Learning to Love Read online

  ‘Yes! With my hairbrush,’ Sophie pointed out loudly. ‘Give it back, retard! Mum, tell him!’

  ‘Give it back, Ryan,’ Andrea shouted. ‘Now. And stop teasing the dog!’ She paid lip service to her lipstick, twisted her own tangle of unruly hair up in a topknot, and tried to get her mind into teaching mode.

  ‘Yeah, give it back, derbrain,’ Sophie yelled, ‘or I’ll thump you.’

  ‘Ooh, save me. She’s gonna kick ass,’ Ryan drawled wittily.

  ‘You two have one second to retreat to your corners and get ready, or I’ll bang heads together,’ Andrea threatened.

  ‘Huh, wouldn’t make any difference to dumbum. He hasn’t got a brain,’ Sophie muttered, padding back to her bedroom to close the door with a resounding bang.

  ‘Kids, hey?’ Jonathan sighed. ‘Who’d have ’em?’

  ‘Um, us?’ Andrea suggested, nodding towards their bed. ‘The lump under the duvet is yours, I believe.’

  ‘For my sins.’ Jonathan glanced at the toddler-shaped lump, then his watch. ‘Er, I don’t suppose …’

  ‘… I could drop her off at the nursery on my way in? Don’t tell me, you’ve got an early appointment.’ Andrea tugged back the duvet to reveal a tangle of sausage arms and legs and a headless Igglepiggle.

  ‘Yes, sorry. Key client.’ Jonathan shrugged apologetically as Andrea heaved her bleary-eyed lastborn into her arms. ‘And sorry about … Well, not understanding. It’s just that I don’t know why you want to take something else on board when you’ve already got your hands full.’

  ‘Ten out of ten for observation, Jonathan. Come on, sweetie.’ Andrea kissed the top of Chloe’s soft downy head and breathed in pure fragrance of baby. ‘Let’s put your CBeebies DVD on while Mummy makes breakfast, shall we?’

  ‘Curl flies,’ Chloe mumbled sleepily into her shoulder.

  Andrea smiled. Ooh, how she loved this little body. She’d never imagined having another child. Now, though, she couldn’t imagine life without her. ‘We’re all out of curly fries, darling. How about big, fat Marmite soldiers, hmm?’

  ‘You’ve already got a full-time job. A proper nine-to-five job with a decent income.’ Jonathan followed Andrea to the landing. ‘Why do you want to faff about—’

  ‘Because I need to, Jonathan.’ Andrea scooped Sophie’s discarded leggings from the landing floor and headed for the stairs, hands fuller.

  Jonathan trailed down the stairs after her, hands free. ‘Why?’

  Andrea eyed him despairingly over her shoulder. ‘Fle-xi-bi-li-ty, Jonathan.’ She felt inclined to spell it out. ‘As for income, childcare is extortionate, as you very well know. And day care for Mum is almost non-existent. I don’t have any leeway at the moment and I need some.’

  ‘So being your own boss is going to allow you to be flexible?’ Jonathan laughed wryly behind her. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Andrea stepped over Ryan’s Reeboks and a backpack illegally parked on the hall floor. ‘Well, I do. Mum can stay with me during the day for a start, which will give her a sense of purpose, rather than patronising her by doing things for her because she’s a bit—’

  ‘—nuts,’ Jonathan finished bluntly.

  ‘Forgetful.’ Andrea scowled. ‘And Chloe can go to nursery part-time rather than full-time. It can work,’ she insisted as Jonathan continued to look sceptical. ‘I’m going to work at making it work … after I’ve sewed your buttons on and knitted you a new pair of socks, of course.’

  ‘Andrea, you’ve got three kids.’ Jonathan splayed his hands in despair.

  ‘Oh, Mu-um,’ Sophie whined from upstairs. ‘Gran’s locked herself in the bathroom again.’

  ‘Gosh, three? I wondered where all the little voices were coming from.’ Andrea puffed out a sigh and deposited Chloe guiltily on her playmat in the lounge, along with the entire soft toy cast of In the Night Garden.

  ‘Pants! She’s going to make me late, again.’ Sophie stomped back to her bedroom, making sure to slam the door behind her once again.

  ‘And a mother,’ Jonathan reminded Andrea of the cause of Sophie’s distress.

  ‘This, Jonathan, I am aware of, funnily enough. Do you think now you’ve done a body count and realised how full my hands are, you could help out a little, possibly?’

  Giving Jonathan a weary glance, Andrea marched on to the kitchen, where Ryan greeted her cheerily, ‘Morning, Mother dearest. And how are we this bright new day?’

