by Debbie Rix
‘Mum,’ said Georgie as her mother forced her to lift her slipper-clad feet from the floor in the sitting room so that she could push the hoover closer to the sofa. ‘Mum, he won’t be looking for dust under there – unless you get up to some seriously kinky stuff on the floor.’
Georgie changed channels and turned up the volume while slurping cereal from a large soup bowl.
‘I do wish you would stop focusing on the possibility that I might actually be a little intimate with my boyfriend this evening, G. Besides, I always clean the house; I just don’t usually get a chance to do it on a Saturday. I do normally work on a Saturday if you remember!’
‘Intimate – yuck!’ exclaimed Georgie, shovelling in another mouthful of cereal.
Miranda yanked the hoover round the coffee table, bumping Georgie’s arm as she did so, causing her daughter to spill Coco Pops over one of seat cushions of the cream sofa.
‘Oh no!’ screamed Miranda. ‘Oh look what you’ve done.’
‘What I’ve done?’ retorted her daughter. ‘You’re the one who pushed my arm.’
‘Oh never mind who did what to who – run and get some paper towels from the kitchen – quick!’
Georgie slowly put the bowl, dripping with chocolate milk, down onto the clean coffee table before ambling to the kitchen.
‘Oh, G, I’ve just polished this table.’
Georgie wandered back into the sitting room with the roll of kitchen towel. Her mother snatched it from her and began to mop furiously at the cream upholstery.
‘I cannot believe you did that,’ muttered Miranda furiously. ‘I think we’re going to have to have a new rule in this house; no cereal, and particularly no bloody awful chocolate cereal, to be eaten anywhere but the kitchen.’
‘How about we have a new rule about not hoovering while people are trying to eat their blinking breakfast?’ said Georgie before stomping upstairs.
Miranda went into the kitchen and filled a bowl of water from the kettle, adding some cleaning powder. She returned to the sitting room and began scrubbing at the sofa cushion frantically. The brown stain appeared to be indelible. She simply managed to spread it in ever-increasing circles. She sat down, finally, on the damp, sticky coffee table; tears began to roll down her face.
Georgie reappeared at the doorway.
‘Mum,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re a bit on edge. And I’m sorry about the Coco Pops. Is the sofa all right?’
‘Thank you, G. I’m sorry too – for shouting. It was my fault. But I’m just a bit upset. The sofa was the nicest thing we had. I only finished paying for it last month, and now it’s ruined.’
‘No it’s not,’ said Georgie brightly. ‘We can take the cushion cover off and put it in the washing machine.’
‘Oh, yes. I suppose we can.’
‘Worth a try?’ said Georgie hopefully.
‘Yes, worth a try.’
Together they removed the cover and Miranda stuffed it into the washing machine with a cupful of every cleaning product she could find.
Georgie magnanimously turned off the TV and went in search of a can of furniture polish.
Miranda had arranged with Jeremy to drop Georgie at the shop around three o’clock. She drew up outside the bookshop at the allotted time and kissed her daughter on the forehead. ‘Have a great time, sweetheart. I hope he takes you to something good.’
‘I will. I expect it will be something political and challenging. That’s his normal idea of a fun night out.’
‘Oh Lord, is it? He is a funny guy isn’t he? Well, I hope there will be a great supper then.’
‘Yeah, that should be OK. He’s promised me pizza.’
‘Oh, good. Well, darling, have a lovely time and tell him I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at about eleven.’
She watched as Georgie climbed out of the car in her old army coat, dragging her sports bag filled with her overnight things out of the back seat.
‘Oh, and Mum,’ she said before she slammed the car door, ‘stay safe.’
‘Oh G, I’ll be fine, but thank you.’
She blew her a kiss before pulling out into the busy Saturday afternoon traffic in Barnes High Street. In her rear view mirror she could see her daughter standing anxiously on the pavement watching her mother drive away. Little did Georgie know that Miranda felt just as anxious as her daughter about the impending ‘date’.
