by Carmen Reid
'Congratulations,' she managed. Joseph looked shocked, so she added: 'I think Anna will need a little time to get to grips with this, but I'm sure she'll be OK. So, when did this... happen?'
'At the weekend,' came Michelle's reply. 'I wish I could say he got down on one knee with a big ring in a box.'
Like he did for me, Eve thought.
'But actually it was more... spontaneous than that,' Michelle added.
He proposed in bed, Eve concluded.
'Well, that's really nice. Congratulations,' Eve said again, then added: 'Joseph's always wanted to get married.' And now she wished the ground would swallow her up, because obviously that meant he'd always wanted to marry her.
Michelle was shooting him glances and had folded her arms in a fairly obviously angry kind of way.
'Let me go and see Anna,' Eve said. 'Are you sure you don't want some tea or something?'
Joseph decided he needed a glass of wine and Michelle wanted water.
'I'll get it,' he told Eve. 'You check Anna, or do you want me to do it?'
'Give us a few minutes,' she said.
She opened the door of the bedroom Anna and Robbie shared and saw Anna lying face down on her top bunk, sobbing.
Eve patted her back and finally Anna sat up and let herself be hugged. She squashed her arms round Eve's neck and buried her streaming eyes and nose in Eve's satin dress, which served her right for putting it on in the first place.
'I want Daddy to marry you,' came the fierce, fierce sobs.
'I know, darling,' she whispered.
'Why did you and Daddy have to be so awful? If you'd just been nicer to each other, you could be married now. Now he's going to marry stupid Michelle.'
'Anna, Mummy and Daddy aren't together any more. We love you, we love Robbie, but you are going to have to get used to this.'
'Well why do you keep getting my hopes up then? Both of you? With your silly games. With your photos in drawers and pyjamas in the cupboard and putting on lipstick?' She was crying quite hysterically now. Eve wasn't sure what all this referred to. But she saw now that Anna had noticed far more of the unresolved emotions flying about between her and Joseph than she had ever suspected. Maybe there had been one reconciliation too many for Anna to truly believe that they were apart. Well, had Eve even really believed it, until tonight?
Now it was well and truly over.
'How's it going?' came Joseph's whisper from the door and Eve blinked back the tears forming in her own eyes.
'I'm not coming with you,' Anna shouted from the bunk. 'I don't want to be in Manchester with you and Michelle,' and she burst into fresh sobs again.
'I'm really sorry, Anna.' Joseph took over on the back-patting while Eve carried on holding their daughter. 'I didn't know you'd feel like this.'
'I'm not coming with you,' Anna repeated. 'There isn't enough room in your car for three people' – which sounded horribly like 'There isn't enough room in your life for three people.'
Anna wouldn't be persuaded. She wouldn't even come out of her room. She didn't want to set eyes on Michelle again who, by now, had been roped into a complicated game of hide-and-seek with Robbie, which she didn't seem to be enjoying too much. 'You should probably just go,' Eve told Joseph. 'She'll be fine. Give her a phone tomorrow.'
'I hope we haven't spoiled your plans,' Joseph said at the door.
'Plans?' she asked. He gestured vaguely at her dress.
'Were you going out?'
'Oh no. No, no. A friend was dropping by later, but I'll cancel. No problem.'
A friend? he was thinking as he steered the car through the north London back roads he knew out onto the Ml. Which friend? Who had she been waiting for in a dress he recognized from way back. A dress she'd bought for some special occasion they had all been at together. What was it again?
'So? I want to know what you think?' Michelle sounded exasperated. He hadn't been listening again and, quite rightly, she wasn't going to like that.
'I'm sorry. I missed the last bit of that.'
Big sigh.
'Joe. I'd like to talk about our wedding. I didn't really want any bridesmaids. I mean, if it's going to be really important to Anna...' She tailed off.
'I'm sorry. I should have thought about that. What else have you got in mind?'
'How about a grown-up, romantic wedding? How about taking off somewhere really glamorous and getting married there? The South of France, Italy ... somewhere like that?'
'It would be great, but my children have to come to my wedding. Anna is having enough problems adjusting to the idea without me sneaking off to do it behind her back.'
'Anna has problems, full stop, let's just face it,' she snapped.
'Don't.'
He glanced over at her but she just stared straight ahead at the road, her mouth set in a scowl.
