The Element of Surprise: A Short Story by Denice Penrose

The Element of Surprise

A Short Story by Denice Penrose

The phone rang, sharp and shrill, shattering sleep. Veronica groaned. “Ronnie, I’m calling about Mum.”

Lucy never phoned. Veronica sat up as lightning fear shot across her mind. “Is everything okay?? And don’t call me Ronnie, you know I hate it.”

“Sorry, Veronica. No, Mum’s fine, physically. But she’s been doing some odd things. I’m really worried.”

“I’ve been meaning to call her for ages, but there’s never enough time. What do you mean ‘odd things’?”

“She’s changed since she went on that cruise. She’s really not herself. She’s hardly ever home, so I can’t rely on her to babysit anymore. She’s gutted the house and is talking about selling it and moving.”

“She can’t sell our home. Not that I’d want to live there- it’s a dreadful pokey place. Besides, we may need it to pay for her care one day.”

“I know. Look, you’ve got to come down here and talk some sense into her. I have had no joy. You’re the eldest. She might listen to you.”

“‘It’s so hard to get away – I have so many commissions I can hardly keep up.”

“How long has it been since you last went to see her?”

There was a long pause as Veronica worked it out. “I have spoken to her on the phone.”

“Yes, but how long since you actually saw her?”

“Nearly a year.” Veronica swallowed.

“I knew it! Right, it’s your turn to deal with things.”

A week later, Veronica set off, deciding not to call ahead. A stealth arrival would allow her to see exactly what was going on and evaluate the situation properly. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as all that. Lucy had been known to exaggerate on occasion. During the three-hour drive, Veronica ran through the conversation in her mind. Lucy had said something about gutting the house. If her mother had done that, she’d have to arrange contractors to sort out the mess. At least she had a good selection of reliable people on her books.

Veronica arrived before lunch. Another car was in the driveway, forcing her to park on the street. Mildly annoyed, she headed up the drive, opening the door with her key. “Mother? It’s Veronica. Where are you?” She peered into an unfamiliar living room and dining room. Was she in the wrong house? Where was her mother?

“Mother?” she called, louder this time. She heard a noise upstairs. Veronica looked up and saw a slim woman in a pink silk dressing gown and blonde hair She’s really not herself. “Who?” she began, “Mother?”

“‘Mother, are you alright? Why are you still in bed at this hour? Are you ill?” Veronica rushed up the stairs.

“Veronica, how nice to see you. You should have let me know you were coming.”

“Lucy said something was wrong. I came as soon as I could.”

Veronica pecked her mother on the cheek, catching a whiff of expensive perfume mingled with an oddly spicy scent.

Mother had lost a lot of weight, but there was a bloom of color in her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled. The silk dressing gown was exquisite and looked suspiciously like Victoria’s Secret. Mother didn’t look ill at all. “What is going on?”

“Maggie, what is it? Are you coming back to bed?”

Veronica’s jaw dropped.

“Stop catching flies Ronnie, it’s really unattractive.”

“Mother! What are you doing?”

“‘Honestly Ronnie, I think you’re old enough to know the answer to that question.”

“And just who is that?”

“Tom is a friend. We met on a cruise.”

“Mother! How could you? But you don’t know anything about him. You don’t know where he’s been.”

“I know exactly where he’s been”.

“Mother! Don’t be coarse.”

“Then stop being so silly. Honestly, Veronica, you do overreact. Go make some tea, and we’ll be down shortly.”

Veronica was familiar with that tone of voice. She used the same one on her children when she wasn’t about to argue with them. Fuming she stomped down the stairs. Well of all the nerve! Shacked up in bed with a strange man in the middle of the day! At her mother’s age! Whatever was Mother thinking? What would the neighbors think? It was just as well she’d had come to sort things out.

Halfway down the stairs she stopped. The house was completely different. Lucy had been right when she said it had been gutted – everything she’d known was gone. But what Lucy hadn’t said was what had taken its place.

While the kettle boiled, Veronica looked around, appraising the house with professional eyes. It was light and airy. In place of old brown sofas and 70’s patterned curtains, were elegant Amethyst sofas with silver cushions, from a very upmarket catalogue. Muted silver curtains hung at the windows. The walls were a soft dusky pink, and a new rug in complementing colors lay on polished hardwood floors. Drab family portraits had been replaced by pretty watercolors. It was a beautiful room. Who knew there was such a talented designer in this little village? She’d have to find out who they were. Such talent shouldn’t be hidden away.

