‘That’s the other problem. And you may not like this either, Ruth. But I thought I might ask if — well ask whether I could stay here. Just for a while. Until I’ve got myself sorted.’
‘Oh.’ Of course I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I was more or less compelled to come here, and at the time I didn’t really want to. Now, it would appear that my mother wants to gatecrash my comfortable new life and join in. ‘Well...’
‘I knew you wouldn’t be pleased, Ruth. And I can understand how you must feel, after what — well, after what your father and I have done. But I’ve nowhere else to go.’ She spreads her fingers in a little lost gesture, and I feel sorry that I ever made her feel unwelcome. Poor Mum. Trapped in a life where she is bound to my father and God (probably in that order), she has never had time to make a life of her own. She hasn’t had a job since I was born, and such friends as she has are from the church or the voluntary organisations to which she belongs. They are all nice enough, but I think it unlikely that any of them would stand by her in this crisis.
‘Of course I don’t mind. It would be good to have you here, though it’s not exactly what you’re used to.’
‘I know that. Silas and Eric have always lived in a bit of a muddle, but they’re family. My family. We used to be — well, we were very close before I got married, but — but —’
‘Dad didn’t really approve of them?’
‘Something like that. I think he likes them. Well, he hasn’t anything against them, anyway. But he doesn’t understand them. Their way of life, the fact that they’ve never really had proper jobs, the way they’ve turned their back on God.’
‘I think if Dad took the trouble to get to know them better, he’d be surprised. They’re good people, which is what really matters, and they’ve been wonderful to me.’
‘I knew they would be.’ For the first time, Mum smiles, looking almost pretty. I’ve never thought of my mother as pretty, but when I come to think of it, I haven’t often seen her smile. ‘I knew we could trust them to look after you.’
Of course, when she asks them, Eric and Silas both say they are delighted to have Mum for as long as she likes. She can have the room she slept in as a child. It will need a bit of a tidy (this, I happen to know, is an understatement), but they’re sure she’ll be comfortable.
‘We thought it might come to this, one day,’ Silas tell me some time later, when a large pile of assorted junk has been moved from Mum’s room and she’s has taken her things upstairs. ‘I probably shouldn’t say this to you, Ruth, but we never thought the marriage was — quite right for her. Not that we have anything against your father,’ he adds, glancing at his brother, ‘but they seemed so — unsuited somehow.’
‘How, unsuited?’ I ask him.
‘Well, your mum was quite a girl when she was young. She had lots of boyfriends and she liked a good time. Your father...’
‘Wasn’t so much one for a good time?’ I suggest.
‘I suppose you could say that. But he was serious and steady, and maybe that’s what your mum needed. And after all, it seems to have worked so far, doesn’t it? And may well do again.’
‘Do you think she’ll go back to him?’ I ask him.
‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps she needs a bit of time to — well, to find herself. Sort herself out. But there’s no hurry. We’re happy to have her.’
When Mum comes downstairs some time later, she has changed and freshened up, and looks more in control.
‘Would you like a guided tour?’ I ask her.
‘Yes. That might be a good idea,’ she says. ‘Then at least I can be of some use.’
I find her a pair of old wellingtons and we walk round the garden and outhouses. I introduce Mum to Sarah and her fast-growing family, and she admires some new fluffy chicks and a beautiful Jersey calf. She makes no comments about the state of the place, and I’m grateful; for seeing things as it were through her eyes, I can’t believe that Silas and Eric have managed to function so well for so long in all this chaos. I refrain from telling her about the Virgin of the hen house; it’s too soon for anything quite so outré. My parents see Roman Catholics as idolaters; unworthy to be called Christians, and under no circumstances to be trusted. Visions of the Virgin are most certainly to be avoided at all costs.
‘Well, that’s it,’ I say, as we end up back at the house. ‘What would you like to do now?’
‘I think,’ says Mum, ‘I’d better phone your father. To tell him he’ll have to cook for himself this evening.’
Chapter Fifteen
‘Who’s this, then?’ Blossom demands, when she comes in the next morning.
‘This is my mother. Mum, this is Blossom.’
