The remains of the dinner littered the table, together with two bottles of wine, one empty, one unopened. The dimmed lights in the living room softened the uncluttered lines of the small flat. Two candles cast shadows transforming the faces of the couple as they held hands across the table.
Julie Stanton, with her slanted green eyes, looked almost Oriental in a tangerine colored caftan. The effect was enhanced by the spiky black hair framing her face. Her expression was transparent, and the glow not just from the wine.
"This is such a special day, Richard. I think we ought to commemorate it."
She withdrew her hand from Richard's and extracted a pen from her bag; then she carefully executed a heart and arrow on the label of the unopened wine.
"Very artistic," Richard commented. "No wonder you were the star of our art class. Shall we open it now?"
Julie didn't answer. She was concentrating on adding the date to the label, 28th May 1989.
"If you're going to put it in the wine cellar and open it in twenty years' time, you should have chosen something better than this supermarket plonk," Richard commented.
"You don't understand. Tomorrow, I'm going to paint the bottle. I'm going to stand it in the center of the table on a silver tray, and when we look at the painting in twenty years time, we'll remember what an important date it was."
Richard laughed softly. "Well in that case, let's round off the evening..." He reached for the corkscrew.
Julie smiled at him. She was satiated by the meal, and foolishly happy at being with the man she loved. She embellished the heart with 'J loves R' in minuscule letters and put her hand on his.
"We'll have it after..." she said, the rest of her words lost, as she leant across the table to kiss him.
"Shameless hussy," Richard said, pulling her closer. "You've been listening to those delinquents you teach."
Julie laughed. She thought it was odd that sitting here with the man she adored, she was one person--a young woman, vulnerable at times--while to her class of seven year olds, she was 'Miss', very confident and at twenty-five, very old.
"My mother always told me not to get involved with school teachers. Mind you, that was when I was nine."
Julie frowned a little, and dropped her arms to her side.
"Your mother's not going to like me, Richard."
"What are you talking about?"
"Must we go to Exeter this week? I'm worried about meeting her."
"There's no need to be. You can control a horde of felons. My mother should be a piece of cake."
"It's not as if we're engaged. Why do we have to be so formal?"
Richard sighed. "You know I go down there every month. I don't want to keep leaving you behind."
"She wouldn't listen when you phoned and told her I was moving in here. And she didn't reply when you wrote and told her about me."
"There wasn't anything to say. I just told her I'd be bringing you down at the end of the week. She'll be fine when we get there."
"She's going to think I'm not good enough for you."
"You're being ridiculous. Why are you making a drama out of this?"
"Because you've been to a posh public school and university and all that, and I went to the local comprehensive and teachers' training college."
"You know none of that matters to me. I love you as you are."
"But your mother won't."
Richard took her hand again and squeezed it. "Look. Let me tell you something about my mother. She jumps to conclusions very quickly but, after a little while, she settles down. She's also a bit protective of her children."
"In what way, protective?"
"She was married rather a long time before Liz and I showed up. She was forty when I was born and Liz came along a year later. Obviously, she thought she wasn't going to have any kids. Then my father died suddenly. That made us more special, I suppose." He cleared his throat. "In fact, she hasn't really taken to any of my girl-friends."
"And what about your sister? Liz?"
"Liz had the same sort of problems, when she brought her boy-friends home. Particularly Gary. This is rather a shame, because he's the one that Liz ended up marrying. Mother created quite a fuss about that. She does get at poor old Gary quite a lot. But mostly he seems to be able to deal with it."
Julie was far from reassured. "But will I be able to?"
"Of course you will. Now I don't want you to worry about it. Let's enjoy the next few days."
Julie relaxed at the thought of the half-term holiday ahead. There would be plenty to do in the little flat, squeezing in her possessions. She would collect the rest of her things from her bed-sit during the week.
"Did you see what I brought with me?" she said. "Your painting."
"Oh, that. Why didn't you leave it in the flat with Sue and Sally?"
"Because it's our only shared possession. Perhaps we could hang it now? It'll be symbolic."
