“What was wrong with a registry office?” My husband sounded a bit more mellow.
Mum let out a little screech. “I couldn’t have entered one of those ungodly places.”
“I still say I’m cutting you both out of my will.” Ben allowed amusement to creep into his voice. Well done, my darling! He was rallying with amazing fortitude. The bar sinister loomed less large. He would not feel compelled to resign from his clubs. What surprised me was that Mum had not felt compelled to resign from the Roman Catholic Church, but she proceeded to explain how she had circumvented that calamity.
“They say you can convince yourself of anything if you want to badly enough; sort of like pasting one photo over another. So whenever I thought about my wedding day I pictured it taking place at Holy Mother Mary’s Church with dear Father O’Dugal officiating … just the way I’d always imagined.”
“But it’s not too late,” I cried, doing what I did best—sticking my nose in where it wasn’t wanted. “You can finally have your dream wedding. Ben could give you away, Mum, and—”
“I could be the bridesmaid.” Tricks didn’t sound quite as enthusiastic as I would have expected.
“And I do be thinking I could do the flowers.” Jonas touched his forelock.
“It would be a relief to see you respectably settled, Mum. Bear in mind, Ellie and I are getting on in years and can’t expect to live forever.” Ben was back in top form. “Of course I’ll need to have a word with Dad to make sure he can support you and any little ones that may turn up.”
Mum flushed a becoming pink, and the suspicion of a dimple appeared in her cheek. “I suppose it would be best to go to the church down here, where nobody knows us, Elijah.”
“Church?” Dad sounded as though he did not believe his ears. “I’ll have you know, Magdalene, that if this ceremony is to take place, it will be at the synagogue.”
“No squabbling, parents!” Ben told them, but his was a voice crying in the wilderness. His elders were on their feet, glowering across the table at each other.
“What a fool I’ve been!” His mother’s face screwed up tighter than a fist. “You didn’t refuse to marry me at Holy Mother Mary’s because of your parents. You were putting your own feelings first. Just as you have done every day of every week we’ve been together!”
“If that’s the way you believe”—Dad’s eyebrows almost shot off his forehead—“I’ll give you a wide berth from now on, Magdalene! In fact, if you would prefer it, I’ll spend the night at a hotel.”
It was an idle threat. The idea of his forking out good money—when he had a bed here for free—was mind-boggling, but I felt compelled to utter a protest. “Be a dear, and you and Mum talk things over …”
“There is no talking to him!” His life partner included me in her glare. “If he wants to walk out on me after nearly forty years, let him! Or better yet, he can share a taxi with Bea. From the way she’s been carrying on all night, that’s what she’s been hoping for all along.”
“Mags, that’s ridiculous!” Tricks managed to look demure as a virginal sixteen-year-old.
“You’re a liar!” Racing across the room, Mum flung the door wide open, sending Mrs. Malloy, who was coming in with the coffee cups on the trolley, into a tailspin. “But what I say, Bea, is he’s all yours. Snores and all. I wouldn’t marry Elijah Haskell now if he were the last man on earth!”
I was all for ending the evening by sticking my head in the oven. But Mrs. Malloy put the nix on that nifty idea in a hurry.
“Not in my nice clean kitchen, you don’t.” She dumped her damp dishtowel on the pile by the sink. “Now, let me see if I’ve been hearing straight: Your in-laws aren’t married and never was?”
“There was the problem of religion …”
“So they went ahead and lived in sin?”
“We can’t know all the ins and outs …”
“No need to be crude, Mrs. H. It’s Mr. H. I feel sorry for, poor lad—the product of a broken home. Put himself to bed, has he?”
“He went up to check on the twins.”
“Crying himself to sleep, more like!” She reached for the dishtowel to dab her eyes. “And when I’m to see my bed, I’m sure I don’t know.”
“One of us will take you home,” I promised. “You do see it wouldn’t have done to send you off with Dad and Mrs. Taffer?”
