meet Ben and Ruth, his in-laws, Catherine’s parents.
‘Seeing as you’re going to be their grandchildren’s stepmum, I think it’d be good to meet them, at this stage. I think they’d appreciate it.’
I nod. Nervous, of course.
As we turn into the five-star hotel, he says, ‘I should warn you: you might find them a little cold.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s nothing to do with you, you understand?’
‘What, then?’ I’m sceptical after the Phyllis incident.
‘It’s to do with me.’
‘In what way?’
‘It’s no big deal. I’m just not their favourite person. I’m not worried about it. You shouldn’t be. They adore the kids, who are their last link to Catherine. They’re polite to me. I’m just telling you because I don’t want you to think their chilliness has anything to do with you. OK?’
‘OK.’
We pull up in front of the hotel. A valet opens my door, giving me no time to dwell on what Greg’s just said. The hotel doors are opened for us. The flower arrangement in the lobby is bigger than I am . A piano tinkles in the background.
‘There they are,’ Greg says.
They stand when they see us, their smiles reserved. Ben is tall and noticeably lean, with an air of success. His wife, by contrast, looks timid, slightly plump and almost six inches shorter.
Greg introduces us. We shake hands and sit. Ben does the talking , or, rather, questioning. I’m the subject of his attention. When he asks how Greg and I met, I know not to mention cars racing on a motorway.
‘Work,’ I say. ‘I design Greg’s book covers.’
‘So, you’re a graphic designer? Who do you work for?’
‘I’m a partner at Get Smart.’ I wonder if he knows it.
He nods. ‘And will you continue to work after you’re married?’
I’ve never considered an alternative. ‘Yes,’ I say, wondering suddenly if Catherine did.
I spend an hour under the spotlight. It feels like an eternity. An eternity on the defensive. It’s as though they’ve already decided that I’ll fall short of their daughter.
‘Sorry about that,’ Greg grimaces as we sit in the car. ‘I thought if we met on neutral territory Ben would behave himself.’
‘I need a drink.’
He smiles. ‘It was good we did it, though. They’re driven by worry. At least, now , they know you’re not a Mrs Doubtfire.’
‘I love Mrs Doubtfire.’
‘Trust me, Mrs Doubtfire would not be their cup of tea.’
I look at him. ‘Did Catherine work?’
‘Yes, Catherine worked. Lucy, do not compare yourself to Catherine . Do not feel intimidated by them.’
‘What did she do?’
‘She was an architect. Lucy, we’ve done our duty. Forget about them now.’
‘What’s their problem with you, anyway?’
‘Ah!’
‘Ah, what?’ I look at him.
He sighs, long and loud. ‘That goes way back.’
‘Do you see me rushing anywhere?’
He smiles. ‘All right. I was never exactly what they’d planned for their only daughter. Didn’t go to the right schools. Wasn’t from the right part of town. Wouldn’t know an old boys’ network if it came up and bit me on the arse.’
‘He’s a snob, basically,’ I say, guessing that Ruth just follows h is lead.
‘Ben thinks writing books should be a hobby.’
I roll my eyes.
He shrugs. ‘Doesn’t bother me. It’s his problem.’
‘Well, I think you’re great,’ I say, squeezing his thigh. ‘Although, I don’t know . . .’ I take my hand away. ‘What school did you say you went to, again?’
He makes a face at me.
9.
R emember that day we spent working from home?’ Greg asks one evening when we’re out for dinner.
I smile. ‘We’ll have to do it again; I’m feeling filthy.’
He reaches across the table, takes my hand and runs his thumb across my knuckles.
‘I’ve a better plan. Why don’t we work from the South of France for the summer?’
I laugh.
‘I’m serious. I always spend the summer there with the kids. I’ve a villa—’
‘Greg, much as I’d like to, I’m
‘Seeing as you’re going to be their grandchildren’s stepmum, I think it’d be good to meet them, at this stage. I think they’d appreciate it.’
I nod. Nervous, of course.
As we turn into the five-star hotel, he says, ‘I should warn you: you might find them a little cold.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s nothing to do with you, you understand?’
‘What, then?’ I’m sceptical after the Phyllis incident.
‘It’s to do with me.’
‘In what way?’
‘It’s no big deal. I’m just not their favourite person. I’m not worried about it. You shouldn’t be. They adore the kids, who are their last link to Catherine. They’re polite to me. I’m just telling you because I don’t want you to think their chilliness has anything to do with you. OK?’
‘OK.’
We pull up in front of the hotel. A valet opens my door, giving me no time to dwell on what Greg’s just said. The hotel doors are opened for us. The flower arrangement in the lobby is bigger than I am . A piano tinkles in the background.
‘There they are,’ Greg says.
They stand when they see us, their smiles reserved. Ben is tall and noticeably lean, with an air of success. His wife, by contrast, looks timid, slightly plump and almost six inches shorter.
Greg introduces us. We shake hands and sit. Ben does the talking , or, rather, questioning. I’m the subject of his attention. When he asks how Greg and I met, I know not to mention cars racing on a motorway.
‘Work,’ I say. ‘I design Greg’s book covers.’
‘So, you’re a graphic designer? Who do you work for?’
‘I’m a partner at Get Smart.’ I wonder if he knows it.
He nods. ‘And will you continue to work after you’re married?’
I’ve never considered an alternative. ‘Yes,’ I say, wondering suddenly if Catherine did.
I spend an hour under the spotlight. It feels like an eternity. An eternity on the defensive. It’s as though they’ve already decided that I’ll fall short of their daughter.
‘Sorry about that,’ Greg grimaces as we sit in the car. ‘I thought if we met on neutral territory Ben would behave himself.’
‘I need a drink.’
He smiles. ‘It was good we did it, though. They’re driven by worry. At least, now , they know you’re not a Mrs Doubtfire.’
‘I love Mrs Doubtfire.’
‘Trust me, Mrs Doubtfire would not be their cup of tea.’
I look at him. ‘Did Catherine work?’
‘Yes, Catherine worked. Lucy, do not compare yourself to Catherine . Do not feel intimidated by them.’
‘What did she do?’
‘She was an architect. Lucy, we’ve done our duty. Forget about them now.’
‘What’s their problem with you, anyway?’
‘Ah!’
‘Ah, what?’ I look at him.
He sighs, long and loud. ‘That goes way back.’
‘Do you see me rushing anywhere?’
He smiles. ‘All right. I was never exactly what they’d planned for their only daughter. Didn’t go to the right schools. Wasn’t from the right part of town. Wouldn’t know an old boys’ network if it came up and bit me on the arse.’
‘He’s a snob, basically,’ I say, guessing that Ruth just follows h is lead.
‘Ben thinks writing books should be a hobby.’
I roll my eyes.
He shrugs. ‘Doesn’t bother me. It’s his problem.’
‘Well, I think you’re great,’ I say, squeezing his thigh. ‘Although, I don’t know . . .’ I take my hand away. ‘What school did you say you went to, again?’
He makes a face at me.
9.
R emember that day we spent working from home?’ Greg asks one evening when we’re out for dinner.
I smile. ‘We’ll have to do it again; I’m feeling filthy.’
He reaches across the table, takes my hand and runs his thumb across my knuckles.
‘I’ve a better plan. Why don’t we work from the South of France for the summer?’
I laugh.
‘I’m serious. I always spend the summer there with the kids. I’ve a villa—’
‘Greg, much as I’d like to, I’m
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