A DAY TO REMEMBER

When her daughter invites her boyfriend around for tea, a laid-back mum suddenly gets nervous about their cat spoiling the afternoon. A short story by Lynne Hackles.

A laid-back mum gets nervous about her cat spoiling an important occasion.An entertaining short story by Lynne Hackles.

Samantha’s fur is tiger-striped. Perfect for my jungle scene. She sits patiently purring on the toilet cistern while I paint her likeness in among the fronds of greenery on the bathroom wall. I’m so deep in concentration that I don’t hear my daughter, Jess, enter.

“Mum, listen to me. It’s important. Can George come for tea on Sunday?” George is her first boyfriend. I haven’t met him yet.

“Ask him to lunch if you want,” I say.

“Lunch?” she shrieks. “He’s from a normal family who have proper lunch. Roast beef with all the trimmings.”

“OK.Tea it is.”

“I’ve warned him you’re not a normal mother,” she tells me.

Samantha turns her head towards me and closes her eyes. They open again quickly as if she had winked. I take this as sympathy for my situation. Teenage daughters are not the easiest of species to get along with. Cats are easy. As far as I know, they don’t have hormones and thankfully, they don’t bring boyfriends home and expect me to feed and entertain them.

I dip my brush into the burnt orange, vinyl matt and touch up the tips of Samantha’s ears. They now glow among all the greenery and as I add a few more touches, Jess tells me how George has a good family life while ours leaves a lot to be desired. We are mother and daughter. They are father and son. But it goes deeper than that. They are, apparently, organised. We’re not. They take it in turns to do the housework and cooking. We forget housework and meals are casual affairs of whatever you fancy, whenever you fancy it.

Samantha, once again, swivels her head round. This time to stare at Jess as if to say: ‘This family sounds too good to be true,’ which is what I want to say but dare not risk the consequences.

Later, as I watch my

‘I’ve warned him you’re not a normal

mother’

daughter’s blonde head bowed over her homework, I think back to when I was fourteen.Who was I in love with then? Phil Wood! All long hair and leather jacket. I remember him meeting my parents. We sat on the settee together sipping tea from mum’s best china. I rattled my cup on its saucer to cover the sound of my nervous gulps. It was all going well until Sooty came in and took a leap from the door, right onto Phil’s lap. His cup and saucer crashed to the floor. Hot tea soaked into his jeans and he started to sneeze. I remember his words: “I’m allergic to cats. And my legs are burning.”

Dad took him to the bathroom so that Phil could sponge down his jeans and apply antiseptic cream to his legs.The next time I saw Phil, he told me our romance was all over. He realised that he’d been sniffing and sneezing since he’d met me. Cat hairs must be on my clothes, he said.

Jessica’s romance is important. In 20 years’ time, she may conjure up George and the first time he met me, her mum. I’ll be responsible for her precious memories so Sunday tea must be relaxed and uncomplicated. I’ll be organised. But first…

“This George, he’s not allergic to cats, is he?” I ask. My daughter’s sigh was louder than the awful rap music she constantly plays.

“Mother, I am doing my homework and you are interrupting me. And why would I have asked anyone such a stupid question?”

I don’t answer. I’ll make sure Samantha is not around when we get the state visit. My thoughts turn back to being organised. My eyes scan the dusty living room, the magazines on the floor, and cat hairs on the chair. Every sign of cat must be eradicated. A serious clean-up is called for. I scoop up the brown remains of once pink carnations. Petals shower the table and Jessica’s homework.

“Mum,” she moans. “What are you doing?”

“Tidying,” I reply. For half an hour I squirt polish and flap dusters. Samantha watches from the windowsill outside. She is now banned from visits to the living room. No more episodes of ‘Corrie’ for her until next week. By the time I’ve vacuumed the carpet twice, I’ve had enough. A cup of coffee and a bit of telly seem more attractive. I carry two steaming mugs into the living room.

“Jessica, get a couple of coasters, please. We don’t want rings on the table, do we?”

“Don’t we? We’ve never bothered before,” she says flippantly and then looks me straight in the eye. “I suppose all this is because George is coming.”

“No,” I lie.

“And where’s Samantha? ‘Coronation Street’ is about to start and you know she likes that.”

“But what about the cat hairs?”

“What about them?” Jess gets up and opens the door. A bundle of ginger fur dashes past me and leaps onto the plumped-up cushions on her favourite chair. I give up. I’ll get some anti-histamine tablets when I go shopping. Just in case George needs them.

Sunday morning is spent baking. For once, my cake turns out perfectly and the icing forms legible lettering. Finally, everything’s ready for George’s visit — except me. Samantha must know something is going on. She sits on her chair and resolutely refuses to move. I can’t blame her. It’s raining outside and she’s always pretended she’s not waterproof. Jessica is sprawled on the other comfy armchair wearing her best jeans and favourite sweater. “What shall I wear?” I ask. “Anything except that.”

She wrinkles her nose at my cycling shorts and my ancient ‘Keep On Streaking’ T-shirt. I settle for my best jeans and a sweater.

The doorbell rings. Samantha beats me and my daughter to the front door. George has short hair and a white shirt. A younger version of how I imagine his father to be. He is clutching a bunch of daffodils.

A bundle of ginger fur dashes past...

“For you,” he says, his dark brown eyes looking into mine. It’s been a long time since anyone gave me flowers. I scoop up Samantha who is busy winding herself around George’s legs. We have a chat, then I go off to deposit Samantha in my bedroom. The rain has stopped so I open the window but close the door so there’s no escape.

“I’m going to get tea,”

I shout through to the living room. George comes to the door and offers to help but Jessica whisks him away with “Mum can manage. ”The table looks perfect. I place the daffs in a white jug, centre stage, and before I call the kids, I rush upstairs to make sure Samantha is all right.The bedroom door is no longer closed.The wind must have blown it open and there’s no sign of our cat. Oh well, if the worst comes to the worst, the anti-histamines are at the ready.

George asks if he can wash his hands and Jessica points him in the right direction, apologising about my jungle. George returns full of compliments about the decor. Samantha must have gone off in a sulk as there’s no sign of her.Tea goes without a hitch until the arrival of the cake. I carry it in triumphantly. I’ve never done a better job of baking. All those hours spent watching ‘Bake Off’ have paid dividends.

“What’s that?” groans Jessica.

“Jess didn’t mention a birthday,” says George. “Is it yours?” Then he peers at the cake. In pink icing, my fish-shaped chocolate sponge announces: Happy Birthday Samantha.

“Samantha’s our cat,” Jessica mutters in disgust. George walks out of the room. Jessica glares at me. “Now

I’ll never see him again and it’s all your fault. He probably thinks we’re insane. Thinks you’re insane,” she corrects herself. And then George reappears carrying our stripey, orange cat. He grins.

“We can’t cut her cake without her.” He sits Samantha on his lap and sings ‘Happy Birthday’ to her. Later, as the kids do the dishes, the doorbell rings.

“That’ll be Dad,” shouts George. “There’s something I should have explained. ”Too late. I’m already opening the door. A glittering chrome motorbike is parked by our gate.The figure on our doorstep lifts the visor of his crash helmet with one hand. With the other, he holds a purring Samantha to his chest.

“Hello,” he says. “I’m

George’s dad. And I’m guessing this is yours. It was crying on your doorstep.” He hands Samantha over to me. Like his son, he has no cat allergy.

“Pleased to meet you,” I say. “Come in and have some cake.” Samantha’s birthday is certainly turning into a day to remember.