“The poor man could have done with a chaperone, if you ask me! He’ll be in a vulnerable state, and that woman’s a barracuda if I ever saw one. I wonder you didn’t feel you was contributing to the delinquency of a pair of senior citizens, lending them Mr. H.’s car.”
“What else could we do? Mum ordered Dad out of the house. It was clear they both needed time to cool off. My hope is that he’ll come back tomorrow morning with his cap in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other.”
“Dream on, Mrs. H., that man is as stubborn as a donkey at the seaside. But don’t you worry about taking me home. You need me around for moral support, and I’m not one to desert a sinking ship. I’ll spend the night at no extra charge.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.…”
“You could start by making me a cup of tea.” Mrs. Malloy planted herself on a chair and pried off one shoe with the toe of the other. “And you’d better add an extra spoonful of sugar to calm me nerves. I keep thinking about them two driving in that old crock. Ten to one it will break down out there in the back of beyond. Mark my words, he’ll be forced to spend the night with that woman in the backseat. And being a gentleman of the old school, he’ll feel morally obliged to marry her come morning whether or not her father comes after him with a shotgun.”
“You and your lurid imagination.” I managed a feeble laugh. But I must admit that while waiting for the kettle to boil, my mind concocted a Technicolor scene of Dad and Tricks driving down Cliff Road in Ben’s pride and joy, Heinz, which for years had been held together with Super Glue and threats of the Great Scrap Yard in the sky. It was a convertible whose top at one time wouldn’t close, until Mr. Fixit remedied the problem, so that afterwards it wouldn’t open. Heinz was like a faithful old dog who knew only one master. Ben had only to climb aboard and it was off and running, but Dad might have trouble getting it into second gear without one or two of the wheels falling off.
Over the shrilling of the kettle I could hear Tricks’s cooing voice asking Dad if he couldn’t go faster so she could feel the wind racing through the crack in the window to ruffle her stubble hair. I pictured her turning towards him, her eyes—along with the tassels on the Indian muslin dress—dancing. Dad would do his best to keep his eyes on the road as they chugged around one hairpin bend after the other, prickly with hedgerows on the right and open-ended on the left to the rocky incline that sheered off to the sea below. By the time the road straightened out again, night would have unloosed its shadows in the manner of a woman letting down her hair. Nothing would be cozier than that old car, nuzzled in darkness, perhaps silvered by a glimmer of moon and scented with rose. Tricks might even be stirred to poetry—such as John Masefield’s “Sea Fever.” Good heavens! I switched off my imagination along with the kettle, at the point where I heard her suggesting to Dad that he might like to take a walk on the beach before taking her home.
Mercifully, the prosaic task of brewing up got me back on track, and I had just handed Mrs. Malloy her cup when a tap sounded at the garden door. So much for my evil mind! That would be Dad now! Returned full of contrition and fully prepared to negotiate the wedding ceremony. Wrong! The person who came barging in was Cousin Freddy, his eyes soulfully uplifted, his hands steepled in prayer.
“Any leftovers?”
“Only me!” Mrs. Malloy bared a fishnet knee in crossing her legs.
“She’s spending the night,” I explained. “We’ve had a spot of bother and things are rather at sixes and sevens.”
“Don’t spare me!” Freddy took a seat on the table, his skull-and-crossbones earring quivering with excitement. “Is somebody
dead?”
“Worse than that!” Mrs. Malloy took a restorative slurp of tea. “Turns out Mrs. H.’s in-laws have been living together these near forty years without benefit of clergy.”
“No!” He slapped his knee so hard, his ponytail danced.
“It takes a bit of getting used to,” I conceded.
“I’ll say! What with the old girl looking like she still thinks babies are found in the cabbage patch and, from what I gather, dancing down to church every chance she gets!”
“She’ll be drummed out of the Legion of Mary, that’s for sure.” Mrs. M. heaved a sigh that inflated her bosom two cup sizes. “Very strict about some things is the Catholic Church, as I’ve heard time and again from Mrs. Pickle, who was R.C. herself before she went to work at the vicarage and decided if she was to advance in her job she’d better turn C. of E.”
