Mother-in-Law Squared “Well, that’s a turn up for the books!” said George, instead of hello, as he opened the door to see a petite, sprightly old lady in jeans, stretching her thin lips into a mischievous grin. Her twinkling eyes shone with playful amusement from beneath squinting eyelids. “Recognised her at once – Irene’s gran, Mrs. Valentina Perkins. But goodness, turning up unannounced, not even a phone call…” “Hello, grandson!” she chimed, still smiling. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” “Oh! Yes, of course!” George flustered, ushering her in. Mrs. Perkins wheeled a small suitcase inside, parked it by the hall. “Make my tea good and strong!” she ordered, when he offered her a cuppa. “So, Irene’s at work, little Olivia’s at nursery, and what about you – nothing better to do?” “I’ve been sent on enforced holiday, two weeks – staff requirement,” George answered gloomily, his hopes for a peaceful fortnight quickly evaporating. He shot her a hopeful glance, “You staying long?” “Spot on,” she replied, firmly dashing his hopes. “I’m here for a while.” George sighed. He hardly knew Valentina Perkins – just glimpsed her at his and Irene’s wedding – she’d travelled down from up North. But he’d heard tales from his father-in-law, who, when speaking of his own mother-in-law, would lower his voice and glance nervously about. There was no doubt – he respected her, to the point of terror. “Wash up, would you,” she commanded, “and get your coat. Time for an introductory tour of the town – you’ll be my guide!” George felt there was no arguing, nor did he dare try; her tone brought to mind his old army sergeant. Cross him and you paid for it. “Show me the riverside! What’s the best way there?” Mrs. Perkins linked her arm through his and marched down the street, peering around with curiosity. “A cab, I suppose,” George shrugged. Without warning, Mrs. Perkins popped her fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle. A taxi screeched to a halt. “Was that really necessary? What will people think?” George fussed, helping her into the passenger seat. “They’ll think it was you who behaved disgracefully, not me!” she grinned cheerfully. The cabbie burst out laughing along with Mrs. Perkins. They high-fived like co-conspirators. “You’re a quiet, well-mannered lad, George,” she told him as they strolled along the riverside. “Your gran’s probably a real lady. Me, I don’t know how to be proper. My late husband – Irene’s granddad – took ages to get used to me. He was shy and bookish. Then I turned up! Dragged him up hills and taught him to parachute. Refused to fly a glider, though – he and Irene would watch from below while I circled above.” George listened, astonished; Irene had never mentioned her gran’s colourful escapades. He began to understand the roots of her formidable character. She looked him over with sharp eyes. “You ever jumped out of a plane then?” “In the army – fourteen jumps,” he said, a touch of pride creeping in. “Respect,” she nodded. She started humming, “We’ll be falling a long while, on this long slow drop…” George recognised the tune and joined in, “Silk white cloud, soaring behind you…” The song closed the gap – he stopped feeling shy with this extraordinary grandma. “Right, break for a bite to eat!” she declared. “That stall smells of brilliant barbecue, follow your nose!” The barbecue man was a robust, dark-haired gent with a wolfish look, threading marinated meat onto skewers. He could as easily have been skewering his enemies, face aglow with joy. Watching him brought a wild urge to shout “Alright, mate!” and fling yourself into a mad Cossack dance right there. Seated at a table, Mrs. Perkins flashed George a glint in her eye and broke into a surprisingly pure voice, “Cheers to you, friend, it would be grand to sing at a wedding…” The grillmaster jolted, met her eye, and spark of fun passed between them. They sang the chorus in harmony: “To sing at a wedding, cheers to you!” “My treat, dear lady,” beamed the chef, setting out plates heaped with smoky kebabs, fresh bread, and crisp salad. He fetched two glasses of chilled wine and, hand on heart, bowed low. The scent of meat lured a shy grey kitten from behind a bush. Mrs. Perkins beamed, “You’re just the chap we need – come join us!” She nodded at the chef, “Got a bit of fresh for our friend here – chopped small, if you please!” While the kitten tucked in, Mrs. Perkins scolded, “You’ve got a little girl to raise! How will she learn kindness and care for the vulnerable with no cat in the house? This lad here will be great for her!” After their walk, Mrs. Perkins bathed the new family member and sent George out with an extensive shopping list for kitten kit. When he lugged home litter tray, scratching post, bowls and a plush bed, the flat rang with gleeful female laughter. Irene and Olivia smothered Gran in hugs and kisses. The kitten, perched on the sofa, gazed around at their strange new hosts. “There’s a summer set for you, Olivia,” Gran doled out presents, “and for you, Irene – nothing lifts the spirits like lacey undies!” For the entire week, Olivia skipped nursery. She and Gran vanished in the mornings, returning, flushed and happy, near lunchtime. At home George and the kitten – christened Leo – awaited them. By evening, Irene joined, and the whole crew set off for evening strolls – Leo in tow. “One thing, George,” Mrs. Perkins said one evening, looking unusually grave. “I’m leaving tomorrow. It’s time. After I go, give this to Irene.” She handed him an envelope. “My will. The flat and everything to her, and my husband’s rare book collection – that’s for you. There are signed first editions, priceless…” “Oh, there’s no need, Mrs. Perkins!” George began, but she cut him off with a wave. “I haven’t told Irene, but you should know: the old ticker’s playing up. It could go just like that. Got to be ready.” “You shouldn’t be on your own!” protested George. “You need someone with you.” “There’s always someone around,” she smiled. “Your mother-in-law is one town over. You look after Irene and bring up Olivia well – you’re a good lad, dependable. But you know, for you I’m the mother-in-law – squared!” She clapped him on the shoulder and laughed her infectious laugh. “Won’t you stay a bit longer?” George pleaded. She gave him a grateful smile and shook her head. The whole family came to see her off – even Leo, nestled in Olivia’s arms, looked glum. Mrs. Perkins popped her curled fingers in her mouth and whistled shrill as ever! A cab screeched to a stop. “Come on, lad, see me to the station!” she instructed, hugged Irene and Olivia, and climbed into the passenger seat. The cabbie peered at the old lady who’d stopped him in such style. “What you gawping at?” George grumbled, “Never seen a proper lady before?” The sprightly gran gave her silver curls a cheeky shake, burst out laughing, and high-fived George as the car sped away.

