Читать книгу Mum in the Middle: Feel good, funny and unforgettable - Jane Wenham-Jones, Jane Wenham-Jones - Страница 15

I’d eat two, Tilly at least three, Ben six, Oliver five, maybe, Sam probably wouldn’t really need any as there was topping on her fish pie, but perhaps she’d have one …

Twenty well-roasted potato chunks should be enough but somehow didn’t look it. Ben, clearly depleted from the endless re-runs of Top Gear, and Tilly, in need of sustenance after an exhausting morning using all the hot water, were already ‘starving’. And I could never shake off the notion that someone else might turn up. And, indeed, I’d just grabbed two more Maris Pipers and started chopping when the prophetic ringing of the doorbell brought forth another potential spud-muncher.

Gabriel, ushered through to the kitchen by my daughter and proffering a rather manic-looking chocolate rabbit, gave me an apologetic smile. ‘You said to pop in and meet Ben but … but I can see you’re busy …’

‘It’s fine,’ said Tilly decisively. She jerked her head towards the tray of uncooked chipolatas. ‘We won’t be eating for hours yet.’ She sighed and looked at Gabriel curiously. ‘What would you want to meet Ben for?’

‘Shall we invite him to eat with us?’ I asked Tilly, when she reappeared to get beers. ‘I feel sorry for him on his own.’

‘I’d feel sorry for him being with us lot!’ She swung open the fridge door. ‘Have you got any crisps?’

I listened to them laughing in the other room as I stirred flour into meat juices a couple of hours later. I could hear Gabriel doing his Malcolm impression, Oliver’s deep chuckle, Sam giggling. I heard Jinni’s name mentioned and had a twinge of conscience about her too.

I put an extra plate in the bottom of the oven, announced the plan to the assortment of bodies sprawled across sofas and issued instructions.

‘Ben – get the vegetables on the table will you? Oliver can you open another bottle of wine, darling. And get another chair out of the conservatory. Tilly, lay another place?’

My daughter began to gather up empties nudging her brother into action with her foot as she did so. ‘She might say no.’

‘She might say yes and then she won’t feel welcome if we’re scrabbling about looking for cutlery …’

‘I’ll do it!’ Gabriel sprang to his feet. ‘Show me where it is …’

I left Tilly solicitously leading Gabriel in the direction of the dining room and ran over the road.

Jinni opened the door wearing a paint-splattered man’s striped shirt over a long orange skirt, looking surprised. ‘I thought you’d be up to your armpits in kids.’

‘I am – and I wondered if you’d like to be too. I’ve roasted a turkey and thought you might like to join us …’

‘Oh!’ Jinni looked simultaneously pleased and disappointed. ‘I’ve just eaten cheese on toast.’

‘Come over anyway? Glass of wine and pudding?’

‘But I could probably manage a little bit …’ Jinni grinned. ‘I need a quick shower. Start without me.’

‘I’ll leave the door on the latch.’

‘This is wonderful,’ Gabriel gave me a beaming smile. ‘Haven’t had turkey since last Thanksgiving and then it wasn’t anything like this.’

He waved a hand at the now decimated bird, and the array of half-empty dishes and tureens.

I smiled back, flattered. ‘You’d better not say that in front of your mother,’ I said, attempting modesty, although I had to admit it had all come out rather well. ‘I’m sure hers was wonderful.’

‘It was my grandmother who cooked it,’ said Gabriel. ‘She was over from the States. She said later it was the jetlag, but really it was the gins … she makes a dry Martini that takes your head off. It’s all gin. She brought her own cocktail onions.’

‘Ah a Gibson! Good woman!’ Jinni appeared in the doorway with a bottle of Rioja in one hand and a port in the other. She put them on the pine chest and headed for the empty chair, gazing at the table with relish.

