Homes and Hearths in Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  They got back to Little Woodford in time for a late lunch. Once Gordon had handed over his mother to Max he went back out to the car to get in her case and some bits and pieces he’d gathered up from her house.

  ‘I’ve made some tomato soup,’ said Maxine, once Anthea was settled on a chair in the kitchen. ‘And I got some nice bread from the bakery to go with it.’

  ‘Made – or opened a tin?’ asked Anthea.

  ‘Made,’ said Maxine.

  ‘Actually, I rather like Heinz’s.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with mine. I haven’t any of the other.’ She switched the gas on under the pan.

  ‘I’m sure yours will be quite nice, dear.’

  Damned with faint praise. Maxine was tempted to get out the fridge magnet that her kids had once given her as a joke. She’d put it away as she didn’t think Anthea, in the current circumstances would appreciate – Be nice to your kids. They choose your nursing home.

  ‘Before we eat, is there anything you want to do? See your room, freshen up… anything?’

  ‘Don’t be so coy, Maxine, it sounds really quite common. And no, I don’t need the lavatory. I went before I left hospital and I am not like a dog who needs to go several times a day. I am perfectly well aware that we’re both going to find things distasteful and embarrassing but we’ve got to get on with it. It’s only for the short term and, when it’s over, we can go back to living our separate lives and we needn’t refer back to this again, ever.’

  Maxine leant on the table and took a deep breath. ‘Just so we completely understand each other… I am doing this because I love Gordon and you’re his mother. You and I know we both hate this situation and we’re not, and never will be, bosom buddies, so let’s not pretend we are, nor that we’re being all brave and braced up and jolly hockey-sticks and working as a team. We’re making the best of a bad job and that’s that. But as long as you’re in my house and I am looking after you, you can do me the courtesy of being nice to me. I’m finding the prospect of nursing you quite hard enough without you making it worse.’ There, she’d said it.

  ‘Oh,’ said Anthea. For a moment she seemed to shrink and there was a pause while she regained her composure and her stature. Then she raised her eyebrows as she looked straight at her daughter-in-law. ‘I’ll give you your due; you’ve got more backbone than I thought you had.’

  Maxine almost laughed. ‘Is that a compliment?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Anthea drank her soup with the aid of a straw not being able to manage her soup spoon adequately with her left hand, and Maxine cut her bread and butter up into chunks so she could pop bite-sized morsels of bread into her mouth between sips.

  ‘It’s like being a baby,’ she grumbled.

  ‘It’s this or starve,’ retorted Maxine.

  ‘Steady on, Max,’ muttered Gordon.

  ‘It’s all right, Gordon, Maxine and I understand each other perfectly.’

  Gordon cast a worried glance at both women before he returned his attention to his soup.

  Later, when Anthea had been helped upstairs to her room for an afternoon nap, Gordon helped Maxine stack the dishwasher.

  ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘Your ma and I have had words.’

  ‘Already?’

  Max stopped slotting cutlery into the basket and straightened up. ‘It’s inevitable given that she’s always loathed me—’

  ‘That’s not—’

  ‘Take it from me, she does. We tolerate each other and we manage to be civil to each other in company but, trust me, there’s no love lost. While you were putting things in her room before lunch, I read her the riot act.’

  ‘Was that entirely necessary, Max? She’s old and frail and recovering from a horrid accident.’

  ‘She might be all of those things but she’s still got a vicious tongue and I am not going to be belittled or slighted or put down in my own home. Sorry, Gordon, I know she’s your ma but she can be truly horrid sometimes.’

  ‘I know. I know she can, but I didn’t think she took it out on you.’

  ‘Because I haven’t told you. Forty years… more than forty years I’ve taken it and tried to ignore it, told myself that even if you’d married nobility Anthea wouldn’t have thought her good enough. And as for me, an art teacher…’ Max rolled her eyes. ‘Sorry, if I’ve burst your bubble of belief that your mum and I are mates but the truth is, we’re not.’

  ‘Oh, Max. I wish I’d known.’

  ‘And done what? Had it out with her and risked falling out? She’s not the forgiving sort.’

