Good Husband Material

Toby blinked innocently at her, then gave a fruity chuckle that slowly worked its way up to an evil cackle.

Backing out, still staring, she fell over the chair in the hall. ‘I never would have believed it!’ she muttered, hauling herself up by the chair back. Then she looked down and added absently, ‘Nice commode!’

‘We like it,’ I replied coldly. How on earth did she know? ‘Well, I’m glad to have met you at last, Mrs … er?’

‘Peach.’ And the dumpy figure limped away down the drive without another word.

Feeling even more ruffled than before, I closed the door and discovered a long, thin brown envelope lying by the wall, which must have come earlier. Quite a stiff envelope – probably one of the garage brochures we’d sent for.

Ripping open the end, I pulled out the enclosure – and then, with a sharp ‘twang!’ something brick red sprang out and hit me sharply on the nose. I recoiled backwards onto the commode and wept overwrought tears.

I soon had myself back under control, of course, and discovered that the flying object was a cardboard garage, ingeniously arranged so that it would fold flat to fit in an envelope. Once opened it sprang back into its garage shape by means of a system of elastic bands. The name of the firm was emblazoned on the side.

I put it back in its envelope and went back to the kitchen to label my marmalade and clean up myself and the kitchen, and when James returned home he found me arranging the jars proudly on the dresser, where they glowed like amber.

‘What a terribly domestic scene for a rock star’s ex-girlfriend!’ he sneered, and I was so cross that I handed him the garage envelope, hoping it would hit him on the nose too.

No such luck.

‘What a promotional brain wave!’ he enthused, playing with it.

‘Isn’t it just,’ I said gloomily. ‘But they aren’t such good value as the brochure that came last week. That had a garage with a white finish that would blend with the rest of the house.’

‘Perhaps. Let’s wait for the others to arrive before we decide. There’s the phone – bet it’s your mother.’

With the usual feeling of reluctance – not to mention weariness and a bit of residual stickiness – I picked up the receiver and heard her babbling even before I got it to my ear.

‘… and I simply can’t go on. I just can’t carry on like this! She grows more impossible every day!’

‘Hello, Mother. What can’t you go on with?’

‘Mummy, dear – do call me Mummy! Mother is so ageing. And I’m talking about Granny, of course. I just said. And it’s not as if I ever liked her!’

‘But you asked her to come and stay with you after Grandpa died!’

‘I felt I had to. And she never thought I was good enough for her precious son either. Really, I can’t see why I should have to like someone just because they happen to be my mother-in-law.’

‘No Moth— Mummy.’

‘Of course, you and I have always been more like sisters than mother and daughter, haven’t we, darling? But I was such a young mother – little more than a child.’

‘Yes, Mummy.’ A faint, familiar nausea rose in my throat.

‘And I need a rest from Granny. I said to the doctor, “I need a rest.” And do you know what he said to me? “Don’t we all, Mrs Norwood!” Then I said, “What about admitting her into hospital for a week?” And he said she wasn’t ill, and besides, there was a waiting list stretching right into next year! Not that I believe him, of course – he’s just afraid that I would refuse to have her back again.’

‘And would you?’

The words were out before I could help myself.

‘I hope I know my duty,’ she replied ambiguously after a short pause. ‘If my health was up to it I would, of course, be prepared to have her back whatever the strain.’

‘Why don’t you ask that nice district nurse for her advice when she comes to give Granny her injection? Mrs Durwin, isn’t it?’

There was a snort. ‘I did. I said to her, “I can’t cope any more – it’s too much for me,” and do you know what she said? She said, “Have you tried soap on the stairs, Mrs Norwood?” and then she laughed, positively roared, until the tears ran down her face. And not five minutes later I heard her repeating it to Granny! These West Indians have a strange sense of humour.’

‘So has Granny – that’s why they’re such good friends. And it was just a joke, after all.’

‘I can’t see anything funny in it. I’m at my wits’ end. I need a holiday. Now, if I could just get her off my hands for a week or two I could come and visit your sweet little cottage, couldn’t I? I’m just dying to see it. You have got a spare bedroom for Mummy, haven’t you?’

Panic gripped my heart and gave it a squeeze. ‘Oh, yes – two – but I’m afraid one is completely bare at the moment, and the other is going to be my office.’

‘Ah, yes, for your Writing,’ she said reverently. ‘How is it coming along, dear?’

‘It isn’t, there’s been too much to do. But at least I can have a room to myself here, and I’m about to start the next book.’

‘All my friends are so impressed when I tell them my little girl is a Writer!’

I winced, even though I get this sort of thing all the time. Then I braced myself to ask, ‘You haven’t been – well – drinking again, have you, Mummy?’

‘Oh, there’s the doorbell!’ she said brightly. ‘Must go, darling. I’ll let you know if I can arrange anything for Granny so that I can come and take a little holiday with you. Bye-ee!’ And the line went dead.

I hadn’t heard any doorbell, and I replaced the receiver with a feeling of deep depression. Mother generally has that effect on me.

James was immersed in his paper, oblivious both to me and to Bess, who was staring fixedly at the door. (Normal dogs whine.)

‘Bess wants to go out, James!’ I said loudly, but he pretended not to hear, so with a sigh of resignation I took the lead off the door.

Standing in the icy darkness of the lane waiting for Bess to perform, I thought: What a day!

‘You have remembered that I’ll be late home tonight, haven’t you?’ James said casually about a week later, preparing to dash out after breakfast.

He looked pretty good in his natty dark suiting, but I always think he would look even better striding about the heather in a kilt like his forebears did. He has that sort of look. Rugged. (Which he isn’t, really.)

‘Remember? How can I remember when you never told me in the first place?’ I exclaimed in surprise.

‘I told you days ago.’

‘But what about dinner? Just how late will you be?’

He looked annoyed at my perfectly reasonable question: ‘Don’t wait for me – I’ll pick something up.’

‘Eating junk food on the run isn’t healthy, James.’

‘Then I’ll go and eat at Howard’s afterwards, and stay overnight!’

‘Eating at Howard’s is even more of a health hazard. It’s all takeaways, and too dark to see what’s in them, because the electricity’s always cut off.’

‘I don’t know what you’ve got against Howard!’