“Mum, I’m sorry, look, let’s have a short rest and a drink and a meal here. It’s probably a bit late for a bus to anywhere, and anyway we’ve got to sort you out properly and get your injuries looked at. And then there’s your bike… and any bus that might come along probably won’t have room for my bike. So what do you say? ”
“I say that you’re in charge, love…”
‘love’..? It was a familiar friendly expression around our parts, but still, to hear her say it….
We parked the bike by the front entrance and went through into a large, wooden-panelled lounge, my mum leaning on me for support.
Behind the bar, a friendly barmaid’s face looked up and then clouded over as she saw my mum was having a few difficulties.
“You alright there, love? (I told you…) You need any help?”
“No, we’re fine thanks, just got our bikes tangled further back down the road but we’re OK.”
Having ascertained that there was no need for concern, she came over to our table to wipe it clean and ask us what we wanted to drink. I needed a good beer and mum asked for wine. What she really wanted, she said, was a triple Scotch, but had second thoughts about the effects of excess alcohol after her mishap. They also had a good menu, so we ordered a hearty meal.
“And do you do rooms? Is there a room for the night?”
There, I’d said it.
I glanced over to mum who had her eyes lowered, and then back at the beaming face of the barmaid who said it must be our lucky day because someone had just cancelled.
I then returned my gaze to mum who put her hand over mine and just smiled to the girl, “That’s really lovely, thanks.”
So we ate and we chatted and we drank. The pub started to fill up. I even recognised the cashier from the supermarket, probably dropping in for a tipple before returning to yet another night in front of the telly. She looked twice at me, and then at mum and then turned to whisper something to her mate who glanced over at us and laughed.
Then suddenly the barmaid had a spare moment for us and asked if we’d like to see the room. I accompanied her upstairs, since it would be an effort for mum, and I wanted to minimise any weight on her leg. Hey, it was cosy and like something out of a couple of centuries earlier, a huge high bed with a thick eiderdown, and a half-timbered ceiling. I looked under the bed for the chamberpot and the barmaid laughed.
“Contrary to first impressions, we do have all mod-cons, even wifi…! Will you need any help bringing your wife upstairs?”
She looked at me enquiringly, without a hint of malice.
“Oh, no…no…. it’s part of the marriage contract that I do all the heavy lifting…”
She laughed, gave me the key and wished us a very pleasant stay.
Back down in the bar, mum glanced over to me, one eyebrow raised.
“Well? comfy?”
“Yeah, very cosy indeed mum, er, I mean…oh, there’s just one thing – I can’t call you ‘mum’ anymore…”
“Oh, why’s that?”
“Umm, ’cause apparently we’re married..?”
“Me? To you? Us?”
I nodded.
She looked into space for a moment, one of those dramatic moments where it could have gone either way, then turned to me, reached over and placed her hand in mine. Her face was deadly serious.