by Mike Gayle
Adam was about to ask his mum what time she was expecting Russell when he felt the weight of a large body leaping on to his back. He spun round to find Russell attempting to get him in a headlock. Within seconds the whole kitchen was in uproar with three grown men play-fighting like the big kids they were, as had been a part of their routine ever since they were small. Their mother was bellowing at the top of her voice, ‘Enough is enough!’ while their dad stood in the doorway chuckling at the look of dismay on Cassie’s face.
Wrestling over and mowing complete, the Bachelor men took their places at the table while Mum and Cassie (having refused all offers of assistance) started bringing in the food: plates of roast beef, roast potatoes, boiled potatoes, sweet potatoes, rice and peas, carrots, cauliflower and home-made gravy. Adam smiled. It was June; possibly one of the hottest days of the year. But as far as his mum was concerned Sundays just weren’t Sundays without a roast.
With all the food on the table Cassie took her seat next to Luke and Mum began serving up. Luke stood up and cleared his throat.
‘Mum,’ he said quietly, ‘can you just put down the potatoes for a second.’
‘Why? What are you after?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then why are you asking me to put the potatoes down?’
‘Because I’ve got some news.’
‘What news?’
‘Sit down and I’ll tell you.’
His mum did exactly as she was asked and, pausing only to throw a smile in Cassie’s direction, Luke started talking: ‘Cassie and I, we’re—’
Luke didn’t get to finish his sentence. Mum had already sprung to her feet and was throwing her arms round a bewildered Cassie and within a matter of moments the whole family was up on their feet congratulating Luke and Cassie on the best bit of Bachelor family news of the year.
‘Hope, love, family. Those are the important things.’
‘Anyone fancy another brew?’ asked Luke.
It was late in the afternoon and Luke was still on a high. Normally he and Cassie would have long since left his parents’ and gone home but this particular afternoon was different. Although Russell had gone (something to do with a crisis he was having at work), Adam (who was usually out of the door around the time the washing-up began) had stayed and Luke had had no choice but to endure his brother’s regaling Cassie with embarrassing stories from their youth. Now they were all packed into the living room with Antiques Roadshow on in the background and talking and laughing animatedly. Today really was something special. Today was Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve wrapped into one.
‘What’s going on?’ teased Adam. ‘Has someone kidnapped my middle brother and replaced him with a Teasmaid? Lukey boy has never made tea in his entire life. I’m not even sure he’d know how without looking it up on the Internet.’
‘Ha! Ha! Very funny!’ replied Luke. ‘I’ll have you know that I actually make a damn fine cup of tea for my Cassie every single day.’
The family looked at Cassie in disbelief. ‘Is it true,’ asked Adam. ‘Does Boy Wonder here really bring you tea every day in bed?’
‘Every morning without fail,’ said Cassie, winking at Luke. ‘He’s completely and utterly under my thumb!’
Luke’s mum stood up decisively. ‘You boys and your teasing, when will you ever stop?’ She turned to Luke. ‘Come on son, you count up the hands and I’ll give you a hand putting the kettle on.’
Luke knew what that meant. Mum had been asking questions about the wedding all afternoon and this offer of tea-making assistance was her opportunity to ask a few more questions away from prying eyes. Luke counted up the hands: two teas, two coffees and a whatever his mum was having. He made his way to the kitchen to face his grilling and found his mum at the kitchen counter setting out the ‘only for best’ teacups.
‘I’ll get the milk out, shall I?’
‘No, son, you leave it,’ she replied. ‘I’ll get it when I’m ready.’
There was a long silence.
‘So are you pleased then?’ he asked. ‘You know, about me and Cassie?’
‘I’m thrilled,’ she replied. ‘Cassie is a wonderful girl. And she really loves you, you know. You only have to look at her to see that.’
‘I know, Mum. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’
Joan smiled. ‘I don’t think I could have picked a better girl for you.’ She looked down at the empty teacups. He could tell straight away that she was thinking about Megan, his daughter from his first marriage whom he no longer saw.
