Mums Little Escape
Please, just stay at home, okay? The pavements are treacherousno grit, nothing cleared. And the bugsevery other person on the Tube is sneezing, every first one coughing! Half our office is off sick already! Richard was giving his mum her daily strict instructions.
Every evening, hed ring to ask after her health, what shopping she needed, and again, how she felt. Then theyd talk about him, about when hed finally propose to his Annie, about the cottage and how the porch would definitely need fixing this spring
Jean listened to her sons advice with gentle patience, catching his sighs, his tone, sensing if he was well or tired, worried or just run down.
Yes, Richard, I know. I promise Ill be careful, she replied, not quite giving a straight answer to his latest sermon to stay indoors.
Mum, are you planning on going anywhere? Mum, Im telling you again, you need to stay in. No silly ideas, please? Promise me?
Jean sighed and nodded even though he couldn’t see her.
No silly ideas But how dull that was. She simply couldnt spend her days like some other retirees: knitting, watching one TV drama after another, growing cress on the windowsill, or doing endless puzzles. She was terribly bored!
But what if she just took off with Jenny, a friend and amateur photographer a touch older than her, and caught the night train to York? Spend all night wandering, a whole day soaking up the city, sitting in a cafe sipping mulled wine, then collapsing at the hotel, eyes wide open, soaking in the citys night sounds and stories A day later, back to Londonher sort of adventure.
Her life since shed been widowed included midnight boat trips or coach journeys, card games with the Pinches, a play at the theatre once a month, and fortnightly strolls around shopping centresstrictly practical, mind you, as her late husband used to say. And plenty of other small pleasures Jean never told Richard about. He wouldnt understandwould scold and fret.
Richard was deeply caring, loyal, perhaps too meticulousmost of all about her health.
Blood tests, checkups twice a year, tablets, supplements, herbal dropshe managed it all.
But Jean was an impossible patient. Shed chat with anyone in the waiting roomdidnt matter if they were waiting for a different appointmentand soon enough shed made friends, chatting away about places and shared acquaintances, letting her slot drift by.
Mum! Why didnt you go in? I told you your appointments at five! Richard would rush down the corridor, clutching a cup of water.
Oh, sorry, love! I got carried away, shed say, giving a secret little wink to her new friends as she finally slipped into the doctors surgery.
Everywhere the samedoctors, nurses, waiting rooms. Theyd end up talking about children, dogs, Wales, Devon, preserves, old bands, the Royal BalletJean seemed to know a bit about everything, and always got sidetracked.
Mum, can you just not talk for a moment? Richard would groan, drinking the water himself and rubbing his neck. Hes asking you, do your arms feel numb?
Oh, darling! Im at an age where even my tail might go numb, but that shouldnt stop me discussing Florentine glass with a doctor! Jean would huff.
She was well-read, cultured, and impossibly social.
That got her into trouble sometimes
Once shed said goodbye to Richard, Jean went to take the rubbish out. She checked on her pot plants on the landing, where she bumped into her neighbour, Edward Fraser.
Richard never liked Edward. Always a bit surly, always brooding Morosethats the word!
Edward was always tending his flowerbeds, then heading off fishing.
After the bream today! hed pronounced to Richard.
Richard just shrugged. Fishing in the Thames wasnt his idea of fun or hygiene.
In winter, EdwardEddie, as Jean called himwent cross-country skiing in Kew Gardens and fed the squirrels, dressed the tree in the courtyard, but never lost his gloomy air.
Evening, Eddie! Isnt the wind howling tonight? Jean waved through the glass. My sons just rung, begged me to stay in. But Jean looked down sheepishly, I really need to pop out Ive no idea how to tell him.
Tell who? Edward asked without expression.
Richard. Hes told me not to go, but I must Oh, Im going to be late. Bye now!
And off she hurried, leaving Eddie to ponder.
Jean had some cholesterol and her blood pressure could be temperamental, her joints ached with the fickle weather, and the bunion on her right foot was acting up. But honestlywould that stop a woman with an eye for beauty? Not likely.
