranged an annulment on the grounds of non-consummation, which wasn’t strictly accurate.

  But now, as he tried to yank his younger stepbrother out of bed so he could get him to the expensive sixth form crammer where Jamie was meant to be doing his A levels, he was beginning to wonder if life might have been simpler if they’d all stuck to one or, at the most, two wives.

  ‘If you don’t get up, I’ll chuck water over you.’ Even as he spoke, Ed’s eye fell on The Kid’s night water sitting on the floor amidst a pile of dirty jeans with safety pins instead of zips that had failed to find their way to the linen bin. Jamie had grown up with the tag ‘The Kid’ partly because he was finally the last stepbrother; something guaranteed by Ed’s father’s death. That was another reason Ed had a soft spot for him. His own father might have been busy with work and his other dependents, but he’d always had time for Ed. His childhood memories were full of fishing trips; matches at Lords; long walks with Paddy the red setter and once – memorably – an initiation evening at a certain club in Soho for his sixteenth birthday.

  But Jamie had had none of this. Instead, he had a mother (who wasn’t Ed’s favourite stepmother especially in comparison to Nancy whom he genuinely adored) who had just married a complete prat in Ed’s view. He owed it to Dad to look after The Kid and if this meant buying ready made meals for two instead of one, putting up with a cold shower because all the hot had gone and chucking water over him to wake him up and get him to school, so be it.

  ‘Get lost! You’ve got me all wet!’

  Jamie leaped out of bed, making him trip over an empty bottle. Smirnoff?

  ‘You went to bed on a glass of vodka?’

  ‘No.’ Jamie was drying his face on the duvet. ‘Half a bottle.’

  ‘Half a bottle?’

  ‘Are you chatting breeze?’

  What on earth did that mean?

  Jamie rolled his eyes. ‘It’s what we call talking rubbish. Don’t you know that teenagers need twelve hours sleep?’

  This kid needed a mouth guard in Extra Large.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody cheeky and get in that shower. We’ll talk about it later.’

  But Jamie was already getting into his boxers from yesterday which had been lying on the floor along with all his other clothes since he arrived. ‘I’m not going to shower now because you’ve asked me.’

  ‘So you’re going to go into college like that? Ed looked with horror at The Kid’s black and white cockerel crest, lip-ring, vodka-stained t-shirt in spaghetti sauce colour with a picture of The Wattevers on it (his favourite band) and torn shorts which he insisted on wearing daily with their stains and rips. Until he’d moved in last week, Ed had put Jamie’s constantly dishevelled appearance down to neglect on Jamie’s mother’s behalf. Now he was almost beginning to feel sorry for her. My God! His eyes fell on something else on the floor. Don’t say that was what he thought it was? Full as well . . .

  Jamie, The Kid, snorted with amusement. ‘That’s right, Ed, it’s a condom. C for Chlamydia; o for orange; n for ‘nob’. . .

  ‘Knob has a ‘k’. Don’t they teach you to spell any more?’

  ‘Whatever. Anyway, I only used it for a posh wank.’

  A what?

  ‘It’s when you do it yourself. For practice. You ought to try it now you haven’t got Titty – sorry Tatty. Works with cling film too.’

  No point in telling him off. It was like preaching to the perverted. Besides, he needed to bin the thing before the cleaner thought it was his. ‘If you don’t get a move on, I’m going to . . .’

  ‘What?’ Jamie’s eyes glittered as though he was enjoying this. ‘Hit me? You can’t do that now. There was a kid the other day whose mother was prosecuted because she smacked him with a hairbrush when he wouldn’t go to school.’

  What was the world coming to, wondered Ed. It hadn’t been like this in his day. His housemaster would have given him a good beating for saying half the stuff The Kid was coming out with.

  ‘All right.’ He tried to remember the words of advice Nancy had given him before dropping him off after the SOS call from The Priory. ‘Be firm but kind. Use emotional logic.’

  ‘If you come downstairs now and have some breakfast, I’ll let you drive the car to school provided Charlie’s around.’

  Jamie’s eyes lit up. He’d learned to drive at thirteen round his mother’s estate but so far had failed to pass his test. ‘Yer all right.’

  You’re all right? What did that mean? Everything, as far as he could work out. An OK. A please. A thank you. Why couldn’t they speak properly nowadays?

