Marrying the Mistress

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Authors: Joanna Trollope
‘Hi, Gran,’ he said. He motioned to Carrie to come over, jabbing at the air urgently with his free hand. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, he’s not. Yeah, well – well, I’ll get Mum—’
    Carrie stooped over the table and let all the vegetables she had just picked up roll out of her arms again.She crossed the room and took the receiver from Jack who pantomimed exaggerated relief and slithered to the floor.
    ‘Laura?’
    Jack, beside his mother’s booted feet on the floor, heard his grandmother’s voice faintly from three feet above his head.
    ‘Carrie? Oh Carrie, is Simon back?’
    ‘No, he isn’t. I thought he was with you—’
    ‘Not now. He left. Isn’t he home yet?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘He should be,’ Laura said. ‘He should be by now.’
    ‘I expect,’ Carrie said, shifting her weight a little, ‘he’s got caught up in rush-hour traffic.’
    ‘Will you ask him to ring me? As soon as he gets in?’
    ‘Laura, has something happened, something—’
    ‘No,’ Laura said. ‘No. But I need to speak to him. I need to speak to Simon.’
    ‘OK—’
    ‘Tell him,’ Laura said. ‘Tell him, won’t you? As soon as he gets in?’

Chapter Five
    ‘I can’t come,’ Merrion said. ‘I simply can’t.’
    She was sitting on the edge of the sofa in her flat, nursing a gone-cold mug of herbal tea.
    ‘He’s a gentle soul,’ Guy said. ‘Very tolerant, very – well, whatever the opposite of volatile is. He isn’t, perhaps, quite as clever as Simon but he’s much less difficult.’
    Merrion looked into her mug. The herbal tea was pale brownish yellow and smelled faintly and disagreeably of compost. She had decided she was drinking too much coffee and was trying to drink herbal tea instead. It was, she thought, like telling yourself that a dry, unadorned diet crispbread was a perfectly satisfactory substitute for a thick cheese sandwich.
    ‘But he’s still your son—’
    ‘Who knows about you and what you mean to me and what you’re going to mean. He knows your name. He knows the
score
, my darling.’
    Merrion put the mug down on the floor by her feet. She leaned forward until she was bent double and her chin was on her knees.
    ‘What I hate is that the prospect of meeting a son of yours makes me feel
guilty
. I don’t know why, but it does. I feel as if I’d have to say sorry for upsetting his mother—’
    ‘Not much logic in that. His mother is the same person as my wife, and you very properly haven’t been consumed by guilt there.’
    ‘She’s a different generation. Alan’s my generation—’
    ‘Merrion, what on earth has that got to do with anything?’
    ‘I can’t explain,’ Merrion said, ‘but it has.’
    ‘Look,’ Guy said. He came across the small sitting room and sat down beside her. ‘Look, come and say hello very quickly, maybe even have a drink with us, and then go.’
    She sat up straight and pushed her hair behind her shoulders.
    ‘Would I be doing this,’ she said, ‘for you, or for me?’
    ‘For us both. Even for Alan probably. He’s going to love you.’
    ‘Don’t
say
this stuff—’
    ‘Loving his mother doesn’t preclude his loving other people that I love. Especially when they’re lovable.’
    ‘My mother doesn’t think I’m lovable—’
    ‘She does. She merely thinks your behaviour is unconventional and inconvenient. That’s different.’
    Merrion looked at Guy.
    ‘Are you trying to show me off?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘And give us credibility?’
    ‘That, too.’
    ‘I tell you,’ Merrion said, ‘I do not like this stage at all.’
    ‘I seem to remember—’
    ‘Oh, I did,’ Merrion said, standing up, ‘I did want you to leave Laura and all that. I do want it. But you never know how the dynamics will change when you get what you want, do you?’
    She stooped and picked up the mug from the floor. He caught her free hand.
    ‘Are you losing your nerve?’
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘But I just feel socially inadequate at the prospect of meeting your

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