‘How do you do?’ says Mum.
‘Humph.’ Blossom, ignores my mother’s outstretched hand (I’d forgotten to warn Mum about Blossom). ‘How long you staying?’
‘Well, I’m not sure...’
‘Where you sleeping?’
‘She’s sleeping in her old room,’ I say, for the pleasure of seeing Blossom’s reaction.
‘What old room?’
‘The little one on the top landing.’
‘I slept in it as a child,’ Mum adds.
‘Relation then, are you?’
‘I’m Eric’s and Silas’s sister. Ruth’s mother, as she said.’
Blossom regards her stonily for a moment, and then hauls the vacuum cleaner out from the cupboard under the stairs, and plugs it in.
‘Can’t stand here chatting,’ she says. ‘Work to do.’
‘We weren’t chatting, Blossom. I was introducing you to my mother.’ Just this once, I’ve been unwise enough to let Blossom’s rudeness get to me.
‘Can’t hear you,’ yells Blossom above the roaring of machinery. Something rattles up the tubing, and Blossom switches it off and stoops to investigate.
‘I said that I was just trying to introduce you to my mother,’ I repeat.
‘Well, met her now, haven’t I?’ Blossom pokes about in the vacuum cleaner’s innards and retrieves half an old toothbrush (an item much favoured by Mr. Darcy as a toy) and stows it away in her apron pocket, then switches on again. I can see we’re not going to get anything more out of Blossom, and Mum and I retire to the kitchen.
‘What an — odd person,’ says Mum.
‘Oh, she’s odd all right. Goodness knows why Eric and Silas put up with her. But she’ll be okay now she’s met you. Just ignore her. She’s upset because she likes to feel she’s in charge of this place, and she hates surprises.’
But Blossom has only just started. She follows poor Mum round the house, ensuring that whatever job she is about to do, Mum’s in the way. She skins a freshly-killed rabbit under Mum’s nose (quite unnecessarily, as Silas usually does that sort of thing) and she flatly refuses to spring clean Mum’s room, although Eric asks her very nicely.
‘No time,’ she says.
‘You’ve got another two hours yet,’ says Eric reasonably. ‘It shouldn’t take that long.’
‘Take more’n that.’
‘No it won’t. Not if you start now.’
Blossom eyes Eric beadily.
‘Bad back,’ she says. ‘Done enough cleaning for today. Do the pigs.’
‘What bad back?’ asks Silas, the medical expert.
‘Personal,’ says Blossom going out and slamming the back door behind her.
‘How can a bad back be personal?’ asks Mum, puzzled.
‘Blossom’s bad back can be anything she likes,’ says Eric wearily. ‘If she’s got one. Which I very much doubt.’
‘Why doesn’t she like me?’ Mum asks.
‘I suspect you’re a threat,’ Eric says. ‘Ruth was bad enough — another woman around the house, and all that — but now there are two of you, she probably sees it as two against one.’
Poor Mum. Her visit has not got off to a good start, and there is more to come, for the next day, Mikey pays me another visit. He says he is ‘just passing’ again, but I s
uspect there’s more to it than that, for he seems strangely excited.
Mum hasn’t met Mikey, and as far as I know has never met any gay person. She’s not so much homophobic as homo-ignorant (if there is such a thing), and given Mikey’s exuberant lack of tact, I anticipate trouble.
At first, things go well enough. Mikey greets Mum very nicely, doesn’t ask embarrassing questions as to the whys and wherefores of her visit, and there is a safely general discussion round the kitchen table when he joins us all for lunch. But I can see that he is bursting to say something, and after half an hour, he can contain himself no longer.
‘Oh, Ruth! I’ve been dying to tell you. You know that new partner I was telling you about? We’re in love!’ he tells me (and of course, everyone else).
‘That’s great, Mikey.’ I try making warning signals, but Mikey is oblivious.
‘Yes. It all happened so quickly. We’re going on holiday together.’
At this stage, I try to reach Mikey’s foot with mine to give him a kick under the table, but he’s too far away. I look despairingly at my uncles, but neither of them seems to have noticed the impending danger.