“Talk about hypocrisy!”
Understanding Freddy to be speaking about Mum, I hastened to her defense. “She put up a mental block in order to convince herself she was in good standing with the Church.”
“And I suppose you’ve let her sleep in the same bed with her boyfriend with no thought to the moral welfare of your little children. Ellie, I ask you, where is this world headed?” My cousin fixed his eyes on me in sorry bemusement.
“Don’t ask me! I am headed for bed.”
I was nearly out the door when he stopped me with a question that happily had nothing to do with my errant in-laws.
“Still want me to help out with the summer fête?”
“What? Oh, yes! I did ask if you would go out collecting money for expenses such as the tent rental, didn’t I? You’ll find a list of potential donors on the study desk. And if you could get started this week, I would appreciate it. Good night, Freddy. Good night, Mrs. Malloy.”
“If Ben needs a shoulder to cry on, I’m here!” My cousin’s magnanimous offer floated after me as I mounted the stairs to the bedroom, where my husband was not waiting for me with bated breath.
He was positioned on the four-poster, feet together, hands folded on his chest, as if the district nurse had just finished laying him out. The funereal aspect of the room was heightened by the twin vases bulging with flowers on the mantelpiece. Never had the wine velvet curtain and wallpaper with its grey and silver pheasants looked more falsely festive. But I must admit that even in his state of rigor mortis Ben looked very fetching. I have always found him irresistible in his black silk dressing gown, with that hint of midnight stubble emphasizing his good bones.
“Is that you, Ellie?” He sat up, eyes squeezed shut, and swung his feet off the bed as gingerly as a hospital patient being accorded bathroom privileges following surgery.
Averting my eyes from the tempting V of hairy chest, I said sternly, “You’ve had a difficult evening, I’ll admit, but you have to think about your mother.”
“I sat with her until she fell asleep.”
“That’s my brave darling!”
“I’m trying, Ellie, but none of this is easy.” He drew me to him, unplaiting my hair as he talked. “You see, I’ve always looked up to my father.”
“Rubbish! He’s a good three inches shorter than you.”
“I thought it was only two.” Ben looked momentarily chuffed. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that I always viewed him as the guardian of the truth, and now—”
“Don’t do that!” I pulled away to look deep into his blue-green eyes. “Don’t speak as if their lives, and yours too, have been one long lie.”
“Are you suggesting that I think of them as star-crossed lovers?”
“Exactly! Rather than dwell on the past, we must focus on getting the two of them back together. Their story must have a happy ending.”
“They can both be extremely obstinate.”
“Can’t we all?” I moved away from him to get undressed. “But there has to be a way to sort them out.”
“For their sakes and ours,” he said. “Because much as I love Mum, Ellie, I don’t know how well it would work if she were to stay on here indefinitely.”
“I see your point.” My hollow accents were muffled by my pulling my nightdress over my head.
“You don’t think I should saddle up and go after Dad tonight?” Ben paced to the door.
“No. They need time away from each other. And tomorrow we will come up with a plan. At the moment all I can suggest is that tomorrow we start telephoning around to see if we can get a rabbi and a priest to perform a joint ceremony.”
“My darling!” Ben swung me up and carried me over to the bed. Lying down beside me, he took my hand and raised it to his lips. “If you could only cook worth a damn, I would be putty in your hands.”
“The dinner was a flop, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but being the typically insecure male, I would hate it if you could cook half as well as I do. May I suggest you concentrate on your other talents, which are infinite in their variety and”—he kissed me—“excellence.”
“You know what I was just thinking?”
“Tell me, my angel.” He was leaning over me, hands moving up my arms to draw down the shoulders of my nightdress.
“William the Conqueror was a love child.”
“As are all he-men.”
“Are you telling me that you have made a full recovery and will not have to work through the five stages of grief, or however many there are?”
“I’m afraid not, Ellie. Given the way I’m feeling at this moment, I’m going to need a lot of therapy.”
