Days Like These

by Sue Margolis

  I find myself reaching out and touching the back of his hand. “Thank you. It’s a kind thought. But I’m not ready. I can’t go on a date while I’m still hanging on to Brian’s clothes. It’s been eighteen months and I still can’t part with them. Can you believe that?”

  “I do. Eighteen months is nothing… . Tell you what. Suppose we agreed it wasn’t an actual date … ?”

  “Even so. But I want you to know I’m flattered.”

  “Well, I guess that’s something.”

  “Thank you for understanding.”

  We go back to our crêpes, which are now stone cold.

  “And anyway,” I hear myself say, “there’s another reason I couldn’t go out with you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Claudia.”

  “What on earth has it got to do with her?”

  “Let’s put it this way: After what happened between us, I’m sure she’d have a view on me dating her dad.”

  “I’m sure she would. But why would I tell her? It’s none of her business. Anyway, it’s all moot because you won’t come out with me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His face breaks into a warm smile. “Come on, let’s go and gather up our kids.”

  • • •

  Mum and I are watching Antiques Roadshow. It’s her Sunday night ritual. If I’m around I’ll join her. She loves the stately home settings, the eccentric gentlemen appraisers in their stripy blazers. But most of all she loves to laugh at the English. She is particularly amused by their feigned lack of interest in money, the way they pretend it’s beneath them to be even remotely interested in what an item is worth. She’s lived here for over seventy years, but even now there’s something of the amused foreign spectator about my mother. I admire it in a way. It shows that her parents left her with a sense of cultural identity. It was their legacy to her. All her life she has clung to it for grim death.

  “Look at her,” Mum says, unzipping a banana. “She thought that brooch was Fabergé and it’s junk and she’s all po-faced and saying it doesn’t matter because it’s all about the sentimental value, not the money. What is it with these people?” She bites off a chunk of banana.

  “Mum, what would you say if I told you a man asked me out this afternoon?”

  “What?” She hits the pause button. “You’re telling me some stranger walked up to you and asked you out?”

  “Don’t be daft. I know him vaguely. He’s one of the granddads at the school.”

  “Single?”

  “Yes.”

  “Solvent?”

  “I have no idea. I presume so.”

  She swallows the mouthful of banana. “Perfect. Go out with him.”

  “I said no.”

  “Of course you did. So why did you even bother to tell me?”

  Good question. Why am I telling her? “I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to let you know that men still find me attractive.”

  “You’re a good-looking woman. Why wouldn’t they?”

  “I also told you because I need to hear you say I did the right thing. Only that’s stupid because I know you won’t.”

  “Damn right. I won’t.”

  “The thing is, it would feel as if I was cheating on Brian.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud—the man asked you out, not to give him a blow job.” As if to emphasize her point, she takes another bite of banana.

  “What did you say?” I’m astounded, but I’m also laughing.

  “Don’t look so surprised. I watched Sex and the City. Hussies, the lot of them. But that Samantha, she was the worst. Who behaves like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Put it this way … If I’m going to put a penis in my mouth, it has to belong to somebody I know.”

  My mother seems to be implying that she is familiar with fellatio. That must mean she went down on my dad. There’s an image to keep me awake all night.

  “I get so frustrated with you,” she continues. “A nice man asks you out and you turn him down. Why would you do that? So what does he look like?”

  “Does it matter? I’m not going out with him.”

  “I like to get a picture.”

  “He’s attractive … tall, slim, trendy haircut, nice glasses. Lovely smile …”

  “Do you fancy him?”

  “I haven’t thought about it.”

  “Well, think about it now.”

  “Mum, you have to stop bulldozing me. I wish I hadn’t said anything now.”

  “What else do you like about him?”

  “He made me laugh.”

  “Ha! A good-looking man who can laugh you into bed. What more do you want? Why don’t you call him and tell him you’ve changed your mind?”

  “I haven’t changed my mind. And anyway, I don’t have his number.”

  My mother lets out a long sigh. “Judy … don’t you want the chance of some happiness?”

  “Yes. When I’m ready.”

  “The way you’re going, you’ll never be ready. Before you know it, you’ll turn around and you’ll be an old woman… . Now let me get back to my program.” She hits the remote.

  I know she’s probably right, but I can’t help the way I feel. Brian was my husband. Nobody could take his place. I tell her I’m going upstairs to check on the children.

  Sam is sound asleep. Rosie is still reading.

  “Sweetheart, it’s late. Come on, put your book down and close those eyes.”

  “I’ve tried, but they won’t stay shut. Denise says she can’t sleep either, so I’ve been reading to her.”

  This can’t go on. She’s got school in the morning. I can’t let her have another day off. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Grandma, can I sleep in your bed again? I think if we could snuggle up, my eyes would stay shut.”

  It’s not a habit I want her to get into, but how can I say no? “OK, you run and get in. I’ll be there in a bit. There’s something I need to do first.”