Edward watched her get into the taxi, watched as it crept down the road, weaving between slushy piles of snow, indicator blinking, then disappeared into a crowd of cabs heading for the traffic lights. He smoothed back his greying hair, scratched his chin, and pulled the curtain closed.
Jeans spirits soared. She whirled and twirled on the dance floor, and her partnerMajor Peter Wilson, tall, mustachioed, with a ruddy nosehad already paid her a couple of compliments, quoting poets (badly, but with enthusiasm). He wasnt quite Jeans type, but she wasnt planning to elope with himjust a harmless dance! Why not live a little?
She was tired of the worry and fuss, wanted to be mischievous, laugh, forget her aches, lose herself in dreams and giggles like a young girl.
She wasnt madjust a woman, a normal woman, weighed down by cares and loss, with a son who took up rather more of her world than he should, simply because he wasnt married yet. The future promised live-in carers and all those delights of old age.
But tonight, just before New Year, in this big, glittering hall filled with music, she was happy. Shed slipped away, lied to her sonterribly naughty!but oh how lovely
Peter mopped his brow with a handkerchief and left Jean sitting by a pillar to fetch two lemonades.
She never touched the champagne or wineworried her head would spin and shed have to head home. And everything was going so well! Richard had already phoned; no more checking up tonight. Jean had lied smoothly, yes, but shed face the consequences later. The evening was blossoming! If she worried like Richard, shed never live at all.
Shed found out about the over 60s club night from a flyer. At the new fitness cluba pristine place with a massive hall, all glass and mirrors. A small fee to join, lovely for locals who otherwise had to trek to distant pubs or social clubs; now there was gym and socials right here!
Made good business sensethe club liked counting coins.
Jean gave it little thought; she picked out a dress, styled her hair, did her makeup, and now she was waltzing.
Peter returned with the drinks, handed one to Jean and downed the other almost in a gulp, whispering, To our health!
Terribly fond of a tipple I mean, I like to drink. And you, go on, have a sip! he insisted.
Jean frowned. Peter was, frankly, a bit odd.
Just a moment Goodness, look at that snow! Like a Christmas card. And the tree in the courtyardits beautiful, well done to the staff!
Who? Peter shuffled up beside her. But why arent you drinking?
I am, I am, muttered Jean, taking a cautious sip.
Tasty, isnt it? Peter leant too close. They always serve decent stuff here!
Decent stuff? Jean wasnt used to such language.
Im here all the timeTuesdays and Thursdays, dance nights. I keep going, drinking this lemonade. Ive quit booze, you see Peter arched his brow importantly. Taking care of myself. Trying to be the part, you know. Im a writer. Know what image means, do you?
He said it like she was fresh out of the jungle.
Of course I do! Jean bristled.
Oh, come off it! People only think they know. Most are just dolls, wooden puppets! I told you, fifth time here! All those dolled up ladies, flirts on the hunt He tutted and turned away, then swung back, glaring. And youre the same! Spot a eligible man straight off! Yes, Ive got a flat, a car. My father’s old country place is mine now. Everythings proper. But Im not sharing it with anyone, all right? Not you, not anyone! He waggled a finger in her face. Understand? You
Peter was a shade too flushed, his ruddy nose almost crimson, fuzzy eyebrows bristling.
Me? I don’t care about your house or your country cottage. I just wanted to dance. Why are you harassing me? Jean tried to step round him, but Peter blocked her.
He must have slipped something extra in his drinkthank goodness only his.
Excuse me! Jean said sharply.
Peter sneered and let slip some English insults as the music faded and the crowd stared.
Jean suddenly burst into tears.
His words cut cruelly, leaving her completely humiliated. Shed prepared so carefully, done her hair (not easy with a sore shoulder), come in high spiritsand now this ridiculous row She felt an overwhelming urge to run, to hide, to scrub off all her beauty and never show her face again. Richard was right: there was too much trouble in the worldbetter to stay home after all.