  ‘Morning, Ry— Oh.’ Andrea eyed the chaos where once was a kitchen, skirted around a pair of Sophie’s platform shoes, narrowly missed the dog dish plonked mid-floor, and trod on the dog instead. ‘Hell! Sorry, Dougal.’ She winced as the little Yorkie emitted a startled yelp and then skidded for the safety of his basket.

  ‘Oh, that good, then?’ Ryan gave her an all-too-knowing look. ‘Come on, little guy.’ He plucked up the dog to nuzzle him cheek-to-cheek. ‘I’ll help you type a letter to the RSPCA. Nasty Mummy.’

  ‘He’s a Yorkshire Terrier, Ryan, not a child,’ Andrea reminded him as her macho seventeen-year-old son, who wouldn’t be seen dead kissing his mum, proceeded to snog the dog. ‘And stop kissing him, for goodness sake. You’ll catch something.’

  ‘I know he’s a Yorkshire Terrier, Mother. This is why he’s too short to reach the keyboard, aren’t you, Dougal? I take it you two are having a nice civilised conversation again, then?’ Ryan observed drolly, casting an inscrutable glance at a retreating Jonathan as he did.

  ‘Ryan, get breakfast and get gone, please,’ Andrea answered her son evasively.

  ‘Definitely arguing,’ Ryan surmised, plopping the dog down, and heading across the kitchen in search of sustenance.

  ‘No, we are not. We’re talking.’ Andrea cuffed her son’s lopsided coiffure as he waited for the contents of the fridge to speak to him. ‘And before you make any smart remarks about my deficient domestic goddess gene—’

  ‘Toast.’ Ryan sighed. ‘Again.’

  ‘Correct. Top of the class. And put an extra slice on for Chloe, please.’

  ‘Aw, Mum, why me?’

  ‘Funny that,’ Andrea mused, wearing her best mystified expression, ‘I ask myself that every day – while I’m cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing …’

  ‘Because you’re a mother, Mother,’ Ryan supplied helpfully. ‘It’s in the job description.’

  ‘Such a wit. Don’t strain anything buttering the toast, will you? I’m off to sort Gran out.’ Andrea gave him a no-nonsense look as she groped in the cutlery drawer for the means to vacate the bathroom.

  ‘Scary.’ Ryan arched an eyebrow as Andrea walked purposely towards the stairs, carving knife in hand.

  Jonathan also looked rather alarmed as he emerged from the cloakroom to grab his car keys from the top of the hall cupboard. ‘Bit drastic, isn’t it?’ he commented, nodding at her lethal weapon.

  Andrea blinked, attempting amused, but probably looking demented. ‘Golly, another comedian. I’m so glad you all find living in a madhouse so hilarious. Don’t you strain anything either, will you, running for the getaway car?’

  ‘I’ll try not to.’ Jonathan smiled wanly. ‘Er, I’d better go.’ He slid desperate eyes towards the door.

  ‘Yes, you’d better had, before I do.’ Andrea trooped on up the stairs, bracing herself outside the bathroom, before tapping on the door. ‘Mum, could you undo the bolt, please?’

  ‘Bye,’ Jonathan called from the hall.

  ‘Mum!’ Andrea hammered. ‘Will you please open the door!’

  ‘Bye, darling. Have a nice day. See you at the restaurant at eight for our date night. Love you,’ Jonathan answered himself, and closed the front door quietly behind him.

  Lord, please give me strength. Andrea eyed the ceiling and then squatted to slide the knife between door and frame. ‘Mum, do you think you could turn the lock anticlockwise for me?’ she asked patiently.

  ‘Have,’ came the short reply from inside.

  ‘Well, try ag— No, Mum, anti … Thank you.�
�� Andrea addressed Dee’s odd slippered feet.

  ‘Fangled.’ Dee narrowed accusing eyes at the door. ‘Can’t be doing with newfangled things.’ She bustled past as Andrea crawled up the bath. ‘And you know I can’t see a thing without my glasses.’

  ‘Mum, your glasses are on your … ’ Head, Andrea would have said, had her mother’s bustle not turned to a miraculous near sprint. How was it, she wondered, that a woman with arthritic knees could skip so lithely downstairs when it suited?

  Andrea sighed tolerantly. Her mum would rather be in her own little riverside cottage, she knew, free to use her own bathroom and come and go as she pleased. If only her comings and goings hadn’t become forgetful meanderings, worryingly so with the water only yards from her front door. Poor Dee. She’d been devastated when it had been sold back to British Waterways for renovation. She so missed her independence. Andrea reined in her impatience and trudged down after her mother, to meet Ryan looking weak and willowy as he sloped from the kitchen.