  ‘No, I know.’

  ‘Anyway, I might have failed with laying down ground rules with Abi but I’ve had another go at doing it, this time with your mother. Of course, she’s probably going to ignore everything I’ve said, like Abi has. It’s probably in Abi’s genes – inherited through the paternal line, like some diseases – to be so tricky.’

  ‘So it’s my fault.’

  ‘Of course it is. You’re a bloke.’

  16

  The expanded household quickly settled into a routine with Marcus and Abi showering early and vacating the family bathroom by eight, leaving it free for Anthea to use later in the morning. Max would bring Anthea a cup of tea around the same time and the carer they’d managed to employ, a lovely jolly local woman called Pearl, arrived between half eight and nine to get Anthea washed, dressed and ready for the day.

  ‘Bye, both Mrs Larkhams,’ she’d call as she vacated the house. Always followed by something along the lines of, ‘You two behave till I get back here this evening. I don’t want to hear no rumours of you getting up to no good while my back is turned.’

  At first Anthea would tut and frown at this bonhomie, but as she got used to Pearl and her good humour a rapport began to grow between them.

  Anthea would then hobble painfully downstairs, helped by Maxine, and have her breakfast at which point Gordon took over some of the care, freeing up Max to deal with any housework or washing or shopping. She’d had to give up volunteering at the charity shop and she hadn’t managed to read the book club book but she was hanging on to her art club because, ‘I need something to keep me sane.’

  A week after Granny Anthea had arrived, the family was sitting round the dining room table eating supper. Abi pushed a chunk of Quorn lasagne around her plate.

  ‘What did you do to this, Mum?’ she asked. ‘It doesn’t taste right.’ She scraped some of the veggie mince off the pasta sheet before she ate it. ‘Don’t you agree, Granny?’

  ‘It’s not great,’ said Anthea, ‘but then I don’t understand why we can’t eat proper meat than get served this. I’ve no idea what it is and I’m not a rabbit and I’d like to know why can’t we have beef?’ She glared at Maxine.

  ‘You know why,’ said Maxine, ‘and I’ve got quite enough to do without cooking two separate meals every evening. So, Abi, unless you want to cook your own vegetarian meals, you’ll have to make do with my attempts. And if you don’t like it you can lump it.’ She returned Anthea’s glare and then shifted it to her daughter. She leaned across to her mother-in-law, shovelled up half a forkful of mince so Anthea could use her left hand to eat it. She could manage to raise the fork to her mouth but she wasn’t dexterous enough with that hand to cope with the fine motor skills needed for other aspects of feeding herself and she certainly couldn’t cut up her own food.

  ‘Get real, Mum. I can’t be expected to do all the housework as well as working like a navvie.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone suggested that you should. All I said was, if you want vegetarian food that comes up to your standards of perfection then you might like to cook it.’

  Gordon and Marcus exchanged a look.

  ‘And if you cared,’ retorted Abi, ‘about climate change and the sort of planet, you are leaving to your grandchildren and the next generation you might see the need to stop eating meat too. But, oh no…’

  ‘Frankly, right now, I
haven’t got time to care about that,’ she snapped with more vitriol than was necessary, before she ate a forkful of her own lasagne and then prepared another one for Anthea.

  Despite Abi’s prediction about global warming the temperature around the dinner table dropped a couple of degrees.

  ‘I was just saying…’ countered Abi.

  ‘Well, don’t.’ Maxine leaned forward, picked up the wine bottle and refilled her glass. She took a large swig, ignoring Abi’s disapproving stare.

  The rest of the meal was largely eaten in silence.

  Afterwards Abi and Marcus stomped off to their room citing emails to write about their flat in London which, at last, had an offer on it, Anthea went to watch TV in the sitting room and Maxine and Gordon were left to do the clearing up.

  ‘Again,’ pointed out Maxine.

  ‘Don’t be too hard on Abi; she and Marcus are up to their eyes with the house and the garden.’

  ‘Darling, I know that but she could still lend us a hand. I’m fed up with doing almost everything.’