Of all his family the one person who knew how he felt not having Megan in his life was his mum. He put his arms round her as she began to cry. ‘I know you miss her, Mum,’ he said. ‘I miss her too. I miss her more and more each day. The only thing that keeps me going is that one day she’ll be old enough to come and find me. And she will come, Mum, she’ll come and find me and we’ll talk and we’ll get rid of all the years of poison that her mum’s filled her with and we’ll start something fresh and new. What do you think about that then, Mum?’
‘I think it’s lovely,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to have hope, haven’t you? That’s what life’s all about: hope, love, family. Those are the important things.’
Luke was as uncomfortable with strong emotions as any of his brothers. Did his mum want to ask more questions? Should he give her another hug? Should he just leave her to get on with making the tea? Luke took the last option as it was the one he knew would benefit himself the most.
Back in the living room, there had been a change of pace. The TV was off and Adam and Cassie were either side of his dad on the sofa. Luke looked over Cassie’s shoulder to see that they were flicking through his parents’ wedding album.
‘I haven’t seen that thing for years,’ he said. The wedding album was one of those childhood objects that had acquired a near-mythical status. He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen it and yet he could recall it with perfect clarity: a cream padded album with a built-in wind-up musical chime, pages and pages of photographs of his young parents protected from dust and grime by the most delicate tissue paper. The last time Luke had looked at that album was for an essay he had to write when he was thirteen about his family’s personal history. He only spent an evening or two on it whereas most people had spent a week and was therefore not the least bit surprised by his ‘D’ grade and his English teacher’s comment that he had not only let himself down but his family too.
‘Your dad has been telling us some great stories about his and your mum’s wedding day. Did you know that your mum was over twenty minutes late arriving at the church? The hairdresser overslept and your mum refused to leave the house without her hair done so they had no choice but to wait.’
‘Is that true, Dad?’
George nodded. ‘I was stood at the back of the church looking at my watch like a damn fool. Everyone thought she had done a runner. Still, she turned up in the end.’ He gave Cassie a cheeky wink. ‘I always knew she would.’
‘And,’ continued Cassie, ‘did you also know that your Auntie Rose wasn’t meant to be your mum’s maid of honour?’
‘I didn’t even know that Mum had a maid of honour,’ replied Luke.
‘Well she did,’ replied Cassie. ‘It was meant to be your mum’s best friend Janet but she never turned up on the day and by the time your mum and dad went back to work the following week she’d moved and no one’s seen her since.’
‘You make it sound like a murder mystery,’ laughed Luke.
‘Maybe it is.’
‘Any other factoids about my parents’ wedding that you’d like to impart?’
‘Only the best one.’
‘Which is?’
‘Not only did your mum and dad get married the same month that we’re planning to get married but guess what?’
Luke thought for a moment. It could be anything. ‘Is it that they got married on the same day that we’re planning to get hitched?’
‘Nic
e try but that’s not it.’
‘OK . . . how about . . . I don’t know . . . their first dance is the same song that you want to be our first dance?’
Cassie shook her head.
‘I officially give up. What’s the big secret then?’
‘Next year is their fortieth wedding anniversary! Isn’t that amazing? Your mum and dad have been married forty years! I asked your dad what the secret was but he just shrugged and said, “I’m blowed if I know.” ’
Luke looked at Adam. It wasn’t the least bit surprising that neither he nor Luke knew that their parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary was coming up. They could barely muster the energy to remember each other’s birthdays without severe prompting from their mum; adding a parental wedding anniversary to the mix was a step too far. ‘Is that right, Dad? Are you and Mum really celebrating forty years together next year?’
‘What’s that?’ Luke’s mum was in the room carrying a tray laden with tea and coffee.
‘Dad was saying it’s your fortieth wedding anniversary next year.’
‘Been counting the days have you, George?’ she laughed. ‘There’s no time off for good behaviour.’
‘So how are you going to celebrate, Joan?’ asked Cassie. ‘Something nice?’
