Suite Moments
New furniture brings back old memories in this moving short story by Christine Sutton.
The sofa had been with them through thick and thin, but it was time for Jane to move on . . .
JANE pulled the throw from the sofa, revealing it in all its cat-scratched glory. The arms were threadbare and the seat cushions bore the marks of 20 years’ relaxation and telly viewing.
She gathered them up and piled them on the floor.
A broken spring was poking through the fabric, like a little coiled cobra ready to strike, and she quickly scooped up Smudge before he could take his usual place on the seat.
He gave a plaintive mew, as if offended by the disruption to his routine.
“It won’t be long,” she soothed, perching him on the cushion pile. “We’ll have a new one soon that’s even comfier.”
With the sofa cleared, Jane squeezed in behind and started to edge it across the room.
When the doorbell chimed, she straightened, a hand to the small of her back.
Already she could feel the telltale niggle that warned of a sleepless night ahead.
She went to answer the door.
“Hello, Mum,” Milly greeted her, smiling from beneath a multi-coloured beanie hat.
Jane’s eyes widened. “Hello, love. What brings you here? Is everything
OK? Where’s Eric?” Her daughter had been an infrequent visitor since having baby Eric last year, and Jane immediately feared something must have happened.
“He’s in the car,” Milly replied. “I just wasn’t sure you’d be in.”
Where else would I be, Jane thought glumly. Since losing Cam at Easter she’d let her membership of the choir lapse and the days seemed to drag by.
“I’ll just get him,” Milly said, trotting back up the path.
Leaving the door ajar, Jane went to fish a box of herbal tea from the back of the kitchen cupboard.
Caffeine, along with many other foodstuffs, had been a no-go for Milly since a dawning awareness of her father’s condition in her teens had led her to research the subject of rheumatoid arthritis online.
While experts agreed it wasn’t hereditary, genetics was thought to play a part in its development and Milly was doing all she could to prevent it from happening to her.
Jane was pouring in the boiling water when her daughter came in with Eric perched on her hip.
“Hello, gorgeous boy,” Jane said, planting a kiss on his cheek and turning it into a raspberry.
He crowed with delight. “He’s getting so big,” she added wonderingly.
When Milly didn’t answer she shot her a glance.
“How’s Ollie? Job going well?”
“Great,” Milly replied, drawing out a stool from under the breakfast bar. “He’s loving the work, but the hours . . .”
As a newly qualified lawyer, Jane’s son-in-law was on call should any arrested person require a solicitor overnight.
And, as everyone knew, interrupted sleep was not always conducive to a sunny disposition next day.
She dunked the teabag and pushed the mug along the counter.
“Thanks,” Milly said absently. “Why are the armchairs in the garden?”
“Because I’ve got a new suite coming today,” Jane said. “I had to clear the room before it arrived.”
“You should have phoned,” Milly scolded. “Typical Granny, eh, Eric, struggling by herself.”
“I didn’t struggle,” Jane protested. “I got them out fine.”
“But the sofa’s three times as big, Mum, and with your back . . .” Milly stood and carried Eric into the front room.
“Gosh, it looks different without the chairs.”
“Which is why I’ve only ordered one this time,”
Jane explained. “An electric recliner.”
“Oh, Dad would have loved that. That riser thing was useful, but hardly luxurious.” She gazed at the sofa, a wistful look on her face.
“I can still see him last Christmas, you know, cradling Eric and singing ‘Away In A Manger’. He must have been in pain but he didn’t let it show.”
“He was happy, love.” Jane smiled. “And happiness is the best painkiller of all.”
Milly sighed.
“Well, I suppose we’d better get it shifted. I have the playpen in the car; I’ll just fetch it.”
She handed Jane the baby and hurried outside. Through the window, Jane watched her daughter bend to inhale the delicate scent of the azalea by the gate, before heading for the car.
“So, little man, what’s up with your mum? Something’s bothering her, I can tell.”
Huge brown eyes locked on hers.
“Not talking? Then I’ll just have to tickle it out of you.”
He was still gurgling when Milly came back in, lugging the playpen.
She dumped it on the floor and lifted the sides, then fastened the catches.
Carefully, Jane lowered Eric in while Milly took his play-mat from the changing bag.
“There, that’ll keep him busy for a while. Now for this thing.”
Taking an end each, they hauled the sofa up and worked their way into the hall.
“This has seen some moments, Mum, hasn’t it?” Milly puffed. “Did you know Ollie proposed to me on this?”
“I thought he did that in Rome.”
“Not the first time. I must have been about fifteen. It was your birthday and Dad had taken you to see a show.