  ‘I’ll come downstairs if you let me drive the car. But I’m not having breakfast. I’m not hungry.’

  Hang on. He noticed something just then. Something new above the gaping waistband of those torn shorts.

  ‘Have you got another tattoo? A fifth one?’

  ‘None of your business. Anyway, it’s just Biro.’

  ‘Let me have a look.’

  ‘Gerroff.’

  Ed bit his lip. He wouldn’t push this one. Besides, he was pretty sure he’d seen what he’d seen. Whether it was Biro or permanent ink, he had spotted the word. ‘Dad,’ it had said with a little blue heart on either side.

  Poor little bugger.

  How did working parents do it, Ed asked himself as he stumbled through the rotating doors of his father’s property company.

  ‘Morning!’

  That pretty auburn girl at reception smiled at him and then stopped. ‘Goodness. You look a little tired, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  ‘Actually, I do feel a bit rough,’ he heard himself saying, against his better judgement. ’One of my stepbrothers is living with me and he’s quite a bit younger. I couldn’t get him to college so we had a bit of an argument and then . . . ’

  ‘I know just what you mean!’ Her face lit up. ‘I’ve got a younger cousin and my aunt can never get him out of bed. She's tried everything. She even put his toes in a bowl of ice the other day. Wet the sheets but like she said, what’s new? Oh dear. That didn’t meant to come out like that.’

  She flushed with embarrassment and for some reason, he did the same. ‘Better be getting on. Thanks for the idea. I might try it. The ice, that is.’

  ‘Let me know if it works. Mind you, they do say teenagers need twelve hours sleep, you know. There was a piece about in the Daily Mail the other day. Whoops – better answer that phone!’ She smiled disarmingly. ‘Don’t want to get the sack!’

  Heading for the sanctuary of his office and feeling slightly disturbed by the conversation (was that because of the pretty temp or the twelve hours?), Ed opened his inbox. One hundred and thirty one emails and it wasn’t even 10 o’clock yet! It wasn’t even as though he could erase half of them or hand them over to his PA. He’d just have to tell Garth he wasn’t taking any calls and get his head down.

  By midday, his stomach was beginning to churn, reminding him that thanks to his row with Jamie, he’d only managed to wolf down a slice of cold toast for breakfast.

  ‘Garth?’ He put his head round the door. ‘Would you nip out to Costa and pick up a mushroom and emmenthal panino?’

  His usually unflustered PA shot him what could only be described as a decidedly flustered look. ‘Before or after you deal with this lot?’
>
  Ed groaned as Garth pressed a wodge of letters marked URGENT into his hand. ‘And you might want to ring the principal first.’

  ‘The principal?’

  ‘The Kid’s college.’

  Such was Jamie’s notoriety that even the staff referred to him by his nickname.

  ‘Seems like he went in for one lesson, spent it in the back row on his mobile and then told the Geography teacher to piss off.’

  For fuck’s sake! He’d warned him about swearing. And why did they allow mobiles in class anyway?

  ‘They don’t. That was part of the problem. Oh and someone else called Alison has just rung. Says it’s not urgent although she had a very fetching voice.’

  Since Garth wasn’t of that inclination, this was praise indeed.

  ‘And when you’ve done that, if you don’t mind me saying, I think you really ought to look at the letter on top.’

  Ed’s father had always taught him to deal with the nicer stuff first. ‘Makes you feel more capable of tackling the shit,’ he used to say.

  So he rang Alison only to find her answerphone was on. Feeling slightly disappointed – he was actually sorry this month’s meeting was off – he tried again. Still nothing. If she didn’t ring back by tonight, he was to call her the next day. It had been a system suggested by Karen at the last meeting. ‘Everyone has a buddy,’ she had said brightly. ‘You call each other regularly – taking it in turns – and it doesn’t matter if you don’t want to talk. The thing is that you’re there for each other.’

  He’d been secretly disappointed he hadn’t got Lizzie, the yummy mummy but then again, that might have led to even more complications and he had enough of that. Still, Alison was intriguing and she’d already had some good ideas on handling The Kid. In fact, the car one had been hers.

  Second on the list was the principal. This time – typical! – he got put straight through.