Mother was determined to parade all my past achievements and shortcomings before the invited audience, and she insisted we gather in the drawing-room after dinner to look at family photos. Feeling such self-indulgence might bore my two guests beyond endurance, I suggested a short twilight drive through the Cotswolds, but I was heavily outvoted. Soon the cavalcade of Bird family history progressed into holiday slides and ciné films, and I felt my very soul had been laid bare. Certainly my young naked body had been displayed in a number of shots, and much entertainment was derived from my humiliation.
Then Mother decided to ask if anyone wanted Horlicks.
"As long as no-one charges in and sends it flying," I laughed loudly.
"Not for me, thank you," said Betty, her quiet refusal telling me more than it told Mother, who promptly suggested Bournvita, Ovaltine or cocoa. I sensed an impending crisis and tackled it head on.
"The big question," I said, "is whether we head for home tonight, or stay for a second dose of Cotswold frolics tomorrow. Who favours driving back to Leatherhead?"
Nobody did, and I was admonished for making a ridiculous suggestion. So we each brought in our overnight bags, bade Mother a courteous "Good night!" and I introduced both ladies to the bathroom.
"If anyone needs to phone me in the small hours," I added, "I'm prepared to receive visitors as long as they don't rouse the hen from her perch."
They giggled nervously, and we retired to our rooms. I could hear contented chatter wafting across the landing as I settled down to what I thought would be a peaceful night.
At half past two, I was conscious of fingers drumming gently on my door.
"Come in," I whispered, and leaned over to the bedside lamp.
Betty blinked at the sudden brightness.
"I'm sorry, Richard, but I can't sleep. Call it jet-lag or chronic insomnia, I often get nights when I can't seem to let go. I lie awake worrying about why I'm lying awake worrying. Is that crazy or what?"
She sat on the edge of my bed. "And honestly, Richard, what am I to do about Angie?"
"Short-term or long-term?"
"About our friendship, about her living in my house. About the unthinkable - asking my best friend to leave. I can't bring myself to be rotten to her, Richard. And it's not as if she means me any harm."
"Quite the reverse," I grinned.
Betty wagged a scolding finger. "Naughty! But then it struck me, if she learned that I was getting married again, she wouldn't hang around then."
"And are you?"
"Who can say?" she sighed. "And I suppose you'd rather hear me talk about Angie. What is it you see in that strange child, Richard? Do you love her?"
"I honestly don't know," I said. "She fascinates me. She's cute and vulnerable. Even at twenty-nine she has that little-girl-lost look that gnaws away at my weakest parts. I can't claim I love her, not yet. But sure as hell's warm and corks float, I want to love her."
"You don't think maybe you could fall for someone else, like me for instance, if I became all lost and vulnerable?"
"Nothing's impossible, Betty. You're an exceedingly nice person and a very good friend. You've had a tough time, I know, and I'd do a lot to help you if I could. I'm not planning to lose contact with either of you just yet, so let's wait and see how the chemistry bubbles along in the old pot, eh? And I'm sorry you had to share a room."
"That's no problem, Richard. I'm quite capable of rejecting any unwelcome advances, wherever they come from. I got my Brownie badge in survival and self-defence. But if you want the truth - and you'll hear it even if you don't - this is the first night I've slept under the same roof as you, you swine, and I can't get you out of my mind. That's why I can't sleep. I'm sorry if my candour sounds blatantly unromantic, but that's my style. I know I'm as subtle as a slot-machine. I don't mess around when I've got something bugging me, I come right out and say it, which is probably why my marriage was such a bloody mess. I never could learn to keep my trap shut. Your sturdy, capable, unvulnerable Betty calls her spades bloody big shovels. Can you cope with my brand of tact at this hour?"
"Sure, as long as we don't disturb Mother Hen."
Betty lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper.
"Then watch my lips, Mr. Bird, while I mouth a few notions I need to share. Ever since the day of George's funeral, I've been thinking about you, and after lying awake for three hours, staring at the ceiling, I knew I'd do better to creep over here and open up my soul. I'm afraid I don't do it as cutely as Muffet back there. I issue facts like a tannoy at a village fete. Angela says I share thoughts like I'm serving school dinners. This might have been far easier on the phone, but I'd be nuts to wander down to a call box at this hour and then find myself talking to your mother. What would she say if she knew I was here right now?"
"You would know you had sinned. Mother would infer the worst possible scenario, and speak her mind like a prison commandant."