‘How lovely for you,’ Mum beams. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Gavin. Gavin.’ The word rolls off Mikey’s lips as only a lover’s name can; smoothly, adoringly, and (to most people) indisputably male.
‘What an unusual name for a girl!’ cries my mother, still completely in the dark.
I make one last, desperate attempt to reach either Mikey’s love-glazed eyes or his foot, but it’s too late.
‘Oh, Gavin isn’t a girl; he’s a man,’ Mikey tells her. ‘Can’t you tell? I’m —’
At last my foot reaches its target and administers a sharp blow to Mikey’s ankle, and he finally shuts up. But of course, the damage is done. I have never seen anyone blush the way Mum does when she realises what Mikey’s saying; what Mikey is. Even the tips of her ears seem to go puce. She looks at me despairingly, and I realise that of course she has no idea what to do. She has no rules for this kind of situation, and Mum lives her life by rules. My father isn’t there to give her guidance, and she hasn’t the confidence to trust any reaction of her own. She is almost certainly torn between politeness, horror and a deep and unspeakable embarrassment, and I feel desperately sorry for her.
‘Mum, why don’t you go and put your feet up?’ I suggest. ‘You must be tired. I know you didn’t have a very good night.’
She gives me a grateful look and practically scampers from the room. A few minutes later, Eric and Silas wander off to inspect a leaky roof, and Mikey and I are left on our own.
‘Oh, Mikey! How could you!’ I am furious with him.
‘How could I what?’
‘My mother’s never come across a gay person before. She didn’t know where to put herself!’
‘Perhaps it was time she did.’
‘Did what?’
‘Meet a gay person.’
‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous.’ I begin collecting up the lunch things. ‘Mikey, my mother is a complete innocent. She lives under the thumb of my father and thinks and believes what he thinks and believes. In my father’s book, gay people are beyond the pale.’
‘How sweet,’ Mikey murmurs.
‘No. Not sweet. Just ignorant. But they are basically good people, and they are my parents.’
‘Am I supposed to be sorry?’
‘It would be a start.’
‘Okay. I’m sorry.’
‘Not good enough.’
‘I really am sorry, Ruth.’ He kisses my cheek. ‘Will that do? But I’m so happy, and I wanted you to be happy for me.’
‘Of course I’m happy for you. I’m delighted for you. But next time you have a piece of news like this, please spare my mother. She’s having a hard time at the moment, and she can do without you and your love life.’
‘Okay. Understood.’
‘That’s all right, then.’
‘So can I tell you about Gavin now? Please, Ruth. Just five minutes.’
Mikey spends the next half-hour telling me about Gavin while we do the washing up together, and I listen, because Mikey is a good friend and I really am happy for him.
‘So,’ he finishes. ‘Now tell me about you.’
‘There’s not much to tell, really. I’m fine, and the baby’s fine. But the bad news is that my mother seems to have left my father.’
‘Goodness!’
‘Yes. I’m sure it’s not permanent, but still, it’s all a bit messy.’
‘And you’re caught in the middle.’
‘Well not really, because my father hasn’t been in touch. Mum only arrived yesterday.’
‘And she’s now trespassing on your patch.’
‘Well, I’m glad she feels she can come here, of course I am.’
‘But you were comfortable as you were. The three of you, and that ghastly Blossom.’
‘Yes. Does that sound awful?’
‘Not awful at all. It’s perfectly natural. You’ve settled in so happily here — it all seems so right — and of course your mum being around is bound to make a difference.
‘It does a bit.’
‘And still no man?’ he asks me.
‘I’m hardly likely to find one round here, am I?’
‘No. I suppose not. But what about the baby’s father, Ruth? Is there no chance of your making a go of it with him?’
‘I don’t even know where he is.’
‘Mm. That could be problematic.’ Mikey stacks plates neatly away in a cupboard. ‘Are you ready to talk about him yet?’
‘Oh, why not?’
So I put away my tea towel, and tell Mikey about Amos. I tell him about our long friendship, Amos’s divorce and the night we spent together. I tell him about the comforting familiar hugeness of Amos, his sense of humour, his warmth and his kindness.
