I’ve been working hard in Manchester. It’s been lonely. I’m home for four days. On the plane I calculated this meant I’d have around 5760 minutes to eat copious amounts of Guido’s food and fit in as much hot sex as I could before I had to fly back. I’ve figured if I eat faster it’ll free up even more time to take my clothes off.
Last night, in the middle of a mouthful of ravioli, my father called.
“Have you spoken to your Mother?” he asked.
No hello, it’s me, or a how are you?
“No,” I said quickly, on account of the parmigiana sauce.
“I see,” he said, and then hung up without saying a good-bye.
About thirty minutes later the phone rang again. This time it was my mother, Cruella.
Just to set the scene for you – the pasta was over and we’d happily moved on to the hot sex part. Guido and I were naked and re-enacting a love scene from The Adventures of Robin Hood. Guido loves to fire his arrow. We’d just got the part where Errol Flynn throws Olivia De Havilland up against a column and he tells her that he’s nothing to offer but a life time of hardship and danger. Which sure rang a bell.
“I was wondering if you and Guido would come over for lunch tomorrow?” Cruella purred.
There was an awkward pause on my end of the line for obvious reasons.
The last time my mother “cooked” it involved a pineapple chunk and a cube of cheese on a cocktail stick.
“Perhaps, Guido would rustle up something wonderful?” she asked.
I sighed. I suppose she wasn’t to know he was going to be busy for the next 4320 minutes. So I said yes and hung up and then went straight back to Sherwood Forest. Hey, don’t judge, the clock was ticking, right?
We took the Underground over to her apartment this afternoon. Guido had a Tupperware box stuffed with a potato watercress salad and a salmon under one arm. When we got inside I knew my mother meant business because she’s taken the plastic cover off the sofa.
“There’s something I want to tell you,” she said.
Then she just sat there staring at me like I should’ve been the one telling her something. So I just stared back.
“And?” I said, finally.
She took a sip of Gin. The ice rattled.
“I suppose I should just go right ahead and tell you,” she said.
She took another sip of Gin. The ice still rattled.
“It’s your father,” she finally gasped dramatically, “you see, he’s asked me to marry him again.”
“And,” she said, “well, after much consideration, I’ve said yes.”
Tonight Guido has a pot roast on the stove. I think there’s a chicken in there. I’ve drunk almost a whole bottle of wine, but I don’t care. In fact, I’m about to open another. I’ve spent a whole hour trying to talk Guido into buying a pair of green tights so that we can make our love scenes together more authentic but I’m sensing he’s not that keen.
Tomorrow, I’ll call my mother. I’ll tell her I’m very happy for her.
Then I’ll call my father and ask him if he’s insane, and if he knows whether it’s hereditary.