Chapter Eleven
When I arrived at Fox Lodge a few days later, I found Great Uncle Charles downstairs, sitting in front of the television, hurling curses at a rather stupid contestant on The Chase.
"You're on the mend, then," I said cheerfully, heading into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
"No, I died in my sleep," he replied.
Ignoring him, I busied myself making the usual weak tea for him, and extra-strong tea for myself. "I can't stay long tonight," I told him, as I handed him his mug.
"Well, heaven be praised," he said. "Good news at last." He eyed me curiously over the mug. "Why not? Got a date?"
"No, I haven't." A date! Chance would be a fine thing. How long had it been?
God, I couldn't even remember.
Appalled, I searched my memory banks. There must have been someone, surely? Vaguely, I recalled a night out in Whitby, with some bloke David used to go to school with. It had been a while. Shameful, really. I ought to make some effort, I supposed, or I would end up living alone for the rest of my life. Sitting in a chair, bitter and lonely, dreaming about what might have been. Worse than Miss Havisham. At least she'd got as far as getting engaged.
"If you must know, I'm going for tea at Mum's. She's invited me, Olivia, David, and the kids over."
"Oh? Special occasion?"
I hesitated. Should I risk telling him the truth? Was it worth the more-than-likely derision that would result if I did? Could I be bothered with yet another argument? On the other hand, it was about time that Great Uncle Charles realised there was a lot more to my mother than he gave her credit for. I hated the thought that he still remembered her as some broken, distraught woman, sobbing over her errant husband. Mum was a different person to then, and he should know that. "She's introducing us to her boyfriend."
"Boyfriend?" The scorn in his voice was unmistakable.
"Other half, partner, whatever you like to call it. They've been going out together for a while now, and she thought it time we all met."
He cackled. "God help the poor sod, getting involved with your family, that's all I can say."
"Don't worry," I assured him, "we won't be introducing him to you, so it won't be anywhere near as horrific as it could be for him."
He tutted, then put the mug on the coffee table as he was wracked with another coughing fit.
"Are you sure you should be downstairs?" I eyed him doubtfully. "Maybe you should still be in bed."
"No chance. I'm sick of seeing that bedroom." He wiped his eyes and sighed. "I'm all right. I'm eighty-nine years old. What do you want from me—cartwheels?"
At least he had the central heating on, that was something. Although, the very fact that he hadn't turned it off at the first opportunity was a bit worrying. He clearly wasn't totally well, or he'd have been at the boiler controls like a flash. "Have you eaten?"
"Had some spaghetti hoops a few hours ago."
"Is that it?" I sighed. "I'll make you something. Have you got anything in the freezer?"
A quick search of the kitchen revealed he had barely anything edible in the house, before I headed back through to him. "Who does your shopping?" I asked, feeling guilty that I still hadn't done anything about the food situation.
He looked puzzled. "I do. Who else?"
"You know, you really ought to have a home help, or something."
"You must be joking! I don't want anyone round here, sticking their noses in my business, thank you very much. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"But you're eighty-nine, and not well." I considered him for a moment. "Look, I'll order you a takeaway for your tea, then tonight I'll buy you some shopping online. It could be delivered tomorrow afternoon, or the day after, at least. And if I can't get a slot for tomorrow, I'll bring you a few bits and bobs at lunchtime. Okay?"
I waited for the protests, and when none were forthcoming, my eyes widened. "Are you sure you're all right? Why aren't you arguing with me?"
"Bloody hell, I can't win," he grumbled. "Did you want me to argue with you?"
"Of course not."
"Well, shut up and get on with it, then. I'm bloody ravenous. Order me a curry, there's a good lass."
"A good lass?" My mouth dropped open in shock. "Should I call a doctor?"
"Oh, bugger off," he snapped. "I want a chicken Jalfrezi, and make sure you use that takeaway near the school. The one between the wedding shop and the pub is well dodgy. Lots of cats go missing round there, and that's all I'm saying."
I rolled my eyes, but did as he asked. "Will you be okay to answer the door yourself?" I asked uncertainly, thinking it really was time I headed over to my mother's to meet that toy-boy hunk of hers.