  She trots off, clutching Denise. Meanwhile I head downstairs to Brian’s study and try Skyping Abby. She’s bound to be working. I don’t expect her to answer. But after a few rings, she appears, albeit severely pixilated. But the sound quality is good, which makes a change. She says that she and Tom are still working ridiculous hours. The cholera and typhoid outbreak isn’t even close to being under control. “But we’re OK. We’ve got showers now and the food’s not too bad. It’s mostly the heat that gets us down.” She pauses. “So I had a nice chat with Nana earlier.”

  “Nana? You Skyped with Nana?”

  “Yes. I called you and she answered. She said you were at the park flying the kite.”

  “Goodness, I had no idea she knew how to do that.”

  “It’s not hard, and I guess she’s seen you do it enough times… . So she told me you’re both worried about the kids fighting and that you think they’re exhausted.”

  “She told you that?” Mum has blabbed—no doubt with the best of intentions—but now Abby’s going to be cross with me. Fabulous.

  “Yes. She also said that the two of you have discussed it and you both think they’re doing too much after school.”

  “Look, I could be wrong,” I say, already backtracking. “Kids fight. It’s par for the course. You and Tom think these activities are important. I don’t want to interfere.”

  “You’re not. Honestly. After I spoke to Nana, Tom and I sat down and discussed it. We don’t want to put more pressure on the kids. It’s bad enough us being away. So if you think they need to drop some of their after-school activities, go for it. Do what you think best. We can review things when we get home. It seems the most sensible thing to do.”

  “So you and Tom aren’t angry?”

  “Why on earth would we be angry?”

  “I thought you might think I was letting you down. I know how important you think it is for the kids to have a hinterland.”

  “I still think that. But right now it feels as if something’s got
to give. And FYI, you’re not remotely letting us down. Have you any idea how much we appreciate what you’re doing? You’re amazing.”

  I don’t have time to tell her how much I appreciate the compliment, because she has to go. Another ambulance has arrived.

  Downstairs Mum has fallen asleep in front of the TV. I kiss her on the forehead and she stirs.

  “I just spoke to Abby,” I say.

  “Ah… . So, are you annoyed with me for spilling the beans? I was only trying to help. I knew you were putting off talking to them.”

  “I was at first. But they’ve decided to let me do what I think is best. So thank you. For once I appreciate you interfering.”

  “You’re welcome. Now pick up the phone to that chap of yours and tell him you’ll go out with him.”

  “Will you stop it? He’s not my chap. And like I said, I don’t have his number.”

  “I’m sure you could find it if you wanted to.”

  CHAPTER

  twelve

  Ginny is in mourning. She’s just been for her regular NHS pap smear and been informed that it will be her last. Statistics show that women over sixty-five are unlikely to get cervical cancer. She’s sixty-two. The test is every five years. So that’s it. She’s done.

  “I just feel so past it.”

  “What, because you’re unlikely to get cervical cancer?”

  “No. I just want to be of an age where I could.”

  I suppose that sort of makes sense.

  “It’s not for sissies,” she says.

  “What isn’t?”

  “This getting-old lark.” She looks weary and a bit sad.

  “OK—tell me honestly. Is that what’s really getting you down? Or is it Emma and the boys?”

  “Let’s put it this way—worrying about Emma and the boys doesn’t help.”

  Ginny is looking after Mason and Tyler again and we’re all having tea together. When she invited us, I suggested she and the boys come to me. I thought Mason and Tyler might behave better on foreign turf. I’d also like Mum to meet Ginny. But Ginny had to be home for a delivery, so we agreed to come to hers.

  “I wish Ivo were here,” she says. “I worry about that situation, too. It breaks my heart that his mother refuses to let him have anything to do with his cousins. Mason and Tyler are no angels, but we’re family. The woman is a terrible snob. If Mason and Tyler were at private school, she’d be making excuses for them left, right and center. In fact, she’d probably be offering to pay for them to see a therapist. This is all about Emma and the boys not being good enough.”

  I ask if she’s tried talking to Ivo’s dad. “My son is just as bad as his wife. But in a way I suppose I can’t blame them. They’re frightened that Mason and Tyler might be a bad influence on Ivo. But to allow no contact at all—it’s so cruel.”

  I agree that it is indeed cruel.

  “Still, I’m buggered if I’m going to let the blighters get me down.”

  I decide not to remind her that they already are.

  The children are playing in the garden. It’s still coat weather, but the biting wind has dropped. I keep getting up and going to the window to check on them. Rosie is on the trampoline. I still worry about it not being surrounded by a safety net. But so far she hasn’t even come close to falling off. The boys are playing soccer. Sam and Tyler are taking it in turns to score goals against Mason, who is guarding the miniature net.

  “All quiet on the western front?” Ginny says.

  “So far so good.”

  We start chatting about the school fair. Ginny says everything’s all under control. “The volunteers are going great guns. Parents have been donating raffle prizes left right and center.”

  “So, I bumped into Mike on Sunday. He was in the park with Seb.”

  “He’s a lovely man. Don’t you think?”

  “He asked me out.”

  “No! So what did you say?”

  “I said no.”

  “What? But Mike’s gorgeous. How could you possibly have said no?”

  “Come on, Ginny, you know why. I’m not ready.”

  “You’ll never be ready.”

  “That’s what my mum said.”

  “Well, she’s right. For heaven’s sake, woman, what’s the harm in going out for a drink?”

