Not just another Summer - 47. Me time & Matt’s Mother visits

Friday morning, of course, I woke up feeling like shit as if the proverbial train had run over me. However, on reflection I was pleased at the way the talk had gone. Still, it was going to be a quiet day. I had emails from both Malcolm and Peter (on his official email address) thanking me and relaying some of the nice comments that they had received from audience members. Part of me wondered whether they were suppressing the shit comments, but I realised that Peter would at least be frank, even if not completely candid.

Matt had a slightly mad day planned. He had no early commitments but after his lectures he was off to the Reserve and then spending the evening starting work in his course project, which involved the Reserve as well. He had tried to explain the project. It was all to do with environmental monitoring and bird habits, that much I did know but for the rest it seemed Greek to me. I was going to have to make more of an effort, read about the subjects that interested him, put my brain to work on something that wasn’t EngLit for once. It would be good for me and would mean I could talk coherently to Matt without him having to explain as if to an eight-year-old.

The advantage of his timetable was that it meant we could do breakfast, at my place and not just a quick sandwich. Well, there would be sandwiches but lots else besides.

He arrived full of his plans for the day, and over breakfast our talk veered between a recap of the previous evening and Matt looking forward to getting started on his course project. He even had some reading for me! It wasn’t deliberate, he mentioned in passing that the Reserve’s website had lots of information about their environmental monitoring programme. So of course, I knew I would at some point disappear down that rabbit hole.

But there were other things to do, and once our inner men were sated, we had much more fun with the outer men. Matt was tense at first, I think the idea of sex in the morning was still a bit new for him, but he relaxed and ended up nearly being late for work. Surely a good sign.

I spent the rest of my day working, writing a review and an article both of which were well away from my own poetry. Aimée sent over a couple of lists of questions, but they were all on point and I did my best to answer.

For the evening, Vince and Peter were at the Centre; this was an event involving their key users rather than supporters so it wasn’t something I would go along to. They held regular surgeries and Vince, as an experiment, was taking Jacob as well so there would be plenty of legal expertise.

Freddie was out at a party at a friend’s house. He had a curfew, and I had heard the tail end of him and Vince arguing about it. Vince would probably have said discussing, but it was a very lively discussion, shall we say.

All this meant that I was in on my own. I phoned for a take-away and had some lovely me time. It was much needed. So much had been happening recently, in so many different areas that it was lovely to simply chill, listen to music, and do a bit of relaxing reading. I even tried to meditate and ended the evening with a silly exchange with Matt.

---

For their visit on Saturday, Vince had offered to go and fetch Matt and Sandra and then run them home, to save them getting a cab. Matt had joked about them coming on his moped and evidently his Mum had promptly reminisced about the trips she and his Dad used to make by motorbike. It was difficult to imagine the present Sandra on a motorbike, and she had admitted to Matt that much as the idea appealed, putting her on the moped probably wasn’t possible. But then with her bright smocks and alarmingly coloured hair, it was clear that she saw herself as still something of a goer.

Peter had to be at the Centre that morning, so there had been no leisurely breakfast, and he would only be back in time for lunch. Which meant that the cooking was on me. Sigh.

I did one of Bas’ fool-proof casseroles with baked potatoes; nothing too taxing. Vince provided cheese for afters. Given Sandra’s propensity for baking, there was no way that I was risking comparisons by making something for dessert.

“The last time I was here, this one was around eleven or twelve.”

I heard Sandra’s voice before I saw her. When she entered the hall, she was in full reminiscence flow to Vince, whose arm she was using, whilst Matt hovered in the background.

“Gray said that you did waitressing.”

“Yeah, were a good way of getting a bit of extra cash when I could fit things in. Mainly met your Dad at fancy events for the Rotary and that. I was only in this place a couple of times.”

“Was there a piano here, then?” I was curious about the timing of her visits.

Sandra looked around the room, having come to a halt at the entrance from the lobby. “Come to think of it, no.” She gave me a broad smile. “Matt said you’d got a new piano. Very handsome.”

“It was a present from Vince.”

She smiled him and patted his arm (!) “Handsome.”

Matt had disappeared, reappearing with one of the dining chairs, Sandra sat down with an exaggerated “Oof”.

“Hope that’s OK. I figured the settees would be too low for Mum.”

Sandra cackled. “You’d need a winch to get me up again.”