  ‘I help,’ Gordon protested.

  He did… a bit. Like now, but there was a lot of time when jobs needed doing and he wasn’t around.

  ‘And they’ve got to go back to work in a week or so,’ he added.

  ‘They were jolly lucky to get a month off in the first place.’

  ‘Just as well, because they’ve needed it. Mind you, they have managed to get the worst of the work done in the garden.’

  ‘So much for, we’ll be in in a fortnight.’

  They put the last of the plates and glasses in the dishwasher and Maxine slammed the door shut.

  ‘I really fancy a pint,’ said Gordon. ‘Let’s go to the pub.’

  ‘I’m bushed,’ said Max. ‘I’d really rather have another glass here.’

  ‘But we finished the bottle.’

  Maxine opened a kitchen cupboard and pulled out a new one. ‘And stuff what Abi says about our drinking habits,’ she said as she unscrewed the cap.

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘She seems to think you and I are borderline alcoholics. Actually, not even borderline.’

  ‘So, leave the wine and come to the pub with me; the walk’ll do you good and there won’t be any evidence to annoy Abi with. Besides, it’ll blow the cobwebs away,’ tempted Gordon.

  ‘No, I’m too tired. I’ll sit with your ma till Pearl comes back to get her to bed.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  Maxine nodded and took her glass through to the sitting room.

  Gordon shrugged on his fleece and headed for the pub, walking through the nature reserve in the dusky evening. There were a few dog walkers out and about, a couple of lovers walking slowly, hand-in-hand. From the copse, in the middle of the meadow he could hear the sound of kids being raucous – more than likely it was the local youths indulging in something slightly illegal – under-age drinking and maybe a spliff or two – but what else was there for them to do in a little town like this? He was still mulling about the lack of facilities for the young, when he pushed open the door to the pub. A few of the regulars were in but it was pretty quiet. He’d obviously hit on the lull between the people who came in for a drink after work and the people who came in for a drink before bed. He made his way to the bar where the new barmaid was serving.

  ‘Evening,’ said Gordon. ‘It’s Ellie, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ella, but close enough. And you’re…?’

  ‘Gordon.’

  ‘Of course. I met you on my first day. You were with your wife. What can I get you?’

  ‘A pint of bitter, please. Belinda not about?’

  ‘She’s gone to the flicks in Cattebury.’ Ella poured his pint. ‘She’ll be back in time to help me close up. And that’s three ninety, please.’

  Gordon swapped some cash for his drink and leaned on the bar as he took his first sip. A couple of old boys from the allotment society were chuntering about white fly and there was another couple playing crib, but he didn’t fancy joining either group nor did he want to sit at a table on his own. He leaned against the bar.

  ‘What did you do, before you worked here?’ he asked Ella.

  ‘Shop work mostly, in Cattebury, but then my ex buggered off, I couldn’t afford the rent on my own and… let’s just say I’ve had to move back with my old Mum and Dad here in Little Woodford.’

  ‘That’s tough.’

  ‘Tragic, isn’t it?’ Ella mopped some drips of beer off the bar. ‘My age and back home with the folks.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, my daughter and her partner have just moved back.’ Gordon had another drink of his pint. ‘They’re doing up a house near here.’

  ‘At least your daughter’s got a partner and a house.’

  ‘At the risk of being politically incorrect, and God knows, with the MeToo movement I don’t know what I’m allowed to say, but I’d have thought you’d be beating men off with a stick.’

  Ella blushed. ‘You’re very kind, but having been through a divorce I’m picky about getting involved again. I want someone who’ll treat me right and look after me properly not just a random bloke who might take me out on a date or two and then move on.’

  ‘I don’t blame you.’

  ‘How about you?’

  ‘I got lucky. Been married now for over forty years.’

  One of the old boys from the allotments came up to the bar.

  ‘Evening, Gordon,’ he said. ‘No Maxine? Two pints please, Ella.’

  ‘Evening, Bert,’ said Gordon. ‘Not tonight. We’ve got my mum staying with us and she’s keeping her company.’

