An Unsuitable Mother. Sheelagh Kelly

our lads are out at the pub. Go on!’ And seeing Nell weaken, she dealt her a shove with one of her navvy’s hands into the living room.

      At once a time-traveller, Nell took delight in being plunged into bygone days, surrounded by aspidistras, Landseer prints and stuffed animals under glass domes. One exhibition of flowers and foliage, birds, field mice and squirrels was so gigantic it took up an entire corner. The furnishings were all very grand – there being much mahogany and inlay, mother-of-pearl, brocade and velvet, belonging formerly to a wealthier household – though, after fifty years with Ma, much dented, scuffed and torn – rather the same impression Nell had of the elderly man who rushed towards her now through another door.

      Battered maybe, yet there was a spry delight upon the dear old face that came intimately close to hers, imbuing her with the scent of linseed oil as Georgie reached up to cup her cheeks in hands that were gnarled, the fingernails split and stained from repairing musical instruments. ‘We feared you weren’t coming – ooh, what cold little chops!’ Dealing her cheeks an affectionate rub, he broke off in meek response to his wife’s stentorian demand.

      ‘Never mind “your tiny hand is frozen,” Casanova – where’s that tea I asked for?’ said Ma.

      ‘Sorry, dearie, the kettle’s on now!’ he hastened to say with an affectionate rub of her arm. ‘I was just getting rid of that pan of fish heads into the garden – I’ve been boiling up a little treat for our chucky hens,’ he added to the visitor, explaining the stench. ‘They’re not laying like they used to do. We’ve had barely half a dozen eggs this week. yet not so long ago there was a proper glut.’

      Ma lost patience. ‘You know what glut rhymes with? Foot! You’ll be getting mine up your khyber if you don’t fetch this lass her tea – by, he can’t half talk!’ she declared to their visitor as her husband rushed to obey.

      Nell bit her lip over this reversal of roles, as Georgie scuttled about getting teapot, cups and saucers. Never had she seen Mrs Precious lift one finger in the kitchen, or anywhere else come to that – but her husband seemed not to regard himself as henpecked, and obviously worshipped the ground she walked on. For all her bluster Ma loved him too, Nell guessed, from the way she encouraged his romantic serenades on the concertina. Hopefully there would be none tonight, though, for she was anxious to get away.

      Etched against a background of dark, elaborate wallpaper with crimson roses and acanthus leaves, and varnished woodwork, Ma swivelled to address her again. ‘Right, sit down!’ It was more order than invitation. ‘Then you can have what you really came for.’ And with a shrewd cast of her head she went to snatch a letter from the mantel.

      With every surface cluttered, Nell trod a careful path to a sofa, avoiding the black and tan rug complete with head and glassy eyes, which had been one of the Preciouses’ favourite dogs. In addition to this, there was a ginger Pomeranian, also stuffed, and a live, if decrepit, black terrier with bad teeth and foul breath, which hankered to be petted as Nell finally reached the velvet sofa that had seen so many rears that it was almost bald. Perched against these fantastic surroundings, giving the dog a cursory pat, a cat on her lap and its tail snaking back and forth under her nose until she brushed the animal gently aside, Nell accepted the cup of rather stewed tea donated by Georgie, and was about to take a biscuit from the extended plate when at that same moment Ma thrust a letter at her.

      ‘Not enough hands!’ laughed Nell. Thanking them both, and trying to juggle the cup of tea, she put it aside in order to take the letter, which was then shoved straight into her gas-mask container, this being the norm.

      But, ‘Aren’t you going to read it to us then, seeing as you’ve deigned to honour us by sitting down?’ On the other sofa now, Ma leaned forward expectantly, her chunky legs apart to display flesh-coloured bloomers, and a hand on each knee. ‘We never get to hear what he’s doing, do we, Georgie?’

      The old fellow gave a dejected smile, and shook his pink, bald head as he lowered his wiriness next to her bulk, the plate of biscuits on his lap.

      Other than keeping them informed of Bill’s wellbeing, Nell was loath to share his words with anyone else. ‘Well, I’d better drink this tea, it’s a crime to waste it – and I don’t want to be late for my friend!’

      ‘She’s having us on – wants to keep him to herself!’ Ma gave her husband a knowing wink to indicate she was joking, though Nell reddened all the same. ‘Oh, never mind, lass!’ she placated. ‘We know what it’s like to be in love, don’t we, sweetheart?’

      ‘We certainly do, dearie!’ The meek old Georgie leaned towards her in adoration – though Ma had not been addressing him but Milo the stinking old terrier, which she promptly swept to her bosom and proceeded to cuddle like a baby, and to feed with titbits from the plate.

      Ashamed at treating the old couple so shabbily when they obviously viewed Bill as one of their own, and were always so amenable to her, Nell gave a capitulating smile and ripped open the envelope.

      And then such unexpected joy. ‘He’s coming up at the weekend!’

      Whilst Ma and Georgie exclaimed in pleasure, exciting the dog who wriggled to be free, Nell almost collapsed from relief, her eyes filling with tears as she skimmed the rest.

      ‘Where’s he stopping?’ demanded Ma, large shovels of hands casting the terrier to the floor. ‘Write and tell him he must kip with us!’

      ‘He’ll surely come here of his own accord, dearie,’ Georgie stated to his wife, whilst Nell continued trying to read, completely unaware of her antiquated surroundings now, more intent on the word of today as she devoured the familiar script.

      ‘What else?’ pestered Ma.

      ‘Er, nothing much …’ This negated the big smile on Nell’s face, but she was not about to tell them of Bill’s desire to spend the whole weekend as they had last time. ‘He does mention coming to visit you, though.’ Loud satisfaction emerged from Ma. ‘They’re still being trained hard, but he sounds in good spirits.’ As was Nell. Bounding to her feet, she tucked the letter away and slung the gas-mask container over her shoulder. ‘Sorry, but I really will have to meet my friend – so long!’ And in this state of near euphoria, she left.

      She was still beaming from ear to ear when, less than three minutes later, she met up with her friend outside the nearby Regal cinema, waving her most recent letter. ‘Billy’s coming to visit this weekend!’

      ‘I wondered why you looked as bright as a button,’ remarked Beata with a smile. ‘Didn’t think it could be ’cause of me.’

      ‘Oh, I’m pleased to see you as well, Killie!’ Having come to regard the latter as a favourite aunt, Nell pressed Beata’s arm.

      Then, in a fit of exhilaration, her hand reached up to feel the hard little nugget beneath her clothes – the wedding ring on its neck chain which had never been removed since that last weekend with Bill. But she might need to transfer it to her finger if another trip away was on the cards! Perhaps, too, she could change his mind about marriage, get a special licence, so as to wear the ring for real.

      But there might be an obstacle to meeting him at all, and in this she enlisted her friend’s help. ‘The trouble is, my parents still don’t know about him, and I’m afraid they’ll prevent me going for some reason …’ She bit her lip. ‘I know it’s an enormous liberty, but would you mind if I use your company as an excuse to go out on Friday night, perhaps Saturday too?’

      Beata’s change of expression showed that she did mind. ‘Not if it involves having to lie.’

      ‘It needn’t.’ Nell tried gently to persuade her. ‘If you were to call at my house, as if we were going out together –’

      ‘Then you could ditch me before I cramp your style,’ finished Beata, tongue in cheek.

      ‘No! I’d never do that.’ Although it was obvious she was only using her friend, Nell suffered barely any guilt, for she would have employed whatever desperate means to be with Billy. ‘You