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5th March 2014
His mother answered the door. “Frank, get the shotgun there’s a strange man on the step.” She took his carrier bag and pinched his cheek.
“I’ll make you a nice cup of tea, eh? Go and see your Dad, he’s upstairs, on the computer. I’ll stick these on a quick wash.”
Nicks went upstairs and popped his head around the door.
Frank looked up from the computer with a big smile.
“Hi, son. I’ve just got to finish off the seating plan for the Lodge’s Ladies Night and I’ll be with you soon. Go and get your Mum to show you what we’ve done in the front room.”
Nicks went back downstairs and drank his tea. Mum showed him the bookcases the ‘wonderful man I married’ had made. He had to admit Mr Wonderful had done a very good job.
Sat in the living room Nicks knew what was coming next. There was no stopping her. Family news. He found these sessions tedious but knew he had to do it. He never remembered who was who. Apart from funerals, he didn’t see them often so he frequently confused names and faces. Both his parents came from large families and were very family orientated. Nicks wasn’t. He was an only child. As a general rule, he preferred his own company.
“Oooh!” said Mum, “I didn’t mention, did I? Cousin Justin?”
“Who’s cousin Justin?” Nicks replied.
“You know him!” Mum insisted.
“No, I don’t know him, Mum. If I knew him, I wouldn’t have said ‘Who’s cousin Justin?’ would I?” he smiled.
“Yes, you do!” she countered. “You met him at Dora’s birthday party.”
“Who’s Dora?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake! She’s your cousin Melissa’s mother-in-law.”
“Cousin Melissa? I’ve never heard of her.”
“Yes, you have! You met her at the reunion.”
“I never went to a reunion. I swear to God you make this stuff up, Mum!”
“Don’t be so obtuse,” she scolded. “You were there! So, don’t argue.”
“Well, I still don’t know who this Justin is,” he said quietly, trying to bring her back on track.
“Justin?” she said quizzically. “Oh! Yes, cousin Justin. What was I going to tell you about him? Never mind, it’ll come back. Now, your cousin Melissa....”
And so it went. He knew once she’d imparted all the news, the family genealogy would be next. She’d taken up that particular interest several years before, but somehow, it had mutated beyond immediate family into researching people only remotely related. This did nothing to prevent her from holding lengthy phone conversations with their descendants, in New Zealand, while Dad grimaced and tapped his watch, rubbing his thumb and fingers together to signify the cost. He knew he was wasting his time but felt he had to try. That was the thing about her. She could make connections with anyone. She’d once had a conversation with a woman on a pedestrian crossing. Ten years later, they were still exchanging Christmas cards. Nicks couldn’t do it.
After the news and genealogy, she rose from the sofa and began the ritual of forcing him to eat something. He offered token resistance, then succumbed to a roast chicken dinner which, ‘co-incidentally,’ just happened to be already prepared. Afterwards, they played the game of ‘What do you want for dessert?’ The ‘rules’ were simple; he’d tell her he was full and she’d ignore him. Today, she’d decided he was having cake. How could he resist? He couldn’t. Life wasn’t long enough.
The tour of the garden followed and Nicks admired their gardening skills whilst they discussed their new neighbours, a welcome change from the previous occupant; a fan of loud music, drugs and verbal abuse.
Finally, despite attempts to delay him, dry clothes in a carrier bag, he left having decided to drink at the Lady of Man, on Dale Street, in the city. He could sit out in the courtyard. He didn’t like crowded places preferring somewhere he could distance himself from others and, of course, have a smoke.
It was early evening but surprisingly the courtyard was quite full and it was only as he walked up the entrance steps to the bar to be greeted with “Nicks! Glad you could make it!” from a man ladened with pints, whom he vaguely recognized, that he realized he’d walked into a Police function of some sort.