‘And — I miss him,’ I end lamely. ‘I never thought I would, and if it weren’t for the baby, I probably wouldn’t be giving him a thought, but I really, really miss him.’
‘Anyone would think you were in love with the guy,’ Mikey remarks after a moment.
‘Can one fall in love with someone when they’re not there?’
‘I don’t see why not. After all, you seem to know him pretty well. And I’m sure having a baby with someone must make a difference.’
‘Yes. Yes, it does. And of course, that’s another thing. The baby.’
‘What about the baby?’
‘I’ve done nothing about it. I can’t think about it or make plans for it or anything. I’m just — stuck. Eric and Silas say I should start making decisions about the future, but I can’t see a future. Not with a baby. I know I decided to keep it, and I’ve no regrets about that, but it doesn’t seem real, somehow. I just see myself living here for ever with my bump, milking goats and arguing with Blossom and playing my fiddle to bored shoppers.’
‘You could give the baby to me. I’d love to have your baby.’
‘That’s a thought.’ For a moment, I have a vision of the seahorse/rabbit being carried off into the sunset by Mikey (and probably Gavin as well. Why not?). It would be loved and cared for by someone I know, and I could have visiting rights. The perfect solution all round.
But while Mikey is undoubtedly half-serious, the baby wouldn’t have a mother, and I’d like it to have a mother. Besides, now that my own mother is joining in I am no longer the only person involved. Mum is clearly preparing for — even looking forward to — her role as a grandmother, so I can hardly give her grandchild away. It seems that the Woman’s Right to Choose ends once the pregnancy is under way; after that, other people enter the equation, with their own hopes and expectations, and it’s hard to ignore them.
‘You’d make a lovely dad, Mikey, and it’s tempting. But I have to go ahead with this. I’ll manage somehow.’
‘Then at least find Amos.’
‘I’ve done everything I can think of. He just seems to have vanished.’
‘People can’t do that. Not with the internet, and mobiles, and CCTV.’
‘Amos can. He hates the internet, and likes people not knowing where he is. It’s a kind of pride thing with him, being invisible. Plus, he’s hiding from his ex.’
‘I could still try to Google him for you.’
‘Other friends have tried, but no luck so far. But I’d love you to have a go, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course I will. There can’t be that many trombone-playing Amoses. He should be pretty easy to find.’
‘Even Amos Jones?’
‘Especially Amos Jones.’
‘You’re a star.’ I give him a hug.
‘And still a godfather?’
‘Certainly still a godfather,’ I assure him. ‘I can’t think of a better one.’
Chapter Sixteen
All things considered, my mother has settled into the household surprisingly well. She appears unfazed by the chaos, seems to enjoy the animals, and is obviously deeply fond of Eric and Silas. It’s as though the three of them have picked from where they were when they were children, and it’s lovely to see Mum laughing once more.
Of course, not everything delights her, and she finds Silas’s taxidermy hard to understand.
‘I wouldn’t mind so much if they looked the way they’re meant to,’ she confesses to me. ‘But they all look so — odd. Not at all the way they must have when they were alive. That badger looks more like a small bear on its way to a fancy dress party than a real badger.’
‘Silas over-stuffs them,’ I tell her. ‘He can’t help himself. He gets an animal just right, and then he can’t resist adding a little bit more stuffing, and ruins the effect. He also puts in the wrong eyes.’
‘The wrong eyes?’
‘Yes. He has to send away for the eyes. He got a batch of dogs’ eyes by mistake, and he can’t bear to waste them.’ Which of course explains the reproachful doggy gaze of several ill-matched animal faces. ‘Mr. Darcy can’t stand it. He doesn’t like the taxidermy thing any more than we do, but it’s the eyes that really get to him. I think he takes it personally.’
And then there’s Eric and his researches. Poor Mum is torn between curiosity and her long-held fundamentalist beliefs. I can see that she is longing to look at Eric’s plans (which have now had to be moved into what is optimistically known as the study because they’ve outgrown the kitchen table), but has misgivings because of her loyalty to Dad and her church.
The Frances Garrood Collection Page 68