The SITUATION

‘I’m off!’ Helen called from the hallway, car keys in hand. No answer, so she poked her head into the ‘den’, to find Aaron poring intently over a work file (even thought it was a Saturday).

‘I’m off,’ she repeated loudly. ‘I heard you the first time, love.’

‘ Well, I wasn’t to know that, was I? All I get from this room is a big fat “don’t bother me” vibe.’ She glanced around irritably. ‘ You know what this man-den reminds me of ?’

‘Go on,’ he sighed, looking up with a frown.

‘Reminds me of my brother putting a sign on his bedroom door when we were both kids: “No girls allowed”.’

‘OK,’ said Aaron meekly. ‘I’ll see you later!’ she muttered, and thought about slamming the door on the way out.

But she didn’t. Maybe because she wondered if he suspected where she was really ‘off’ to. Not to go shopping in town, as she’d claimed – but to meet Norah at a garden centre caff a halfhour drive away.

The meeting place had been Helen’s suggestion.

There, amid her favourite plants and the quiet pottering of fellow browsers, she hoped to control the narrative and the situation

recent bombshell had divided all three of them

in a way that had so far eluded her and Aaron, reduced to shouting at each other when they weren’t (sometimes separately) calling a phone at a university campus.

The recent bombshell had divided all three of them instead of drawing them together. Helen felt that Aaron was not ‘on my side’. Aaron had claimed there were no sides, only angles. Whatever the heck that meant. She really didn’t need any Yoda-type comments, thanks very much!

Since they’d been filled in on ‘developments’, her tears and appeals had fallen on deaf ears belonging to both members of her family.

Which was why Helen had refined her strategy to this clandestine sit-down meeting, woman to girl. Depending on how the meeting went, she might be able to look Aaron in the eye when she got home.

Now, approaching the garden centre café, she felt her legs shaking. She thought of all those years nurturing and tending their only child’s potential: the sacrifices made to engage a top-of-therange maths tutor, drive to and from tennis and music lessons – both of which had been shortlived but costly passions.

In fact, ‘a costly passion’ might well be the very definition of this… situation.

How ‘shortlived’ it might yet prove to be was a separate question.

Norah was already sitting at a café table. She looked frail and wan, eyes downcast, her once-golden hair dark with grease. Helen had a sudden memory of her strolling about in the back garden, laughing and sipping wine as she admired the roses and the newly built gazebo. Had that only been last summer?

Suppressing her natural maternal sympathy and her urge to wrap Norah in a hug and forgive her everything, Helen sat down opposite her at the table, pressing her shaking knees together.

‘Appreciate you meeting me halfway, as it were,’ she began, keeping the wobble out

of her voice. ‘Look, I know I keep asking, but have you fully considered the options we’ve discussed in recent weeks?’

Norah looked up and shrugged. No wonder, winced Helen. She was phrasing things all wrong in an effort to stay calm, talking of ‘options’ as if they were both at a business meeting.

When Norah looked down again and refused to meet her eye, Helen’s frustration bubbled over into plainer speaking. ‘How could you and that daft boy be so careless, especially in this day and age?’

This time, when Norah glanced up, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

‘ We didn’t plan it.’ ‘Obviously.’

‘But we are where we are and yes – we’ve considered the options everyone’s put before us. But this is our baby and our lives. And we’re going to make it work, somehow.’

Helen opened her mouth to ask ‘ how, exactly?’ when a tear finally escaped Norah’s eye and plopped onto the table.

Helen fumbled a clean hanky towards her. ‘No use crying over spilt milk.’ She grimaced. ‘Sorry. These… situations… tend to reduce a person to clichés.’

‘A person,’ echoed Norah. ‘ You’re very good at using distancing language. As if this “situation” can be kept at arm’s length. Well, I’m sorry, but it can’t!’

As more tears fell on the table, Helen gazed across it helplessly.

She bit her lip. Something hard and callused dissolved deep inside her. ‘I’m sorry, Norah. Probably all four of us aren’t handling this “situation” very well. But if you and Phil are set on having the baby, then of course we’ll support you. We’ll make things work. Somehow.’

She didn’t have a clue how, but it was reward enough to see a light come on in Norah’s tearful eyes. Poor girl.

Aaron had been right (as usual). Raging against a ‘situation’ didn’t make it go away. He’d had compassion where she’d seen weakness.

‘I’m glad we’re meeting like this, one-on-one,’ sighed Norah. ‘I knew you and your husband would be decent about things in the end. After all, you raised Phil, didn’t you?’ Her gaze softened. ‘ We’re in it for the long haul, Mrs Lewis. We love each

As tears fell, Helen gazed helplessly across the table

other. You do know that, I hope?’

‘ What do your parents say?’ she asked gently. ‘Aaron and I haven’t heard much from them yet.’

‘They’re ready to meet whenever you are.’

Helen nodded briskly. ‘Good. That’s an excellent idea. A family pow-wow should help us manage this… situation.’

She thought she saw Norah stifle a smile, and gave in to one of her own.

She suddenly felt something else alongside compassion: pride – pride in her son. He loved this young woman and the child that was coming.

Once upon a time, maybe even half an hour ago, Helen would have asked this weary, fey creature what she knew of ‘ love’. But maybe she knew as much as anybody else. As did her son.

She pushed back her chair, crossed round to Norah and wrapped her in a big hug, murmuring, ‘No more of this Mrs Lewis. From now on, it’s Helen.’

Then she returned briskly to her seat and picked up a menu. ‘How’s the morning sickness? Only, I recommend ginger and mint tea.’

When she got back home, she’d have a long talk with Aaron, and then they’d call their son – together. Meanwhile, she and Norah had made a valuable start, woman to girl.

Four Riddles for Jane Austen and Her Artful Maid Tilly by Gabrielle Mullarkey is published by Corazon Books, available on Amazon.