He reached out a hand to turn off the bedside lamp, and even that momentary withdrawal seemed unbearable. After the day I’d had, nothing could have been more blissful than being with Ben on our own little island. He kissed my eyelids, then my cheeks, before taking possession of my parted lips. I inhaled the tantalizing scent of the he-man soap he used. I felt the tension seep out of my pores as his body came down lean and hard on mine. With trembling hands I parted the silk of his dressing gown and let the delicious lassitude overtake me. His supple fingers were woven into my hair, which was unfortunate, because when he suddenly sat up he almost yanked my head off my shoulders.
“Ouch!” I yelped—seductively, I hope.
“Shush!” Pressing a macho finger to his lips.
“The twins?” Sitting up, I snapped on the light and tossed back the bedclothes, ready to race out to the nursery. I hadn’t heard a peep out of the intercom, but Ben’s ears do tend to be sharper than mine.
“It’s not them.” Ben thumbed towards the ceiling. “It’s Mum walking the varnish off her bedroom floor.”
“You told me you saw her asleep.”
“I know! But I didn’t drug her milk!”
“She’s probably looking for her watch or something,” I said as the footsteps trudged back and forth, within inches, it seemed, of our heads. A lifetime of misery was stamped in every step. But, even more unsettling, she was talking to herself in a sort of rhythmic drone.
“She’s saying the rosary!” Ben said. “The sorrowful mysteries, I expect.”
“Seek ye comfort where ye may.”
“She’ll go on all night.”
I was about to say I would find him a set of earplugs, when there came a shrill yip from Sweetie.
“Great!” My husband made a heroic attempt at sounding chipper. “Now we have the dog saying the amens.”
“And if we can hear them, they can hear us.”
“No need to spell it out.” He grimaced, and together we gripped the bedclothes so as not to make a rustle. Silently we slid back between the sheets, only to be bounced back upright by a series of full-scale barks.
“What now?” I lamented.
“Listen!” Ben held up a hand, and then I heard it too, the throb of a car motor and the sputter of gravel as the vehicle pulled to a stop not more than two inches from the front steps.
“The Prodigal Father returns,” proclaimed the dutiful son.
“You see, Mum’s prayers have been answered!” With
a joyful heart I leaped out of bed, whipped on a dressing gown, and followed my husband down the gallery, flipping on lights as we headed downstairs. Was my mother-in-law in a flutter too, with her ear edged up against the keyhole of her turret room?
Ben was crossing the hall, when the bell buzzed with sufficient vigour to announce a fire drill. It would seem our prodigal was not returning in a particularly chastened mood.
“Hold on!” Ben scraped back the bolt. Horrors! He opened up to reveal a policeman standing on the step in the glare of the exterior lanterns. Uniform, helmet, the works.
“Mr. Bentley Haskell?”
“That’s right.”
Oh, my God! There had been an accident! A bad one, from the man’s bleak expression. It was one of those moments when everything comes into heightened focus. I was aware of footsteps moving along the upper gallery and knew without turning my head that Mum was stationed at the banister rail, wearing the dressing gown that had seen better days. I knew that her mousy hair was poking out of the net she had crocheted from embroidery silk. I knew that Jonas was with her and that the kitchen door had peeked open to give Freddy and Mrs. Malloy a view of Ben’s rigid back.
“It’s my unpleasant duty to bring you some disturbing news.” The policeman produced a notebook but did not look at it. “Approximately one half hour ago I was patrolling the footpath leading from Cliff Road to Smugglers Cove Beach, when I came upon a stationary vehicle, which I subsequently ascertained to be your registered property, sir.”
“I lent the car to my father and a friend of the family.” Ben reached for my hand as I moved to stand beside him. “Is he … is my …?”
“We’ll get to that, sir.” The policeman, whose demeanour was that of a man who had been on the job for thirty years without once requesting a day off, was not to be budged from going by the book. “I proceeded over to the aforementioned conveyance, and was attempting to determine what the make might be —it being something of a patchwork jobbie—when I was approached by two persons who claimed to have left the keys in the ignition and subsequently locked themselves out.”
How to Murder Your Mother-In-Law Page 7