‘Look at those potatoes! Haven’t had a roastie for months …’

For someone who wasn’t sure if she was hungry, Jinni tucked in with gusto. ‘Marvellous,’ she said, spooning cauliflower cheese onto her plate. ‘Love this stuff and can never be arsed to make it …’

‘Mum’s is the best,’ said Tilly. ‘Grab some sausages before Ben eats them all.’

‘And what’s this?’ Jinni was peering at the earthenware oven dish next to Sam.

‘Fish pie.’ Sam held it out, smiling. ‘Do have some. I can’t possibly eat it all. It is delicious, though,’ she said, looking at me. ‘It’s got all sorts of things in it.’

Jinni ladled a small helping on to the side of her plate and took a forkful. ‘Mmm. I love fish pie too. Especially with mussels. You kept that quiet, girlfriend – didn’t know you were one mean cook.’

‘Oh, not really.’ I murmured, suddenly embarrassed by all this praise. ‘It’s very easy …’

‘Mum says you’re doing wonderful things to your place …’ said Oliver, helpfully jumping in. ‘It looks huge.’

‘Yeah, there’s lots to do.’ Jinni turned back to me. ‘That reminds me. Guess who I saw driving past as I came over the road? Had the fucking cheek to wave!’

‘Who?’ said Tilly.

‘Local wanker.’

‘I saw him at the station,’ I said. ‘He was all friendly.’

‘Huh!’

For a moment Jinni looked poised to launch into another Ingrid-fuelled diatribe, but then she picked up her glass and smiled.

‘You must come over before you go back.’ Jinni took a large swig of wine. ‘I’ll make you all gins.’ She grinned at Gabriel. ‘I can give your gran a run for her money …’

By the time I’d got the chocolate tart on the table, Jinni and Gabriel were almost family.

‘I think I might come,’ Jinni was saying, as Gabriel was extolling the virtues of the open mic night to Oliver and Ben. ‘I like a bit of live music – especially when it’s a free-for-all.’ She’d opened the bottle of port and was pouring generous measures. ‘There’s always someone convinced they’re the next Susan Boyle, bringing out the neighbourhood cats.’

‘It’s usually Tilly,’ said Ben, as Tilly stuck a finger up at him. He threw back his head and let out a high-pitched falsetto. ‘I know him so well …’

He nudged me. ‘Do you remember, Mum? Longest night of my life.’

‘It wasn’t that bad, you saddo.’ Tilly turned to Jinni. ‘It was a charity show when I was at drama school – we had to do songs from the musicals and I was with this ghastly girl who could only sing in one key.’

‘But at least she could sing in one …’ said Ben.

Tilly made another rude gesture.

‘When I was at Guildford, we had to choose a song at the beginning of term and then that was what we worked on every week for ever,’ Jinni told her. ‘I ended up with ‘Bright Eyes’. I didn’t like it, never could sing it and the singing teacher hated me. Put me off for years.’

‘Sadly that didn’t happen to Tilly …’ Ben got up and waved his empty pint pot at Oliver. ‘Want another beer?’

‘Hey, we could do a duet on Tuesday,’ said Jinni, clearly enthused now by several glasses of red. ‘Let’s get some words. Got an iPad or something?’

Ben shuddered. ‘Noooooo.’

When Oliver and Sam started yawning and announced they were going to bed early, I shooed the others into the front room. They got very little privacy, both sharing with others in small flats, where there always seemed to be extra bodies staying.

‘Shall I make coffee?’ I said, standing up as the couple disappeared into the adjoining conservatory, closing the blinds behind them.

Tilly began gathering dishes. ‘You’d better,’ she said. ‘Ben’s got that simple look on his face.’

She was looking a bit flushed herself. ‘Leave the rest,’ I said, as she dumped a pile of plates perilously close to the edge of the kitchen work surface. ‘Look after our guests …’

But Jinni and Gabriel appeared completely at home as I handed round mugs and Jinni poured more port into our glasses and returned to perch cross-legged in my largest chair. Ben was sprawled back on the sofa, guitar across his chest. Tess sat on the floor, legs out in front of her. Gabriel jumped up from his seat and took the last mug from me. ‘Let me help you with the washing up.’