Jean hurried out as fast as her shoes allowed, taking shelter in the ladies room.
Oh God, just let me go home.
Tears streamed black down her cheeks, leaving streaks of mascara and misshapen eyeshadow.
Her phone rang in her bag. Richard.
Yes? she answered, trying to steady her voice.
Mum, where are you? Im at the door! I asked you to stay inwhat if you catch flu or bronchitis? I spent half an hour explaining Richard was cross.
Richard, darling, I just went out for airits stuffy at home. I just needed a bit of fresh air Jean hiccuped, suddenly longing for home. You go on back. Sorry, but Im too far now. And
Ill come get you, he blurted. Just tell me where you are, and Ill check the map!
No, please, I dont want you coming! Jean gasped.
Mum, I know everything. Im in the car park left of the entrance. Mum Mum Richard sighed.
I cant Jean sobbed. Im I
She caught her reflection. Nightmare! Mascara everywhere, like a panda.
Mum, Im here. Your neighbour, Edward Hes gone inside looking for you. He called me, said he was worried. Mum, is something going on between you two?
Jean hung up without explaining and cried all over again.
You all right in here? came a firm voice from the darka cleaner in rubber gloves.
Somehow, the immaculate club had cleaners straight out of a 1980s sitcom, thought Jean, but aloud she answered, Just cleaning up. My sons come. And neighbour. But how can I face them like this?
Which neighbour? The one who just dragged that oaf out of the hall? Not from round here, that one. After your heart, is he? the cleaner asked. Here, dont rub your eyes, love! One momentmy granddaughter left me some proper wipes for problems like this.
She rummaged in a locker and handed Jean a pretty blue packet. Wipe gently, like that. All these years and still you weep over men! These are specialone soft side for delicate bits. My Annie only uses the best. And a gentle bit of witch hazelheals and soothes. My granddaughter says it bloomed this autumn, bright and cheerful.
Jean sniffed the cloth, then carefully brushed away the mess. Yes, the other side had a sandpapery feelbut not rough, just right.
Interesting, Jean smiled. And here, the other sides a bit textureda scrub, thats the word. I sometimes use one at night.
I dont know the modern terms, me. My Annie does! Just promise, dont cry over men! the cleaner chided. Your dress is lovely, and you danced so well. That mans a cadI could see it a mile off.
Is that so Jean murmured.
You just came for a bit of fun, to cheer up. I see things differentlylifes like that! shrugged her helper.
Soon, Jeans face was clear of make-up, just her natural selfif anything, it suited her better.
Out in the corridor, Edward stood waiting in his battered coat, gloves and woolly hat. Out of place among the glitter and lights, but he was therefor her.
Hed seen the end of her exchange with Peter Wilson, stepped in at the right moment.
Wilson was, at that moment, probably holding an ice pack to his aching jawEdwards punchy past in wrestling was no myth
You? What are you doing here? Jean bristled.
I was worried, Edward said, calm as ever.
How did you find me?
I memorised the taxi number, rang upluckily, the operator was a young lass. She gave me the address. Jean, have you been crying? Over him? He jabbed a thumb to the door. You were beautiful tonight, and he well, hes a fool! Edwards voice faltered. NoI mean, you look lovely now, homely, but before, you well He blushed, lost for words.
How? Jean whispered, fiddling with her simple bracelet.
Glamorous. Never mind. Come on, Richards waiting! Edward muttered.
Yes! Richard Just a moment Jean hurried to thank the kind cleaner. Thank you, love! I didnt catch your name!
Edith Grey, the woman replied.
What a classic name! Thank you again, Jean said warmly.
Just women helping women. Take the wipesyou liked them. Ill get more from my Annie. Im not always just the cleaner, you know. I like to dress up too! But our boilers forever packing up, so these wipes are a lifesaver. All the best!
Edith pressed the pack of wipes into Jeans handshould last her ages!and vanished.
Finally, Richard hovered over his mum as they reached the car; she stood, small and abashed, like a scolded schoolgirl. Honestly, Mum! What am I going to do with you? I care, you knowI really do.