  ‘I thought you said it was your daughter and her partner?’ said Ella as she passed one of the pints between the pump handles.

  ‘It’s all of them. A total houseful.’

  ‘How long for?’ said Bert.

  ‘A while, I think,’ said Gordon with a heartfelt sigh.

  ‘No wonder you’ve come out for a drink. I expect we’ll be seeing more of you down here, then,’ said Bert.

  Gordon thought it sounded like a great idea. After all, a pretty woman to chat to, nice company and a beer – what wasn’t to like?

  *

  Gordon could hear the shouting from halfway down the drive. He was tempted to turn around and go straight back to the pub, only Ella and Belinda had called time. He hiccupped softly as he put his key in the lock – or tried to. It took a couple of attempts. What the hell were Max and Abi arguing about, now? he wondered, as he managed finally to get the door open. He made his way to the kitchen where the two women were squaring up like a couple of cats. Any minute now they’d get their claws out and start raking chunks off each other.

  ‘Good God,’ he yelled above the noise.

  ‘And you can keep right out of it,’ said Maxine.

  Undaunted, or maybe it was the drink that made him brave, he yelled straight back, ‘Shut up, the pair of you!’

  Maxine turned and glared but she stayed silent.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ he asked.

  ‘I clear up the kitchen, you and I stack the dishwasher, everything is tidy and I come to make a milky drink for your mother and I find madam, here, has been making sandwiches because she didn’t eat her supper properly and was hungry and has left the kitchen in a total tip.’

  ‘You are so exaggerating,’ sniped Abi. ‘It was just a few crumbs.’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘Are. And you’ve been drinking.’

  Gordon held up his hand. ‘SHUT UP!’ he roared. Silence fell again. He looked at the worktop with a crumb-scattered breadboard, a buttery knife and a dirty plate. ‘Is this the cause of the argument?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re over-reacting, Max?’

  Max opened and shut her mouth.

  Gordon picked up the board and swished the crumbs into the sink and then chucked the used plate and knife into the dishwasher. ‘There. Solved.’

  ‘That’s not the point,’
shrieked Max. ‘And don’t undermine my authority. This is my house.’

  ‘Actually, I think it’s ours,’ said Gordon.

  Maxine narrowed her eyes. ‘For over a week now I have been a skivvy for everyone. Your mother, I don’t resent because she’s ill, but the rest of you…’ She stopped and took a breath because her voice was getting shrill. ‘As for the rest of you… I’m busy too, and I am tired and I have a life which I have had to put on hold – not that any of you give that the least bit of thought – and I am not here just to make life easier for you because you can’t be bothered to shift for yourselves.’

  ‘I think you’re being a bit unfair on Abi—’

  ‘Don’t… don’t you dare take her side.’ Max’s voice was now dangerously low. ‘Again.’

  ‘I’m not. I just want a quiet life not all this aggro.’

  ‘It’s what I want too but I’m not fucking getting it,’ she snarled back.

  ‘Mum!’ said Abi.

  Maxine rounded on her. ‘And don’t you dare tell me what I can and can’t do, can and can’t cook, or can and can’t say!’

  Abi looked close to tears. ‘You’re being unfair.’

  ‘I am not. You criticise my cooking, my drinking and now my language.’

  ‘It was a bit strong,’ said Gordon.

  ‘Right, that’s it,’ stormed Maxine. ‘The pair of you can go to hell.’ And she slammed out of the kitchen.

  In the silence that followed Abi and Gordon stared at each other in disbelief.

  ‘I’ve never seen Mum that angry before.’

  ‘Me neither. I think you’d better apologise in the morning.’

  ‘Hang on, she was cross with you too.’

  ‘I’ll make it up to her when I go to bed.’

  Abi grimaced.

  Gordon ignored her. ‘Right now, I’m going to watch TV for a bit while your mum calms down and I suggest you make sure the kitchen is spotless.’

  Abi sighed, snatched the dishcloth off the taps and began to wipe down the counter.

  ‘And make sure you sweep up any crumbs off the floor,’ advised Gordon.

  ‘God, Dad, you’re as bad as Mum.’