'Look, I'm tired.' He reached out to put a hand over hers. 'I don't really want to talk about all this right now, but we've got all weekend. And how about we go and look for a ring together tomorrow?'
She turned and smiled at him: 'Are you sure?'
'Yes, I'm very sure – about everything,' he answered and that was when he remembered... Eve's dress. She'd bought it for his parents' 30th wedding anniversary party. Scene of yet another of his rejected marriage proposals. Well if he'd wanted a sign from her that he was doing the right thing marrying Michelle, surely that was it?
He'd proposed to Eve seriously six times, light-heartedly at least a hundred times. And the closest he'd ever got to a yes was 'Ask me again really soon.'
This was better. Michelle had accepted before he'd even finished asking, which after his experiences with Eve had taken him somewhat by surprise. Michelle had wanted to talk about rings and dresses and venues and invitations almost constantly ever since. But he was finding it strangely hard to get enthusiastic about all that stuff and now he was worried about Anna.
Much later that evening, Eve tucked her daughter up in bed and stroked her forehead until her eyes finally closed. Together they had stayed up late on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket together eating the entire contents of the biscuit and cake tins and drinking hot chocolate, in Eve's case laced with a slug of brandy, while they watched comforting Friday night TV.
It was very late, so Eve was surprised when the phone rang, although not when she heard Jen's voice at the other end.
'Oh go away!' she said, exhausted at the thought of having to relay this saga to Jen.
'I'm just checking on you. I knew he was coming round tonight and I just wanted to make sure you didn't make a complete tit of yourself.'
There was a pause.
'Then again, if you did make a complete tit of yourself, I'll still be your friend, OK.'
'Jen,' Eve said with a deep sigh, 'he came round with Michelle ...'
'Oh!'
'To tell us that they're engaged. They're getting married.'
'Oh.' It sounded as if even Jen hadn't seen that one coming. 'Well, you wanted a sign,' she added.
'I know!' Eve began to laugh, 'I got a bloody great big sign all right, didn't I?'
'Are you OK?' Jen asked.
'Yeah, I'm OK. Feeling slightly stupid, I have to say. And poor old Anna's very upset.'
'Oh, the little soul.'
'What about you? Are you at work?' Eve asked.
'Yeah, I'm fine. I should go. I was just checking on you.'
'You're the best.'
'I know. Eve?'
'Yeah?'
'Phone the vet.'
'Oh for goodness bloody sake . . . you're obsessed.'
'I'm not. It's just a useful quality men have, being able to help you get over other men. They're good at that. And at taking out the bins.'
'Good night, you mad woman.'
'Night-night.'
Chapter Nine
Eve was hacking hard at a particularly stubborn root with a garden trowel when Tom's head unexpectedly poked out of the back door.
'Hello,' he said with a smile and a
mbled into the garden, all rangy, blond-topped six-foot-two of him, gangling along in his oversized jeans and 'Porn Star' T-shirt.
'Hello there!' she answered and watched him walk over, taking in how handsome he looked – slim, big shoulders, a square face with long, surfer hair. She thought he was fabulous.
And she of course was her usual completely extraordinary self, he couldn't help thinking, grinning as he walked towards her: her blond mane tucked up into a hideous old khaki hat. The rest of her outfit was no better – a fuchsia and white, too tight, tie-dyed top, armfuls of bead bracelets, baggy combat trousers and a pair of filthy old walking boots. But he adored his mum.
'Come here,' she smiled and opened her arms. He bent down to kiss her face and gave her a quick hug.
'Where are the kids?' he asked.
'They've gone to see Jen's new kittens,' she said. 'But you are just what I need.' She looked back down at the deep trough she'd dug all around the offending plant: 'Brute force. Will you pull this bloody bush out for me?'
'Oh bad karma, man! Why are you digging up the roses?'
'Only this one. It's all straggly and mangy despite everything I've done for it and look, don't debate it with me – just pull! Here, you'll need my gloves, it's really prickly.'
Tom forced his hands into her small gloves, stiff with earth, and grasped the base of the bush. He strained hard against it, and with a crack the root snapped and the bush tore away.
'There you go!' He tossed it onto the ground and they grinned at each other.
'What are you doing here anyway?' she asked, because it was a Friday afternoon, still not gone 5p.m. 'Shouldn't you be at work, dot.com.ing away?'
He laughed at this then his face switched to serious. Even a little bit nervous, she thought.