Richard's expression changed.
"You must be mad, Julie. I'm not going to do that tonight. It'll take me ages."
His lack of enthusiasm spurred her on.
"Don't be silly. Why, my brothers could put something like that up in five minutes." The dig was to punish him for his mother's misdemeanors.
His blue eyes flashed. He got up and found some tools. She was aware that he was ill at ease and clumsy with a hammer in his hand.
"Gently, Richard."
He glared at her. "Do you want to take over?"
We're going to row over nothing, Julie thought. This shouldn't have happened on our first night together.
She mollified him, "No of course not. Just be careful."
Steadying the nail with his fingers, he aimed a blow at the wall. The lights flickered and went out.
"What have you done now?"
"Goodness knows." replied Richard. "I must have hit a wire in the wall."
"Pull the nail out, then." It occurred to her that he might not know how. "Pull it out with the claw on the back of the hammer."
There was enough light in the room for that at least, but after this effort, Richard, it seemed, had had enough. "Well that's it. Let's go to bed and worry about it tomorrow?"
"Don't tease."
His voice became tender. "In bed with you, I shall have everything I need." Then he added, "And there'll be less likelihood of us tripping over something and killing ourselves."
Julie laughed, "Stop joking and deal with it."
"This is no joke. Put me in an office with the FT, and I'll make an illuminating comment. But when it comes to how things work, I haven't the foggiest. My plugs try to electrocute me; taps I've just washered leak all over me."
Well, this was quite a revelation, thought Julie. You imagined you knew someone well enough to move in with them, and then they surprised you. Well, disappointed you, to be precise. Everyone in Julie's family could get themselves out of trouble. They were practical people, the Stantons. Richard was quite unlike them. Was it going to work?
Richard was continuing, "If you want to play DIY games, go to B&Q on a Sunday. You'll find plenty of playmates."
He was getting tense, she could tell. What did his impracticality matter? She'd always known he was a bit of a dreamer. She loved his sense of humor, his looks, his sex appeal, and his occasional romantic gestures.
She kissed his ear.
"I'd rather stick with you, my love. But we can't leave this. Let me try to fix it. I've learned a lot from Frank and Barry."
"The more I hear of your accomplished brothers, the more I dread meeting them," interrupted Richard.
"In that case, you ought to understand how I feel about your mother." Julie said. Then relenting a little, she added, "But you've no need to worry." She placed a hand on his arm and tried to get her bearings in the semi-darkness. "Frank is an absolute sweetie. You'll get on fine with him." She squeezed his hand. "And as for Barry, he's the original MCP and I avoid him like the plague. Anyway, this isn't the time to discuss it. Let me demonstrate my talents."
"A great idea!" said Richard, still holding on to the hand, and succeeding in grabbing the rest of her. "Why don't you?"
The light scent of his after-shave was clean and refreshing. The touch of his hand affected her like no one else's.
She hesitated, but resisted the temptation.
"You see, with the nail out, I may only need to reset the fuse," she explained. But she knew it was more complex than that. She was being bloody-minded, all because she felt threatened by a woman she had never met. A woman who, in her mind, had taken on all the attributes of Maggie Thatcher.
She climbed the pair of rickety steps in the electrical cupboard, torch in hand, with her mind on what should have been the romantic end to the evening, which had now been delayed by her actions.
"How's it going?"
"The fuse box is a bit high up. What a pain it is to be vertically challenged. Ouch, I think I've caught my caftan on a nail. It'll never be the same again."
"You poor thing. I'll buy you a new caftan. But don't injure yourself. I can't get another you."
"I'll be careful," said Julie, smiling in the darkness at his words. She'd sort this out and everything would be fine.
A hollow banging sound penetrated the dark cupboard. "What was that noise? Is there someone at the door?"
"Not sure," replied Richard, feeling his way, "We're not expecting anyone."
He opened the door.
The street lights illuminated the face of a small woman in the entrance. Violet Webb stood before him, erect and dignified, looking taller than her five feet.
"Mother!" he said shocked. "What are you doing here?"