"Ooh, I don't know. Should I ask my mummy if I'm allowed?" Great Uncle Charles waved his skeletal hand at me. "Go on, clear off, and have a good look at this fancy man of your mother's. I want all the details when you come here next. I haven't had a good laugh in ages."
"Takeaway should be here within twenty minutes," I told him, determined not to rise to the bait. "Enjoy your Jalfrezi. I'll let you know about the shopping delivery, okay?"
"Yes, fine, whatever." He picked up his mug again. "Thank you, Marley."
I'd been heading into the hall, but stopped dead in my tracks. Thank you? Since when did Great Uncle Charles ever thank me for anything?
I glanced back over my shoulder, but he was apparently absorbed in The Chase again, so I said nothing, just left the house and closed the door carefully behind me. Well, that was a weird experience. I hoped he really was all right, because a grateful Uncle Charles was, quite frankly, a bit terrifying.
***
As I turned into my mother's street, I saw my sister and family just ahead of me. Olivia was holding Max's hand, while David pushed Tommy in his buggy. Sam skipped ahead of them, stopping now and then for them to catch up. Olivia and David were chatting, and I saw them laughing together, as Olivia placed her hand on David's back and rested her head for a fleeting moment on his shoulder.
Watching them, I felt a lump in my throat. They were such a tight-knit family. I knew my sister and brother-in-law didn't have much money, and were worn out with the stress of taking care of three young boys, but the love and warmth they shared radiated from them. Would I ever have that kind of relationship? I simply couldn't imagine it.
For the first time in my life, I felt a pang of envy for my sister, followed by a sudden lurch of panic. What if David got fed up and left? How would Olivia cope without him?
"Auntie Marley!" Sam had caught sight of me, and ran towards me, barging into my legs and nearly knocking me backwards. "Are you going to Grandma's, too?"
"I am," I confirmed, nodding at Olivia who waited for me with a smile on her face.
"Exciting, isn't it?"
"I'm a bit nervous," I admitted. "Are you?"
"A bit."
"What on earth are you two nervous for?" said David, puzzled. "It's the poor sod who's dating your mother that I feel sorry for. Imagine having to meet the family, knowing you're being vetted, your every word and gesture considered and chewed over."
"There speaks the voice of experience." Olivia laughed, nudging him. "I remember when you went through the same thing."
"So do I," he said, with some feeling. "That's why I feel sorry for him. Marley practically interrogated me. I'm surprised she didn't tie me to my chair and shine a spotlight in my eyes."
"Don't exaggerate," I said crossly, although I did recall that I'd sort of bombarded him with questions. Olivia was my baby sister, though. Someone had to look out for her.
The curtains in the living room of Mum's cottage were open, and the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree shone through the window.
"Whoever he is," Olivia said, looking toward them, "he's clearly done her a lot of good. I mean, this is the first year she's been in the Christmas spirit since Dad left. I never thought she'd put up her own tree and decorations again. We really need to give him a chance. Agreed?"
"I always intended to," David said. "Who your mother goes out with is her business."
"And no sly comments, if he's not well-spoken," Olivia said, eyeing me sternly. "No snide remarks about what job he does, or trying to find out what he earns, or what car he drives. None of that rubbish, okay?"
"As if I would!"
"Oh, you would, Marley. You know you would."
"And no comments about the age gap," David added. "That goes for both of you, right? Let's go in there with an open mind and a welcoming attitude."
"I don't need telling," I said. "If he's that important to Mum that she wants us to meet him, well, I'm willing to give him a chance."
"Good."
"Although," I added, "that doesn't mean we should be pushovers. We need to keep a cool head and our wits about us. We can't let Mum fall for some chancer."
"Marley!"
"Well, can we? You wouldn't want her to have her heart broken again, would you?"
Olivia took a deep breath. "Okay. Just … just go easy, okay?" She smoothed Sam's hair. "Right, let's do this."
