'When are you seeing me?'
'I have told you, haven't I?' I shake my head. 'Got a wedding here in a few weeks' time. Thought we might come up and stay a few nights before. Is that OK?'
'Fine. So whose retirement lunch was this today?'
'Alex's, darling. Alex Scott. You know, has that dreadful daughter. She's a Buddhist or something, dresses in a sari. Always chanting. Anyway, your father and I were early, so we thought we would stop by Weston-super-Mare and have a walk on the beach. We both take off our shoes and then your father goes and steps on some rock and gets it wedged in his heel. Very silly. But he said he was fine so we went to the lunch anyway. But the meal was perfectly ghastly and then they wanted me to sing some of my old numbers, so I stamped on your father's foot and had the perfect excuse to whisk him off to Casualty.'
See? What did I tell you about this Casualty thing? Really, we all seem to spend most of our waking hours there. And such is the nature of my parents' relationship that my father doesn't seem at all upset she has stamped on his foot and she doesn't seem at all repentant.
'Your father made the most dreadful fuss down at the hospital. Thank goodness it's not our local because I don't know if we can ever be seen in there again.'
'You didn't see a Dr Kirkpatrick, did you?' It is my turn to look worried. I mean, I think it may be a bit soon to start meeting the parents.
'No, no. That wasn't his name, it was something quite ordinary. Can't remember. Anyway, the doctor said he was going to dig the stones out of your father's foot and that your father had to have a local anaesthetic which would feel just like a bee sting.' They both start grinning wickedly at this point. 'He put the needle in and Dad started writhing around, shouting, "What sort of monster bloody bees sting you?'"
We all laugh. My father, normally very well-tempered and a perfect foil for my mother's more dramatic tendencies, seems to enjoy his momentary spot in the limelight.
'So, how are you, Holly?' he asks. 'How's the crime business?'
'Oh, fine. Quite a change from features anyway.'
'Who's this detective character you're supposed to be shadowing?'
'Detective Sergeant Sabine. Except I've called him Jack in the paper. After the cat. He's OK. Doesn't like me very much.'
'We've arranged with the newsagent up the road to have the paper posted down to us each day. So, come on, tell us all.'
I explain about the recent burglaries and then I go back and describe in full how I happened to get the job and all about Robin. I also tell them about James in more detail and how he seems to dislike me so much. They say they are sure he will like me more in time but I'm not convinced.
By now we are all nursing our second gin and tonics. I love spending time with my parents like this. They are really easy to be with. Great adult parents, if you see what I mean. All their eccentricities seemed so awful when I was a kid. You could absolutely guarantee that wherever they went some sort of drama would follow and I'm sure you understand that that is not the sort of attention you like when you're a child. I would drag my feet behind their considerable wake, painfully aware of the looks and glances I would be receiving. Parents' evenings, school plays, summer fêtes (which my mother usually opened due to her slight star status) were all the same. My mother, being an actress, would always 'make an entrance' and then design a momentous exit, almost to a round of applause. Heinous crimes indeed when you are ten, but now they amuse me.
'How are the play rehearsals going?' I ask her.
'We're opening at the National in a few months' time.' She frowns into her glass. 'Always been terribly unlucky for me there since Mildred, my dresser, sliced the top of her finger off with the sword from the finale.'
'Poor Mildred!'
She remarks breezily, 'There's no theatre without danger, darling.' I'm not sure Mildred would feel completely the same way.
While she is saying this, Morgan the Pekinese seems to have come to life. He clambers purposefully off the sofa with the air of someone who knows exactly where he's going. My mother never travels anywhere without this little dog. Morgan now seems to be trying to form a deep and meaningful relationship with a chair leg. It's my turn to frown. I ask, 'That dog isn't going to pee anywhere, is it?'
'Morgan is very sweet, if at times a little windy, but he never, ever pees in other people's houses.' Hmm. 'So, have you seen anything of that dreadful Teresa?' she continues.
It is quite strange – my mother seems to have taken a complete dislike to Teresa over recent years, bordering on obsessive hatred. She was always quite indifferent to her when we were young. Probably caught her wearing pink or some other such grisly crime that my irrational mother seems to think is a lynching offence. I shrug and say, 'Now and again.'