I smiled at him. ‘The dishwasher can do that.’

Jinni grinned round at my own offspring. ‘Or isn’t that what kids are for?’

‘In theory,’ I smiled back. I did seem to have fallen back into my role of chief cook and bottle-washer with indecent speed, but they were only here briefly …

I sat down next to Ben and poked him.

‘Come on then – give us a song …’

Ben sang a selection he knew I liked – from David Gray, Snow Patrol and Ben Howard – and strummed along as Jinni and Tilly did songs from Evita – Jinni had a good voice, strong and clear, and Tilly stayed in tune pretty well behind her. Gabriel shyly demurred from singing – ‘I’m not that good, not compared with Ben’ – but promised to give us a tune on Tuesday in the pub. He looked at me.

‘You’re coming, aren’t you, Tess?’

‘I’ve got a long day at work, some important meetings.’ I felt a twinge of angst as I said it. I had some plans to finish before then. Gabriel made a show of looking disappointed and I thought how polite he was to include me. Ben and Tilly wouldn’t give a stuff if I pitched up or not.

I stood up. ‘More coffee?’

But Jinni was yawning and Gabriel immediately got to his feet too.

‘It’s been a really great evening,’ he said, kissing my cheek and looking at me with real appreciation in his eyes before turning to Tilly too.

‘Such a pleasure,’ I said, as she hugged him.

Jinni threw her arms around me. ‘Fabulous,’ she said. ‘My turn soon.’

They walked down the path together. ‘They’re nice,’ said Tilly, as I closed the door. ‘Jinni’s not that mad after all.’

‘Apart from wanting to sing with you,’ put in Ben behind us. ‘Gabe’s a good guy.’

I beamed at them both. ‘It felt like we’d known them for years …’

‘I’m going to bed,’ Tilly picked up her magazine. She prodded her brother as she went past. ‘Don’t make any disgusting noises.’

Ben made a face at her. ‘Like you don’t!’

As I put the chain on across the front door, I looked down at the wall that ran towards the start of the stairs, where the footwear had now multiplied. Oliver’s loafers lay next to Ben’s trainers, alongside a pair of boots belonging to Tilly, accompanied by some heels, socks, flip-flops and a neatly aligned pair of slippers that were probably Sam’s.

Smiling, I remembered the permanent mass of shoes that used to form an unruly mound in the hallway in Finchley.

I recalled Rob coming in one night and tripping over a stray sneaker in the middle of the rug. Pictured him glaring at the heap beneath the hall mirror which had spilled off the shoe rack and spread halfway to the stairs, and the way he had flown into an unexpected rage, turning on me in fury, blaming my slap-dash attitude, poor parenting, lack of disciplinarianism and general hopelessness, for the lack of order in the house.

‘They leave them there, because YOU let them,’ he had shrieked, and I’d been so startled by his red face and shaking lips I’d choked on a strange bubble of hysterical laughter.

‘They’re only shoes,’ I’d managed to say, while Ben and Tilly scuttled from hall to coat cupboard and Oliver, aged 16, had stood tall and looked Rob in the eye, and said: ‘it’s not Mum’s fault, it’s ours’.’

‘Sorry’, Rob had said grudgingly later. ‘Bad day.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I’d replied. Because it didn’t by then. A decade earlier I’d have been anxious, tearful, mortified by his anger and my failings. Now, I was gloriously unbothered, probably trying to remember what was still in the tumble dryer and whether the cat had been wormed.

This evening, divorced and independent, in my own home, with no one to answer to, I kicked off the battered old mules I used for forays into the garden and added them to the pile.

Then I switched off the rest of the lights and went upstairs in the dark.

There would be no nightmares tonight.

There was a row of footwear down there that wasn’t mine.