Mum in the Middle: Feel good, funny and unforgettable. Jane Wenham-Jones
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potatoes! Haven’t had a roastie for months …’
For someone who wasn’t sure if she was hungry, Jinni tucked in with gusto. ‘Marvellous,’ she said, spooning cauliflower cheese onto her plate. ‘Love this stuff and can never be arsed to make it …’
‘Mum’s is the best,’ said Tilly. ‘Grab some sausages before Ben eats them all.’
‘And what’s this?’ Jinni was peering at the earthenware oven dish next to Sam.
‘Fish pie.’ Sam held it out, smiling. ‘Do have some. I can’t possibly eat it all. It is delicious, though,’ she said, looking at me. ‘It’s got all sorts of things in it.’
Jinni ladled a small helping on to the side of her plate and took a forkful. ‘Mmm. I love fish pie too. Especially with mussels. You kept that quiet, girlfriend – didn’t know you were one mean cook.’
‘Oh, not really.’ I murmured, suddenly embarrassed by all this praise. ‘It’s very easy …’
‘Mum says you’re doing wonderful things to your place …’ said Oliver, helpfully jumping in. ‘It looks huge.’
‘Yeah, there’s lots to do.’ Jinni turned back to me. ‘That reminds me. Guess who I saw driving past as I came over the road? Had the fucking cheek to wave!’
‘Who?’ said Tilly.
‘Local wanker.’
‘I saw him at the station,’ I said. ‘He was all friendly.’
‘Huh!’
For a moment Jinni looked poised to launch into another Ingrid-fuelled diatribe, but then she picked up her glass and smiled.
‘You must come over before you go back.’ Jinni took a large swig of wine. ‘I’ll make you all gins.’ She grinned at Gabriel. ‘I can give your gran a run for her money …’
By the time I’d got the chocolate tart on the table, Jinni and Gabriel were almost family.
‘I think I might come,’ Jinni was saying, as Gabriel was extolling the virtues of the open mic night to Oliver and Ben. ‘I like a bit of live music – especially when it’s a free-for-all.’ She’d opened the bottle of port and was pouring generous measures. ‘There’s always someone convinced they’re the next Susan Boyle, bringing out the neighbourhood cats.’
‘It’s usually Tilly,’ said Ben, as Tilly stuck a finger up at him. He threw back his head and let out a high-pitched falsetto. ‘I know him so well …’
He nudged me. ‘Do you remember, Mum? Longest night of my life.’
‘It wasn’t that bad, you saddo.’ Tilly turned to Jinni. ‘It was a charity show when I was at drama school – we had to do songs from the musicals and I was with this ghastly girl who could only sing in one key.’
‘But at least she could sing in one …’ said Ben.
Tilly made another rude gesture.
‘When I was at Guildford, we had to choose a song at the beginning of term and then that was what we worked on every week for ever,’ Jinni told her. ‘I ended up with ‘Bright Eyes’. I didn’t like it, never could sing it and the singing teacher hated me. Put me off for years.’
‘Sadly that didn’t happen to Tilly …’ Ben got up and waved his empty pint pot at Oliver. ‘Want another beer?’
‘Hey, we could do a duet on Tuesday,’ said Jinni, clearly enthused now by several glasses of red. ‘Let’s get some words. Got an iPad or something?’
Ben shuddered. ‘Noooooo.’
When Oliver and Sam started yawning and announced they were going to bed early, I shooed the others into the front room. They got very little privacy, both sharing with others in small flats, where there always seemed to be extra bodies staying.
‘Shall I make coffee?’ I said, standing up as the couple disappeared into the adjoining conservatory, closing the blinds behind them.
Tilly began gathering dishes. ‘You’d better,’ she said. ‘Ben’s got that simple look on his face.’
She was looking a bit flushed herself. ‘Leave the rest,’ I said, as she dumped a pile of plates perilously close to the edge of the kitchen work surface. ‘Look after our guests …’
But Jinni and Gabriel appeared completely at home as I handed round mugs and Jinni poured more port into our glasses and returned to perch cross-legged in my largest chair. Ben was sprawled back on the sofa, guitar across his chest. Tess sat on the floor, legs out in front of her. Gabriel jumped up from his seat and took the last mug from me. ‘Let me help you with the washing up.’
I smiled at him. ‘The dishwasher can do that.’
Jinni grinned round at my own offspring. ‘Or isn’t that what kids are for?’
‘In theory,’ I smiled back. I did seem to have fallen back into my role of chief cook and bottle-washer with indecent speed, but they were only here briefly …
I sat down next to Ben and poked him.
‘Come on then – give us a song …’
Ben sang a selection he knew I liked – from David Gray, Snow Patrol and Ben Howard – and strummed along as Jinni and Tilly did songs from Evita – Jinni had a good voice, strong and clear, and Tilly stayed in tune pretty well behind her. Gabriel shyly demurred from singing – ‘I’m not that good, not compared with Ben’ – but promised to give us a tune on Tuesday in the pub. He looked at me.
‘You’re coming, aren’t you, Tess?’
‘I’ve got a long day at work, some important meetings.’ I felt a twinge of angst as I said it. I had some plans to finish before then. Gabriel made a show of looking disappointed and I thought how polite he was to include me. Ben and Tilly wouldn’t give a stuff if I pitched up or not.
I stood up. ‘More coffee?’
But Jinni was yawning and Gabriel immediately got to his feet too.
‘It’s been a really great evening,’ he said, kissing my cheek and looking at me with real appreciation in his eyes before turning to Tilly too.
‘Such a pleasure,’ I said, as she hugged him.
Jinni threw her arms around me. ‘Fabulous,’ she said. ‘My turn soon.’
They walked down the path together. ‘They’re nice,’ said Tilly, as I closed the door. ‘Jinni’s not that mad after all.’
‘Apart from wanting to sing with you,’ put in Ben behind us. ‘Gabe’s a good guy.’
I beamed at them both. ‘It felt like we’d known them for years …’
‘I’m going to bed,’ Tilly picked up her magazine. She prodded her brother as she went past. ‘Don’t make any disgusting noises.’
Ben made a face at her. ‘Like you don’t!’
As I put the chain on across the front door, I looked down at the wall that ran towards the start of the stairs, where the footwear had now multiplied. Oliver’s loafers lay next to Ben’s trainers, alongside a pair of boots belonging to Tilly, accompanied by some heels, socks, flip-flops and a neatly aligned pair of slippers that were probably Sam’s.
Smiling, I remembered the permanent mass of shoes that used to form an unruly mound in the hallway in Finchley.
I recalled Rob coming in one night and tripping over a stray sneaker in the middle of the rug. Pictured him glaring at the heap beneath the hall mirror which had spilled off the shoe rack and spread halfway to the stairs, and the way he had flown into an unexpected rage, turning on me in fury, blaming my slap-dash attitude, poor parenting, lack of disciplinarianism and general hopelessness, for