"Then I'd better sidle back to bed," she said. "I don't want to louse up your family life as well my own."
"I don't have a family life, Betty. I'm just a crusty Leatherhead bachelor with all sorts of weird interests."
"Including a craving for Little Miss Muffet."
"I'm sorry I can't be more help," I apologised. "Being under Mother's roof oppresses me. I feel much freer on my own, which is why I moved out."
"Sure. But freer to do what?"
"Anything. I can invite a girl to my flat without Mother Hen giving her a gruelling interview for the job of daughter-in-law. If you want to know what that's like, Betty, I'll set her on to you first thing in the morning."
"If the vacancy wasn't open, Richard, I'd consider it cruel. And somehow cruelty just ain't your style."
"Betty, my dear, I don't know what I want in life, and that's the truth. In some ways I'm just as mixed up as Angela."
Betty looked worried. "You don't mean you prefer boy-friends?"
"Hell no!" I protested loudly. "No, I'm very hetero-thingy I assure you - and none too fond of male company. Inherited feelings of inadequacy, I suppose."
"Perhaps you should have been allowed to pee freely from your tree," she said. "Instead, you were inhibited at an early age. Glad I wasn't passing by at the time. Might have put me off boys for life."
"What do you suppose put Angie off boys?"
"Who says anything has? Certainly not you, that's for sure. She claims to enjoy your company almost as much as I do."
"What kind of relationship did she have with her father?"
"Ah! Now remember, I never betray confidences."
"That means you know something."
"Oh, Richard, if only you... Wait! Listen!"
The tell-tale creak of a floorboard warned us that someone was awake and moving about. A moment later my bedroom door slowly opened and Mother loomed large in the doorway, looking like a wild harridan and very unsociable.
"Is this how you repay my hospitality?" she croaked, screwing her eyes against the light as she tried to see what she'd caught us doing.
"We couldn't sleep," I claimed defensively, "so we've been sitting here talking ..."
"I can guess well enough what's been going on," she retorted with a cold stare at my bed. "When I allow your friends to stay for the night, Richard, I expect them to comply with rules of the house and sleep right through till morning, not creep from room to room holding furtive parties in the dead of night."
"Mother," I sighed calmly, "when did you last cross the Atlantic?"
"Don't change the subject, Richard." The formal use of my name proved that Henrietta was not in a reasoning mood.
Betty intervened. "What Richard is saying, Mrs. Bird, is that no-one has yet devised an infallible cure for jet-lag. I can't force myself to go to sleep merely because it's the rule of the house. I was in America two days ago, and my internal biology knows it's still only ten p.m."
"Well, you're under my roof now, and your internal biology is not a subject I care to discuss in front of my son."
"Heigh ho!" I sighed, leaping out of bed and crossing to the window. "Welcome to the Cotswolds, Betty. I think it's time for a breath of fresh air. Care for a moonlight stroll?"
"Great idea, Richard. I'll be with you in two minutes. Sorry if we disturbed you, Mrs. Bird," she added as she eased herself past Mother's portly frame and crept away.
"Really, Mother," I confronted her, "do you have to be so rude to my friends? What's wrong with sitting here talking, for heaven's sake?"
"One thing leads to another, you should know that at your age."
"Well, to set the record straight," I said, my sole aim being to shock, "it's the other one I'm itching to have sex with. And now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get dressed, so I suggest you go back to bed and get some beauty sleep, or you'll be ratty as hell in the morning."
"That's as may be!" she grunted and shuffled off to the bathroom. By the time we heard the flushing toilet, Betty and I were already downstairs.
"Are you going to be warm enough?" I asked, taking the back door key and locking up behind us. "There's my big winter overcoat in the car if you'd like to borrow it."
Betty gave an involuntary shiver. She snuggled gratefully into the outsize coat, and we set off arm in arm down the road like two homeless refugees.
"This is more fun than sitting in your room," she exclaimed. "Sorry if my wayward behaviour loused up relations with your Mother. You're right, she is a formidable Bird."
"Yet she can't puzzle out why her chicks have all flown the nest. I'd have thought it was bloody obvious! Do you have parents, Betty?"
"I'm an orphan," she revealed with typical frankness.
This came as a shock. "That must have been tough," I sympathised.
"So people tell me. But I never knew quite what it was I was supposed to be missing. Life was okay, and I was never lonely. I got plenty of love and cuddles from a succession of caring matrons - not like Angela, poor kid, living alone with that beast, and no-one to turn to when he didn't treat her right."