When she got home, Miranda threw herself into her preparations. The house now tidy, she hung up the damp cushion cover on the line outside. The mark had gone, but she feared the cover was a tad smaller than when she had put it into the washing machine. She would have to put it back onto the sofa cushion slightly damp in order to stretch it back into position.
She dashed upstairs and ran a bath, and added some bath oil that Jeremy had bought her for Christmas and which she kept for special occasions. She bathed, and washed her hair, then, wrapped in an old towelling dressing gown, unpegged the cover and did battle with it. It had definitely shrunk, but she finally managed to squish the unyielding cushion back into its cover.
Back upstairs, she dried her hair, painted her toenails and put on her make-up. She wore the blue wrap dress that Sasha had given her, and a turquoise locket that had been a present from her grandmother for her twenty-first birthday. By six forty-five she was ready. She looked at herself in her bedroom mirror. She didn’t look at all bad.
She wandered into the sitting room and laid an old paisley throw over the sofa and rearranged the cushions. It looked quite elegant. Earlier, she had picked some bright blue hydrangeas from the garden, which matched perfectly the cobalt blue of the dragon vase. She had taken a close-up picture of the flowers and vase and posted it on Facebook. It already had twelve likes.
Miranda sat down at the kitchen table to wait. It was exactly seven thirty when the doorbell rang. She checked her reflection in the hall mirror above the table, and then opened the door.
Chapter Fifteen
The morning after
Miranda woke the following morning alone. The house was eerily quiet. She looked at the clock; it was twenty minutes past eight. She went downstairs and filled the kettle. Standing at the sink, she gazed out onto the autumnal garden. She made a cup of strong tea, sat at the kitchen table and thought about the previous evening.
Charlie had taken her to a ‘celebrity chef’ restaurant in Grosvenor Square. The diners had an air of money about them – overly made up, ultra-skinny women who looked as if they never actually ate anything, men in slim dark suits pontificating with wine waiters about vintages, and a sprinkling of celebrities intent on having a good time. Miranda felt distinctly out of place. But Charlie was charming and told her that she looked beautiful. They ate seafood and drank a very good bottle of white burgundy. Charlie took control of the ordering; in fact, he took control of the whole evening. They talked of course, but mostly about her. Once again, Miranda tried to draw him out about his personal life. He seemed elusive, but finally she persuaded him to part with a little information. His first love had been a girl he’d met at university. They split up soon after, and she worked in PR, he thought. Another girlfriend was a Scottish landowner’s daughter, who now ran the estate for her father. When she asked why they had broken up, he seemed vague. ‘We just drifted apart I suppose,’ was all he would say. Either way, they both sounded out of Miranda’s league.
At one point, emboldened by the wine, Miranda asked him if he had ever been married.
He looked at her with his clear grey gaze. ‘Married? No…’
‘Why not?’ she probed.
‘Never met the right girl, I suppose. And I’m busy, you know – travelling.’
‘But lots of people travel for work, don’t they, and they manage?’ she had suggested.
‘Just not lucky in love, I guess. Now – pudding?’
It seemed that particular conversation was at an end.
On their way back to the car he had put his arm around her shoulders and drawn her close t
o him. She timidly wrapped her own arm around his waist. As he opened the car door for her, he held her to him and kissed her. A long, tender kiss that left her breathless for more. She slid into the expensive leather seats and reached out to hold his hand. He held it to his mouth and kissed it, placing it back in her lap.
‘So – no Georgie at home tonight,’ he said. ‘Shall we go back to your place?’
There was an almost tangible energy between the two them as they sat in the dark in the car in Grosvenor Square. She sensed it and so did he.
‘Yes,’ she found herself saying.
He drove carefully out of town, crossing Barnes Bridge and turning towards Sheen. As he parked outside Miranda’s house, he turned to her and said, ‘Are you sure? There’s no pressure, you know, Miranda. I’m very fond of you – very fond – and I’m not messing around, you know? I’d love to take you to bed. But if you’re not ready, I do understand. I know you’ve had a hard time bringing G up on your own. It’s bound to be a big step, letting someone into your life.’
