Too Late to Paint the Roses

by Jeanne Whitmee

  My baby son was born six hours later. He weighed seven pounds four ounces and had my dark hair. The midwife assured me that although his eyes were blue they would no doubt turn to brown like mine in a few weeks’ time. It was irrelevant to me. Soon he would belong to someone else. I turned my head away, terrified of seeing Chris’s blue eyes looking up at me.

  Mary had stayed with me throughout the labour and delivery. The nursing staff took her for my mother and neither of us bothered to correct them. Later as she beamed proudly into the cot at the tiny sleeping face she might as well have been my mother anyway.

  ‘Oh, Elaine, he’s such a little angel,’ she said softly. ‘Don’t you want to hold him?’

  My arms and my heart ached to hold him but I refused to look at him. ‘He’s not going to be mine,’ I said. ‘I had a normal delivery so they’ll let me come home tomorrow. I don’t want to get to know him only to have to say goodbye.’

  When she looked at me the expression on her face said it all. ‘If you could just imagine what I’d have given to have had one like this,’ she said softly.

  ‘Don’t!’ I said angrily, swallowing the lump in my throat. ‘Where is all that common sense now, Mary? You know I can’t bring him up on my own without a father. What kind of life could I offer him? You’ve seen the single mothers from the council flats near the college, out with their children, down at heel, exhausted and irritable with the kids; struggling to manage on state benefits. I don’t want that. Not for me – or for him.’

  She said no more, just tenderly stroked the baby’s cheek with one finger, hugged me and went home. But later that night after the lights were out and the tiny scrap in the cot at the end of my bed wailed unceasingly, tiny fists waving, his little face red with exertion, I was at the end of my tether. I’d rung the bell several times but no nurse appeared.

  At last the woman in the bed opposite sat up and hissed across at me, ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, girl, give him a cuddle or a feed or something. Shut him up and let’s all get some sleep!’

  Reluctantly, I slid out of bed and scooped up the furious, wriggling bundle. To my surprise he stopped crying at once, fixing me with his wide blue, unfocused eyes. I took him into bed with me and felt strangely moved when he nuzzled his face against my neck. A nurse appeared at the end of the bed.

  ‘Give him the breast,’ she suggested. ‘There won’t be much yet but it’ll comfort him.’

  ‘But I’m having him adopted,’ I whispered.

  ‘I know, but you’re still his mummy tonight,’ she said.

  Her words were like a knife slicing through my heart and combined with the sweet scent of the tiny baby and the feel of his little face against my skin, burrowing so determinedly made something deep inside me give way like a dam bursting. My tears welled up and once they began to flow they wouldn’t stop. The nurse stepped forward.

  ‘Give him to me. I’ll take him to the nursery.’

  I held him fast. ‘No! Leave him,’ I said, clutching him closer. ‘He’s mine.’

  Mary knew of course that I’d never be able to let him go.

  The following evening after she’d driven me and the baby home and I’d put James Edward, as I’d decided to call him, to bed upstairs in his makeshift cot in my room the enormity of what I was taking on suddenly hit me.

  ‘Oh, God, what have I done, Mary?’ I asked, looking at her despairingly. ‘How on earth am I going to manage? All I hope is that I get my diploma. I’m going to have to find a job and a good nursery for James as soon as I can.’

  ‘I was going to talk to you about that,’ Mary said. ‘As long as I get mine too I’m going to set up in that little catering business I told you about, so how would you feel about becoming my business partner?’

  ‘Me?’ I thought I must be dreaming. ‘You’re asking me?’

  She laughed. ‘Who else? We get along, don’t we? There’ll always be a home for you both here with me too. If you want it, that is.’

  ‘Of course I want it.’ I stared at her in surprise. ‘I can’t believe my luck. But the catering business, Mary…?’

  ‘As I’ve told you before, it’s something I’ve always wanted to do; one of the reasons for taking the course.’

  ‘Well, I know that, of course, but setting up is bound to cost a bomb. Are you sure you can do it, Mary?’