"Beast?" I echoed. "Are you telling me he treated her badly?"
"You may do some guessing from the tone of my reply," she said. "We've played this game before, so you know the rules. Oh, that was a big disappointment, you know, when you asked at the party if I had time for a chat. I thought you really fancied me and were making your opening move, yet all you wanted was free back-door gossip about Muffet's love life, such as it is. Heigh-ho!"
I felt contrite. "I never meant to hurt you, Betty. But you're such an easy person to talk to. I feel I could say anything to you and you wouldn't take offence."
"Think so? Try telling me I'm an ugly old bat with the I.Q. of a goldfish. Try suggesting I don't have a snowman's chance in hell of ever meeting a kind, loving guy who'll take good care of me for the rest of my life. And care doesn't mean letting me to put my feet up. I know what care means, a lot more than most."
I made an inadequate remark about her hopefully finding someone soon.
"I was hoping I already had," she replied with a stare I couldn't ignore.
"As my mother keeps saying," I responded, "that's as may be. And if I could only figure out what she means by that, I'd probably agree with her."
"I've spent several years pondering over what kind of a chap I want to meet," Betty went on as we strolled aimlessly toward the town centre. "I don't need the sort of marriage partner who'll drive me crazy with lust every time I look at him. I'd go for someone I can easily talk to, someone who can instantly make me feel I've known him for ages."
"That's just how I felt when I first met you," I said, "on the day of the Partridge funeral."
"Yes. A strange day, that. A sad loss, yet at the same time a blossoming of freedom. He was a tyrant, you know - so rumour has it."
"Rumour has it," I reminded her, "that he didn't treat his daughter at all well."
"And many a bad rumour is based on truth," Betty replied with a firm nod..
"That could simply mean she became his dutiful, unrewarded skivvy, taken for granted and generally put upon. Or, it could mean something a lot worse."
"I don't think he physically abused her," Betty replied.
"I'm glad to hear it."
"But," she added with well chosen words, "all men have their little urges that need to be satisfied. Some men require more nursing as they get older. Angela was a dutiful little girl and, as you astutely observed, a vulnerable one. She played many a role in the old man's life - cook, housekeeper, nursemaid."
"I'm not hearing the word Daughter."
"No," she agreed, her chin held high, "no, you're not."
"I wonder if Angela will phone one night and tell me more about him?"
"She'll more likely want to forget him as quickly as she can. But Richard, bear in mind she may believe that all men are basically the same as her father. He had the money to buy whatever he needed. But there are certain things that money can't buy, things that only a loving relative might offer. I don't think one can buy the kind of love he wanted. If you have to pay to be loved, it can't really be worth much."
"I get the feeling," I said, "that the late Sir George Partridge left a lot to be desired."
"About all he did leave. It looks as though poor Angela's likely to remain poor Angela. Unless of course she marries some wealthy aristocrat."
"Hell, no! What kind of life would that be? Angie deserves better than that idiot, for goodness' sake."
"Like Richard Bird, for instance, the well-known peer from trees?" she laughed. "Sorry. Couldn't resist."
"As you're doubtless aware by now, I didn't inherit tact from my Mother."
"Well, I have no such relative to squeal on me," Betty responded with a hint of sadness, "nor were any colour slides taken of my childhood. Count your blessings, Master Richard. You may have felt last night's entertainment was a touch personal, but it brought you to life in a way I envy. I've got absolutely nothing like that to show to anyone."
"If you're referring to my nudity, I would imagine not."
Betty grinned. "You evil little boy! And here I am, trying to melt your heart and make you want to look after me. Some hopes!"
Suddenly spots of rain began falling around our feet. "Looks like it's time we headed back," I suggested, "or someone will be saying I-told-you-so."
In less than a minute it was pouring so hard we had to take refuge in a phone box.
"Lucky to find a place still open," Betty panted. "This is a bit crowded - standing room only. Shall we phone Angie to come and rescue us?"
"Yes, if we're still here by morning. Better not let Mother Hen know we spent the night in a single room. Anyway, while we're waiting..."
"Yes?"
"You can tell me what you were like as a little girl."
"Oh, I was sweet!" she teased. "Pigtails, glasses, goofy buck teeth wired up in a brace that felt like the Forth Bridge. But I seemed to be popular. I didn't get much in the way of pretty clothes though, not like your Angela, poor soul."
