‘Who’s this, then?’ Blossom demands, when she comes in the next morning.
‘This is my mother. Mum, this is Blossom.’
‘How do you do?’ says Mum.
‘Humph.’ Blossom, ignores my mother’s outstretched hand (I’d forgotten to warn Mum about Blossom). ‘How long you staying?’
‘Well, I’m not sure...’
‘Where you sleeping?’
‘She’s sleeping in her old room,’ I say, for the pleasure of seeing Blossom’s reaction.
‘What old room?’
‘The little one on the top landing.’
‘I slept in it as a child,’ Mum adds.
‘Relation then, are you?’
‘I’m Eric’s and Silas’s sister. Ruth’s mother, as she said.’
Blossom regards her stonily for a moment, and then hauls the vacuum cleaner out from the cupboard under the stairs, and plugs it in.
‘Can’t stand here chatting,’ she says. ‘Work to do.’
‘We weren’t chatting, Blossom. I was introducing you to my mother.’ Just this once, I’ve been unwise enough to let Blossom’s rudeness get to me.
‘Can’t hear you,’ yells Blossom above the roaring of machinery. Something rattles up the tubing, and Blossom switches it off and stoops to investigate.
‘I said that I was just trying to introduce you to my mother,’ I repeat.
‘Well, met her now, haven’t I?’ Blossom pokes about in the vacuum cleaner’s innards and retrieves half an old toothbrush (an item much favoured by Mr. Darcy as a toy) and stows it away in her apron pocket, then switches on again. I can see we’re not going to get anything more out of Blossom, and Mum and I retire to the kitchen.
‘What an — odd person,’ says Mum.
‘Oh, she’s odd all right. Goodness knows why Eric and Silas put up with her. But she’ll be okay now she’s met you. Just ignore her. She’s upset because she likes to feel she’s in charge of this place, and she hates surprises.’
But Blossom has only just started. She follows poor Mum round the house, ensuring that whatever job she is about to do, Mum’s in the way. She skins a freshly-killed rabbit under Mum’s nose (quite unnecessarily, as Silas usually does that sort of thing) and she flatly refuses to spring clean Mum’s room, although Eric asks her very nicely.
‘No time,’ she says.
‘You’ve got another two hours yet,’ says Eric reasonably. ‘It shouldn’t take that long.’
‘Take more’n that.’
‘No it won’t. Not if you start now.’
Blossom eyes Eric beadily.
‘Bad back,’ she says. ‘Done enough cleaning for today. Do the pigs.’
‘What bad back?’ asks Silas, the medical expert.
‘Personal,’ says Blossom going out and slamming the back door behind her.
‘How can a bad back be personal?’ asks Mum, puzzled.
‘Blossom’s bad back can be anything she likes,’ says Eric wearily. ‘If she’s got one. Which I very much doubt.’
‘Why doesn’t she like me?’ Mum asks.
‘I suspect you’re a threat,’ Eric says. ‘Ruth was bad enough — another woman around the house, and all that — but now there are two of you, she probably sees it as two against one.’
Poor Mum. Her visit has not got off to a good start, and there is more to come, for the next day, Mikey pays me another visit. He says he is ‘just passing’ again, but I suspect there’s more to it than that, for he seems strangely excited.
Mum hasn’t met Mikey, and as far as I know has never met any gay person. She’s not so much homophobic as homo-ignorant (if there is such a thing), and given Mikey’s exuberant lack of tact, I anticipate trouble.
At first, things go well enough. Mikey greets Mum very nicely, doesn’t ask embarrassing questions as to the whys and wherefores of her visit, and there is a safely general discussion round the kitchen table when he joins us all for lunch. But I can see that he is bursting to say something, and after half an hour, he can contain himself no longer.
‘Oh, Ruth! I’ve been dying to tell you. You know that new partner I was telling you about? We’re in love!’ he tells me (and of course, everyone else).
‘That’s great, Mikey.’ I try making warning signals, but Mikey is oblivious.
‘Yes. It all happened so quickly. We’re going on holiday together.’
At this stage, I try to reach Mikey’s foot with mine to give him a kick under the table, but he’s too far away. I look despairingly at my uncles, but neither of them seems to have noticed the impending danger.
‘How lovely for you,’ Mum beams. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Gavin. Gavin.’ The word rolls off Mikey’s lips as only a lover’s name can; smoothly, adoringly, and (to most people) indisputably male.
‘What an unusual name for a girl!’ cries my mother, still completely in the dark.
I make one last, desperate attempt to reach either Mikey’s love-glazed eyes or his foot, but it’s too late.
‘Oh, Gavin isn’t a girl; he’s a man,’ Mikey tells her. ‘Can’t you tell? I’m —’
At last my foot reaches its target and administers a sharp blow to Mikey’s ankle, and he finally shuts up. But of course, the damage is done. I have never seen anyone blush the way Mum does when she realises what Mikey’s saying; what Mikey is. Even the tips of her ears seem to go puce. She looks at me despairingly, and I realise that of course she has no idea what to do. She has no rules for this kind of situation, and Mum lives her life by rules. My father isn’t there to give her guidance, and she hasn’t the confidence to trust any reaction of her own. She is almost certainly torn between politeness, horror and a deep and unspeakable embarrassment, and I feel desperately sorry for her.
‘Mum, why don’t you go and put your feet up?’ I suggest. ‘You must be tired. I know you didn’t have a very good night.’
