I Owe You One(20)

Hi, Ryan.

Well, hello, Ryan.

Hello, stranger.

But as I approach the front door my heart sinks. I can already see gray hair through the wavy glass, and as I swing the door open, a familiar cantankerous, raspy voice greets me.

“Come on, come on, don’t keep me on the doorstep!”

Great. It’s Uncle Ned.

—

An hour later Ryan still hasn’t arrived and I’d quite like to stab Uncle Ned.

I pretty much always want to stab Uncle Ned at every family gathering. But I have to smile politely at him, because he’s Dad’s brother and the only one left of that bit of the family. More to the point, Mum gets upset if we slag him off.

We’re all in the sitting room by now and there’s quite a crowd of Mum’s friends, chatting away. Music is playing, people are greedily eating sausage rolls, and smoke is hazing the air, because Mum’s never believed in the whole “smoke outside” thing. Dad used to smoke inside, so even though she’s not a smoker herself, she almost encourages it.

“Shop doing well, then, Joanne?” asks Uncle Ned.

“Not bad.” Mum smiles back over her glass of Cava. “Not at all bad.”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” Uncle Ned declaims. “Mike was a master at what he did. He set you up for life, Joanne.”

“He did.” Mum nods with a misty fondness. “He lives on in the shop; that’s how I see it.”

“He had a knack,” Uncle Ned explains to Mum’s friend Pippa, even though I’m sure Pippa knows as much about the shop as he does. “He knew what people wanted, you see? Clever man. And now Joanne can simply carry on in the same pattern.”

I’m bristling inside. I know Dad set up the shop, but what’s Uncle Ned saying? That Mum’s been coasting along these last nine years?

“Bob’s very helpful,” adds Mum, gesturing at Bob, our financial manager, who is hovering over the buffet table with an anxious look on his face. He reaches for a little sausage, reconsiders, peers doubtfully at a quiche, then takes two crisps and places them on his plate. (Bob Stringer: Most Cautious Man in the World.)

“Bob!” says Uncle Ned as though this makes everything plain. “Fine man, Bob! Bob keeps you going.”

I feel another dart of indignation. Bob’s helpful—of course he is—but he doesn’t “keep us going.”

“Bob’s great,” I say. “But Mum’s in charge—”

“Every organization needs a ‘Man of the House,’ ” Uncle Ned cuts me off. “A Man of the House,” he repeats, with weighty emphasis. “And since poor Mike left us …” He pats Mum’s hand. “You’ve coped marvelously, Joanne.”

I can see Mum flinching slightly at the hand-pat, but even so, she doesn’t confront him. And although I’m seething, nor do I. I’ve tried in the past, and it doesn’t achieve anything; it only upsets Mum.

I got really angry last Christmas, when Uncle Ned started patronizing Mum yet again during lunch. This time, I challenged him. He instantly got red-faced and after-all-I’ve-done-for-you, and Mum soothed the situation by telling him I didn’t mean it.

Even then I didn’t give up. I dragged Mum, still wearing her paper hat, into the kitchen and listed all the ways he’d talked her down, finishing up with: “How can you just sit there, Mum? You’re a strong woman! You’re the boss of … everything!”

I was hoping to stir her up, but it didn’t happen. She listened, wincing a little, but then said, “Ah, he doesn’t really mean it, love. What does it matter? He’s been there for me when it matters, your uncle.”

“Yes, but—”

“He helped me sort out the new lease after your father died, remember? I was in such a state, and Ned stepped in to negotiate. I’ve always been grateful for that.”

“I know he did, but—”

“He got very good terms for us,” she carried on resolutely. “He beat them down. There’s more to Ned than meets the eye. He’s not perfect, of course he’s not, but who is? We’ve all got our funny little habits.”

Personally, I wouldn’t call being a total misogynist a “funny little habit.” But in the end I gave up, because it was Christmas, and who wants to upset their mum at Christmas?

And since then I’ve stopped trying to make the point. For her own reasons, Mum wants to preserve Uncle Ned in her head in the best possible light. She doesn’t want to fall out with him. She’s such a strong woman in so many ways—but this is her total blind spot.

And I know why. It’s because Uncle Ned is family. He’s the only bit of Dad she’s got left. And she values that more than most things.

“How’s the dating going, Ned?” she says now, changing the subject in that easy way of hers. Uncle Ned got divorced recently, for the third time. I have no idea what any woman sees in him, but the world’s a mysterious place.

“Oh, Joanne, these girls.” He shakes his head. “Nice-enough looking, some of them, but they talk so much. I need to take ruddy earplugs with me.”

Yet again, I wonder how he can be Dad’s brother. Dad was old-fashioned in some ways—he believed his role was to be the provider and he didn’t like bad language—but he respected Mum. He respected women.