I asked when they'd first become friends.
"About fifteen years ago," she recalled. "I once sat and listened to a long outpouring from the depths of her soul, just before we broke up for the summer hols. I didn't know much about her circumstances then, but I got the clear feeling that holidays weren't a time she relished. She invited me once to go and stay with her, but then had to ring up and cancel it because her father wouldn't agree. At the time I couldn't make out why, and I took it very personally. But now I understand, only too well. Instead we met in Dorking one afternoon when she was let off the leash. The poor soul had so much she wanted to tell me, but we never reached the bottom of it. Perhaps you'll succeed where I failed. But listen, don't imagine that your Angela is as free from carnal knowledge as she appears. Here, why am I wasting valuable time telling you this? You asked about my childhood, not hers."
"Do you know who your parents were?"
"Oh yes. They died in a plane crash when I was two. Six months later I lost my one remaining grandmother and an aunt. I had huge sums of money left in trust for my education, which is how I came to attend the same posh school as Angela. We were always good friends, though we weren't in the same form. I'm closer to your age, if that fact amuses you. Also I chose a scientific education, while Angie wallowed in the classics. I went on to university and got my B.Sc. while Angela took up a domestic lifestyle and gained practically nothing on paper. Now the poor kid's got no job experience and no prospects. She can't even type."
"It sounds as if Angie needs a lot more help than you do."
"She does. The question is whose help, Richard, and help to do what?" Betty stifled a long yawn. "And now perhaps we ought to grab a few hours of shut-eye before we face the dawn firing squad."
"It won't be that bad," I assured her. "The old girl said her piece. By breakfast she'll be all over you, you'll see."
"I'm not the fawning type, Richard. If she wants a fight on her hands, I'm game. No, that's unfair - we are your guests, so I promise I'll behave. Talking of behaving, we're both standing so close, this seems an ideal place for a snog."
Betty glanced furtively up the road, adding:
"If I were to give you a long goodnight kiss, would that be against the Bourton bye-laws?"
"Depends whether Mother's watching from her bedroom window, with her beady eyes glued to powerful binoculars."
"A novel concept in Bird watching! She could be in time for the mating season..."
As her voice ebbed away we drew closer and we kissed, tenderly at first and then with mounting passion as Betty became more and more desperate to win my devotion. But though I felt a warm bond of understanding between us, and great sympathy for her needs, she failed to arouse any sexual interest. In fact, I was quite thankful when it stopped raining.
Feeling unaccountably guilty I took Betty's arm and we made our silent way back to the house. Betty kissed me again in the darkness of the kitchen before we both crept upstairs. I don't know what satisfaction it gave her, but for me it was merely a pleasant exchange of very sincere affection.
I managed to get five hours' sleep until nine o'clock when there was a loud banging on my door.
"Those who had a good night's sleep would like lazy-bones to join the rest of us for breakfast," announced an irritatingly strident voice.
"Okay, Mother" I acknowledged as cheerfully as I could. I put on a dressing gown and shuffled along to the already occupied bathroom.
"Shan't be long," called an excitingly feminine voice.
Unable to wash or shave, I crept downstairs. In the kitchen I found Mother Hen and Betty looking as if they'd been up since dawn, chatting like the best of friends - further testimony to Betty's enviable gift for putting folk at their ease.
"My! Look what the cat's brought down," Mother exclaimed as she saw me. "Your night on the tiles must have put you out like a light."
"But I feel much better for it," I said.
"Were you thinking of making yourself presentable in front of your female guests," Mother asked, "or have you still to learn the meaning of decency?"
I took delight in matching her mood.
"Despite years of diligent searching, Mother, I have failed to locate more than one bathroom in this house, and at present it contains a young lady whose privacy I intend to respect."
Betty sniggered and turned quickly away.
"Well, that's something to be thankful for," Mother conceded. "Your other friend here has put me firmly in my place this morning, Dickie, explaining about jet-lag and how hard it is to adjust to the time change when you come back from America. She also claims I was rude to you both in the night, and has instructed me to admit it. She's quite a character this one, Dickie. I must say I like her."
"Told you," I grinned triumphantly at Betty. "Mother Hen, you're not such a bad old sausage once people get used to your stuffy Victorian ways. What's for breakfast?"
"Nothing until everyone in this house is properly dressed."
I could hear the bathroom being vacated, so I darted upstairs and met Angela on the landing, fully dressed and about to come down.