She gives me a grateful look and practically scampers from the room. A few minutes later, Eric and Silas wander off to inspect a leaky roof, and Mikey and I are left on our own.
‘Oh, Mikey! How could you!’ I am furious with him.
‘How could I what?’
‘My mother’s never come across a gay person before. She didn’t know where to put herself!’
‘Perhaps it was time she did.’
‘Did what?’
‘Meet a gay person.’
‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous.’ I begin collecting up the lunch things. ‘Mikey, my mother is a complete innocent. She lives under the thumb of my father and thinks and believes what he thinks and believes. In my father’s book, gay people are beyond the pale.’
‘How sweet,’ Mikey murmurs.
‘No. Not sweet. Just ignorant. But they are basically good people, and they are my parents.’
‘Am I supposed to be sorry?’
‘It would be a start.’
‘Okay. I’m sorry.’
‘Not good enough.’
‘I really am sorry, Ruth.’ He kisses my cheek. ‘Will that do? But I’m so happy, and I wanted you to be happy for me.’
‘Of course I’m happy for you. I’m delighted for you. But next time you have a piece of news like this, please spare my mother. She’s having a hard time at the moment, and she can do without you and your love life.’
‘Okay. Understood.’
‘That’s all right, then.’
‘So can I tell you about Gavin now? Please, Ruth. Just five minutes.’
Mikey spends the next half-hour telling me about Gavin while we do the washing up together, and I listen, because Mikey is a good friend and I really am happy for him.
‘So,’ he finishes. ‘Now tell me about you.’
‘There’s not much to tell, really. I’m fine, and the baby’s fine. But the bad news is that my mother seems to have left my father.’
‘Goodness!’
‘Yes. I’m sure it’s not permanent, but still, it’s all a bit messy.’
‘And you’re caught in the middle.’
‘Well not really, because my father hasn’t been in touch. Mum only arrived yesterday.’
‘And she’s now trespassing on your patch.’
‘Well, I’m glad she feels she can come here, of course I am.’
‘But you were comfortable as you were. The three of you, and that ghastly Blossom.’
‘Yes. Does that sound awful?’
‘Not awful at all. It’s perfectly natural. You’ve settled in so happily here — it all seems so right — and of course your mum being around is bound to make a difference.
‘It does a bit.’
‘And still no man?’ he asks me.
‘I’m hardly likely to find one round here, am I?’
‘No. I suppose not. But what about the baby’s father, Ruth? Is there no chance of your making a go of it with him?’
‘I don’t even know where he is.’
‘Mm. That could be problematic.’ Mikey stacks plates neatly away in a cupboard. ‘Are you ready to talk about him yet?’
‘Oh, why not?’
So I put away my tea towel, and tell Mikey about Amos. I tell him about our long friendship, Amos’s divorce and the night we spent together. I tell him about the comforting familiar hugeness of Amos, his sense of humour, his warmth and his kindness.
‘And — I miss him,’ I end lamely. ‘I never thought I would, and if it weren’t for the baby, I probably wouldn’t be giving him a thought, but I really, really miss him.’
‘Anyone would think you were in love with the guy,’ Mikey remarks after a moment.
‘Can one fall in love with someone when they’re not there?’
‘I don’t see why not. After all, you seem to know him pretty well. And I’m sure having a baby with someone must make a difference.’
‘Yes. Yes, it does. And of course, that’s another thing. The baby.’
‘What about the baby?’
‘I’ve done nothing about it. I can’t think about it or make plans for it or anything. I’m just — stuck. Eric and Silas say I should start making decisions about the future, but I can’t see a future. Not with a baby. I know I decided to keep it, and I’ve no regrets about that, but it doesn’t seem real, somehow. I just see myself living here for ever with my bump, milking goats and arguing with Blossom and playing my fiddle to bored shoppers.’
‘You could give the baby to me. I’d love to have your baby.’
‘That’s a thought.’ For a moment, I have a vision of the seahorse/rabbit being carried off into the sunset by Mikey (and probably Gavin as well. Why not?). It would be loved and cared for by someone I know, and I could have visiting rights. The perfect solution all round.
But while Mikey is undoubtedly half-serious, the baby wouldn’t have a mother, and I’d like it to have a mother. Besides, now that my own mother is joining in I am no longer the only person involved. Mum is clearly preparing for — even looking forward to — her role as a grandmother, so I can hardly give her grandchild away. It seems that the Woman’s Right to Choose ends once the pregnancy is under way; after that, other people enter the equation, with their own hopes and expectations, and it’s hard to ignore them.
‘You’d make a lovely dad, Mikey, and it’s tempting. But I have to go ahead with this. I’ll manage somehow.’
‘Then at least find Amos.’
‘I’ve done everything I can think of. He just seems to have vanished.’
‘People can’t do that. Not with the internet, and mobiles, and CCTV.’
‘Amos can. He hates the internet, and likes people not knowing where he is. It’s a kind of pride thing with him, being invisible. Plus, he’s hiding from his ex.’
‘I could still try to Google him for you.’
‘Other friends have tried, but no luck so far. But I’d love you to have a go, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course I will. There can’t be that many trombone-playing Amoses. He should be pretty easy to find.’
‘Even Amos Jones?’
‘Especially Amos Jones.’
‘You’re a star.’ I give him a hug.
‘And still a godfather?’
‘Certainly still a godfather,’ I assure him. ‘I can’t think of a better one.’