  ‘I’ve made the toast,’ he informed her, his shoulders in droopy abused child mode. ‘I’m off to college now, before I’m too worn out to do any work.’ He paused to wipe a theatrical hand across his brow, then peered panicky into the hall mirror lest his uber-cool emo cut had a single hair out of place.

  Andrea cocked her head to one side as, hair crisis averted, Ryan turned relieved to the front door. ‘Ryan,’ she started cautiously, not wanting to damage his delicate teen ego, ‘you do realise you’re showing an awful lot of, um, bum?’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’ Ryan swaggered onwards, an abundance of underpants on show above his belt. ‘It’s called fashion sense.’

  No sense, more like. Rolling her eyes heavenwards, Andrea started back to the kitchen and then almost had a heart attack as Ryan poked his head back around the doorframe. ‘Um, talking of fashion sense, thought you should know Gran’s out front in her wellies and nightie.’

  Chapter Two

  Uh, oh, more problems. Andrea noted Jonathan was still there, poking about in his engine as she shot down the drive, Chloe and Igglepiggle in her arms. ‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said as she passed him.

  ‘I haven’t. She has,’ Jonathan mumbled, from under the bonnet.

  Andrea stopped. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Jonathan surfaced and gave her the briefest of smiles. ‘No good trying to make a fast getaway if the getaway car’s given up the ghost, is there? This isn’t working, Andrea,’ he dropped the bonnet and turned to face her, ‘is it?’

  ‘So get it fixed,’ Andrea suggested, puzzled as to what she was supposed to do about it, short of a motor mechanics course – at midnight, by candlelight. What on earth was wrong with the car anyway? It was barely past its warranty.

  ‘I wish I could.’ Jonathan nodded past Andrea, with a sigh. ‘She’s over the road, scaring the new neighbour.’

  ‘Oh.’ Andrea glanced anxiously over her shoulder to see the man who’d got in a tangle with his curtains emerging from his house. Obviously he was wondering what a slightly dotty old lady in wellies and nightie would be doing wafting about on his drive. ‘I’d better go and get her before she damages neighbourhood relations.’

  ‘Andrea, it’s not working.’ Jonathan caught her arm as she turned. ‘We have to make alternative arrangements.’

  Andrea narrowed her eyes as she realised the look in his eyes was telling her he was talking about something more serious than a dodgy carburettor. ‘What alternative arrangements?’ she asked warily, hoisting Chloe higher in her arms.

  Jonathan shrugged and looked towards Dee, who, were it not for the winceyette nightie, could be mistaken for a traffic warden, and was circling the new neighbour’s car with slit-eyed suspicion. ‘Andrea, I think we should—’

  ‘I have to get Mum, Jonathan. We’ll all freeze without our coats on,’ Andrea cut in. She had a sinking feeling she wouldn’t want to hear what Jonathan thought. ‘Back in a sec.’

  Turning away, Andrea dashed across the road before Dee did irrevocable damage.

  ‘Sorry,’ she apologised, her friendliest smile plastered in place as she skidded up the drive opposite, where her new neighbour was looking anything but neighbourly. ‘She gets a bit—’

  ‘What?’ The man – up close he was tall, dark, and seemingly humourless – glanced at her askance. His eyes were blue, Andrea noticed, ice cool and agitated.

  ‘My mum,’ Andrea started again. ‘She gets a bit confused.’

  ‘Right,’ he said shortly, and checked his watch.

  How rude. Andrea bristled inwardly as he looked inscrutably back at her. ‘I apologise if she bothered you.’ She forced a smile and tried to hang on to her miniature Houdini, who had dropped Igglepiggle and was so determined to get back to Jonathan, she almost wriggled out of her jim-jams.

  ‘In a minute, baby,’ Andrea promised, bending to scoop the decapitated toy from the ground, in the absence of any forthcoming assistance from her neighbour.

  ‘I thought I’d better come over and explain in case you thought she was about to steal your personalised number plate.’ Igglepiggle retrieved, Andrea glanced in the direction of his shiny BMW soft top.

  ‘I see,’ he said, parting with a whole two more precious words.