"Why are you in darkness?"
"We were trying to hang this picture. I must have grazed a wire. Julie's doing a repair job."
"Julie?"
He took her arm and escorted her through the dark hall.
"I think I've found the fuse!" came Julie's voice from the electrical cupboard. "Can you help me?"
"Just a second," Richard called. "That's Julie," he told his mother. "Remember I told you she was moving in."
Lights suddenly flashed on, but Julie's success was followed by a crash and a scream, and she descended from the electrical cupboard, pulling the steps down with her as she fell, landing directly in front of Richard and his mother. Her caftan was ripped down one side revealing a white flash of underwear and a great deal of leg.
The older woman looked down at her, and the blue eyes might have been carved from marble.
"I think your friend needs some help, Richard."
Julie struggled to reinstate her clothing. "I'm all right," she said, feeling a bruise forming at the side of her face. Her eyes were smarting, partly from pain and partly from humiliation at being stared at by that ice-blue gaze.
Her immediate impression was that Mrs. Webb was the archetypal English lady, with silver hair, and a youthful pink and white complexion, more like Barbara Cartland than Thatcher. But those wide eyes undoubtedly hid a steely character. Only the hands, gnarled and distorted by arthritis, and the stick that supported the frail legs, gave a clue to her advancing years.
Richard relinquished his mother, disentangled Julie from the steps and helped her to her feet.
"Oh Richard, I've left a bag with one or two things at your front door," Mrs. Webb interposed. "Go and get it for me, would you?" She limped towards the living room, where the offending painting sat on the floor beneath its proposed position.
"Go on. I'm all right," said Julie. She freed herself, followed the other woman into the living room, and she too sat herself down to recover. The painting, conspicuous in the small room, drew their attention. Violet turned to look at Julie, their eyes met and then Violet's returned to the picture.
Violet Webb didn't say a word, as she viewed the subject's legs, so recently observed in the flesh, the round pink curves topped by Julie's face, the lithe young body decorated with flowers and chiffon scarves, but otherwise, very little else.
Then she looked carefully at Julie again. "Are you sure that's suitable for the living room?" she asked, and from the way she said it, Julie felt as if she had been portrayed on a giant size page three in one of the popular tabloids. She marveled at the fact that in a single sentence Mrs. Webb had managed to encapsulate her disdain for the painting, her antipathy for her son's relationship with its model, and her total dislike of Julie herself.
Nevertheless, Julie protested, "Richard is really talented--he ought to be painting for a living instead of carrying out boring audits."
"Your faith is touching, my dear," said Violet. "But money is a great motivator. You must surely have been in that situation yourself, when you modeled for Richard's art class."
"I didn't model for the class," Julie replied, startled. "This was between me and Richard. But in any case, I really don't feel there should be any stigma attached to that. Someone has to model; otherwise ordinary people simply miss out on the opportunity to paint from life."
"How very avant garde of you, my dear. I must say at my age, one longs for the days when a little was left unrevealed."
"Really mother," Richard intervened, having returned for the tail end of the conversation, with a large hold-all. "If everyone was so narrow-minded, we would have missed out on goodness knows how many paintings and sculptures."
"Please don't start an argument, Richard. You know I can't stand it. Elizabeth is just the same. Losing her temper at any little thing. I can't put up with that. That's why I've had to leave Exeter. I'll be staying here for a while."
"It's impossible for you to stay here," said Richard, horrified. "Let me book a hotel room for you."
"That's very kind of you, dear. But with my angina, I'm very reluctant to be abandoned with strangers. And since you seem to have worked out some way of accommodating er Judy..."
Julie felt her temper rising, as Richard said, his face reddening, "Julie! That's hardly the same, mother."
"Oh really, dear. Why is that?"
"Well Julie and I are going..."
".. are living together," said Julie, seeing that Richard was going to spend all day thinking up delicate ways of phrasing their relationship.
"Yes, of course. I do admire your directness. You young people are so sensible and pragmatic nowadays. One hardly ever hears those old fashioned expressions like 'living in sin'," Violet Webb murmured.
