The Right Choice

The Right Choice By Clare London I stand alone in my childhood bedroom, staring into the mirror above bookshelves full of fiction and adventure books, school award certificates, and an embarrassingly huge number of Transformer and Pokémon models. Am I musing on my younger life, and comparing it to where I am today, a grown man in his early twenties? Maybe a little bit. But mainly I’m wondering whether the lurking spot on the end of my nose is on its way out, or is going to erupt when I least expect it. Cue heartfelt sigh into the empty room. Let’s face it, the sophisticated, handsome look on me always needs work, but it’s being particularly uncooperative this morning. Of all the mornings to choose! My hair won’t lie straight—there’s a tuft on my crown that insists on spiking up whenever I try to slick it down. I’ve nicked my chin shaving, and now there’s a small, dark scratch under my lip. And the left side of my collar doesn’t lie comfortably on top of the stupid bow tie, and keeps rolling up at the end. Even though I’ve ironed it flat. Three times. Cue a second, heartfelt sigh. “Pat?” Mandy, the younger of my two sisters, pokes her head around the door. She’s clutching a couple of towels and what looks like the plastic bucket from our garden shed. Her smile looks more like a grimace. “How’s it going?” She rushes on before I can even start to answer. “May’s two young ‘uns are running riot downstairs. Poppy insists on wearing her jeans under her frock, and Daniel won’t keep his smart jacket on. May’s tried alternately bribing him with the promise of extra TV and threatening him with cutting it off completely.” At my raised eyebrows, she laughs. “The TV, i***t. Nothing more aggressive than that. Though I’m not sure May’s not tempted.” I love my niece and nephew, though I know my other sister May has her hands full looking after them. Mandy’s continuing, “Phil can’t find his cuff links. The silver ones I bought him for his birthday last year. I give him one job—get yourself dressed!—and it’s still a production. Oh, and Uncle Ed’s just called to say his car’s stuck in traffic on the M25 by the Dartford Tunnel and won’t be here for another hour. That’s cutting it really fine to meet the registrar at the hotel for midday.” “Mandy—” But it seems like she’s not listening. “And the caterers say the salmon mousse is off, something about the hot weather. All they have available to substitute is a meatloaf, I mean, they say it’s a very superior meatloaf, but Mum says if they can’t deliver what we ordered, they can shove it up their superior—” “Mandy!” I hold up a hand to stop the tirade. “Look, it’s fine. I’ll have a word with the kids in a minute if you like, but it’s probably better they let off steam now rather than in the middle of everything. Phil’s cuff links are in the pot on the mantel, he left them there at Christmas when he got drunk and they were still there yesterday. And I don’t care about the car. We can be ready to go as soon as it arrives, but the registry office is only a half-mile away. Worst case scenario, we’ll call a cab or walk. And you know what else? I don’t give a rat’s arse about whether we have mousse or meatloaf.” She wrinkles her nose sympathetically. “You haven’t had any breakfast today, have you?” I grit my teeth. The thought of food has that bubbling effect in my belly which I’ve been trying to avoid. “No problem. I like dry toast, really I do. Is that bucket for me?” She laughs and comes closer. Her hand on my shoulder is a surprising comfort. “It’s just nerves. We’ve all got them. I was much worse before I got married. During it as well, actually. Phil had to greet all the guests at the reception on his own. I was holed up in the toilet saying goodbye to breakfast and my ‘welcome’ champagne cocktail.” “Too much information, big sis.” I wince. “And it hardly shows,” she adds. “What does?” “The spot. Here, I’ll just dab it with some concealer—” “Back off!” I snap, but I take the concealer stick from her while she preens for a moment in front of my mirror. Both of my sisters have inherited the good looks of the family, and Mandy looks great in her outfit, a pale blue dress and matching jacket, her hair glossy and newly styled. I sneak a look at the top of her head. No, no tuft. Looks like I’m the only one who inherited that particular throwback. “Right,” she says briskly. “Well, if you’re okay—” “Believe me, I am.” “I’ll go and check on May, then. That baby of hers got hold of some chocolate from the table favours—ate the whole bloody lot—and she’s been sick twice, all over May’s shoes.” Mandy brandishes the bucket like a war trophy. “I suspect Poppy of feeding the chocs to her in the first place, but my sisterly duty is to catch the worst of it, if the kid has a relapse.” There’s a discreet tap at the door. “The bathroom’s free, Pat and I are both nearly ready!” Mandy calls out. “And I’ve got the bucket!” But it’s not my youngest, baby niece seeking somewhere new to vomit up her chocolate. When