Page 38 of The Three of Us

‘Pint?’ I say, leaning on the edge of the bar, and he nods.

‘And a bag of crisps, if that’s okay? I’m starving.’

‘I’m not hungry yet, but you have some proper food if you want. Won’t Mum have cooked you something by the time you get home though?’

‘I wasn’t actually planning on going home. Well, not for a while anyway.’

Now I am intrigued. ‘Why?’

‘It’s that Anthony…’

‘Ah, yes, Anthony. I’ve been meaning to ask you about him.’

‘Oh, he’s a nice enough bloke, don’t get me wrong, but he’s just…’ He stops talking and shakes his head as if he can’t put whatever it is into words.

We grab our drinks and Sam’s bag of salt and vinegar crisps and sit down.

‘You were saying? He’s just what?’

‘Just… there, I suppose. You know, there at home. All the bloody time. I can hardly move without tripping over him! If he’s not having a cup of tea in the kitchen, he’s helping her with the weeding and then they’re having a takeaway or going out to some shop or garden centre together.’

‘I thought you liked him? That you had a lot in common, bonding over the parsnips and all that?’

‘I did. Well, I still do, I guess, but… that was when he was just some bloke I’d talk to at the allotments. And it was actually quite funny when I thought Mum was lining him up for you. He is so not your type!’

‘You don’t have to tell me that. And I’m quite capable of finding my own boyfriends without any help from Mum of all people.’

‘Well, that’s debatable, but we’ll leave that subject for another day, shall we?’

‘Bloody cheek!’

‘But what I want to know is what we should do about it? About Mum and Anthony. With an H. Mustn’t forget that bit.’

‘Do about it?’

‘Look, Carls, I don’t mind Mum moving on. Dad’s been gone a long time now and she’s not old, is she? Well, not that old. We should expect that she might want to meet someone one day and have another go at love, marriage, whatever…’

‘Marriage? You surely don’t think things are that serious between them?’ I take a huge gulp of my drink and have to swallow hard to stop myself from choking on it.

‘Who knows? They haven’t said anything to me, but he’s becoming a sort of fixture, you know? And it feels a bit odd, uncomfortable, him being there, doing all the things Dad used to do. Using Dad’s garden tools and his old wellies, sitting in his chair in the kitchen, helping himself to things from the shed. He even borrowed Dad’s old umbrella when he went home one night last week and it had started to rain. At least he went home, which is better than him staying the night, which thankfully hasn’t happened. Yet. I don’t think Mum’s quite ready for that, but it could only be a matter of time, couldn’t it? Can’t you just imagine him lying there, on Dad’s side of the bed, slipping into Dad’s dressing gown to come down for his breakfast?’

It’s an image I really don’t want popping into my head. It makes me wish Mum had been a bit more thorough and got rid of more of Dad’s things. Still, the longer she holds on to them, the more likely it is that she’s not ready to replace him. That’s my theory anyway.

‘He’s too young for her. She wouldn’t…’

‘She might, Carls. Unless we stop her.’

‘And how exactly are we meant to do that? I’m always telling her I’m a grown woman and I can make my own decisions, especially when it comes to who I go out with, so I can hardly deny her the same, can I?’

‘Well, do you want a toy boy as a stepfather?’

I can’t help laughing at that. ‘He’s a bit old to be a toy boy, Sam.’

‘She’s sixty, Carls, and he’s in his forties. Think about it.’

I do think about it, and I don’t like it.

‘Do you think he makes her happy?’

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