‘George and I don’t like to make a fuss,’ said Mum. ‘It’s not our thing really.’
‘You can’t not celebrate a fortieth wedding!’ Cassie was genuinely shocked. ‘It’s not right. Luke, tell your mum that she can’t ignore her wedding anniversary.’
‘Honestly, Cassie,’ interjected Dad. ‘It really isn’t our thing.’
Cassie turned to Adam. ‘Well, aren’t you going to say anything?’
‘Nah,’ said Adam. ‘It’s not really our kind of thing either. What you’ve got to learn about us Bachelors, Cass, is that we don’t like to make a fuss.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Mum. ‘Cassie does have a point. Forty years is a long time.’
‘Exactly,’ enthused Cassie. ‘It’s a massive achievement in this day and age, Joan, and I think it would be a shame to just let it slide like that.’
Luke watched his mum warming to the idea of a celebration. ‘What kind of thing were you thinking?’
‘Oh, nothing too showy,’ replied Cassie. ‘A small party. Some nice food, family, friends, just the people you love and care about most. It won’t be a big deal. And you won’t have to lift a finger. The boys and I will organise the lot for you.’
Luke saw his mum look to his dad for approval as he had seen her do a million times before. Not exactly an act of deference (she always did whatever she wanted to do anyway) but not exactly not either. ‘What do you think, George?’
‘I’m happy if you’re happy,’ he replied.
‘Then we’ll do it,’ she said, clapping her hands. ‘We’ll do it!’
‘It’ll be my good deed for the day.’
Adam was lying in bed wondering where his life was going. Since committing himself to his project to find the right kind of girl over a month ago he had been on over a dozen disastrous dates without a shred of success. Of late he had persuaded his friend Jon’s girlfriend Shelley to let him take her friend Farah for lunch; three days later he had found himself on an unofficial blind date with his bar manager’s sister Linda, and a week after that he went out with Ellen, his friend Martin’s sister who had just returned to Manchester after living in Spain. Each one of his dates had been cursed with the same affliction: they were all nice enough as people but as potential girlfriends there just wasn’t any spark or chemistry at all. Try as he might he couldn’t fake the slightest interest in their careers, hobbies, outdoor pursuits, countless godchildren and cats (especially their cats).
But if that wasn’t enough (and Adam felt that it was, thank you very much), now that he had officially sworn off dating the wrong kinds of girls it was as if they were all determined to keep him from the straight and narrow. Wherever he went, whether for an innocent midweek drink with a mate, catching up with his paperwork in a coffee bar or even (as happened on one occasion) buying toothpaste in Superdrug, young girls with beautiful faces and bodies to die for were making eyes at him. But whereas the old Adam would have coaxed them into releasing their phone numbers within a few minutes this new Adam had to bite his lip and head in the direction of the nearest cold shower.
Now, not only had he not had a date with a potential right kind of girl for over a week but he also had nothing lined up for the future either. He reasoned that the best thing he could do to cheer himself up on a Saturday morning would be to take himself over to Beech Road, find a nice café and treat himself to a slap-up English breakfast. Then he would head to Marks and Spencer on the High Street to hang around their ‘Meal for One’ chill cabinet in the hope of sourcing a few potential right-kind-of-girl dates.
Quickly getting dressed, he made his way out of the house and ducked into his local newsagent’s to pick up a Daily Mail and the latest issue of Men’s Health. Whiling away his time in the longish queue at the till Adam recalled various snippets of his conversation from his last right-kind-of-girl date (had she really confessed that she called home from work twice a day to leave a message for her cats on the answerphone?) and was oblivious of his surroundings until he looked up to see that the queue appeared to have stalled because the woman directly in front of him was searching around for change to pay for the copy of the Guardian in her hand. Tutting under his breath Adam reached into his pocket and pulled out a two-pound coin.
‘Here,’ he said, handing her the coin. ‘Take it.’
‘I really couldn’t,’ said the woman, rummaging around the pockets of her vast handbag.