  ‘I’ve looked into it and made notes on all we’ll need to do. I’ll need to register the business, have the premises inspected by the local environmental health service. Then there’s all the equipment to buy and—’

  ‘You’re avoiding my question,’ I put in. ‘How will you finance it – a bank loan? Will they give you one? Don’t you think you should make sure you can afford it before you offer me this partnership?’

  She paused. ‘Okay – there’s something you’ll have to know. Your dad is lending us the money to get started.’

  ‘Dad is?’ I stared at her. ‘You discussed this with Dad?’ A suspicion entered my mind. ‘Did the loan depend on my keeping his grandson?’

  Mary looked shocked. ‘No, absolutely not! We got along very well, your dad and I and we both agreed on that particular issue. The decision was to be yours alone. No one had the right to influence you on it. We talked about a lot of things that night and when I mentioned the little business I’d always dreamed of starting he offered the loan right away.’

  ‘Conditional on you asking me to be your partner?’

  Mary shook her head. ‘Elaine – you know how much I think of you – or you should by now. This isn’t something I could do alone and there’s no one I’d rather work with than you.’ She laid a hand on my arm. ‘You surely believe that, darlin’?’

  I nodded, my throat too tight for words. Mary went on, ‘The money will be paid back with interest. I insisted that it was all arranged properly through a solicitor, but I’m not saying that you keeping baby James won’t be a huge bonus for your dad. It’s my bet that he’ll be coming to see his new grandson very soon.’

  She was right. Dad came and stayed for the weekend a month later when James was christened. He apologized for Mother’s absence but he told me that he was sure that she was secretly pleased to know she had a grandson. I wasn’t altogether convinced – about that or about the message he said she had sent to say that I could take James home for a visit whenever I was ready.

  ‘She hasn’t been too well,’ he confided. ‘Angina, the doctor says. Not life threatening but she has to take it easy.’

  Privately I wondered if she blamed me for that as well.

  Dad was besotted with James. He couldn’t get enough of him and he was pleased and flattered that I had chosen his own name, Edward, for a second name.

  Sitting round the table together in the evening, Mary outlined the business plan she had drawn up. Dad’s loan would be used to have the kitchen re-vamped; to buy a large fridge, a freezer and two new ovens; a refrigerated van and all the cutlery, glass and crockery we would need.

  ‘We’ll need a computer too,’ she said, looking at me. ‘You’re the one who’s good at that so how about enrolling for some evening classes so that you can learn how to build us a website?’ I agreed and she began to count off the tasks ahead on her fingers. ‘Right, then there’ll be advertising. We’ll start with the Yellow Pages and the local papers and when we get off the ground we might splash out on an ad in one of the upmarket county magazines.’

  I laughed. ‘You’ve thought it all through, haven’t you?’

  ‘If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing properly,’ she said, ‘I’ve been thinking and planning it for years. I just never thought it would happen this soon.’ She smiled. ‘It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it? If it hadn’t been for you my dream might have come to nothing. Now I’ve got the cash to get started and a ready made, qualified partner.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve also got a surrogate daughter and grandson, because that’s how I think of the pair of you now.’ She smiled across at Dad. ‘Not to mention a fairy godfather.’

/>   It was the day before Dad’s visit was over that the postman brought our exam results. Mary opened hers at once and found to her relief that she had passed. I hardly dared open mine, remembering the trauma and pain of the day I’d sat the exam. Surely under the circumstances I must have failed. Eventually Mary grew tired of seeing me sitting there, chewing my lip, the unopened envelope in my hand. Reaching across the table she snatched it from me and tore it open. Before she pulled out the slip inside she looked at me.

  ‘I want you to know one thing,’ she said. ‘This is only a formality. It’s immaterial to me whether you’ve passed or not.’ I said nothing, just held my breath as she pulled out the slip then beamed up at me. ‘Passed – and with credit!’ she said. ‘Congratulations – partner!’

