CHAPTER 8
I was losing control quickly. This was not me, this was not good. Too many things coming at me from too many directions. I made a mental note either to use less mascara, or clean myself more rigorously.

“You remembered. I didn’t”

“How could I ever forget Laura? That was the only time you ever stopped reading!”

Another moment of insight came, just then, that while I had always realised that others around me knew more about life than me, they also knew more about my own life than I did.

“Pete, I am not trying to be funny, but I remember very little of my childhood.. I just remember being sick a lot”

“Aye, you were always that. One day you would be demanding I kill some dragon or Indians, the next you would disappear off to hospital..”

He grinned, the little scars standing out around his smile.

“We used to have a lot of fun back then, even when you were doing the Sleeping Beauty or Snow White bit”

“Explain…”

“You’d get your Mum’s nighty, and say it was a ball gown, and I had to bow to you because you were a princess.”

He was looking uncomfortable at that point. I left the subject alone as Dave returned.

“One last favour, Dave, I have just asked Pete if he fancies a meal round mine tonight. You don’t mind dragging his wheels along again?”

“Course not. I think you should tell your mum first, though. Especially if she’s cooking. Women like a bit of warning”

Oh hell. I made a quick call.

“Mum? John. I seem to have invited Pete back for tea and forgotten to ask you first. Sorry….”

“What time will you be back? I feel decadent…would you be a dear and stop off at the chippy? You know what I like, a small haddock, tail end. Oh, and we are out of wine for some reason. And I took your skirt to the dry cleaners, it’ll be ready tomorrow. Shall I make up the spare room?”

How many questions does an invitation bring on its heels? I covered the phone and asked him.

“Stopping over? She will not be safe to drive, and I have no car”

He busied himself with an overnight bag, kit for the following day, and so on, while I asked Dave the all-important question.

“What wine goes with cod and chips?”

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Dave took us back past the supermarket, where Pete picked up three (THREE?) bottles of Frascati, and then to the chippy by the ferry terminal, where he secured his own peace offering, before dropping us off at my mother’s. Pete cuddled the wine and the food while I pushed him to the door.

We have a step.

My mother opened the door, and her eyes widened as she took in his condition.

“Oh, Peter, what have they done to you?”

So many assumptions were suddenly falling apart. Steps to the front door, an upstairs bedroom…what else had I overlooked? Idiot. We got him up into the house by my pulling the chair backwards while my mother lifted it from the front, and then it wouldn’t fit through the door. We left the chair in the porch and I took Pete’s arm across my shoulders as he hopped and lurched into the living room.

Thank God we have a downstairs toilet.

Mother fussed around, just as I had expected, and pointed out that she actually had a bed settee in the conservatory, if Pete didn’t mind the lack of curtains. I was despatched to collect the bedding while mother did the mother-chips thing.

They should be eaten out of paper, on your lap, not at a dining table off china. Mothers never see that particular pattern, because they are following their own, especially with guests present.

She produced cheese and biscuits to follow, and we were already onto the second bottle, when she threw yet another oddity into my already turbulent world.

“Laura is back as well, Peter, thought you would want to know”

He blushed. It seemed he was happy, to a point, to tease me about it in private, but something held him back in company. My mother, however, was going for gold in some internal competition to be as peculiar as possible.

“John, you can pick your skirt up tomorrow, they say the stains came right out.”

I spent a while pounding Pete’s back as wine went everywhere but down his throat, and then got some kitchen roll to clean it up. Fortunately, Frascati is about as white as a wine can get, and stains were not a worry.

Apart from my mother’s attempts to channel the spirit of Viv Stanshall, it was the sort of evening I had hoped for. There was a proper order to events; She asked, Pete described, I commented, he was made welcome. My mother in particular was solicitous almost beyond belief, and I half expected her to complete the script and invite him to stay permanently. Pete was very clear on that point; until he had been fitted with a leg, and more importantly come to terms with it, he would need properly adapted accommodation.

That was his phrase, “come to terms”, not “learn to use”. I struggled for a while to understand the subtext there, but he was actually being quite straightforward. Every time he strapped on a prosthesis, he would be reminded directly of his loss. I was struggling with that concept. I could not see how any one could suffer so terribly and remain sane, and I mentioned that when I saw Mary Oliver again. She gave me an odd look, and gently pointed out that he wasn’t actually well. I am ahead of myself, though. I must try and keep some sense of order to events.

I left my mother to continue entertaining Pete while I made up his bed, and the evening wound down as the wine vanished. A bottle each…I felt rather fuzzy, and at the same time deeply relieved that Mother had not suggested Laura make an appearance. I was very unsure about that; I had done it for my mother, and the result had been some truly nasty shocks. I had done it, apparently, with Peter, but we had been very young, and circumstances had changed almost beyond belief. I nearly wrote ‘beyond our wildest dreams’, but half carrying the wreck of my friend into the house was not in any way something I ever wanted to dream about.

‘Friend’. Was that the truth?

I settled him down under the duvet and went upstairs to find my mother laying out pyjamas for me, which was a relief.

“John, I am sorry if I made it obvious how shocked I was. Peter doesn’t need that sort of thing. You are doing amazingly well with him, and I am proud of you”

“I think he needs me, mum”

“Yes, and you are not used to that. I think you need him, too. He asked me a few questions while you were doing his bed for him, you know. He wanted to know what had happened to you to make you so odd”

“Am I odd, mum? I don’t mean the frocks, I mean me”

“Yes, John, you are very odd. You are incredibly hard work at times, but what is so awful is that you are such a good soul. You care for people, when you realise they are in need of care, but that is your problem. You never do realise unless it is pushed in your face.

“I could be very wrong here, but I feel that you and he may be able to help each other. You both need something outside yourselves. As far as I am concerned, dear, he is welcome here whenever he needs us. I care about him, but I care more for you, and I think he is good for you, will be good for you.
“Now, I’ve put some cleansing milk and other stuff in the bathroom cabinet for you. Make sure you get the rest of that mascara off before bed.

“Goodnight dear”

“Night, Mum.”

“ I do love you, John. I will do you both a proper breakfast tomorrow, then I shall drive you in.. Sleep well.”