Dumped, Actually(74)
I feel like the answer is on the tip of my tongue but, as yet, I’ve not been able to get it off the tip and into the outside world. I remain confused, and unsure of how to proceed.
I’ve closed the door on my relationship with Sam, but the door on Ollie remains firmly wide open, and flapping about in the wind. I need answers. I need guidance. I need to speak to the people who know me best.
Just as well, then, that I will be seeing my parents today for their fortieth wedding anniversary vow renewal, to be held in that garden I ran around in so happily during my childhood. While I am there, I hope to get a chance to pin them down for a conversation that might give me some answers.
Like Carla Moreau says, connecting with your loved ones is a great way to get over heartbreak, and I really should take the time to speak to my mother and father about it all properly. Face to face.
They’ve never been all that great about giving me advice after a break-up, but maybe they could shed some light over what my stupid subconscious was trying to tell me. If nothing else, I’ll get a crash course in the proper care of geraniums.
My parents are both intelligent, well-respected people, who have done very well in their lives, so they must be able to offer me some kind of advice about how to better understand myself. After all, they know me better than anyone else. They should have insights into the way my mind works that nobody else can provide.
And also, there will be cake.
Everybody enjoys cake.
Even if I can’t unlock the secret of the geraniums (which sounds like the dullest idea for an Indiana Jones movie ever conceived) then at least I’ll go home full of chocolate sponge.
With this positive frame of mind, I drive up to Mum and Dad’s place – to watch them reaffirm their love for one another after forty years of blissful marriage.
The house my parents live in, and the one I grew up in, is enormous. One of those ‘Arts and Crafts’ jobs that were so popular at the start of the twentieth century. They got it for a song back in the early 80s and have never looked back since. It’s probably worth a bloody fortune now. It should be, given that it has views over the Solent and a garden you could lose a squadron of Royal Marines in.
I almost feel like an interloper – coming here in my bargain-basement Asda suit. I’m probably far too common to be seen in this area. It’s a wonder an alarm didn’t go off the minute I drove on to Mum and Dad’s street in my 59-plate Fiesta.
Mind you, it’s not like they’re posh themselves. Both were born to working-class families at a time when that could actively damage your prospects in life. They met at a bus stop. Dad was off to his job as a bookkeeper’s apprentice, and Mum was going to hers at the post office. Both of them were eighteen years old, and both of them maintain it was love at first sight. It took Dad three attempts to ask Mum out as they waited for the same bus, but when he did she said yes immediately, and they have never been apart since.
Married at nineteen and living in the lovely house I’m currently driving up to shortly thereafter (thanks to a little help from my maternal grandfather – who knew what stocks and shares were before anybody else in his street), they lived a blessed life. In fact, the only real shadow cast over their marriage was the difficulty they had falling pregnant. But even that issue was solved in 1986 when Mum got knocked up with yours truly.
Mum and Dad have had a wonderful life together, so it’s no wonder they want to mark the occasion of their marriage with this ceremony today.
It’s not going to be overblown. Mum and Dad don’t do overblown. If you’re looking for people who enjoy a lavish and gaudy lifestyle, you’ve come to the wrong place.
You can see that’s the case when I pull my Fiesta up next to Dad’s thirty-year-old BMW – which he has lovingly cared for all these years. It looks brand new compared to my bloody car.
And when we get inside, you’ll see that the house’s interior hasn’t been changed in years either, but still looks like it was put together yesterday.
When Mum answers the door, she looks equally like she was put together yesterday. I’ve obviously caught her in a very happy and upbeat mood. Which is no surprise, given what I’m here for today.
‘Hello, sweetheart!’ she says, giving me a huge hug.
‘Careful, Mum! You’ll wrinkle your dress,’ I reply, as she squeezes the life out of me. I haven’t seen her for a few weeks, but you’d think it was a few years, given the strength of the hug.
‘Oh nonsense. It’ll be perfectly fine. It has been every other time I’ve worn it.’ She pats the front of the cream dress almost affectionately. It doesn’t appear to have suffered any creasing. My suit might be a different matter, though.
‘Leonard! Your son and heir has arrived!’ Mum calls back through the house’s expansive hallway.
With a cheesy grin on his face, my father appears from the kitchen, also bedecked in a suit. This is the same suit he’s had for twenty years – and it looks as pristine as the car does.
‘Oliver! About time you got here, my boy. Everything’s just about ready, and I really want to get going before the vicar keels over.’
‘Leonard! Don’t say such a thing!’ Mum says in mock horror.
‘Daphne, the man is three hundred and seventeen years old. I have no doubt he feels as close to Jesus as he says he does, because he knew him personally.’