Veras got a husband, but still calls her son-in-law to the rescue
Simon was sprawled out on his battered but beloved sofa, feet perched on the armrest, enjoying his precious Sundaythe longed-for, hard-won rest after a truly infernal week at work.
The flat smelt of coffee and lazy Sunday contentment. A shaft of sunlight snuck through a gap in the curtains, dust motes pirouetting in the beam.
He indulged in exactly three minutes of this idyllic indolence before his mobile started its familiar vibrating jig, then launched into a shrill, insistent ring.
Without opening his eyes, Simon fumbled for the phone on the side table and squinted at the screen: Mum Vera.
Simon groaned and collapsed against the cushions. Mum Vera was none other than his mother-in-law, Vera Woodhouse.
He answered, trying to hide any trace of irritation in his voice.
Good morning, Vera.
Simon, my darling, sorry to disturb your lie-in! came the sprightly, just-on-the-edge-of-shrill voice, accompanied as ever by the unmistakable sound of a hammer, or perhaps something alarmingly similar. Ive got a little situation here.
A little situation with Vera could mean absolutely anything: from a jammed door to the urgent need to move a grand piano.
Whats up? Simon asked, already feeling a shiver run down his spine.
Its the bathroom That mixer taps started leaking. You know, the shiny chrome one. Its dripping and hissing and I swear theres a swimming pool on the floor by now. And wouldnt you know, Daves out fishing with his mates since dawn. He wont be back till late.
Dave was Veras new husband. Sixty-odd, rosy-cheeked, built sturdy, and never seen without a fishing rod lurking in the boot. His personal philosophy: Lifes a river, best to float along.
Float he didoff to fish, off to his shed, or occasionally adrift across his own sofa.
Vera had married him half a year ago, and Simon naively believed his days of endless visits to Verasarmed with spanners and screwdriverswere surely over. No such luck.
It turned out Dave was something of a master of strategic inaction. He could debate the theory of fixing a tap for hours, but should any opportunity arise to foist the job onto Simon, he became mysteriously and immediately occupied elsewhere.
Vera, Im not exactly a plumber, you know, Simon tried, grasping at a lifeline. Perhaps itd be easier to ring a proper handyman? I can send you a number
Oh goodness, no! What, and be charged an arm and a leg for a five-minute fiddling? Simon, yours are golden hands! Do you remember those shelves you fitted for me in the wardrobe? Perfect ever since! And the Swedish chandelier? With a thousand fiddly bits! Youll manage, I have total faith!
Her chief weapon was flattery. Simon sighed in resignation. There was no point arguing; Vera simply didnt understand the word no, especially when her cosy nest was threatened.
Fine, he gave in. Ill be there in an hour.
He hung up and lay motionless for a few moments, staring at the ceiling. Into the room glided Emily, cradling two mugs of steaming coffee. Sympathy was gently etched into her face.
Mum again?
Yup. The taps leaking. Daves gone fishing.
Thought as much, Emily set the mug beside him and perched on the sofas edge. I could call her, say we had plans for the day
No point, Simon squeezed her hand and kissed her palm. Shed invent fifty reasons why it has to be today, and must be me. Even this evening, when Dave gets back, shell wave that fixed tap at him like a victory flag: See, while you were out with your fish, Simon fixed absolutely everything! Im her eternal substitute.
Forgive her. She just relies on you. And Dave Daves a lovely chap, but you know, not exactly, well, hands-on, Emily sighed.
Hands-off, more like, Simon grumbled, taking a sip of coffee. He could do it all, if he fancied. But he knows Im soft enough to oblige.
Forty minutes later, Simon was standing on Veras doorstep. She greeted him, arms flung wide.
Come in, Simon, come in, love! Ive just baked a batch of cheese sconestake some for Emily!
He slipped off his shoes and headed to the bathroom. The scene was a masterpiece: the mixer tap Dave had once boasted was state-of-the-art was hissing like a steam train. On the floor, a mound of towels had bravely, but unsuccessfully, attempted to dam the flood.
You see? Vera declared, milking the drama for all it was worth. Disaster! The whole place will be underwater!
I can see that, Simon unclipped his tool bag and set it down. Lets have a look.
He turned off the water, unscrewed a few bits, and removed the tap. The washer had split into something only a historian could reconstruct.
Needs a new washer, he announced. Ill pop down to the DIY shop.
Oh Simon, I hate to send you out again!
Its fine, he muttered.
While Simon was off on his mercy dash to B&Q, Vera kept up momentum.
Simon, while youre here, would you please look at the balcony door? Its started creaking like mad.
Ill have a look.
And the oven lights gone again. Ive got a replacement, but cant squeeze in there. I might burn my hands.
Sure, Vera.
Back with washers, Simon sorted the tap in half an hour, oiled the balcony door, and, risking a broken wrist, replaced the bulb in the oven.