If Olivia and I were nervous, it was clearly nothing to the mood Mum was in. Upon entering the house, via the back door, we found her in a state of near-meltdown. She was still wearing her dressing gown, and was wafting smoke from the oven with one hand, as she struggled to remove something from inside with the other hand, which was, thankfully, safely enclosed in a rather tatty looking oven mitt.
"Don't open the door," she shrieked, but too late.
Sam had rushed to enter the hallway, clearly intent on heading towards the living room where the television could be heard, and almost immediately the ear-splitting sound of the smoke alarm leaping into action almost sent him tumbling over in fright.
"I've burnt my mini quiches!" Mum let out a wail that competed with the smoke alarm. "And not only that. I've burnt my bloody hair, too. Look at it! Got caught in my tongs! Look. You can smell how singed it is. Can you see? Does it look bad?"
David winced. "Let go of me, Max. Let me turn that racket off."
He managed to unwrap his little boy's arms from around his legs, despite Max's shrieks of fear, and strode into the hall. He fiddled around with the smoke alarm for a moment, then, mercifully, silence reigned.
"Thank God for that," Olivia said. "Now, what were you saying about your hair?"
"It got taffled up in my tongs," Mum said. She slammed the tray of mini quiches on the hob and stared at us in dismay. "Look at that. A fiver, they cost me, from the freezer shop. Only fit for the bin."
"Why aren't you dressed?" I demanded.
"Didn't want to mess up my frock, did I? Pointless now, what with my burnt hair, and everything."
"Go upstairs," Olivia soothed. "I'll look for something else to eat, and you go and sort your makeup out."
Mum stared at her. "Sort my makeup out? I've already done it."
"Yes, we can see the mascara and eyeliner all over your face. It's kind of smudged."
That was putting it kindly. Our mother could have played a creature from a horror film, with the grey circles under her eyes and the smell of burnt hair.
"Oh, hell." Mum rubbed her eyes, which didn't help, and sighed. "I wanted everything to be perfect. He'll be here in a minute."
"Well, hurry up, then," Olivia said. "I'm sure we can find something else to cook while you're getting ready."
"You won't," Mum assured her. "I've got nothing in. Not done a big shop. Just got the quiches and a couple of bottles of wine and a twelve-pack of beer."
"Brilliant."
"What am I going to feed everyone with?" Mum wailed.
"How about I nip to ‘chippy? I'm sure that'll go down well with everyone." We all turned to see Don standing in the kitchen. "I did knock," he said. "No one answered, so I thought I'd come round back."
It fleetingly registered with me that, firstly, he was wearing a suit and tie, which was most peculiar for Don, and, secondly, he was in Mum's house, and why would he be there? Before my fuddled brain could join the dots, I heard Olivia say, "Sorry, Don, we're a bit busy at the moment. Was there something you wanted?" as Mum shrieked, "Oh, my God! Don't look at me! Don't look at me!"
We all stared at her as she shot out of the room and bolted up the stairs. There was a moment's stunned silence, then everyone slowly turned back to look at Don.
He ran a finger around his collar and shrugged. "Not quite the reception I were expecting, but never mind." He nodded at the quiches. "Reckon chippy's our best bet, don't you?"
"You!" My mouth fell open. "You're Mum's toy-boy?"
Olivia and David exchanged incredulous glances. "You can't be," David said. "You'd have told me."
"Aye, well." Don looked a bit shamefaced. "Made Katie a promise, didn't I? Not 'til she was ready, she said. Begged me. What could I do? Sorry, mate."
"But … but, how? When?" I shook my head, bewildered. "And what do you mean, Katie? No one calls her Katie."
"I do," he said cheerfully. "She likes it."
Olivia swallowed. "Er, let's get this sorted," she said, taking charge, at last. "David, take the kids into the living room and find them something to watch on the television for now. I'll shove these quiches in the dustbin. Marley, pour us all a glass of wine, or get cans from the fridge. As soon as Mum comes down, we'll make a list for the chippy, and Don and David can go."
By the time Mum reappeared, freshly made-up and wearing a rather nice print dress, calm had been restored to the house. The boys were engrossed in some cartoon, or other, and the adults were sitting round the dining room table, drinking beer, or wine, and making a list of what they wanted to eat.