I know, son, I know. Sorry But I cant stop living, you understand? I cant just be a field mouse in a hole, cant go without seeing friends, without going for a walk I want to be happy, not just worried all my life. Richard
She stroked his jacket sleeve tenderly.
Richard frowned, lips pressed.
All right, climb in. Thank you, Mr Fraser. Mum, is there anything else I dont know? Dancing, parties, admirers and punch-ups? What else? He helped her buckle her seatbelt.
Well Jean hesitated.
Lets have it! grunted Edward.
Jean flushed, fake-coughed, and confessed, I play cards with the girls, and sometimes go to yoga.
A pause. Richard tinkered with the heater, as Jean shivered.
I hope youre not cheating. Those girls would fleece you for sure! he joked.
Jean smiled. She had a good son.
We dont play for money, Richard. Our pensions wont allow those sorts of risks, she said, winding the window down a crack for the brisk air.
So peacefulher son safely beside her, the evening outside, snow falling, New Year nearly upon them. And Edward defending her honour, no lesshow romantic!
Peter Wilson lobbed a snowball at their car, missed, swore, and tramped away
At home, Jean made coffee and pressed the packet of those magical NEURO WAVE wipes in front of Richard.
Whats this? he asked, wrinkling his nose.
Theyre for your Annie, love. For taking off makeup, clearing pores, that sort of thingone side soft, one side scrubby Theyre lovely.
Yes, yes, womens bits and bobs. Mum, when will you ever settle down? He shook his head.
Oh, I dont know, Richard And our neighbour, Eddie, is quite the catch! Hes asked me out for a walk tomorrow. May I, Richard?
Richard gave a tiny cough, then shrugged. Do whatever you like. Maybe I should just leave you beget married to Annie, move out, let you have your fun
Richard, Id be overjoyed! Annies wonderful. And I love you very much, son. Jean hugged him, resting her head against his warm jumper and settled, content at last.
They saw in the New Year the four of themJean, Edward, Annie, and Richard. It was a special New Yearwarm and full of joy.
Thanks for the wipes! Annie whispered to her future mother-in-law. Theyre wonderful. Ive already recommended them to my friends.
Youre welcome, dear. Glad I can help.
They whispered and giggled until midnight, when the chimes chimed, the champagne was poured and the gifts were opened. Outside the window stood the snow-covered tree, aglow with lights and glass ornamentsa special gift for a special woman, as Edward whispered, looking away. Jean squeezed his hand. She was happyJean caught Edwards glance as the clock struck twelve. For a heartbeat, she saw not the quiet widower from downstairs, but a fellow conspiratorsomeone who understood that living meant sneaking joy in where you found it, and laughing off the scolds of well-meaning sons. She smiled, the kind of warm, true smile that belongs only to those whove weathered losses and still love the world anyway.
Richard handed Annie a sparkler, and they all stood on the little porch, watching fireworks bloom across the snowy skyorange and green, fading pink and gold. Annie squeezed Richards hand; Edward passed around mugs of hot chocolate laced with nutmeg. Their laughter and voices drifted into the night, gentle and fulla little family, woven together by care, mischief, kindness, and acceptance.
Jean closed her eyes for a moment and let the cold air wash over her, feeling neither old nor young, but gloriously, stubbornly alive. She pictured all the adventures yet to come: more dances, perhaps even a trip with Edward, card games where the stakes were stories, not coins, and endless evenings where worries melted away under twinkling lights.
As the last sparkler fizzed low, Jean tossed it into the snow and turned to those she loved. No more field mouse, she declared, winking at Edward and Richard in turn. From now on, I think Ill be a foxclever, quick, and always ready for a little trouble.
Richard threw up his hands, but he was smiling. Annie cheered. Edward laughed harder than Jean had ever heard him.
They watched the sky until the embers faded, hearts warm against the winters chill, and knew this would be a year to rememberone for escapes and embraces, secrets kindly kept, and happiness found in bright, ordinary moments that, together, made life shine.