  He obviously did have a basic grasp of English, then. Pity he hadn’t got a grasp of rudimentary good manners. Unimpressed, Andrea looked him over surreptitiously. His tie was askew, she noticed, and he was unshaven. Designer stubble? Or was he just a worried man in a hurry, which might explain his attitude problem. She noted the greying hair at the temples, which was definitely an asset on this man, who was good-looking if one liked the moody, silent sort.

  ‘Sorry, I’m waffling and we haven’t even met properly. Andrea,’ forging on, she introduced herself, determined to be civil even if he wasn’t. ‘Andrea Kelly. This is my mother, Deirdre. As I said, she gets a bit—’

  ‘Your licence is out of date,’ Dee said on introduction, having finally acquainted glasses with nose. She slid accusatory eyes from his windscreen, where his presumably out of date tax disc was displayed, to look him up and down. ‘And your shoes need cleaning.’

  ‘Um,’ Andrea tried to keep her face straight, ‘sorry. She gets a bit muddled sometimes. She really doesn’t mean—’

  ‘Obviously,’ he said, cutting her short. With which, he gave her a curt nod and turned away.

  Ooh! How utterly … Andrea’s fuse fizzled as he walked to his front door without even a backwards glance. Disbelieving of his arrogance, she was about to turn away when a young boy stepped out of the house, still in his pyjamas.

  ‘Jake.’ The man stopped in his tracks. ‘Get back inside!’ the man, who was clearly the boy’s father, said.

  The boy just looked at him. His expression was insolent, Andrea noted, but he was clearly upset.

  ‘Jake!’

  The boy glanced at Andrea, whose heart twisted inside her as she noted his red-rimmed eyes.

  ‘Now, Jake!’ his father shouted, his face turning white with palpable fury. ‘Last warning!’

  Dropping his gaze, the boy turned reluctantly back inside.

  ‘Get your uniform on, get breakfast and make sure you’re ready to go, Jake. Or else …’

  Or else what? Andrea wondered, her tummy tightening inside her, as he closed the front door. She had no idea what was going on here, but whatever it was, this man seemed dangerously close to losing it. Concerned, she looked towards the house. It could have been Ryan at the same age, impotently trying to stand up to his bullying father. Andrea had been here, watching a similarly heart-breaking scene, before she’d finally asked her children’s father to leave. He’d struck out, once too often. Would this man? Had he already? Is that what the charged atmosphere was all about?

  ‘UFO,’ Dee imparted out of nowhere as Andrea turned, troubled, back to her house. ‘Unattached Fit Object,’ she clarified, seemingly oblivious to the scene they’d just witnessed. ‘You shouldn’t play too hard to get, darling. You’
re not getting any younger.’

  Andrea glanced back. ‘He’s an arrogant bully, if you ask me,’ she said, wishing she’d said something. At least asked the boy if he was all right. ‘I have no idea what any woman would see in him.’

  ‘Makes two of us,’ Jonathan said moodily as Andrea trooped back towards the house, Dee in tow.

  ‘Two of us what?’ Andrea eyed him curiously.

  ‘Unattached men.’ Jonathan shot Dee a less than amused glance.

  ‘And if she has any sense, you’ll stay that way.’ Dee gave him a long disparaging look back. ‘My daughter might not be in her prime, but she’s not desperate, you know. Or daft.’

  Thanks, Mum. Andrea eyed the skies. ‘I am, actually,’ she said, nodding at Dee’s disappearing back, then offering Jonathan a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Me too.’ Jonathan didn’t smile back. ‘Andrea, about … what we were discussing …’

  Andrea felt immediately uneasy. ‘Which was?’

  ‘Alternative arrangements. For Dee, I mean. I was thinking some kind of care, may—’

  ‘Care?’ Andrea stared at him, incredulous. ‘She’s my mother, Jonathan. She’s cared for me all my life. Do you propose I just abandon her to spend the rest of her days in some godforsaken care home because she gets a bit confused?’

  ‘No, I …’ Jonathan stopped and sighed. ‘I care, Andrea. I’m your fiancé.’

  Unofficially, Andrea didn’t point out. He hadn’t actually put the ring on her finger yet. ‘Which doesn’t give you the right to lay down the law,’ she did feel inclined to point out.

  ‘Quite.’ Jonathan plunged his hands in his pockets and glanced at his shoes. ‘So, assuming our time together, or lack of, doesn’t matter in the great scheme of things, what about your kids, Andrea? Don’t you think they deserve a little more of your attention?’

  ‘I do know they’re my kids.’ Andrea tethered her temper and tried to placate Chloe, who was definitely getting fractious now. ‘One third of them is also yours, Jonathan. I’m sure Chloe would be delighted if you spent more—’