'Still religious? Ten Hail Marys for leaving the house without an umbrella?'
'Something like that.'
'How is Lizzie? She still seeing that boyfriend? What's his name?'
'Alastair. Only just. It looks as though it might finish soon. She doesn't really get to see him very much as he's working all the time.'
'Talking of boyfriends, when are we going to meet the mysterious Ben?'
Oh shit. I freeze as she says these words. I'd forgotten. He's coming over tonight and it is now, I look at my watch, bollocks, seven o'clock. This meeting may have arrived a little earlier than anticipated. Not that I am ashamed of my parents, don't get me wrong, it's just that I don't want Ben to feel I am forcing them on him. As though I am forcing him to make the next step in our relationship. I would definitely like him to meet my parents – five minutes before the wedding vows would be the best time. But it is a little unfair to surprise him with them now. I grit my teeth resolutely. They are going to have to go. I fly into action! There might still be time …
'You have to go!' I yelp.
Three pairs of puzzled eyes fix upon me.
'Ben's coming!'
'Well, isn't that a good thing, darling? We can meet him at last,' says my mother, smoothing down her dress.
'No, no. It's a bad thing. A very bad thing. I'll explain some other time, but right now, You. Have. To. Go.' I'm up on my feet and I've got my mother's bag over one arm and my father's crutches in my other hand. Then with my free hand I latch on like an octopus to my father's drink, which he is still trying to wrestle up to his mouth.
'Come on!' I am panting now with the sheer exertion of trying to evict three very unwilling bodies. 'UP! UP!' I despair with my father and seize Morgan instead, who looks most reproachfully at me. Slinging him under one armpit, I help my mother heave my father up out of the chair and the three of us struggle to the door. Just as we reach it the intercom sounds. Bugger. We're just going to have to brazen this out. 'BACK! BACK!' I yell, not caring now if my parents are finding my behaviour a little strange, not to mention contrary. I dump all three of them back on the sofa under a pile of crutches and handbags, run to the intercom and pick it up. I deep breathe into it for a few seconds until I finally manage to wheeze, 'Hello?'
'Holly? What on earth are you doing making dirty calls on your own intercom?' Ben's voice crackles down the line.
'I'm not, I've just, er, been, er … Anyway, do you want to come in?'
'Well, that would be nice.'
'Oh, yes. Right.' I press the front door release key and rush back into the sitting room.
'It's Ben. He's coming up. Act normal.' Even I baulk at this. 'Well, as much as possible anyway.'
I
have always based my relationship with Ben on a 'no commitment' scenario and I am absolutely positive it is the secret of my success because I have thus far succeeded where all of his past girlfriends have failed. It is the main reason I have been able to hang on to such a gorgeous specimen for so long. I always make sure I never appear too keen. I never ask when I am going to see him next or when he is going to call and I have found that being completely blasé about our relationship (although underneath I am a swirling sea of emotions) keeps him coming back. I know this unnatural state of affairs can't last for very long, but I was hoping it might last long enough for him to realise that I am absolutely, unequivocally, without a shadow of a doubt, the woman for him. Somehow, introducing my parents to him seems a major detour from this plan.
'Make sure you tell him you are here completely by accident,' I hiss, and with this veiled threat I run through to the bedroom, hastily plaster some lipstick on, pass a comb through my bedraggled hair, try to take a few deep breaths – I seem to be having to do a lot of this lately – and then run back to open the front door just in time to greet Ben. He pecks me on the cheek and steps into the hallway. He is dressed in his blazer and club tie which all the team wear after a game. I can't help it. I go weak at the knees for him.
'Ben! Hi! How are you?' My voice is squeaky high. Ben views me suspiciously. Maybe a little over the top? I tone down my puckishness with a quick droop of the shoulders and drop my voice an octave. 'How was the game?' I growl.
'We lost.'
'Good. I mean, er, oh no! Look, Ben, my parents just happened to be passing and they've dropped in.'
He stares intently at me. 'Your parents?'
'Yes, my parents. My folks. My kin.'
He pauses for a second and then seems to take it in his stride. 'Right,' he says blandly and marches through to the sitting room. I raise my eyebrows to myself. Maybe I
am
over-reacting.