"You look lovely," Don assured her, standing up and pulling out a chair for her.
Like a proper gentleman, I thought with surprise. I would never have expected such behaviour from him. I still couldn't get my head around the fact that he was my mother's mystery boyfriend. I'd never have guessed in a million years. All that time, and he'd never said a word. Hell, and I'd confided in him about my father! He wouldn't have told Mum, though, would he? Surely not?
Mum sat down and flicked her hair, rather self-consciously, over her shoulders. "I'm so sorry," she told us. "This wasn't how it was supposed to be, at all. I had it all planned in my mind, but everything went wrong."
"It doesn't matter," Don assured her, putting his arm around her. "We're all friends here, aren't we? No need for any palaver."
"I can't believe this," David admitted. "I never thought—you never breathed a word."
"How long have you two been seeing each other?" Olivia said.
Mum and Don looked at each other, as if trying to work it out. "About three months," Don said finally. "Unless you count that day at the supermarket. Then it's three months, two weeks and three days, exactly."
"Huh?"
David grinned. "Fancy you being on a dating site, Don. I never would have believed it."
Don pulled a face. "Give over. I did no such thing. I haven't got the guts for owt like that."
"It happened completely out of the blue," Mum said. "We bumped into each other at Sainsbury's. I was a bit frazzled, and Don helped me with my shopping, and gave me a lift home. I invited him in for a cuppa, and we had a nice long chat, and I suppose ..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked at Don.
"I suppose we just clicked," he said, smiling at her. "I thought, even then, that I'd like to ask her out, but it were a bit awkward, what with you lot to consider. Any road, I made a point of seeking her out at work, and after a couple of weeks, I plucked up courage to finally ask her out."
"And I said yes," Mum said, beaming at him. "I'd begun to think he was never going to ask me."
"But when do you see her at work?" I said, puzzled. "She goes in early, and it's rare I bump into the cleaning team, at all."
"Aye, well, funnily enough, I had to go in to work early for a few weeks. Very early." Don winked at us all and squeezed my mother's hand.
I felt a lump in my throat. There was something in the way they looked at each other that made me feel suddenly so alone. As Olivia and David grinned at each other, I realised I was the odd one out. No one looked at me the way David looked at Olivia, or the way Don was looking at my mother.
I cleared my throat. "So, who's going to chippy, then?"
Don nodded approvingly. "Now you're talking. I'll go, and David can come with me. Make us a list of what you all want. It's on me. My treat." As we all started to protest, he waved his hand at us. "No arguments. I've said it, and that's that, so make up your minds what you fancy."
When he and David had finally left the house, note clutched in Don's hand, Olivia and I turned to our mother excitedly. "Oh, my God! Don! Why on earth didn't you say?"
"Do you mind?" Mum asked, sounding worried. "I know it's a lot to take in."
"I can't believe it," Olivia said. "Don, of all people!"
"Is it the age gap?" Mum frowned. "Thirteen years is a lot, isn't it? Do you think it's too much? Do you think I'm being stupid?"
"Don't be daft." Olivia took her hand. "It's nothing, at all. Don's always seemed middle-aged, anyway. It's brilliant news." She looked sharply at me. "Isn't it, Marley?"
"Oh—oh, yeah. Great." I was still absorbing the shock of it all. Only a couple of days ago, I’d been sitting in the canteen with Don, pouring out our family secrets, and he hadn't breathed a word. No wonder he'd been so interested.
Or was I being unfair? Don would have listened, anyway. He'd always been a friendly, kind sort of man. I was doing him an injustice, I knew it. Even so, the thought of him with my mother was a bit ... well, nauseating.
"Have you two ...?"
"Marley!" Olivia gaped at me, then turned slowly to Mum. "Have you?"
"No! I told you. He's only kissed me once. Well, kissed me properly. You know. With tongues."
"Ugh!" I felt sick. How was I going to face my battered sausage now?
"Don, giving French kisses." Olivia giggled. "Well, I think it's fantastic, Mum. He's a lovely bloke, he really is. I couldn't be happier for you. He'll fit right in with this family."
