Page 32 of Close to You
‘He’s quite the catch,’ Mum says.
‘David?’
‘Who else? Better than the other boys you’ve brought home.’
‘Hardly “boys”…’
‘Where’d you find him? Not on that Tinder thing, was it?’
I start to reply and then realise what she’s said. ‘How do you know about Tinder?’ I ask.
‘I’m not as out of touch as you think, young lady.’
Before I can reply, David reappears in the doorway. It’s like he’s a natural at meeting parents because he apparently knows exactly how to push Mum’s buttons. I suppose that’s a surprise in the sense that his own parents have died. It’s not long before he’s set her off and she’s telling stories about being a teenager in the sixties.
One of her prized stories, the one I’ve heard probably more than any other, is the time she saw John Lennon. That’s it. Shesawhim. She never watched the Beatles in concert and she never actuallymethim; she spied Lennon from across the road. But the way she tells it, she was the fifth Beatle.
‘I always wished I’d got his autograph,’ she says. ‘He seemed like such a nice young man. I should have crossed the road and said hello.’ She tails off and then adds a new bit: ‘Course, it’s all selfies nowadays.’
David laughs and plays along. ‘If you’d done that, Yoko wouldn’t have got a look-in!’
‘Oh, you…’
It’s as if Mum is flirting as she giggles and bats a hand towards him. I’m almost embarrassed, but then days like this are better than the ones where she shrieks that I’m trying to rob her.
After David brings in the teas, Mum continues to talk him through her teenage memories. In her telling, the culture we know today is a direct consequence of her tastes from the time. David must know it’s nonsense, but he nods along like a dutiful boyfriend trying to impress a girlfriend’s mother.
Mum talks her way through almost forty-five minutes, which is probably the most coherent I’ve seen her in years. It’s only when David’s phone rings that the flow is interrupted. He checks the screen and holds it up.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘I really have to take this. It’s business. I won’t be long.’
Mum tells him not to worry and then David disappears out the front door. With him gone, Mum twists in her seat to ensure he’s out of earshot. She bites her lip for a moment but I know what’s coming.
‘You’re not going to blow this, are you?’ she asks.
‘What makes you think I will?’
‘I’m just saying. Men like David don’t come along very often. Once I found your father, I made sure I kept him.’
I turn away from her, watching David’s shadow as he strides back and forth outside the window. It was time for him to meet her, I suppose, given that we’re living together. I think the speed of it all is starting to catch up with me. We only met three months ago – and here we are.
‘You don’t know him, Mum,’ I say.
‘You’re the one who moved in with him after a month.’
‘It wasn’t a month.’
‘Close enough.’
She has a point, and yet she doesn’t. Sometimes people get swept up into things and it overtakes everything else because it feels right. With David’s landlord selling up, it seemed like a natural thing that, if he had to find somewhere new to live, it might as well be with me. It’s worked for both of us. I think I needed his encouragement – and it can’t be a coincidence that things are finally beginning to happen with my career since he came into my life.
That doesn’t mean I believe I’ve made a mistake by moving in with David, simply that things were different when Mum was young.
I don’t reply, so, after a moment, she continues: ‘Anyway, I’m just saying—’
‘I know what you’re saying, Mum. Can we not talk about it, please?’
Mum straightens in her seat, annoyed. I wonder if she’ll remember this conversation tomorrow. She’s only seventy, but Dad’s death took more from her than she’ll ever admit. This is her own bungalow but there’s someone who checks on her every day and makes sure she’s eating. It’s not full-on home help and it’s not residential care – but it is a half-step.