I flopped onto a sofa. Everything was in the oven, and I felt knackered. The concentration required to bring the meal to fruition meant that energy expended was in no way commensurate with what was achieved. Matt looked over at me and smiled, and I heard his voice in my head - You ought to do it more, then. Good practice.

“You know, this room hasn’t changed that much. Mind, when I first came it seemed huge, the doors all open and that.” Sandra looked around, appraisingly. “You’ve not done much to it, since the old bugger died.”

“Mum!”

Sandra gave a sorry, not sorry sort of smile. “Only saying as I find.”

Vince chuckled. “Given that living together wasn’t our first choice, we’ve been rather waiting.”

“Well, Vince wasn’t sure at first whether I’d stay, and now we need to work out what we’d like to do with the space.”

Vince harumphed. “Get rid of these bloody sofas, for a start.”

Before we could really get into our decorating failures, the door went and Peter appeared, apologetic at being late, having been held up at the Centre.

Vince was sorting drinks out, so Peter went over and kissed him then said hello to Matt and Sandra. Of course, Peter and Sandra knew each other. More than knew each other, I suspected - the way he said, “Hello Sandra” in a carefully deadpan way, and she answered with “Peter” and a brief smile, nothing like the effusiveness she normally displayed. There was no unpleasantness, and barely any tensions. Certainly nothing compared to my high anxiety at the idea of entertaining Matt’s mother. But I was intrigued. I wasn’t sure whether I was up to finding out more, however.

But doing the maths, Sandra was 15 to 20 years older than Peter, at a guess. She could have known him when he was a young tearaway. Matt had never given any hint he knew Peter, which sort of put a timescale on it. Whatever ‘it’ was, it was either very recent or long ago. Interesting.

Sandra wanted chapter and verse on who lived where in the house, and it was only Matt’s restraining hand that saved me from having to show her my rooms.

“Mum, it’s just a living room. Gray didn’t decorate it, half his things are still in boxes, and he’s been busy preparing lunch for us, so it’s probably untidy.”

Sandra’s response was amazement, as was mine. That was a long speech for Matt. In defence of me. She smiled and said fair enough. Vince explained about the first floor, the master bedroom being one side of the bridge across the hall, the rest the other side, with Jacob in the attic.

“Jacob?”

“Vince’s trainee, Mum. He was living in a couple of rented rooms in town.”

“And we had plenty of space up there.”

I laughed. “It’s more a second floor than conventional attic. Six rooms in all.”

“Good sized ones, yeah.”

“Does he have a kitchen?”

“Microwave and kettle, Mum.”

She tutted, young people.

Lunch was OK. People were polite and the food was clearly recognisable for what it was supposed to be - don’t knock it, I’ve had serious failures in the past. Matt even had seconds and professed himself very taken with it. We moved on to fruit and cheese, everyone seemed to unwind.

Sandra produced some reminiscences of Dad, putting him in a good light, and then sprinkled the narrative with some of her racier stories, none of which involved Dad, thankfully. It seemed that waitressing had certainly meant she saw life. Then we had a stroll around the garden whilst Peter made coffee. Was this him simply being helpful or a ruse to avoid Sandra? Or both.

All in all, everything went off satisfactorily. Unsurprisingly, Matt and I had a catch up much later, when we were both settled in our respective rooms.

>Mum enjoyed herself.

“Good.”

>And I did too.

“I’m glad it’s over though.”

>Why?

“I’m always a bag of nerves when entertaining.”

Matt laughed.

>Worried something will go wrong?

“It’s just having other people round. I’ve rarely done it, so when I do…”

>You’ve had me round plenty of times.

“But entertaining your mum’s a bit different.”

>Yeah. But she really did like seeing the place, getting to sit in the dining room.

Vince and I had had long discussions about that, but the logistics of eating from the coffee tables in the hall just seemed too complex what with the numbers and with Sandra being not all that mobile.

“Instead of being the one doing the serving.”

>Yeah. And meet Vince and that.

“Say, do Peter and your mum know each other?

>Well, their paths have crossed. But I think Mum used to know Peter’s mum and dad back in the day. Hasn’t he said?

“No. I might ask Vince. It’s not important.”

That, at least, solved part of the mystery. Sandra knew Peter from when he was a tearaway. Peter rarely mentioned that part of his life. He concentrated on his time after his spell in prison. Rebuilding his life. And I suspect, rebuilding his image of himself. Sandra held up a mirror to the old Peter; the one he would rather forget.