Not receiving any response, she added, "One took it all so seriously in my day. So much better now, not to enter into any permanent commitments; to be able to end relationships, when they've served their purpose."
Her eyes rested on Julie for a second or so too long, and Julie, astute enough to recognize all those little glances and pointed comments, aimed like tiny poison darts, got out of the firing range.
"I'll make some coffee," she said.
"What a helpful girl," said Violet, her voice just that little louder, now that it had to reach into the kitchen. "And what a lovely figure she has--I can see why you find her attractive."
Julie returned with coffee, placing the cup on a small table at Violet's side. The older woman took one or two sips.
"Is it decaffeinated, my dear? I'm afraid that ordinary coffee makes my heart race."
Julie put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't think."
"Well never mind, you weren't to know. I won't finish it, if you don't mind. Richard, I'm exhausted. The train journey has quite sapped my energy. If it's inconvenient, I'll gladly borrow your studio couch tonight, and until I get myself organized. I'm sure it will only be for a week or two."
The little serene smile remained; the innocent eyes did not change expression, despite the perceptible stiffening of both the other occupants of the room.
"You can't possibly sleep on the couch, mother. You'll obviously have to sleep in my room," said Richard, dutifully, his brow furrowed. Julie waited for him to include her in the arrangements, but he said nothing more, obviously daunted by his mother's presence, and finally, Julie got up, fighting back tears.
"There's really only one solution, Richard. I'll go back to Sally and Sue and stay there. You can give me a ring when you've got it sorted."
Richard, looking impotent, could suggest no way to avert what Julie suggested.
"But what if no-one's up? I'll come with you and make sure you get in. Or perhaps it would be better if I slept on the floor here and you slept on the couch," he floundered.
"I won't be locked out. They're having a party. You know they always have people over at the weekend. In fact, it'll probably be fun. I'll take them that bottle of wine as a peace offering."
She saw the hurt expression on Richard's face as she mentioned the wine that was part of their special celebration. She had meant to wound him and she had succeeded.
"Anyway, you couldn't possibly come with me." she continued, formally polite, as if she were addressing a stranger. "You must sort out clean sheets and things for your mother! I'll give you a ring in a few days and see what you've arranged."
She had not even unpacked her small suitcase, and she picked it up now, collected the wine and headed for the front door, forcing her lips into a twisted smile. He followed her out.
"I'm going to get really drunk now," she said, kissing him lightly on the lips. The brief kiss, which threatened to last longer than either intended was arrested suddenly by a crash and a feeble shriek from Violet Webb.
"Oh dear, I've knocked the coffee over. Don't worry, I'll be all right."
Richard turned his head abruptly and released his hold on Julie, "Have you scalded yourself, mother?"
Julie's mouth tightened into a hard line of resignation.
"Go and make sure she's all right. I'll see you soon. Love you." But the last whispered comment wasn't heard by Richard as he ran to assist his mother, who had knocked coffee over her dress and the floor--perhaps in an effort to get up--or perhaps not. The coffee was barely warm now and Violet was certainly not scalded. But even as Richard noticed that, he heard the front door slam.
Julie drove the little Fiat confidently through the London streets. She passed by Sally and Sue's flat and saw the brightly lit rooms, but despite what she had said, she was in no state for a party. She could have climbed the stairs straight to her room and ignored everyone, for she still had a key. But she drove on past the flat, out of central London. Perhaps a little bit of family atmosphere was what she needed.
The sign said three miles to Wimbledon and she continued along, not really needing to think about the journey. She had been looking forward to the week ahead--possibly the life ahead, shared with Richard. But perhaps she didn't really know him after all. Perhaps he wasn't the man for her. It was better to find out now. Tears were pricking at her eyelids and she was glad she was going to be amongst people who would make a fuss of her. Her own parents were too far away, but her brother, Frank, and his wife Janet would look after her.
She drew up outside a large comfortable looking house and peered at her watch. It was just before midnight, but the hall light was on. She went up to the front door and rang the bell.
)