Well, this is a surprise! I exclaimed, forgoing any kind of greeting when I opened the door to see a petite, wiry old lady in faded jeans. Her lips stretched into a sly smile, and mischief gleamed in her narrowed eyes.

Marys grandma, Mrs. Agnes Thompson, I recognised instantly. But why on earth had she come without so much as a phone call?

Hello, lad! she said, her lips still curved in that wily grin. Are you going to let an old woman stand on the step?

Of course, of course! Come in. I hurried to make space.

Mrs. Thompson wheeled in her small, battered suitcase. When I poured her a cup of tea, she requested, Mines strong! She looked about the room. So Marys off at work, little Alice is at nursery, and what about you? Got the day off?

Ive been told to take a fortnight’s leave, I answered gloomily. Something about business necessity. My vision of a relaxing two weeks slipped away. Hopeful, I asked, How long will you be staying?

Ah, spot on, she replied, dashing my hopes, Im here for a good long while.

I suppressed a sigh. I barely knew Mrs. Thompsononly seen her briefly at my wedding to Mary, when shed come down from another town. Still, Id heard plenty from my father-in-law, who, whenever her name came up, would drop his voice to a terrified whisper. It was clear he respectedand rather fearedher.

Wash up those cups and come along, she instructed. I need a tour of your town, and youre coming with me!

Arguing seemed fruitless; her tone reminded me of old Sergeant Prichard back in my National Service days. Best not to cross her.

Youll show me the riverfront! Mrs. Thompson ordered as she expertly took my arm and strode to the street, her gaze curious and sharp.

Best take a taxi, I muttered.

Without hesitation, Mrs. Thompson slipped her fingers into her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. A taxi skidded to a halt.

Was that really necessary? What will people think? I tutted as I helped her into the front seat.

Theyll think its you with the bad manners, she chuckled, her silver curls bobbing. The cabbie, entertained, burst out laughing with her; they slapped palms together like old chums striking a deal.

Youre a quiet, decent sort, Jack, she chattered as we walked along the river. Your grandmother must have been the proper and elegant type. Not meI never learnt those ways. Bless him, Marys granddad, rest his soul, took ages to come around to my character. He was a gentle, bookish soul, and then bang, I came along! I dragged him up hills, taught him to parachute. Only thing he wouldnt do was hang-glide. Terrified, poor man. Waited with our daughter at his feet while I whizzed overhead.

