Page 43 of The Three of Us
Anthony’s here again. She hears them laughing even before she opens the door. This has been her family home for her whole life, yet suddenly she feels like an outsider, an intruder, someone who should be knocking before she walks in.
‘Ah, Carly, love.’ Her mum looks up as she comes into the kitchen, and waves her hand towards the draining board. ‘Look at the lovely dahlias Anthony’s brought. Grown them all himself too. Maybe you’d like some to take home with you? I’m not sure I’ve got enough vases to accommodate them all.’
What happened to Hello or How are you? It’s all about Anthony these days. She hasn’t even sat down yet and her mum’s talking about her going home. Sam was right. This man is rapidly getting his feet under the table, and something needs to be done about it.
‘Hi, Mum. And hello to you too!’
‘Sorry. Enough of my babbling. Come in and have a cuppa. There’s fresh tea in the pot. Sit down and tell us all your news.’
Us? Since when was she expected to tell Anthony all her comings and goings? ‘Nothing to tell. Same old, same old…’
She pours herself a tea and pulls out a chair. She hates feeling awkward in her own home, but the strained atmosphere doesn’t seem to register with either of them. A newspaper is spread open on the table between them, and the pen laid down beside it makes it obvious they have been tackling the crossword together.
‘You don’t happen to know the capital of Senegal, do you?’ Anthony says, picking up the pen and chewing the end of it. ‘Five letters. Got a K in it. Assuming we’ve got three across right, of course.’
‘Sorry, no. I don’t even know where Senegal is.’
My mother tuts. ‘And you with an A-level in geography!’
I don’t rise to the bait. A-levels were a long time ago and I don’t remember much about lists of capital cities ever being on the syllabus.
‘Oh, well, I’d best be off,’ Anthony says, giving up on the crossword and hauling himself to his feet. ‘Maybe you can finish it later, Joyce. Things to do, places to go. You know how it is…’
They don’t kiss goodbye, which is a small mercy at least.
The kitchen falls silent in his wake. I drink my tea and watch her, but I can’t read the expression on her face. She doesn’t speak until she’s moved over to the sink and her back’s to me as she starts clipping the ends off the dahlia stems.
‘You do like Anthony, don’t you?’ she says.
‘I don’t really know him, Mum.’
‘He’s become a good friend. He knew your dad, and they had a lot in common. The allotment, the crossword…’
‘A good friend? Is that all?’ I know I have no right to ask, but she’s spent long enough delving into my love life, my choices, so it doesn’t feel too out of line to do the same to her.
She turns to face me. ‘Carly! What are you suggesting?’
‘Just that he’s here a lot, and that the two of you seem to be getting… what’s the word? Close, I suppose. Is there something going on here, Mum? Are you two a couple now?’
She comes back to the table, a single stem clutched in her hand, and sits back down.
‘Would it bother you if we were? Your dad’s been gone a while now, love, and I am entitled to a life.’
‘Of course you are. You’re still young.’
She laughs. ‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly. But I still have a few years left ahead of me, God willing, and it would be good to enjoy them. You know, to have someone around to have a laugh with, to go out with sometimes. It doesn’t have to mean he’s trying to replace your father. Nobody ever could. I hope you know that.’
She’s making me feel guilty now, for trying to trample on her chance of a bit of happiness.
‘It’s just that Anthony is so much younger than you, Mum. It unsettles me a bit. And Sam. Like I said, we know so little about him. Does he have his own house, for instance? Or a proper job?’
‘What you are asking is whether he’s some sort of gold digger, trying to take a gullible widow for everything she’s got! You’ll be asking about his prospects next, like some worried father protecting a daughter from a cad.’ She sighs. ‘Oh, Carly, you’ve got this so wrong. Anthony’s not interested in me in that way. He’s not about to move in or whisk me down the aisle, for my money or for my body! And I don’t see him that way either.’ She closes her eyes for a moment as if debating what to say next. ‘You do know your dad was the only man I ever went to bed with? And that wasn’t until we were married. Good job we turned out to be compatible and willing to learn as we went along, that’s all I can say about that. There was no try before you buy for us! If we’d hated it, we’d have been stuck with it, for life.’
Do I really want to hear about my own parents’ sex life? I shudder and try to put the thoughts of Dad without his pants on aside. At least they were happy.
‘No, I had a very strict upbringing, a very moral one,’ she goes on. ‘My parents had me late in life, and I think they found it hard coping with a child at all, let alone when I became a teenager. I was watched like a hawk as soon as puberty hit, believe me! No going off the rails or falling for some wrong ’un. They were sure every lad who came anywhere near me had evil intentions!’ A vision of the Bennets and the wayward and very determined Lydia comes into my head, although nothing they did was able to stop that particular teenager from running off with a cad, was it? Pride. Prejudice. Both have a lot to answer for.
‘Which is why I’ve always tried to be a bit more free and easy with you and Sam,’ she goes on. ‘Let you have your freedom, make your own mistakes, even if I might come across as a bit old-fashioned sometimes. Your granddad didn’t hold with all that free love stuff in the seventies, or unmarried girls going on the pill. He saw it as his job to protect me, and my honour, come what may. He’d have been after me with a shotgun, let alone any boy who dared to try it on. I’d have probably worn a chastity belt if they’d known where to buy one! So, I’m not about to start dropping my drawers for just anybody now, am I?’