  There were hugs all round and Dad produced a bottle of champagne because he said that as far as he was concerned it was a foregone conclusion anyway.

  In the early days there wasn’t a lot I could do. James took up so much of my time, both by day and night. Mary helped as much as she could but most of her time was taken up with organizing the new business. She set about employing a builder she knew to refurbish the kitchen. She managed to buy all the cutlery, glass and crockery we’d need, plus a large commercial freezer at the auction sale of a hotel that was closing down. The refrigerated van was purchased second hand from a local butcher. The rest we bought new. Dad’s loan more than covered everything and the money that was left was put in the bank for anything we might have overlooked. During the early days when baby James took up so much of my time and energy I made sure that the house was cleaned and the meals cooked daily, leaving Mary free for the important task of preparing to set up the business.

  One evening as we were finishing our meal Mary mentioned getting some stationery printed. I looked up at her and asked, ‘What are we going to call our new venture?’

  She looked taken aback. ‘Would you believe it – I haven’t even thought about a name.’

  ‘We’ll have to think of one soon,’ I told her. ‘Can’t have stationery printed until we have. And it has to be something catchy – memorable.’

  We tossed possible ideas back and forth, some of them so ridiculous that we were in fits of laughter. Suddenly I thought of the perfect solution.

  ‘Why not call it Mary-Mary?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘But I wanted something that would include us both.’

  ‘Mary is my second name,’ I told her. ‘So it does!’

  We set about designing a leaflet, wondering how ambitious to be. Mary decided to advertise catering for parties and corporate events such as board meetings and business breakfasts.

  ‘Corporate dos won’t involve large numbers of people,’ she said. ‘And it looks good on the leaflet.’

  She worked tirelessly, canvassing, doing market research, ferreting out the best suppliers and sitting for hours with pencil and paper costing out menus and working out what was profitable and what was not. Leaflets were sent out to businesses in the town and throughout those long summer evenings we walked the streets dropping off leaflets, James dozing contentedly in his buggy.

  Between us we divided up the responsibilities. Books would need to be kept and records of food safety kept up to date. We decided that as I’d done a bookkeeping course I would take care of the clerical side of the business. The tiny breakfast room off the kitchen was designated as an office and the computer was duly set up there along with the new business telephone line.

  Mary babysat James while I began web-building computer classes in the evenings and gradually began to build our Mary-Mary website. The business was registered with the local environmental health service, the premises visited by an inspector and passed. We were ‘ready to roll’, as she put it.

  A week later the telephone rang and our first assignment was booked. We were in business.

  By the time James’s first birthday came round we were in profit; just as well as the Mary-Mary account was already overdrawn at the bank. By the time he was two we had begun to build a regular client list. I’d found a reliable young mother a few doors away who agreed to take James for me when Mary and I were out working. At the end of that year we decided that we could safely afford to draw a proper salary each and enjoy some of the benefits of our hard work.

  James grew from a chubby baby into a bright-eyed, inquisitive toddler. He was a happy child. At three he started nursery, leaving me more time for the daily cooking and baking sessions Mary and I needed for the constant restocking of the freezer. He was bright and intelligent, constantly asking questions and interested in everything and it was around his fourth birthday that he discovered the piano.

  Mary’s house was a spacious semi built at the turn of the century. The large ground floor room at the front was rarely used except for Christmas and special occasions. It contained a three-piece suite, the china cabinet full of nick-knacks that Mary had inherited from her mother-in-law and the upright piano that had belonged to Derek, Mary’s late husband. Finding the door ajar one afternoon James wandered in and climbed up onto the piano stool. Cautiously lifting the lid he began to try out the keys. Mary heard him from the kitchen and laughed.

  ‘Would you just listen to that,’ she said. ‘You know, I’d swear that kiddie has a real feel for music.’

  James could do no wrong in Mary’s eyes. She was in danger of spoiling him as I was always telling her. ‘He knows he’s not allowed in the front room, Mary,’ I said. ‘He should get a scolding.’