  “Apart from what I’ve just said … he’s Claudia’s father. That’s the harm.”

  “Bugger Claudia. What’s she going to do?”

  “Make my life miserable.”

  “I’d like to see her try. Mike would be down on her like a ton of bricks.”

  “You reckon?”

  “I’m certain.”

  Ginny begs me to reconsider. “Come on. It’ll be fun. You need to start enjoying yourself.”

  In the end—purely to shut her up—I agree to think about it.

  “Good girl. You won’t regret it.”

  I find myself steering the conversation round to my mother. I explain about her being jealous of Estelle Silverfish. “On the one hand, Mum thinks she’s too old and ill to start dating. On the other hand, I think she’d really like to. It’s so strange. In all these years she’s never shown an interest in men.”

  “I guess it’s never too late.” Ginny looks thoughtful. “I know your mother drives you round the bend, but you’re so lucky to have her. I’m not ashamed to say I’m rather jealous.”

  “Do you ever think about looking for your mum?”

  “I don’t need to look for her. My brother, William, sees her all the time. She lives a couple of miles down the road.”

  “You’re kidding. But don’t you worry about bumping into her?”

  “I used to. But William says she’s getting frail, so she doesn’t go out much anymore. She has somebody in to clean and do her shopping.”

  “Have you ever thought about going to see her?”

  “Why should I? She could pick up the phone. She never has. Not when Emma and Ben were born and not when Mason and Tyler came along. The woman’s got a heart of stone. She made her position plain, years ago. I was never to darken her door, and I won’t.”

  “But she’s old now. She’s not the same person. People mellow.”

  “You sound like my brother. He says she’s too proud to admit it, but he’s convinced she’d like to see me.”

  “So there you go.”

  “No, I don’t. It’s just wishful thinking on William’s part. He’s always been a glass-half-full type.”

  “On the other hand, he could be right. She might be aching to see you. She knows she did a bad thing all those years ago. I’m guessing she’s lived to regret it.”

  “That’s her lookout.”

  “Now who’s being hard?”

  Ginny is making a fresh pot of tea when the doorbell rings. I tell her I’ll get it. It rings again. And again.

  “All right. I’m coming.”

  An elderly woman, who manages in her panic to tell me that her name is Joyce and that she’s Ginny’s next-door neighbor, is standing on the step in her carpet slippers. She’s holding a weeping Rosie by the hand.

  “Good Lord. What on earth’s happened? I thought you were in the garden. Are you all right? Where are the boys?”

  “I got scared”—sob—“and I ran away.”

  “Scared of who?”

  Joyce pitches in. “Her and her brother got mixed up with a bunch of bloody tearaways—that’s what happened.” She’s pointing to the grassy verge, a few yards down the street. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard the noise. Somebody’s going to get killed.”

  I can’t see anything from the front step, so I move onto the garden path. Mason, Tyler and Sam are standing in the middle of the road with an older boy I don’t recognize. The boy throws something to the ground. There’s a loud bang, followed by a bright yellow flash. He’s setting off fireworks.

  “What did I tell you?”

  “Oh my God.” I tear down the path, yelling as I go. Joyce hangs on to Rosie. There are more flashes and
smoke. A firework with an effervescing purple-and-silver tail whooshes twenty feet into the air. These are small domestic fireworks, but no less dangerous for that. The younger boys are waving lit sparklers, laughing. There’s another loud crack as the boy lets off another banger. A Catherine wheel is spinning out of control and heading toward Sam’s feet. I’m running, but my feet are like lead. All the time I’m still shouting at them to stop, to come away. In my mind I can see dead, fingerless children with charred faces. The older boy has seen me. He drops whatever it is he’s holding, grabs a large box of fireworks, which is lying on the ground, and legs it. The other boys drop their sparklers, which fizzle out as they hit the ground. Then Ginny appears from nowhere. She lumbers past me in pursuit of the boy. I can hear her huffing and puffing. She doesn’t stand a chance of catching him.

  Meanwhile I get hold of Sam and start shaking him by the shoulders. I’m so angry that I want to wallop him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You could have killed yourself.”

  Sam looks at me silent and blinking. He’s never seen me so worked up and it’s clearly scaring the living daylights out of him. “But that boy said it would be OK. And so did Mason.”

  I look at Mason. He’s holding something called a Devil Banger in one hand and a cigarette lighter in the other.

  “Drop those right now.” There is steel in my voice. He doesn’t argue.

  “It wasn’t our fault,” Tyler bleats. “It was that big boy. He said it would be a laugh. I think he stole the fireworks.”

  “I don’t care what he said. Have you any idea how dangerous these things are?”

  Sam looks like he might burst into tears.

  “They weren’t dangerous,” Mason says. “They were small ones. They weren’t like proper big fireworks.”

  “I don’t care how big they were. Children get killed playing with fireworks. How could you be so stupid?”

  Sam is crying. I can’t bring myself to comfort him. Ginny appears, red-faced and panting. “Little sod got away. I’ve got no idea who he is.”

  Mason and Tyler say they don’t know either. I can’t tell if they’re telling the truth or protecting him.