"Hallo," I greeted her. "Did you sleep well?"
"Marvellous!" she said. "How about you?"
"Patchy!" I replied, and told her about Mother finding Betty in my room, and our subsequent stroll around town. "And now," I added, "I must dash to the bathroom and get dressed, or Mother will use my intestines for a clothes line."
She giggled. "Should I expect a frosty atmosphere down below?"
I shook my head. "You underestimate them both, my sweet. They're in the kitchen gibbering away like reunited school chums. Amazing change of attitude from the small hours, when Mother insisted I'd brought shame to the Cotswolds with our naughty goings-on."
"What made Betty come and disturb you?"
"Jet-lag, I guess. She couldn't sleep, so she made sure I couldn't either. But I didn't mind - it was interesting. May I say you look lovely this morning?"
"Thank you," she beamed, and my heart took a pole-vault. Why did this dear girl do more to my hormones with a simple smile than Betty could achieve with a long and passionate kiss? What was Nature trying to tell me?
Ten minutes later the four of us were seated around the breakfast table, with Mother earnestly organising our day.
"Now, Dickie, give me some idea what time you need to set out for London?"
In Mother's world, London is a vast and smoky built-up area somewhere to the east of Oxford. I suggested getting away by four o'clock.
"So you'll be here for lunch. Good! Who's ready for church?"
This was not a question, it was an announcement. After an exchange of glances it was agreed that, for reasons of tact and diplomacy, we would all go to church at eleven.
"It's now twenty to ten," Mother proclaimed. "We leave at half past. But will you be comfortable dressed like that?" she accused Betty, implying that she needed to change. Mother knew that no woman in trousers could ever be acceptable in the eyes of God.
"I'm sure you'd prefer to borrow a dress," she insisted.
To spare the rest of us any embarrassment, Betty agreed,
"Then," declared Mother, "we'll leave these young love-birds together while we two go upstairs."
Angela asked why Mother had used such a phrase. I blushed and tried to pretend it was a harmless extension of the old Bird theme.
"In Mother's rule-book," I went on, "any man over thirty must be on the threshold of marriage, and as Betty is divorced, her simple mind sees you as the only alternative. If that embarrasses you, I apologise."
"It doesn't embarrass me," she said. "I just wondered what you'd been saying to her."
"In this house no-one needs to SAY anything. Mother observes and infers. She assesses and she decides. Whatever she thought Betty and I were up to last night, she seems to have forgotten about it this morning. Betty and I had a long talk during our nocturnal tour of Bourton. She's very loyal to you, you know. I happened to ask how you and your father got on together, but Betty was reluctant to say anything. Incidentally, I'd no idea she was an orphan."
"She's a wonderful person," Angela replied. "So did she come to your room just to talk about me, or what?"
"She claimed it was jet-lag, but I think she had other problems on her mind. Between you and me, Angie, she needs a close loving relationship."
"I know. Preferably with someone like you."
"Well - who can say? We did actually kiss each other last night," I added, "here in Mother's kitchen. Unfortunately it didn't affect me in the way Betty wanted, and I feel bad about that because she deserves better. I don't know, Angie, it's a real mess we've managed to get ourselves into."
"Then we'd better help one another out of it, hadn't we. Without hurting anyone in the process."
"Does that include me?" I asked.
"Of course."
"Are you aware that I'm in danger of falling in love with you?"
She nodded.
"And is it hopeless?" I added with trepidation
She looked away. "Who knows? Perhaps some of us need sorting out more than others."
I reached for her hand. "Promise me one thing, Angie. Don't bottle it up or shut me out. Talk to me. Tell me everything about yourself. Let me be that close friend. Share it with me, please, when you're ready."
"Share what?" She gave me a peculiar stare. "What did Betty tell you last night?"
"She kept reminding me she never betrays confidences. But her very silence left me feeling intrigued, longing to be part of the team and to be as helpful as I can. Oh God, Angie, you mean so much to me."
"Then in church we must pray for the wisdom and guidance to sort ourselves out." She looked searchingly into my eyes. "And you deserve honesty, Richard. No, it isn't hopeless. Just difficult."
She then placed a loving kiss on my cheek, one that was gentle, ultra-soft and certainly caring, but did it arouse Angela any more than Betty had affected me? The eternal triangle seemed as triangular as ever.