  Mary looked at me in horror. ‘Poor lamb! Don’t you dare scold him for a little thing like that. I’ll go and get him. A biscuit and a drink of juice should tempt him away.’

  But she was wrong. Once James had discovered the piano and the sounds it could make there was no tempting him from it at any price. He wanted to play all the time. Mary, who had a rudimentary knowledge of the piano, taught him how to play a few simple tunes with one finger and his joy in the instrument knew no bounds. At five and a half he learned from school that as well as people who taught sums, reading and writing there were others who could teach you how to read music and play the piano properly – With both hands, Mummy! After that momentous discovery he constantly pestered me to find him one of these magical beings.

  When the inquiry came to cater for the Langley wedding Mary and I were excited. The bride, Jessica Langley was the elder daughter of one of the town’s leading solicitors. Tom Langley was a well respected town councillor, heavily tipped to be the next mayor. Mary and I were invited along to meet the bride and her mother at the family home. We went armed with our choice of menus and the folder of photographs we’d accumulated, taken on various successful occasions. We’d catered for weddings before but not one on this scale and as we got out of the car in the wide, tree-lined avenue my stomach churned with apprehension. But Mary seemed unfazed by the affluent house and its setting. Looking up at the large mock-Tudor house she winked at me.

  ‘If we get this job and make a success of it we’ll be well on the way to the big time, darlin’,’ she whispered.

  The wedding reception was to be held in the Langleys’ large garden in a massive marquee. We learned that a florist had been engaged and a small group of musicians would be playing for the reception and again later for the evening dance.

  Jessica and her mother seemed happy with the choice of menus we suggested, both for the wedding breakfast and the buffet for the evening dance and we left triumphantly with a firm booking and a cheque for the deposit. As we drove home Mary could hardly contain her excitement.

  ‘Flowers!’ she said. ‘One day we’ll provide flowers as well. That’s the way to go. We’ll have our own team of waiters and waitresses and a selection of marquees to offer for hire.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘By the way, remind me to have a word with the photographer and whoever is in charge of this band they’re engaging. It might be a good idea to get a little circle of useful contacts together – you know, recommend one another.’ She grinned at me. ‘Can’t do
any harm, can it?’

  I laughed. ‘You don’t let the grass grow under your feet, do you, Mary?’

  She raised her eyebrows at me. ‘Who wants grass when you can have deep pile carpet? There’s no stopping us now, girl!’

  The wedding went off without a hitch. We’d hired six waiters to help us serve the three course meal, two barmen and two waitresses to help with the evening buffet, plus a couple of washers-up to deal with the dirty dishes. Luckily there was a large dishwasher in the Langleys’ kitchen, which helped. During the interval between the wedding breakfast and the evening dance, during which most of the guests went home to change, our team set about rearranging the marquee whilst I drove home to collect the boxes of buffet food. I was having a cup of tea and a five minute break in the kitchen later when Mary came through with a young man in tow. He was tall with dark hair which he wore unfashionably long. He looked elegant in his dinner jacket but I thought he was a little too thin, as though he didn’t always remember to eat. But he had warm brown eyes and a wide, sensitive mouth, both of which completely transformed his face when he smiled.

  Mary looked slightly hectic, her cheeks pink and her red hair tousled. She had a habit of running her fingers through it when she was working, which did nothing for her coiffeur.

  ‘Oh, there you are, Elaine,’ she said, though she knew perfectly well where I was. ‘This is Ian Morton. Ian, this is my business partner, Elaine Law.’

  I stood up and we shook hands solemnly. I had no idea why I was being introduced to this man. I’d been too busy all day to notice him along with the other musicians playing the piano on the dais at the end of the marquee until Mary rather impatiently pointed this out.

  ‘It’s his band that was playing,’ she said frowning at my puzzled expression.

  ‘Not exactly mine,’ Ian put in. ‘I’m a freelance musician. I get a few of my friends together for occasions such as this. This afternoon it was light classics – mainly strings; this evening we’ll be joined by a sax and a double bass for the dancing.’