My mother leaps up as he enters and, being my mother, gives him a resounding smacker on each cheek. 'Ben! How nice to meet you at last! We are sorry that it's such short notice but we did happen to be passing!' My father in the meantime has struggled to his feet and firmly shakes Ben's hand.
I gulp. I had forgotten, gazing at them anew as though through Ben's eyes, just how smart they look. It doesn't appear terribly accidental, does it? Why couldn't they have bloody well turned up wearing wellie boots or something? Do they have to look so 'meeting the prospective son-in-law'-esque? I fume silently. Just remember, I tell myself, they
did
turn up accidentally. Repeat after me, Holly, they
did
turn up …
'HOLLY!' yells my father in my ear. I leap about a foot into the air.
'What? What?'
'I think Ben would like a drink,' my father says in the voice he reserves for three-year-olds.
'Yes, yes. Right.' I scoop up the empty glasses, trying not to drop them as my poor nerves literally fray at the ends, and rush into the kitchen to do re-fills, muttering madly to myself. I clatter ice into the four glasses and eye the gin bottle. Calm, calm. Happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts. Think gardens. Think waterfalls. Think calm. I concentrate on splitting what was one unhappy piece of mouldy old lemon into four bits and try to listen intently to the conversation next door. My mother is busy asking about Ben's rugby game. Thank God. Re-fills complete, I march back into the sitting room and hand them out.
'Darling, I have suggested that we all pop out for a bite to eat before your father and I head home.' My mother smiles at me. I frown. I'm not sure two hours of my parents is going to safeguard any future with Ben, immediate or otherwise.
'Are you sure, Ben?' I say slowly. 'Don't you have to meet the rest of your team?'
'Not until about ten, Holly, and it's only seven-fifteen now.'
'Well, it's a Saturday night. I don't think we will get in anywhere.'
'Don't worry!' breezes my mother. 'I'll get us somewhere.'
True to her word, half an hour later we are all seated around the best table that Melbourne's has to offer, complete with three bottles of wine (it's a bring-your-own). My mother immediately lights up a fag.
'Are you still smoking, Mother? You ought to stop -they'll kill you, you know.'
'Either that or your father will, darling. I became so cranky last time I gave up that he nearly took to me with a machete. Frankly, I'd rather take my chances with .the cigarettes, thank you. Do you smoke, Ben?'
'No, Mrs Colshannon, I don't,' he replies, a little stiffly. He's acting public school-like. I think he must be on his best behaviour. The problem is that 'public school' really doesn't go down very well with my parents. They are very big on ordinary schools.
I can feel my shoulders tensing up. They are sitting somewhere in the region of my eyebrows at the moment, giving me a distinct 'Notre Dame' aura. The problem with anyone meeting my parents, or more specifically my mother, is that she tends to go into over-drive. She likes to test people to see if they can take her eccentric ways, and this is another reason why I have avoided staging a meeting between my parents and Ben. He just isn't ready for her. I am not concerned with what they think of him, I am simply petrified he'll think they are completely up the wall and then remember that I, as their daughter, have inherited their genes.
'So, Ben,' says my father, 'been watching the cricket?'
I never thought that I would say this, but thank the Lord for sport.
All in all it was a difficult evening. The conversation, although not stilted, was certainly not the most scintillating I have come across. But then I suppose all initial parent/ boyfriend evenings are likely to be testing. I definitely think Ben thought my parents were rather unconventional and my parents probably thought Ben was a little stiff. But that's because they haven't got to know each other yet. I remember when my brother's girlfriend came to visit for the first time and my mother served her custard tart and salad for lunch, my mother thinking the custard tart was a quiche. Well, that's what she told us anyway. And my father nearly killed the girlfriend's little dog by accidentally dropping a rather large ashtray on its head. And now the girlfriend is like another sister to me. So you see, a bad start doesn't necessarily mean a bad ending.
After we waved my parents off down the M5, Ben went to meet his rugby pals for last orders and I went back to my flat. At about one in the morning his lithe, athletic body, smelling of smoke and beer, crept in beside me and I curled myself around him.