The emotion she felt was one of overwhelming relief. ‘Oh, I do want to sleep with you!’ she blurted out. ‘Oh, that sounds awful! What I mean is, I do really love being with you, fancy you, but you’re right. It is a big step.’
He kissed her again and stroked her hair.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘Come in, OK? I cleaned the house specially; you might as well see it!’
He laughed and they went inside holding hands. They made coffee in the kitchen and he kissed her again as she reached for the coffee pot. They took their coffee into the sitting room and as she put the tray down onto the table, he kissed her once more; this time it was longer, deeper and he held her closely to him, stroking her hair, breathing into her ear, ‘You smell delicious.’
They sat on the sofa and took one sip of coffee before he kissed her again.
At last, she said, ‘Come on… Let’s go upstairs.’
They almost ran up the stairs and into her bedroom. He lifted her dress high over her head; she unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it away from his smooth chest.
‘I’m not on the pill,’ she blurted out, blushing.
‘That’s OK,’ he said, fishing a condom out of his pocket.
‘Better safe than sorry,’ he murmured into her hair.
The sex was intense, good. He was passionate, loving, tender and yet strong. When they had finished making love for the third time, she said weakly. ‘You won’t believe how nervous I was about that.’
‘Oh, I think I would,’ he replied. ‘I was a bit nervous myself. you know.’
‘What, you? But, you’re so… Together.’
They fell asleep in each other’s arms, but he slipped out of bed very early and she woke up as he was putting his shirt on.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked sleepily.
‘Got a flight to New York later today. I need to get home and pack.’
‘Oh? You didn’t say.’
‘Well, I won’t be away long; just a couple of days.’
He sat down on the edge of the bed and put on his shoes, before turning and kissing her again.
‘Have a lovely day, and I’ll see you in the middle of the week; supper on Wednesday?’
‘Oh, I’d love that. Thank you. Come here. I’ll cook. G will be here, of course.’
‘Great. It’s no problem for me that she’s here you know. I think she’s a lovely kid.’
‘Do you? Well, yes she is. And I’d love you to get to know her.’
‘Well, let’s do it. Now, don’t move. Go back to sleep. I’ll let myself out.’
All things considered, she reflected, it had been pretty perfect. She began to hum to herself, as she tidied up the coffee cups from the night before.
On the way out of the house, just before eleven, she noticed water on the hall table. The hydrangeas were somehow different; as if they had moved themselves into a different arrangement during the night. ‘Odd,’ she thought.
Jeremy was waiting for her at the door to the shop. ‘Darling. G is glued to crap TV upstairs in the flat. I want to hear everything. Let’s go for a coffee next door.’
‘So – how does it feel to finally get laid?’ he asked, grinning at her over their lattes.
‘Rather good, to be honest. I’m just amazed that it all seems to be in working order… You know?’
‘So it was good then?’ he asked.
‘Stop being so bloody nosy. But yes, it was good.’
‘And are you seeing him again?’
‘Sure am. This Wednesday. He’s having supper at ours, with Georgie.’
‘And staying the night?’
‘Not sure… Probably. Do you think he should? I don’t want to upset G.’
‘Manda, we had a long chat about that yesterday – your girl and me. She’s unbelievably mature, you know. I think she understands that you are lonely and need a man in your life, apart from me, that is. I think she’ll handle it OK. At least that’s my opinion.’
Miranda and Georgie spent an amicable afternoon snuggled up on the now dry sofa watching old films. Miranda cooked a roast chicken for supper, something of a treat. As Georgie went upstairs to bed that night, she leant over the banisters. ‘Ma?’
‘Yes,’ called Miranda from the kitchen.
‘I’m so glad you had a nice time with thingummy.’
‘Charlie.’
‘Yeah, with him. Love you…’
‘Love you too darling.’