Vera hovered, eyes aglow, chirping encouragements and stuffing a Tupperware with scones for him as though he were a national hero.
All sorted! she beamed when he downed tools. Thank you, darling, I honestly dont know what Id do without you!
Simon washed his hands at the now-silent sink, realising that despite the irritation, there was a strange sense of satisfaction in being the one to rescue Vera from household peril.
He was the go-to, the familys own knight with a toolbox. He had to admit, there was a mild thrill to it.
Just then, footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Daves hearty voice boomed:
Vera, Im home! Caught a pike, must be ten pounds at least! Get the frying pan on!
Dave appeared in the doorway: bronzed, grinning, in camouflage jacket with an absurdly large tackle box. He caught sight of Simon and didnt bat an eyelid.
Oh, Simon! Hello! Something on the blink again?
Your tap was leaking, Simon replied, wiping his hands.
Good man, cheers for sorting it! Dave clapped him on the back. Wouldve taken me all day to fix that. Better Im out catching dinner!
He inhaled deeply.
Mmm, scones! My kind of tea!
Vera fluttered straight over to Dave, helping him out of his jacket.
Honestly, Dave, you missed all the drama! Gushing tap! Thank heavens Simon was here!
Lucky us, Dave grinned cheerfully, heading towards the kitchen. Simon, stay for dinner, well have pike! Phone Emily, tell her to join us.
Simon watched themDave, content with his catch, Vera looking at her husband like hed slain a dragon, and at Simon with bottomless gratitude.
And suddenly, the absurd logic of it all hit him. Dave delivered romance, adventure, a good yarn for Veras friends, while Simon sorted leaking taps.
Dave was husband for the fun stuff; Simon, son-in-law for all the actual duties.
Thank you, Dave, but Emily and Ive already got plans, Simon politely declined. Ill have to try your pike another time.
As you like! Dave was already heating the pan. Vera, wheres the cooking oil?
Simon bade farewell and stepped onto the landing. As the door closed, he heard Daves robust laugh and Veras excited chatter floating after him.
Downstairs, Simon climbed into his car and sat for a moment in peaceful silence. There it was: the faint scent of scones and Veras flowery perfume. He whipped out his phone and rang Emily.
All done.
That was quick. Dave back?
Yep. Brought home a pike.
Figures, Emilys voice held a wry smile. See you soon.
That evening, lying beside Emily, Simon returned to the theme.
You know whats funny? I reckon Im stuck in this role forever. Even when were both ancientyour mum in a retirement homeshell be ringing: Simon, dearest, could you come fix my wheelchair? Meanwhile, her eighth husband, some sprightly old codger, will be off playing bowls with the pensioners.
Dont be so dramatic. Mum just trusts you. And Dave well, hes different, Emily laughed out loud.
Differents one way to put it, Simon snorted. Hes no fool, you know. Found himself a woman with a flat, a tidy life, and a son-in-law who doubles as a handyman. Its genius, really.
He fell quiet, reflecting that perhaps he was partly to blame. He liked being the go-to hero, the one who swooped in to save the day.
It made him feel capable. And Vera, probably without even noticing it, took full advantage.
A week later, it happened again. Another call, that all-too-sweet voice: Simon, sunshine, the door closers jammed
Apparently, Dave had dashed off to the shed to help his mate with the car. Simon sighed heavily and set out for Veras once again.
Perched precariously on a stepladder, surrounded by hex keys, Simon wrestled with yet another fiendishly clever door mechanism, while Vera hovered, offering advice.
Try turning it left, Simon. No, right! Ooh, careful, the springs popped out!
Then footsteps approached. Dave appeared, kitted out in a crisp tracksuit and trainers, arms heavy with shopping bags.
Brought some treats! he sang, spotting Simon halfway up the ladder and pausing, a little sheepishly. Oh, Simon! Something wrong again?
Door closer, Simon gritted, knuckles itching.
Oh, those things are a nightmare! I wouldnt have a clue, honestly. Youre a life-saver, mate! Id be here till midnight faffing with that.
Dave ducked into the kitchen, where the smell of fresh coffee soon wafted out.
Simon finished the jobdoor now gliding shut as if powered by magic.
Thank you so much! Vera sparkled. Pop into the kitchen, have a cup!
No thanks, Vera. Need to head home.
He packed away his tools and washed his hands. Dave was already tucking into a bought éclair, chuckling over his mug.
All sorted then? Told yougolden hands! What a life.
There wasnt a hint of malice or shame in Daves eyesjust uncomplicated joy at how smoothly the world worked out. Simon nodded and left.
Descending the stairs, Simon realised it was daft to be cross with Vera. She got the care and reassurance she wanted.
Dave got freedom and comfort. And Simon? Simon got scones, gratitude, and a curious sense of belonging to something a touch bigger than just his own family.