Betty suddenly swept into view wearing a dress I instantly recognised. It gave me quite a start, suddenly seeing it again without warning, but it completely transformed Betty. All at once she looked very attractive and far more feminine. Was it possible she could stir my feelings after all?
"Tar-rah!" she trumpeted, giving a twirl for Angela's benefit. I glanced at Angela, who was staring back open-mouthed as if about to cry.
Mother Hen came into the room, stiffly smart as always when attending church. The more formal her dress, the more favourably the good Lord would shine forth his abundant blessing and be gracious unto her. Despite the regularity of Mother's attendance, church for her was always a special occasion, and she paraded accordingly.
We set off like goodie-goodies from a convent school. Angela looked neat in whatever she wore. Like some exotic flower of nature she seemed to enjoy giving the world the pleasure of seeing her in smart and pretty clothes. Betty, the practical one who normally wore jeans and a sweater, looked remarkably presentable. Only I in my casual trousers and Saturday sports jacket felt more like a holiday-maker than a church-goer.
We took our time, walking demurely through the town and saying little as we prepared our minds for meditation and worship. Sunday, according to Mother's upbringing, was not a day for enjoyment, but one set aside for praising the Lord and being boringly well behaved. I tried to comply with this notion as I walked beside Angela, her very nearness a joy in itself.
In church I was determined to sit between Betty and Angela, and despite Mother's attempts my hopes were fulfilled. It came as a great surprise to hear Angela's lovely singing voice, clear, sweet and accurately pitched.
But during the closing hymn she suddenly stopped singing. I turned and saw tears running down her face. Touching her arm, I felt a comforting response as she turned to me, her mouth set in a grim watery smile. She soon recovered, but Mother felt obliged afterwards to conduct a long and unnecessary investigation as we filed outside.
"What was your other friend so tearful about?" she asked in an echoing voice, pulling me roughly aside while the others walked on ahead. "Have you been upsetting her?"
"The service probably reminded her of the funeral," I said.
"It wouldn't surprise me if you said something tactless," Mother persisted. "Probably without even realising it. You never were any good at saying the right things to people, Dickie. You never stop to think."
"If only your rare gift for tact had been hereditary," I replied, hoping some local resident might appreciate the full irony.
The girls waited for us at the end of the church path and Mother placed herself between them for the walk home. The weekend hadn't gone at all as I'd planned, and I hoped my new friends weren't feeling let down. The purpose of the outing had been simply to blow away a few cobwebs. But wasn't I guilty of snobbery in wanting Angela to see that I too had once lived in a house of reasonably worthy proportions?
Had it been wise to tell Angela I was falling in love? Was Mother right in claiming I never stopped to think? I could have made a ghastly error, yet I felt glad I'd told her. What I still didn't know was how she felt about me - something that only Angela herself might choose to reveal in time.
The wind was getting up to gale force, and I wondered whether the ladies were warm enough in their dresses, especially Betty whom I'd never before seen wearing a skirt. She had surprisingly attractive legs. Why did she prefer always to keep them concealed? And was Mother already revealing to them the detailed story behind that dress?
We had just reached the safety of Mother's front door when there was an almighty clap of thunder, and it began pouring down. Thankfully we escaped a soaking, and set about serving the succulent Sunday lunch which had been simmering in our absence. The smell of roast chicken and sausages gave an added feeling of warmth and security to the ancestral home, evoking the convivial atmosphere of a Christmas family dinner.
After lunch I was in the kitchen helping to wash up when another sharp squall came lashing against the windows.
"I guess we shan't be enjoying the scenic route home," I said. "We'd better stick to the motorway."
"Does that mean you can stay a bit longer?" Mother enquired at once.
"It means," I said, "that we ought to get going as soon as possible."
Having made up my mind I passed this thought on to the girls, who needed no further persuasion to run upstairs and fetch their cases. Farewells were polite but brief, and the talk of a return visit sounded more formal than enthusiastic.
"Don't forget to phone the minute you arrive," Mother called, "you know how I worry till I hear from you."
I promised to do everything required of me, thanked her profusely, and we each gave a dutiful peck to her cheek.
For the homeward journey, Angela chose to sit in the back while Betty accepted the front seat beside me. As we gave Mother a final wave, I felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment, though I couldn't at first put my finger on the cause.
We passed through the wet streets of Bourton, and followed a crawl of Sunday motorists down onto the trunk road towards Oxford. For a good hour nobody said anything, as if my passengers were brooding, reassessing the value of a weekend trip that hadn't proved particularly enthralling.