At breakfast on Wednesday, Miranda mentioned that Charlie was coming for supper that night. ‘I’d like you to meet him properly and vice versa.’
‘OK,’ said Georgie.
‘That sounds a bit qualified,’ said her mother.
‘No, not qualified. I just don’t know him, that’s all.’
‘Well, hopefully you’ll know him better by this evening,’ said Miranda.
She cooked a fish pie for dinner. Not one of Georgie’s favourite things, but it was easy enough to prepare in advance and would give her time to monitor any conversation between Charlie and her daughter.
They sat in slightly awkward silence at first in the sitting room. Charlie asked Georgie questions – how she liked school, what were her favourite subjects, what she wanted to do when she grew up – predictable questions that adults often relied on when talking to young people. Miranda was impressed that Georgie managed to answer politely without resorting to her usual sarcasm. Interrupting, she suggested they go into the kitchen to eat. Both looked relieved. Walking with her arm wrapped round her daughter’s waist to the kitchen she whispered in her ear, ‘Well done, darling.’
Charlie opened a bottle of wine over dinner, and rummaged in a drawer to find the corkscrew. This simple act of domesticity did not go unnoticed by Georgie. Miranda seemed to relax after a glass or two of wine and they ate their dinner in convivial enough fashion. Pudding cleared away, Miranda suggested they played cards together.
‘Oh Mum, I’d love to, but I’ve got homework to do.’ Georgie rose from the table, put her plate into the dishwasher and kissed her mother on the top of the head. She turned as she reached the kitchen doorway.
‘Nice to meet you properly, Charlie… See you.’
They heard her leaping up the stairs two at a time.
‘So, ’ said Miranda, ‘that wasn’t too bad was it?’
‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘I was probably a bit boring for her, wasn’t I?’
‘Not at all,’ Miranda said, a little too hurriedly. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘teenagers are not the easiest people to get to know. But she likes you, I can tell. And if I’m happy then so is she.’
The following morning Charlie left early. He was conducting an auction down in Hampshire and had to be on the road before six thirty. Miranda was relieved that she did not have to endure the sight of her daughter and boyfriend together over the breakfast table.
Georgie shuffled into the kitchen at seven forty-five and opened the larder in search of cereal.
‘No Char
lie then?’ she asked.
‘He had to go early,’ said Miranda, before adding, ‘thanks for being so polite last night. It wasn’t so bad, was it?’
‘No mum, it was fine, really. Like I said – if you like him then that’s all that matters.’
* * *
Before long, Miranda realised, she couldn’t count their dates anymore. She was just ‘going out’ with Charlie. He came and stayed three or four nights a week. He helped to cook; he stacked the dishwasher; he even hoovered the house occasionally. One evening, he arrived for supper to find Miranda fighting with a plunger in the sink and failing to unblock the drain. He simply rolled up the sleeves of his expensive shirt and fixed it by unscrewing the pipework in the sink cupboard. He watched TV in the sitting room with Miranda and played board games on occasion with Georgie. One weekend, he turned up unannounced and asked if they could watch an international rugby match between England and Wales. He and Miranda sat together on the sofa, she resting her head on his chest. She felt utterly content, she realised, as he roared at the television. He picked up a take-away curry that night from the local Indian restaurant and the three sat together in the sitting room eating it on their laps.
‘Mum never lets me do this,’ said Georgie, struggling to hide her admiration. ‘And curry too; better not spill on the dreaded sofa or you’ll never hear the end of it.’
He had laughed and smiled fondly at Miranda.
‘And quite right too,’ he’d said. ‘It would be a terrible thing to do and I promise to be extra specially careful.’
And so it continued, until Miranda began to believe that her relationship with Charlie could become something really important. She had realised several weeks before that she had fallen in love with him. She daydreamed about him at work. She planned their meals together. She thrilled to the sound of his car drawing up outside. Two weeks before Christmas she took Georgie down to the local garden centre to pick their Christmas tree.