'Out early for good behaviour, but there's something I want to talk to you about. I wanted to see you on my own.'
'OK.' She took her hat off to get a better look at him. 'I'm all ears,' she smiled to reassure him.
'Right.' He ran his hands through his hair and tried to smile back, 'here goes . . . Deepa is pregnant.'
Before this had even really registered with her, he added: 'And we're planning to have the baby – and get married.'
'Deepa's pregnant?' she asked, with the very slimmest of hopes that maybe she'd heard this all wrong and Tom was talking about someone other than his girlfriend of two minutes. Eve really liked Deepa but... babies? Marriage? She was still trying to come to terms with the last shock marriage announcement to hit her. This did not compute ... did not compute. No!
'Yeah.' Tom stuffed his hands into his pockets and pulled his jeans up.
'How did this happen?' What kind of stupid question was that? she wondered, as soon as she'd asked it.
'Umm . . . the usual way, I suppose,' Hint of shy grin.
'You've known about contraception since you were six, Tom. There really isn't any excuse,' she snapped.
Tom gave a reply that was somewhere between a mumble and a giggle and hoicked his jeans up again, which was pointless because they were too wide and they sagged down as soon as he let them go.
She could feel the angry heat in her cheeks. Her son Tom, just turned 20, just landed his first proper job was seriously contemplating marriage – parenthood – with a student just a little bit younger and a little less dizzy than him. He had no idea! They had no idea! And the worst thing – the part that was really bringing hot tears to the back of her eyes – was that this is what had happened to her. Pregnant at 20, married the bloke . . . and look how badly that had turned out.
She'd wanted things to be so different for her children.
Oh God.
Tom put an arm round her. 'Sorry,' he said, patting her head against his shoulder.
She put her hand on his back.
'Oh Tom. This is going to be so hard. A baby? Have you really thought this through?'
'Yeah, we have. We've given it a lot of thought. It's not what we planned, but what is?'
She was struck by the note of seriousness in his voice.
'Do you love her?' she asked.
'Yeah, I love her and she loves me and we'll work out the baby thing.'
He made it sound so simple. That's how it was when you were 20. Fairly straightforward, you didn't see all the other complicated stuff that proper, older, grown-ups suspected lay ahead for you.
But she felt a bit better.
'It'll be cool, Mum,' Tom said and did his jean-pull thing again.
'You need a belt,' she said and he just smiled.
'Robbie's going to be an uncle,' she added. 'And he's only two.' She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at this, didn't know which way it would go.
'It'll be cool.' Shrug, pull at jeans. She couldn't believe he was really 20. The same age she was when she'd had Denny. Tom still seemed such a teenager and she'd thought she was such a grown-up back then. It made her laugh to think of herself at 20, all tailored suits and blow-dried hair. She'd thought she was so adult, and look at me now... Not for the first time, did she wonder if she'd done everything a bit backwards. Back then she'd been a married, two-children, suburban housewife with a businessman husband, a proper swank house, antique furniture and clothes which almost all needed dry cleaning. Now, she was single, dating, muddling along with post-teens and young children, living in a basement flat, listening to pop music, dressing at Top Shop. Her own life had run in a strange and unpredictable way.
'When's the baby due?' she asked, pushing her hair back from her face and wiping her hands down on her trousers.
'The start of September. She's 18 weeks ... I know we've taken a while to start telling people. It was a big decision.'
She noticed the 'eighteen weeks'; her son was already talking pregnancy terminology. 'Sick?' Eve asked.
'As a dog. It would be quite funny, if I didn't feel so sorry for her.'
'Poor thing. Has she tried ginger biscuits?'
'Mum, she's tried ginger everything – ginger biscuits, ginger tea, ginger wine. Raw grated ginger. Barfed it all up.'
'Poor, poor thing... Do her parents know yet?'
'Ermrnrn... I think she's going to tell them this weekend. I don't know if I'm going to go along or not. I don't want to get hit or anything.' Smile, shrug, tug at jeans.
'Oh God. Are they ... ummm? Is Deepa ...?' What was the currently PC way to ask about your son's Asian girlfriend's um . . . cultural heritage?
'D'you mean religion and stuff?' Religion and stuff?! Well that was one way of putting it.
'Yeah.'
'They're all C of E, lapsed. The missionaries must have got to their ancestors or something.'