‘Go on,’ said Adam. ‘It’ll be my good deed for the day.’
She looked up and smiled. ‘Thank you. I really don’t know how I could have left the house without—’
She stopped.
‘Adam Baxter!’
‘It’s Bachelor,’ he replied. ‘Adam Bachelor and you’re . . .’ He momentarily scanned her mental image through his brain cells. A girl. A girl from school. A bit of a brainbox. Not particularly exciting. May well have teased her about wearing braces. That was it.
‘You’re Stephanie Holmes!’
The last time he had seen Steph Holmes was probably on the day of his final English O level paper. She had been sitting at a desk a few seats in front of him and he remembered being impressed at the speed with which she had opened up the exam paper and started writing. She was easily the smartest girl in the school and was bound for greatness while he was, as the various teachers who wrote his numerous school reports never tired of saying, ‘very intelligent but inherently lazy’.
‘It’s got to be at least twenty years,’ said Adam, marvelling how the time had flown.
‘Oh, don’t say that! It means we’re both really old and I don’t think I’m ready for that. Look, let’s agree it’s been more like fifteen and we’ll say no more about it.’
Adam paid for his things and they walked towards the door of the shop. ‘So what have you done with your decade and a half?’
‘Where to begin? After school my mum sent me to a private sixth-form college, after that I went to Oxford, after Oxford I went travelling for a while but I had to return early because my mum fell ill – it was just me and her you see – and then after she passed away I ended up moving to the US to work for a bank in New York. Then I moved to a bank in Tokyo, then I moved to another bank in Tokyo, then I decided I had had enough of both Tokyo and banking and moved back to Manchester and bought a house on Wilton Road and started working for a women’s shelter that a friend of mine set up in Stretford.’
Although she had attempted to gloss over it quickly Adam felt he ought at least to acknowledge the fact of Steph’s mum’s death but then he remembered that they were in the middle of the newsagent’s. This was neither the time nor the place. Instead he went for a much lighter topic. ‘Which number Wilton Road are you?’
‘Two eighty-
three, why?’
‘Two eighty-three! I’m mates with your neighbours Jon and Shelley. They live at two eighty one!’
‘Small world.’ Steph smiled.
‘I can’t believe you’ve done all that in fifteen years! You must never have stopped.’
‘Maybe I should apply for early retirement. Anyway, how about you? What have you been up to since school?’
‘Nothing that impressive,’ replied Adam. ‘Left school, did a bit of this and that, moved around for a bit, came back to Manchester, did a bit more of this and that and now I run my own bar on Wilbraham Road. You probably know it, BlueBar?’
‘That’s yours? Oh yes, I know it. Never been in it, mind. It all looks just a little bit too trendy for my liking. If I go out at all these days it’s more likely to be for a meal. Still, you must be doing really well to have your own bar. Well done you.’
There was a long pause, most of which was Adam’s fault because he was engrossed in thoughts about Steph. She clearly wasn’t his old type. And she wore glasses. Adam had only ever been out with one other woman who wore glasses and she hadn’t actually needed them: they were part of a sexy buttoned-up secretary look that had been popular at the time. Those glasses had been a prop, something to be removed in order to elicit the ‘Why Miss Jones, you’re gorgeous’ response whereas Adam could tell that without her glasses, Steph would be struggling to find him. Still, in general at least she fitted the right kind-of-girl label and given that he had nothing better on he was prepared to give her a go if only to keep himself in practice. He checked her left hand. There was no ring in sight. He wondered if he should ask more questions but in the end decided he would be better off just jumping in with both feet.
‘Look, I don’t suppose you fancy going for a coffee do you?’
Steph pulled a face. ‘I’d love to, it’s just that—’
‘Go on,’ he interrupted, flashing her his best smile. ‘You know you want to. One coffee, maybe a small pastry and then I promise that you can get on your merry way. In fact you won’t even have to talk to me. If I get boring you can just whip out your newspaper and I won’t complain. Go on, what do you say?’