Mandy opens the door wide, Mum’s standing there. Now, she definitely merits a big smile. She looks beautiful. Her short, grey hair is flicked back behind her ears, pearl drop earrings gleaming in the overhead light. The trouser suit is a designer original and bought especially for the day, as are the high heels she usually avoids like the plague for the sake of her ankles. I’m not used to seeing her so glamorous, and I’d forgotten how well she can carry the look. The laughter lines at the side of her bright blue eyes are familiar and well-loved. A small, tight knot of tension in my chest eases just a little. “Mum.” Mandy hugs her, and they both turn to look at me. “He looks good, right? I knew the bow tie was the right one to choose.” I tug at it sulkily. “Now I know who to blame. I feel way overdressed.” Mandy pouts. “Jeez, it’s your special day. You want to go along there on the bike in your leathers?” I catch the glint in her eye and smirk. “Of course not. Hell, it had never occurred to me. But now you mention it….” I dodge as Mandy throws the towel at me. I’m just glad it wasn’t the damn bucket. “I never thought….” Mum blushes. She looks a little uncomfortable. “Never thought you’d settle down, Pat. Not like this. It took some time.” I smile back ruefully. “It hasn’t been plain sailing, right?” Mandy makes a snorting noise. I ignore her; I’ve had plenty of years’ practice. Instead I cross the room to hug my mother. “I’m sorry, Mum. Sorry for being a mess as a teenager, a smart-arse as a young man, and a pain in everyone’s butt with my love life. Thanks for everything you’ve done—everything you’ve been. I love you so much.” She accepts the hug with one of those huffing noises she makes when she’s embarrassed. “Hey, you’ve been nothing but trouble. I say that every day,” she jokes. “But I suppose I need the challenge. It’d be no good if all my kids were the same.” I feel her tense up inside my arms. “I know it was hard,” I say quickly. It wasn’t easy for me either, I want to add, but that would be selfish of me. “It hasn’t been the best life for you, bringing us up on your own, two lively girls and a younger, troublesome son.” “Pat, don’t be foolish. You’re an adult yourself now. And you were just like any other kid.” “Not quite.” I’d been temporarily suspended from school a couple of times for fighting and done my fair share of drinking and smoking under age. There were other ways I’d been different from most of my peers, but I’d never dared discuss that over the Sunday roast dinner. More fool, me. “But that’s how you wanted me to be, wasn’t it, Mum? Do the things other sons do. Follow the normal life plan. School, college, good job, marriage, kids. Same choices as everyone else.” “Pat.” Mandy’s tone is warning me not to stir things up. Not today. Mum puts a hand on Mandy’s arm to reassure her, but her eyes never leave mine. “That’s not fair, Pat. I confess, you were a restless child. I didn’t always understand you. You rarely told me what was going on in your head. So, yes, it was hard—you weren’t an easy boy to bring up. But I only ever wanted a good life for you.” “I know. And you did a good job.” I see her eyes soften. “I am what I am, Mum. But you helped me see the rest of the world around me—to get some perspective. You celebrated the good times with me and kept me on the planet during the bad ones.” “And now you’ve come through all that.” Her cheeks are flushed, and I wonder if she’s already had a drink, if only to steady her nerves with a house full of family and frenetic organisation. “After all that confusion and rebellion, you’ve found the right way at last. Made the right choices. You’ve made us all proud of you. Haven’t you?” I glance over at Mandy. She’s picking up the towel, not meeting my gaze for that second. “Yeah, Mum,” I say quietly. “I know the right thing to do.” Mum keeps staring at me. “What?” I protest. “Can you still see the spot on my nose?” But no one laughs. Mum looks at Mandy, and she looks back. Enough with the meaningful gazes, I think. My heart starts to beat faster, but I’m not sure why. “Didn’t you tell him?” Mum asks Mandy. “Tell me what?” Mandy’s still not meeting my eyes. “I thought if I kept him distracted up here—” “Distracted? Why?” My stomach’s churning again. “Will the pair of you stop talking about me, when I’m right here?” “I came up to tell you Nicky’s at the door,” Mum says. My brain isn’t computing the information. “What door?” Mandy snorts again. It’s a bloody irritating habit of hers. Mum frowns a little. “Here. At the house.” “Now?” “Pat….” Mandy sounds worried. “He’s here?” I don’t seem able to make any more of a coherent sentence. “He wants to see you.” Mum is keeping her voice deliberately calm, I can tell. “He can’t,” Mandy blurts out. There’s a look of panic in her eyes. “What’s he doing here?” I say, and they both stare at me. My voice was definitely too loud. I turn back to the mirror, startled to see the very real disturbance in my eyes. “What’s he doing here now?”