Chapter Forty
Needless to say, Sunday dinner was a lively affair.
My children teased me mercilessly about having a boyfriend at the age of sixty-one. I shook my head in exasperation.
‘I’m not an octogenarian with a blue rinse and a penchant for Parma Violets,’ I tutted.
‘We’re pleased for you, Mum,’ said Tim. He gave me a cheeky wink.
‘Are we?’ said Ruby archly. ‘I’d like to check this guy out first.’
‘So, when are we going to meet him?’ asked Tim.
‘Not yet,’ I said firmly.
‘Yeah, we don’t want Ruby frightening him off,’ said Ella loyally. ‘I’m sure Dylan is a respectable guy.’
‘He is,’ I said.
‘What does he do for a living?’ asked Ruby, eyes narrowing.
‘Um, he’s in healthcare,’ I said vaguely.
No way was I telling my kids that Dylan owned and managed an old folks’ home. They’d make jokes about the pair of us living there together. Wearing his ‘n’ hers bobble slippers.
‘How old is this guy?’ asked Tim.
‘Er, a year or two younger than me,’ I said, picking up my wine glass.
‘Omigod,’ Ella crowed. ‘Mum has got herself a toy boy.’
I made a show of sipping my wine and being unable to answer. If Ella discovered that Dylan was eight years younger, she’d be aghast. Ruby would wonder why a fifty-three-year-old wanted to hang out with a wrinkly like me. And if she saw how muscled-up Dylan was, she’d be doubly perplexed. I could almost hear her now. Hypothesising about Dylan being up to no good. Targeting old biddies who had a few quid in the bank.
‘Is he divorced?’ asked Tim.
‘No. Like me, Dylan is widowed. He also has a daughter. Terry. She’s just got married.’
‘What’s his surname?’ said Tim, pulling his mobile from his back pocket.
I knew it. It wasn’t just Ruby who wanted to check out Dylan on social media. Knowing my son, Tim would go one step further. He’d be feeding Dylan’s name into bankruptcy searches or anything else that gave information about a person via the internet.
‘I can’t remember,’ I said lamely.
‘Bollocks,’ Tim scoffed.
‘She wouldn’t tell me either,’ said Ruby. ‘Why so secretive, Mum? Does this man have a criminal record?’
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ I spluttered. ‘Now can we please talk about something else? I invited you all here to meet Bess.’
‘And she’s lovely,’ said Archie gallantly. ‘Just like you.’
‘No need to suck up to my mother,’ said Ella. ‘I think one toyboy in her life is enough.’
‘Oh, but I didn’t mean–’ said Archie, turning bright red.
‘Take no notice of my daughter,’ I said, shooting Ella a look.
‘Sorr-eee,’ she laughed. Her eyes danced with mischief. ‘Just teasing.’
She picked up her glass and giggle-snorted into her wine. The sound made Archie laugh too.
I’d moved Bess’s basket from the hallway to the kitchen so she could be with us while we ate. She continued to behave like the lady she was. There was no begging at the table. That said, she was looking hopeful at the possibility of leftovers. Overall, she was content to be in everyone’s company and was unfazed by the laughter and shrill chatter.
‘So, you met this guy at the rehoming centre,’ said Tim.
I mentally sighed. There was no getting off this subject.
‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘Dylan has rescued a brown-and-white mongrel called Charlie. We’ve already enjoyed some lovely walks together. Hopefully, we’ll have many more.’
‘Ah!’ my son exclaimed. ‘I see.’
He flashed his oldest sister a look. One that conveyed that Ruby should take a chill pill. All was well. Their old mum wasn’t testing the bedsprings with a stranger. Perish the thought! Instead, she and this Dylan dude were pottering around the village with their pooches. And later, when they’d chastely pecked each other’s floury cheeks, Mum would return home in time for cocoa and Coronation Street.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended. What would the children say if they knew their father and I had enjoyed an active sex life? Did young people truly believe only they had the right to be sexy?
Okay, I was no Love Island contestant. I wasn’t a twenty-something female with hair extensions, fake eyelashes and a chest bursting out of my swimsuit. But I could be sensual too, dammit. Albeit in a maxi dress and with some ambient lighting thrown in for good measure.
‘Who wants apple crumble?’ I asked, standing up. A clamour of affirmative cries rent the air as I gathered up the dinner plates. ‘So, that’s everyone.’
I tottered over to the dishwasher. Dumping everything down on the worktop, I risked a quick peek at Greg’s photo on the windowsill.
They’ve been taking the rise out of me, I silently informed him. I pulled on the dishwasher’s handle. Over having a boyfriend, I added. Dylan rather sweetly told me that sixty is the new thirty.
That’s great, darling, Greg answered in my head. But don’t get banned from driving eh!
It took me a moment to get the joke, but as I bent to stack the plates, I laughed out loud.