While Chummy unpacked the old Singer on the dining room table, Dave was giving his curly mane one last tease in the foyer mirror. Another Saturday, another date for her younger son.
One had to admit: Dave had made out quite well in the looks department, given his underwhelming gene pool. He had his mother's height and wide, brown, "puppy dog" eyes. He had his father's strong jawline and soft, steady voice. His hair was a warm light brown that traced through his mother's family tree like gold inlay. He wore it as loose as he could get away with. Throw in the perpetual stubble, and the chest hair peeking out of his low-button shirt, and he was practically a Sasquatch in drainpipe jeans. A look that apparently drove the girls his age to a bally frenzy.
Chummy had just spread out Samantha's wedding dress when she heard Dave exclaim: "What in the bloody…!" He stomped into the dining room.
She knew exactly what was coming.
"You will not believe what Dad's slipped into my coat pocket!" He held up a condom, pinched between two fingers.
"He didn't," she said.
"I know! It's madness, isn't it? What do you reckon's gotten into him?"
"Nothing. He actually didn't put it there. I did."
Dave jumped back, flinging away the condom like a poisonous insect. It landed on the white satin bodice that Chummy was altering to maternity proportions. The irony was not lost on her.
"Mum!" Dave was aghast. "D'you really think that just 'cos Freddie and Samantha were so stupid, that I would-"
"They weren't stupid, just… careless," Chummy said primly. "But given their happy accident, it seemed prudent to reevaluate one's expectations. Of one's own children. As it were. I am a realist, you know. You're seventeen, popular, good-looking-"
"Mum, please don't-"
"But you're also university-bound, whereas Freddie's already settling into a trade. I would hate to see your life take a detour- and some bright young woman's life, as well. And you do know there are… other things that can happen?"
Dave turned away, throwing his head back towards the ceiling. "Oh my God," he intoned.
"We say 'goodness' in this house, young sir. As I was saying, when your father and I were courting, infections were generally confined to the so-called 'café girls' of Stepney. But nowadays-"
A car horn sounded out front. Dave heaved a great sigh. "Oh thank G- goodness. That's the gang. Sorry Mum, must dash. Early-bird discount at the rink ends at six, you know. TTFN!"
He ran off without retrieving the condom. Chummy picked it up and began to run after him. But she stopped once Dave crossed the front door threshold. Some situations were just too awkward, even for her.
And besides, the roller rink meant tonight was a group date. How bad could it be?
Dave's date- a friend of a friend's cousin- claimed that she didn't know how to skate. Her hands were steady in his as he led her around the rink. Still, he tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Until she slowly rubbed her thumbs along his wrists and told him he was so very nice to help her. His stomach twisted weirdly about that. Or maybe it was just the two chili dogs he had earlier.
He didn't know what happened. One minute he was slowly skating backwards, leading her along, listening to Cheap Trick's "Surrender." The next he was on the rough wooden floor, and she was on top of him, sticking her tongue down his throat. A most unfortunate lyric pierced through the spinning lights, the smoke, and the rumble of hundreds of skate wheels.
Mother told me, yeah she told me, I'd meet girls like you.
She also told me, 'Stay away, you'll never know what you'll catch!'
And there were the chili dogs again.
"I'm wanna go home," Dave groaned.
"It's Saturday. What d'you say we order in a Chinese?"
"That sounds just tickety-boo," Chummy replied. But the phrase lacked its usual pluck; her voice was soft and pensive. She sat at the piano, A Bobby Helms Songbook open before her. She turned a small framed photograph over in her hands.
"You alright?" Peter asked.
"Yes. Only, I was working on Samantha's wedding gown, and I got to… reminiscing."
She showed him the photograph. It was the two of them leaving the church on their wedding day, flanked by their cheering nurse-bridesmaids and bobby-groomsmen.
"It could have been us, you know."
He immediately understood her meaning. "It was a lot of couples back then. We would've been alright. I told you our very first time that I'd look after you."
"You did. And you have."
He shrugged out of his work jacket and sat beside her at the piano. She loosened his tie for him, and slipped open the top button of his shirt. She raised her eyebrows at him, coyly asking permission to continue. He smiled his assent.
That was another thing Dave got from his father: the hirsuteness. Though in Peter's generation, a respectable man had to close-shave, button up, and Brylcreem such wild curls into submission. But Chummy rather liked that. It gave her the chance- many hundreds of times over the past two decades- to start a cozy night in by setting her husband free. Popping a few more shirt buttons, running her hands through his hair…
She was ready for full speed ahead. But then, she'd just spent the last hour or so gazing at the photos atop the piano and brushing up the chords to "You Are My Special Angel." He'd just come in from work. Had it been a busy shift, one to preoccupy him? Or was it the kind of boring shift where he could hold her in the back of his mind?
They engaged in a lengthy, undignified, and terribly fun series of kisses. Peter pulled back ever so slightly, his eyes on her blouse. (This gave her a marvelous view of his eyelashes.)
"Are we, erm…"
He cleared his throat softly as he raised his eyes to hers.
"…alone again tonight?"
It must have been a frightfully boring shift.
Forget ordering in a Chinese. Forget even climbing the stairs. They only just made it to the couch, twirling each other close. She nearly tripped and fell backwards over the easy chair, which gave him pretext to grab her bum as he pulled her upright. She squealed with delight.
He went over to the tape deck. She draped herself across the sofa, shifting her long legs as she watched him. She gave a deep, impatient "mmph."
"Don't be picky, Peter."
"I'm not. Only Dave's left his bloody KISS tape in here. I just need to find something decent… Will Billy Joel suit?"
"Perfectly. Now, on to more pressing matters."
He grinned as he climbed on top of her. There was, indeed, a pressing matter.
A few songs, (and articles of clothing,) later, the front door swung open. Davey's cry of dismay rang out over their heads.
"DAD! MUM! SOFA! NO! UNACCEPTABLE!"