“Ollie and I were sitting watching ‘Friends’ when out of the blue he turned to me and asked me to marry him. He gave me half his Twix to seal the deal.”
“A lasting token of affection.” Jane chuckled. Milly’s eyes danced.
“Not really – I ate it.” They angled the sofa through the front door and carried it across to where the chairs were sitting like thrones on either side of the bird bath.
“There,” Jane declared, blowing the hair from her eyes. “Just the cushions and we’re done.”
She went back indoors, returning a minute later to find Milly rooting around down the back of the sofa. “Lost something?”
Milly kept digging.
“When Ollie gave me that chocolate bar he tied the wrapper into a ring, but you came back before he could put it on my finger.
“I was just wondering . . . Yes!” she cried, holding aloft a limp brown wrapper, crinkled and faded with time.
“Well, that’s one for the keepsakes box.” Jane laughed.
“The what?”
“You know, the old shoe box I keep in the wardrobe. It’s got your baby wristband in it, a clipping from your first haircut, two of your milk teeth –”
“Eww!”
“You’ll be doing it before long.” Jane laughed, giving Milly a squeeze as they headed back indoors.
In the playpen, Eric was standing on wobbly legs, grasping the bars with pudgy fingers.
Milly reached in to lift him out.
“Actually, Mum, there was something I wanted to ask you. The thing is, he’s not walking yet.”
“Oh, there’s bags of time yet,” Jane assured her daughter. “He’s only just over a year.”
“Fourteen months,” Milly corrected. “And several of the younger ones at the nursery are already toddling.”
“He’s on track with weight gain and crawling, though?”
“Yes, but . . .” Milly shot a glance at her father’s photo on the mantelpiece.
“Oh, no!” Jane cried, immediately grasping her daughter’s fears. “You mustn’t think that. He’ll get there in his own good time, don’t worry.
“No way is this anything like that.”
Milly swallowed.
“You’re sure? Only it’s been on my mind.”
“One hundred per cent. This little man is fine.” She fixed her with a look, willing her to agree.
“OK,” Milly said uncertainly.
“Good. Now, go and drink your tea while I run the vacuum over. I could grow mushrooms on this carpet.”
No sooner had she finished vacuuming than a van emblazoned with the name of a local furniture store drew up outside.
“They’re here!” Jane called out.
She opened the door to see a ruddy-faced man jumping down from the driver’s seat.
“Mrs Harman?” he asked. “That’s me. Can you bring them through here, please.”
A younger man walked to the back of the van to lower the tailgate and she watched them unload the chair and carry it up the path.
Minutes later they were bringing in the couch.
“Nice colour,” the older one commented, as Jane pulled off the plastic sheeting. “What would you call that then? Mauve?”
“Aubergine, apparently,” she replied with a smile.
“Soon to be topped with a fetching layer of grey,” Milly added, coming in with Eric just as Smudge jumped up on the armrest.
The man laughed and turned to Jane.
“Any plans for that old suite on the lawn, Mrs Harman? Only Mike here is learning upholstery. He could use it as a practice piece.”
“Oh, take it, please,” Jane urged. “It’ll save me getting the council round to collect it.”
She pressed a couple of two-pound coins into their palms and the men left.
Setting Eric on the floor, Milly went to test the sofa, sitting back and wriggling her shoulders against the squashy padding.
“Oh, Mum, this is lush. I might never get up again!”
Jane was about to join her when she noticed Eric getting to his feet.
“Milly, look.”
Slowly he straightened, wobbling uncertainly on small pink toes. Milly gasped and held out her hands.
“This way. That’s it, over here.”
His brow knitted in concentration, Eric took a faltering step. Then another.
One more and he was in his mother’s arms, gurgling with delight at his newfound skill.
Jane sank down beside them on the sofa.
“Oh, Mill, that was special.”
Milly nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.
“And I’m so glad I shared
“Actually, Mum, there was something I wanted to ask you”
it with you, Mum. I’m sorry not to have involved you more.”
“Don’t apologise for that,” Jane told her. “He’s your first child; of course you want to spend as much time as possible with him.”
“Even so, is that offer to babysit still on?”
“Just say when, I’ll be there. As long as I’m not at choir practice, of course!”
“You’re going back? Oh, that’s great. You and Dad used to love your singing.”
A noise from outside made Jane look up to see the old sofa disappearing into the back of the van.
She felt a small pang of loss, remembering all the special moments the family had shared on it.
Well, now there would be be others, she thought, watching Eric set off on his second walk.
Wonderful, sweet moments, just like this. The End.