Chapter 9

I had previously encountered the 'three-note-interrogative' a few times; the young ladies of my acquaintance using it when they wanted to cajole me into doing something they thought I might be reluctant to do.

"Edward..."

I smiled at Rose-Marie; "Whatever it is, Precious, you've got it."

It was just over a week after Margaret turned up on the doorstep. She'd been to the house several times since for meals and she'd come with us to St. Jude's on Sunday. After the service she'd not come home with us as we'd expected, but gone to the Vicarage with Dulcie.

"You'd better wait to hear what it is before giving me a blank cheque," she said severely, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

"So?" I cocked my head at her in query.

"How would you feel about my mother coming to live with us?"

I didn't answer immediately. I was aware of various problems that can arise when a parent moves in with a married couple. Not that we were, yet, but in some ways that made matters slightly worse. On the other hand, my experience of Margaret was positive.

"How would it work?"

"Well, it's a big house," Rose-Marie said, "she'd have one of the guest-rooms so she'd have the other bathroom. She's been offered a job at the Jessop Wing, which is just up the road, so she'll be working odd hours and wouldn't be here much. She'd eat at the hospital for the most part unless we invite her specifically."

"Okay, I see that, but, why?"

"Several reasons. She doesn't want to live in the old house because of the associations. This one is much nearer the hospital, so she can walk to work. She wants to be closer to St, Jude's. If she doesn't come here, Dulcie has offered her a room at the Vicarage."

"Oh..." I thought about it. I wasn't keen to have our little world invaded. We would not be wandering around the house naked, for example, and what about noise? No, I didn't think Margaret would be noisy – don't be silly – I was thinking of when we made love... "Do you want this?"

"I think I do. Mum never undermined my father, but she certainly made life a lot more comfortable than it might have been and didn't pry too closely into what I was reading. I think it would be a good thing to do. Perhaps we could give it a month?"

Thus it was we two became (temporarily at least) three. Margaret proved to be discreet and a congenial house-mate. She made the point that she was quite used to casual nudity and we should not worry about her. I did, though. Until the morning a couple of weeks after she came to us. There I was, sipping my first cup of coffee and working on a bowl of cereal when Rose-Marie walked in in her birthday suit. To say I was taken aback would be to put it mildly and when, a couple of minutes later, she was followed by her mother in the same condition ... let's just say it's a good thing I was young and reasonably fit.

I said Margaret closely resembled her daughter (or vice-versa, of course). Apart from the tan and a few lines, her face being, as I said 'lived in' they could almost have been sisters.

Do I need to go into details? I do? Margaret was almost the same height as her daughter and slim, too. Her breasts sagged a little, not much, and I could make out some stretch marks on her abdomen from carrying Rose-Marie, but she was very attractive. Her hair, probably originally light brown like her daughter's, had been bleached by the African sun into a streaky dark blonde.

"Oh, my..."

"I think he likes us," Margaret said conversationally to her daughter.

"I think you might be right," she replied. She looked at me. "Finish your breakfast, then go and ... adjust your dress. You're seriously overdressed."

I was in cut-offs and a t-shirt – even my feet were bare. But I did as I was told and finished my cereal. I took my half-drunk mug of coffee with me when I went to our room, where I sat sipping it and jittered. They were expecting me to parade around starkers in front of Margaret? Whatever happened to the modest, shy, introverted young woman I fell in love with? Not to mention her mother. This was probably the last thing I was expecting.

Rose-Marie came in. "Are you going to cower in here all day?"

"Probably," I said, "at least until your mother goes to work."

Rose-Marie giggled. "It's her day off. You'll be hungry and thirsty pretty quickly."

"You're expecting me to walk around nude while your mother is around? Knowing what looking at you does to me. Not to mention your mother, who's nearly as foxy herself..."

"Really? You think she looks good?"

I was aware there was a potential minefield here, so I was careful with my words.

"She could almost be your older sister. She's very attractive and you'd never think she was – what – forty?"

"Thirty-nine. She had me young."

That almost made it worse.

"Come on, Edward. You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

"That's not the point..."

"If there's a ... problem ... I know what to do about it. Not that it would bother my mother."

I sighed and gave in. Rose-Marie dealt with my existing erection; not quickly, but most enjoyably and I padded downstairs nervously. I suppose being a nurse Margaret was accustomed to not reacting to naked bodies. She'd said that often in Africa she'd been surrounded by naked or almost naked men and women and took it in her stride – 'all in a day's work'. My image of her in the context of that restrictive church environment took a severe knock and over the next days I gradually became accustomed to nudity and her presence.

Perhaps strangely, it altered my perceptions – I think Rose-Marie's as well – so that we were much less likely to indulge in spontaneous sex just because the sight of the other was stimulating. Being naked became so natural that in a way it took a conscious ... I was going to say effort, but decision would be closer ... to be aroused.

September drew to a close; by which time there was no question of asking Margaret to leave. We tried to ensure no-one took on an unfair amount of housework. Of course, being male, though quite tidy, I was not nearly tidy enough for either of the ladies but we managed to negotiate acceptable house rules for everyone. But the wedding was drawing near rapidly and I couldn't help worrying ("whittlin'" as we might say in Yorkshire).

We were informed that it was not necessary to have someone 'give the bride away' and a Best Man was not essential either except to hold my hand. Which I thought just as well, as, while I did have male friends, none of them were so close as to be a natural choice. I might have asked Cheryl, but Rose-Marie got in first and asked her to be Maid-of-Honour. The man I felt closest to, Peter Hanson, would be conducting the service. But one Sunday after the service the other Reader, Mike Simkins, took me aside.

"Dulcie tells me you haven't anyone to act as Best Man?"

"No, I don't really have anyone I know well enough to ask, and Peter said it wasn't necessary anyway..."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'd be happy to stand with you, if you like. You're my brother in the Lord, after all."

I felt touched. This was a thought I hadn't considered. "I'd be glad if you would," I said.

We had decided in the end to marry on Saturday. Rose-Marie spent Friday night at the Vicarage with Dulcie and some friends. I understand they drank quite a lot of wine and watched romantic films. Mike and I drank my whisky and talked about many things, from the sublime – God, the church, Jesus – to the ridiculous, our fantasies of the future, which we eventually laughed about until Mike got serious.

"I envy you," he said. "You've obviously found your ordained life-partner. I do not think that will happen for me."

"Why ever not? You're ... well, I'd think you'd be attractive to women both physically and personality-wise."

"Maybe ... but I'm gay," he said."I can't reconcile my beliefs with a meaningful relationship. I don't know ... perhaps something will happen."

Saturday morning we woke, slightly the worse for wear, and treated ourselves to a cooked breakfast, bacon, eggs, beans ... all the trimmings. With a jug of coffee – Java – that helped our heads. That and a shower meant we could get into our suits and walk down to the church in good time. No need for cars; Rose-Marie only had to cross the road to the church! Looking around, I saw only friendly, smiling faces. Cheryl and the others had passed the word round and I was surprised how many had turned out from our classes at Uni. Some of the girls who had used me as prop, counsellor and reserve escort were there, mostly with their current boyfriend but one or two solo. Members of the congregation, too. The small, modern building was almost full. I wasn't terribly worried as we'd budgeted for more than we'd expected which in the end was just as well.