David Nobbs - The Second Life of Sally Mottram

‘It humiliates me.’

‘No, Mum. It shouldn’t. You shouldn’t have to. Anyway, enough of that. We’ll get by.’

There was silence for a couple of minutes. A bus roared by, then all was silence again. They stared into the non-existent fire.

‘What exactly is your position, Mum?’

‘Your father left me debts of roughly three hundred and fifty thousand, as far as we can ascertain, though it may change.’

‘God!’

‘The house is in joint ownership and is on the market for four hundred and fifty thousand, but we won’t get it.’

‘No? It’s a nice house.’

‘It’s a nice house in Potherthwaite. I reckon that, by the time all fees are paid, I will be lucky to have fifty thousand.’

‘What’ll you do?’

‘Don’t know. Get by. I think … I actually think … something I didn’t realize … deep down your mother’s a pretty tough old bird.’

‘I’ll say.’

Sally reflected that the nearest Sam could get to a compliment was ‘I’ll say’, and to say was exactly what he couldn’t do.

She finished her drink and stood up.

‘I’m glad I got that off my chest,’ he said.

‘Good. Sleep well.’

‘I will. You too.’

‘I will.’

Neither of them would. Sally didn’t know what would keep Sam awake. He might have got that subject off his chest, but she could see that he was far from fully relieved.

There was something else, something that was worrying him even more than money.

Worrying about what it was would keep her awake.

She only found out what Sam’s great worry was on the last evening, after Beth had gone to bed.

The days had passed pleasantly enough. They had made trips to Covent Garden, and St Albans, and the Great Bed of Ware, which had led Sally back to Potherthwaite yet again. How perfect it would have been for Ellie.

The evening meals had raised no problems. Sally had eaten sparingly during the day, so that she’d be hungry enough to manage, and even enjoy, Beth’s cautious cooking.

It had been after Beth had gone to bed that things had got more difficult, as mother and son had sat in their dark green chairs, in front of the blank television, trying not very successfully to sip their wine more slowly as the evenings passed. Sally could see that there was still some subject that Sam was desperately wanting to broach. But he wasn’t a broacher, and he had a haunted look, and she was haunted by his haunted look.

On the second evening, Sally had tested the ground over the question of where she intended to live. Was that the issue?

‘It was good, despite the circumstances, having all that time with Alice,’ she had said. ‘We got pretty close. It’s a shame she lives so far away.’

This had prompted Sam to test the ground himself.

‘Would you ever consider going to live in New Zealand?’

‘I don’t know if Alice would welcome that. She certainly didn’t mention it. No, I don’t think I’d want to go that far.’

‘But would you consider coming back south?’

‘I don’t know. I might. They always say you shouldn’t rush anything.’

‘No. Well, there’s no rush, is there?’

‘Would you be happy if I came to live near you?’

‘I think it would be great. And you could be very useful. You could babysit.’

‘Oh, so you’re planning to have children.’

‘I presume so.’

‘You presume you’re planning. Surely you either are planning or you aren’t?’

‘I presume we’ll have babies. We haven’t planned anything. You’re jumping the gun a bit, aren’t you, Mum? We aren’t even married or engaged or anything.’

There had been quite a long silence then. Sally had realized that where she might live wasn’t Sam’s great worry, but it still was a bit of a concern. When he next spoke it was warily.

‘The only thing is, Mum … you know, about you coming to live near us … we aren’t settled here, neither of us likes our job very much, we might move.’

‘Well, I realize that. Sam, don’t worry, I’m not coming to live near you. I might go and live near Judith, that’s different.’

‘Why is it different?’

‘You’re still discovering your way of life. You don’t want your mother poking in. I’d be tempted to give advice all the time, and you’d come to hate me. My sister has her way of life. No advice. No hate.’

That second night she had slept better, but still not deeply. In the morning she had heard Sam and Beth talking earnestly, even urgently, in those ominous low voices.

On the third evening, over the wine, she had done a bit more broaching, while Beth washed up.

‘Don’t think I’m interfering, Sam …’

‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

‘No, no, it’s nothing, it’s just … are you and Beth … you know …?’

‘No, I don’t know, Mum.’

‘Is everything … you know … all right … between you? You know … in bed?’

‘Mum!’

‘I know. But … you know … well, no, you don’t know, but … your father and I … in later years … it just stopped. You’re young, and I shouldn’t be saying this, but in this flat … it’s so compact, the walls are so thin you hear everything.’

‘What on earth can you possibly have heard, Mum?’

‘Nothing. Nothing at all. That’s what worried me.’

‘Mum. You’re right about the walls. The soundproofing is disgraceful. We’ve complained, but what can you do? We’re helpless. But with these walls, Mum, and you right next to us, we wouldn’t dream of making love while you’re here. You’d hear every creak … every groan … every moan. Beth wouldn’t even contemplate it. Basically she’s quite shy about … those things. Her dad was a vicar.’

‘But … um … no.’

‘What?’

‘No.’

‘What do you mean, “no”? No what?’

‘Well … no.’

‘Oh, Mum. Now you’ve got me wondering what on earth you were going to say.’

‘Well, all right. I suppose it’s not that important, anyway. It’s just … well. Beth goes to bed early and you said she’s always asleep when you go to bed and I couldn’t help wondering … you know … when you … you know … make love.’

‘Right. Well basically, Mum, the timetable is as follows. We don’t make love at night because our bedtimes are so different. We make love when we get home from work. On Mondays and Thursdays.’

Sally felt uneasy at what she took to be her son’s mockery.

‘I’m at night school on Tuesdays, and Beth is at night school on Wednesdays. It’s a pity they’re on different nights …’

Then she felt, if anything, even more uneasy. She realized that he wasn’t mocking at all. He was deadly serious.

‘… but it’s the subjects. And on Fridays we meet some friends in a pub and go for – I know it’s extravagant in view of the debt hanging over us, but you’ve got to live – a curry. Occasionally we just feel like it and might pop into bed at the weekend.’

‘Oh, good. I’m glad there’s some spontaneity.’

‘Mum!’

‘Sorry.’

‘Young people lead busy, stressful lives. We live with the knowledge that if we lose our job there are probably more than a thousand people waiting to take it. Those carefree youthful days, Mum, they’re a thing of the past.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘We’re all right. So stop worrying.’

‘I will. I will. Sorry. I won’t drink so much tomorrow.’

‘Good.’

‘May as well finish the bottle now, though.’

It’s amazing how quickly a little routine can set itself up, particularly when you know that you can afford to indulge the routine, because it will cease. Even in hospital, you can start to enjoy the routine, if you know that you’re going to be discharged fairly soon. Sally had actually found that, despite the tension, she was looking forward to that last evening’s chat with her son in the dark green armchairs with the wine bottle on a little severely distressed table between them. They might never have these little chats again.