"Hey, steady on, love," Mum said, eyes widening. "I'm only courting him. No one said anything about him being part of the family."
"But one day—”
"Woah!" Mum put her hands up, as if to fend off the very suggestion. "I'm not ready for all that, yet."
"Not ready?" Olivia raised an eyebrow. "It's been sixteen years, Mum. How much longer do you need?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "It doesn't always seem like sixteen years, you know. Sometimes, it feels like only yesterday."
There was a moment's silence. I thought about my father, visiting Great Uncle Charles to beg for money. He hadn't been near, nor by, the rest of us. He couldn't give a damn about us. Why should my mother continue to put her life on hold for someone so undeserving?
I took a deep breath. "Don's a good man, Mum. He's worth ten of Dad, really he is. Give him a chance, eh? Don't throw this away for the memory of someone who really doesn't deserve any consideration, at all."
Mum and Olivia both stared at me, clearly astonished. Olivia blinked. "Er, well, yeah. What Marley said. Don's great, Mum. Don't keep him at arm's length, will you?"
"I never had Marley down as a relationship expert," Mum said, smiling. "What's brought this on?"
I shrugged. I wasn't about to tell them about Dad's heartlessness. They didn't need to know. "Just think, you know, a good man is worth hanging on to."
Mum surveyed me thoughtfully. "Not like you, love. Is there something you haven't told us?"
"Of course not."
"Maybe," Olivia said, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "it's having Kit Carroll back in her life. Remember how she pined for him, when he went to that posh school, Mum? All those years, never seeing him, wasting away through unrequited love. I reckon that's why she's never had a boyfriend. She's been waiting for him, and now that he's back, he's reawakened the romantic streak in our Marley."
"Oh, shut up. The only thing he's awakened is worry about the future of the factory," I said crossly, beginning to wish I'd never opened my mouth. Although, I couldn’t help but notice, with some alarm, that my stomach fluttered just at the mention of his name. "He just announces he's stopping production of LuvRocks products, and then swans off to God knows where with God knows who for a couple of days. Absolutely typical. All right for some, isn't it?"
It really rankled with me. No explanation, no lead-up. Just, ‘I'll be away for the next two days. I'm sure you can cope 'til I get back.’ Charming. He was the most selfish man I'd ever met.
Well, I had coped. I'd coped just fine. I was used to it.
"Reckon it's the with God knows who bit that's got her rattled," Olivia said, nudging Mum knowingly.
"Is that right, love?" Mum looked delighted. "Are you still carrying a torch for little Chrissie Carroll?"
"It's Kit," I snapped, even though I never thought of him as anything but Christopher. "And of course I'm not! For goodness sake, it's bad enough that I have to see him at work. Do you honestly think I give any thought, at all, to him when I don't have to? I never think about him, once I leave the factory, and that's a fact."
Except, it wasn't. More and more, the image of him, looming over me as I lay on the floor of The Blue Lamp, came back to me, and each time I embellished it a little further. His hand no longer just brushed my hair back, but stroked my face lovingly. His eyes didn't just look at me with concern, but with something else—a look of love that sparked into desire. And Sadie's annoying cleavage didn't interrupt proceedings—instead I experienced the feel of his lips on mine, as he bent over and kissed me.
My dreams were becoming clearer and more urgent every time. Igniting something within me that was most inconvenient, and totally unexpected. Not to mention confusing. How could I still fancy someone so much, and yet hate him at the same time?
Because I did hate him, and I would never forgive him. He was the last person on earth I should’ve found attractive. It was all completely baffling.
Realising, uncomfortably, that my mother and Olivia were watching me intently, I felt my face start to burn. Don's and David's return from the chip shop came at just the right time. Everyone became far too absorbed in unwrapping food to question me any further, which was a huge relief, because what on earth could I say?
"Battered sausage and chips," Don said, handing me a package. "Extra-large. Get your laughing gear round that, kidder."
He was all class, I thought. Olivia was quite right. He'd fit into our family perfectly.