"Ladies," I remarked as the rain steadily worsened, "I feel I owe you an apology. This weekend's programme of fun didn't quite turn out the way I planned."
"Why?" asked Betty in surprise.
"For a start," I said, "I had hoped we'd see more of the Cotswolds. I stupidly forgot Mother's passion for an austere Sunday, and I never imagined she'd herd you both into one room like a school dormitory."
"Richard," Betty began, "speaking for myself, it's been a fascinating weekend, and I'm very grateful. And we didn't have to share for long. The only part of the trip that isn't ideal is having to drive home in this Malayan monsoon."
Strong cross-winds kept tugging at the car, nudging us willy-nilly from side to side and making driving very awkward. The wipers were working overtime, and the constant brown spray from heavy lorries only added to my misery. When we reached the motorway, it wasn't only the traffic that intensified - the rain came drumming down in globules the size of tennis balls.
"This is the day that the Lord hath made," I remarked. "Are you sure we haven't driven into some giant car-wash by mistake?"
"Did you pay anyone?" Betty asked. "If not, the answer's probably no. This must be how my undies feel when I take them to the laundrette. Oh, no! Richard, guess what! I'm still wearing that dress your Mother found for me - I only just realised."
"No problem," I said. "If the dress fits, don't worry about returning it. And it looks a lot nicer on you than it did hanging in Mother's wardrobe."
"Fine, except it didn't come from your mother's wardrobe, Richard, she fetched it from somewhere in your room."
I told her I could think of several possible explanations.
"Yes," she said, "and so can I. You're an interesting boy, Richard!"
There didn't seem to be much point in adding to that, so I didn't try. A few minutes later both my passengers were fast asleep. Just as well, I thought. At least they're spared another hour of boredom.
There was little to see but the lights of other vehicles, diffused by rivulets of water flowing uphill over the windscreen as the mass of traffic battled bravely against deteriorating conditions. The rain itself was bad enough, but the spray set up by heavy lorries in the slow lane made an opaque curtain through which other motorists blindly edged forward. As we neared London, the spray grew progressively dirtier.
On the M25 traffic was barely crawling. I glanced in my mirror, ready to pass a huge continental lorry in front of me - not because I wanted to hurry home, but more to avoid the mess being flung onto my windscreen, which was making driving even more hazardous.
"Move over, you daft pratt!" I shouted to one lorry driver who kept swaying all over the road. Betty woke up and asked if I was addressing her.
"I'd rather we take an extra half hour and arrive safely," I said, "than race blindly ahead like these dumb idiots. Look at them!"
I glanced in my mirror. Angela was still asleep.
"Is the quiet one okay?" I asked. "She's missing all the excitement."
Betty turned back to look at her friend. "A picture of innocence," she exclaimed. "God, if only I could look half so appealing."
In my mirror I saw a fast car bearing down on us. I eased off to help him pass, but instead he swung immediately into my lane, straight into the gap I'd deliberately left in front of me.
"Only a fool breaks the two second rule," I murmured, and quickly applied my brakes.
"Do you really find that appealing?" Betty asked, still gazing at her friend in the rear seat. But I was focused on the juggernaut we had just passed, and which now threatened to overtake again, planting me once more in its muddy wake.
I signalled and was ready to pull out when another motorist with a mud-caked windscreen darted into view from behind the juggernaut's curtain of brown spray. At that very moment the car in front braked, and so did I. Unfortunately, so did the juggernaut who needed more grip than the wet road could offer.
He hit us from behind, shunting us forward like a snooker ball. We mounted the bank, slithered back down again, and I just managed to avoid another car as we rebounded out into the main stream of traffic. Swerving sharply onto the hard shoulder, we came to an abrupt halt, and I hit my head on something very hard.
Looking back on it now, I'm sure there was nothing I could have done. I was dimly aware of the squealing and skidding of tyres all around us in awesome stereo, followed by a deafening crunch of grinding metal. I remember coming to a standstill, and expected other vehicles to pull up and offer assistance.
But no-one did. We just sat there in pouring rain as the relentless motorway traffic thundered on, only inches away. And due I assume to a combination of lost sleep and sudden shock, everything around me began to revolve, disappearing down into a deafening black drain.
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Except where specifically noted, all music and stories on this web site are my own creations. You may not use any of them for any purpose without written permission from me. Copyright © 2003 Colin Johnson All Rights Reserved.