Mary, my beautiful sister, is away in Australia at the moment and, knowing how much her family must be missing her, especially at the weekend, I invited Geoff (her husband), my niece, Katie, and her son, James, to join us for Sunday dinner. Also on the guest list was my dear old mum, who would have sorely missed not going to the car boot sale as usual this morning. Oddly enough, Geoff had just taken a half-shoulder of lamb out from his freezer when I telephoned with the invitation to share ours. It is quite a while since I last cooked a roast dinner, mainly because it hardly seems worth all the effort for just Chris and me, and also because of our constant dieting (not that you’d notice particularly).
The roast dinner was a great success: the roasted potatoes and parsnips were crisp and brown on the outside and fluffy on the inside; the Yorkshire puddings rose to perfection and the leek sauce was a creamy triumph; some of the onions had burnt a tad but nobody noticed because I put the least charred ones in with the gravy. In anticipation of the xenophobic antipathy many (including Chris) hold towards Brussels sprouts, I had cooked some frozen petit pois as an option and placed them in a dish with the buttery Devon pumpkin, carrots and swede mash; as expected, most of the Brussels sprouts remained (although, in a sense, they had been sent to Coventry).
After dinner, Mum came into the kitchen while I was washing up the dishes.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Mum asked very sweetly.
“Oh no, Mum, I’m doing a little of the washing up now but I shall leave some for Chris – he likes to do it later,” I replied.
“Well, alright then. If there’s nothing I can do I think I’ll make my way home,” my mother said and began to make her way to the back door.
“Let Chris take you home,” I urged.
“Yes,” said Chris, coming into the studio, “I’ll take you.”
“Or I can take you,” offered Geoff, who had likewise walked into the studio.
“No, thank you, I’d like to walk,” insisted Mum, and she turned and beamed at us all, “I might get off with someone!”
“But it’s raining outside,” implored Katie.
“I’ll be fine,” Mum would not be cajoled and she practically sprinted up the back steps to the roadside three flights up.
Back in the kitchen again I returned to the washing up (fourth fresh bowl of hot water) and Katie once again took up a tea towel. My niece seemed not to believe me when I told her how much Chris enjoyed the task and that she was depriving him of a pleasure. A few minutes later Chris, beaming all over his face, entered the kitchen – I have to admit that he looked exceedingly pleased to see us nearly at an end with our endeavours at the sink.
The telephone rang and Chris, the only person with free hands, answered the phone. He burst out laughing and held out the phone on loud speaker for all to hear.
“How did you get home so quickly?” I asked amazed.
“Well, it was raining when I reached the top of the steps and, just at that moment I saw a young man about to get into his car – he had his wife and a four month old baby with him – so I asked him if he would mind dropping me home.”
“No,” I interjected. “Who was he?”
“I don’t know but he was very nice. He said, ‘Certainly, jump in and I’ll have you home in a jiffy.’ And that’s exactly what happened. I was home in no time. I told you I might get off with someone – didn’t I?”
Bless her! My mum is ninety-one years of age and still has a twinkle in her eye.