I listened in amazement. Mary had never breathed a word of her grandmothers adventures. Clearly, Mrs. Thompsons life had been quite a taleand it explained a lot about her.

Ever jumped from a plane yourself? she demanded, giving me a shrewd look.

National Servicefourteen times. I replied with a hint of pride.

Well done! I respect that, she nodded, softly crooning, We must fall and fall again, in this long, long leap

Recognising the old tune, I cheerfully joined in: White silk clouds will billow, soaring seagull wings behind.

The song drew us together, and some of my awkwardness vanished beside this extraordinary woman.

Lets have a rest and a bite, she suggested. That food stall thereit smells heavenly, can you catch it?

The man behind the barbecuea burly chap with dark hair and a wolfish smilewas threading skewers of marinated meat. He looked as if, were the occasion to call for it, hed brandish a blade just as easily as a skewer. He brought to mind stories of gypsy dancers and wild festival nights.

Sliding onto a bench, Mrs. Thompsons eyes twinkled as she broke into unexpected song:

Roll out the barrel, we’ll have a barrel of fun

The chef started, glanced at her, and then, eyes alight, finished her line:

Roll out the barrel, we’ve got the blues on the run

Enjoy! he grinned, showing off a set of impressive teeth, and set plates heaped with kebabs, warm flatbread and fresh salad before us. He poured two glasses of chilled English white and bowed, palm to chest.

Attracted by the scent, a grey kitten emerged from the shrubs, edging shyly closer.

Just who I needed! Mrs. Thompson grinned. Come along, little one. She looked up at the chef. Could you bring some fresh meat, diced up fine, for our friend here?

As the kitten tucked in, Mrs. Thompson gave me a pointed look.

Youre raising a child, a girl at that! How will she ever learn kindness, compassion, or care for another, if theres not a cat about the place? This chap here will teach you all.

After our outing, Mrs. Thompson bathed the kitten while sending me out with a listlitter tray, dishes, scratching post, a soft basket. When I returned, arms full, the flat rang with merry laughter. Mary and Alice were all over their grandma, and she was basking in their affection. The kitten, perched on the back of the sofa, observed his new family with astonished eyes.

This is for you, Alicea pretty summer outfit with shorts, Grandma handed out little parcels. And a special treat for you, Mary. Nothing makes a wife quite so admired as fancy knickers

For the next week, Alice didnt set foot in nursery. Each morning, she and Grandma vanished for hours, returning tired but glowing from their excursions together.

At home, Jack and the kittensoon christened Lionelawaited their return. In the evenings, Mary joined them, and the whole family, bundled up with Lionel, would stroll through the lingering dusk.

Jack, love, we need a chat. Mrs. Thompson said one evening, more serious than ever. Tomorrow, I must be off, Ive been here long enough. Now, after I go, you give this to Mary, will you? She handed me a document, neatly sealed in a plastic sleeve. My will. Im leaving her the house and everything I own. To youI leave my late husbands library, built over half a century. Some rare gems with famous signatures

Oh Mrs. Thompson, please I blurted, aghast, but she silenced me with a stern wag of her finger.

Ive told Mary nothing, but Ill tell youIve a grave problem with my heart. Things might end quickly. Its time to put things in order.

You shouldnt be alone, I protested. Surely someone should stay with you!

She shook her head, smiling. Theres always someone nearby. My daughteryour mother-in-lawlies in the next town. Anywayyou take care of Mary, help Alice grow up right. Youre a good lad, strong and steady. Truth is, for you Im a mother-in-law squared! She gave my shoulder a friendly slap and broke into laughter that warmed the whole room.

Couldnt you stay longer? I pleaded, hating to see her go.

She smiled her thanks, but shook her head.

We all walked her out, even little Lionel in Alices arms seemed to sense the sorrow.

Mrs. Thompson slipped her fingers into her mouth and whistled sharply! A taxi stopped abruptly.

Come along, lad! she called. See me to the station, wont you? She kissed Mary and Alice, then settled herself in front with brisk cheer.

The cabbie stared, jaws agape at the lively old lady whod summoned him with such gusto.

Whats got you gawping? I muttered. Never seen a proper lady before?

Grandma, tossing her grey curls, gave a delighted laugh and clapped her hand to mine as we sped away.