Chapter 2

Cedric:My mother's new project

As always, the Abercrombies ring in the New Year by organising their annual Turkey Curry Buffet. As always, the guest list is the same it was the previous year. And as always, the guests never cease to inquire about the presence of a woman in my life.

I think it's my mother. (She's not the woman people are referring to, of course, although my mother is the only woman in my life, as I have no sisters.) I mean, she's very worried about my being still single, and I fear she has contaminated the other members of the tight and faithful Abercrombie-circle with this affliction.

I was married once. Nine years ago, to be precise. The marriage deteriorated after two weeks, and we got divorced within a year. Women do have shown interest in me since (I'm a successful and reasonably good-looking barrister) but never again have I dared to put my heart at stake. Her betrayal – and his – hurt me more than anything in my entire life did.

My mother is determined to have grandchildren, though. So I'm frequently introduced to women she considers suitable daughters-in-law. It's not that she doesn't have taste, my mother, or that she is a snob – she can't afford to be one in this matter – it's just that I don't like having potential partners forced upon me. I've told her this numerous times, but her usual reply is something to the effect of, 'Darling, I'm not forcing anything upon you. What on earth gives you that idea? It's just that if I leave it to you, I'll never have grandchildren.'

So she won't stop it. I lost count, but by rough estimation, I think I've been introduced to about hundred women in the past eight years. I usually behave like a dork towards them, and not even on purpose. I'm just not very good at courting. The few women that are in fact interested in meeting me a second time, never opt for a third. I don't mind really. Henrietta successfully turned me off the female race.

My mother approaches me and takes my arm. 'Oh, darling, she has arrived!' she exclaims ecstatically. 'I'll introduce you.'

'She' is the daughter of Liam and Patricia Brady, who – as my mother told me – recently have been added to the Abercrombie-circle. I already know her name is Geraldine, as well as about everything else there is to know about her (according to my mother, that is).

I'm coaxed along toward a corner of the room where a woman of about 32 (I guess) is being held by her arm by another whom I never have seen before (probably Patricia Brady). My mother and the female ward exchange smug glances, and I instantly know that Geraldine has received the same warming-up treatment from her mother with regard to me, as I have had with regard to her from mine. God, no.

I free myself from my mother's grip to shake hands with both mss. Brady. 'I'm Cedric Carmichael. How do you do?' (I don't have to look at my mother to know she thinks I'm such a good boy.)

'Oh, Cedric, how nice to meet you at last,' Patricia Brady coos. 'Your mother has told us so much about you. I'm Patricia Brady by the way. And this is my daughter Geraldine. She has been dying to meet you.'

If she has, it didn't kill her, because she clearly is dying from embarrassment right now.

'It's a pleasure to meet you,' I say. I'm so sorry, I want to tell her. She looks like a nice girl to me. She doesn't deserve this ordeal anymore than I do.

'Come, Patricia, we'd better go now,' my mother says. 'I'm sure Cedric and Geraldine have a lot to talk about.'

They leave.

After a pause, I say, 'I'm so sorry about this.'

Geraldine nods. 'Yes, so am I. It's hard enough to be single without everybody constantly reminding you that you ought to have a partner at your age.'

She sounds rather spiteful. 'Don't you like to be single?' I ask.

'Well, it's not like I'm on the verge of becoming a lonely and bitter spinster, of course,' she responds quickly. 'I mean, I have a great job, wonderful friends, and lots of interesting hobbies. But I don't like to imagine that my current lack of boyfriend would be a permanent thing, no.'

I am surprised. Though maybe not exactly beautiful, she certainly is attractive. Why doesn't she have a boyfriend if she wants one?

'What's keeping you from getting one? A boyfriend, I mean.'

She regards me as though I'm mentally retarded. 'Do you manage to get all the women you're interested in?'

Oh. I see.

'No, I suppose I don't,' I say. 'But I don't try very often, I must confess.'

She narrows her eyes. 'You don't? Why not?'

I could consider this an impertinent question. But then again it differs not so much from the one I asked her, and besides, we're both the in-law-project of the other one's mother and this creates a bond between us, in a way.

'Well, I was married once, very briefly. Nine years ago. It's not an episode of my life I enjoy reminiscing.'

'Oh. I'm sorry.' she pauses, then says, 'Nine years is a long time. Have you never been interested in a woman since then?'

She looks as though she wouldn't believe a simple 'no, indeed, I haven't' to this question (as though the truth would be pathetic) and I feel the urge to defend myself.

'I guess I've been too busy resisting my mother's pressure to be interested in her numerous potential daughters in law.'

As soon as I've said this, I realise it could be considered a rude remark as she is after all one of my mother's potential daughters in law. But she just says, 'Yes, I can imagine.'

I don't think she does, though. She doesn't look offended, but I can see her thinking, 'Christ, nine years?'

Maybe I have been making too much out of finding my wife in bed with my best man two weeks after the wedding. But I just happen not to have fallen in love since then.

I think it is time to change the subject of conversation. 'What's the story about you and men?' I inquire.

She doesn't answer right away, and I'm already taking a breath to apologise for the impertinence of my question when she says, in a much too flippant voice, 'Oh, none of my relationships has lasted very long. I have this habit of always being attracted to pricks, in fact.'

Ah. I know the type of woman (I was married to one) as well the type of prick (one of them was my best man). That's not Geraldine's fault, though, so I'm about to venture something sympathetic when I notice she looks a bit uncomfortable. And I realise why. The implications of her words are either a) that she isn't attracted to me or b) that she thinks I'm a prick. Probably a.

I try a reassuring smile and get a relieved one back. That blush really becomes her.

When we leave the party, my mother is delighted. 'Darling, I haven't seen you talking to a woman for this long in ages! Did you get her telephone number? Oh, never mind, I'll ask Patricia Brady.'