The transformation continued in the dining room. An elegant round, oak table was surrounded by bucket chairs in burgundy flocked velvet, accentuated by burgundy drapes. A breathtaking landscape painting adorned one wall. It was original oil, and by a talented artist, who’d signed only the initials MG.

The kitchen too had been redone, old pine cupboards replaced by sleek white, navy speckled countertops, and shiny new appliances. The whole house reeked of casual elegance, which didn’t come cheaply, as Veronica knew too well. Where had her mother found the money for this? She really had to get the name of her mother’s decorator! The house would be easy to sell looking like this, although she doubted Mother would be going anywhere anytime soon – the woman she’d met upstairs was clearly very much in command of her facilities. Veronica on the other hand was feeling very confused.

Veronica carried the tea tray to the conservatory. This too had been transformed with sunny, yellow-cushioned cane furniture and huge palms. She sat looking at her watch, tapping her feet impatiently. She really needed to get to the bottom of all this quickly, so she could go back home tomorrow.

Finally, Mother joined her, elegant in fitted beige slacks and a cream silk blouse. Behind her trailed The Voice. He was tall, tanned, grey hair speckled with dark. She looked more closely at warm brown eyes, and a friendly mustached face and she realized, he was probably around her mother’s age. Not a toy boy then. His clothes were well-tailored, and she’d even go so far as to call him distinguished, a little too suave to be trustworthy.

“Ronnie this is Tom,” Ronnie ignored the hand he offered.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said warmly. “Maggie has told me a lot about you.”

“I wish I could say the same! What are you doing here?”

“Ronnie don’t be so rude. Sit down and pour the tea. I brought you up to be better than this.”

“She’s concerned about you. Why don’t I leave you to chat, and I’ll come back later?”

“Perhaps that might be better. Are we still going out tonight?”

“Of course, I’ll pick you up around six.” He stooped and kissed her mother gently.

“Mother, what on earth is going on?’

“Oh Ronnie, isn’t he wonderful? I’m glad you’ve finally met him. I’ve been hoping you’d come and meet him.”

“I’ve been really busy. But never mind that – what does he want? Is he after your money?”

“He most certainly is not! In fact, he has plenty of his own. “

“But then what is he doing with you?” Ronnie asked.

“Ronnie! We met on the cruise. We liked each other immediately. We’ve been inseparable since. Oh, Ronnie, I think I’m in love with him.”

“Mother!”

“Ronnie do grow up. I’m older, not dead, and I want to enjoy my life. In fact, I’m having a ball.”

“‘So that’s what this is all about – trying to regain your youth?”

“It’s more than that. I loved being a wife and a mother, and watching you grow up. For so long, my life was focused on everyone else. I’m enjoying myself.”

“You sound like you regret it?”

“No, Ronnie, not for a moment. But you’ve all got lives of your own, and I want mine.”

“‘If you’re lonely, you could have said. I should have visited more.”

“Yes, you should have visited more, but I know you’re busy. I know what it’s like to have a young family and a husband, and you have your career on top of that. Anyway, I would still have wanted Tom in my life.”

“But what about Dad? What would he think?”

“I loved him, but he’s been gone a long time. Don’t you think he’d be happy for me? I don’t want to be the old woman sitting in a nursing home filled with regrets. I want to be the one I read about on Facebook who everyone is wondering what she’s up to.”

“You’re on Facebook?”

“How else do you think I keep up with my grandchildren?”

Ronnie hung her head feeling chastised. “I’m sorry. I’ll bring them to visit more often.”

“That would be lovely, but I think you owe Tom an apology. You were awfully rude to him.”

“Oh, alright, I’ll apologize. Mother, please don’t call me Ronnie.”

Veronica changed tack. “What have you done to the house? Wherever did you find such a wonderful designer?”

“Ronnie,” she sighed. “I designed and decorated it, with some help from Tom. Oh Ronnie, you really have to stop looking at me like that.”

“I didn’t know you were so artistic.”

“Where do you think your talent comes from? I planned on going to art college until I met your father.”

“But I’ve never seen you paint or draw.”

“No, there was never any time when you were younger, but I started again a few years ago. I didn’t really think I was that good, but Tom encouraged me to hang my pictures in the house.”

“You painted those? They’re beautiful.”

“I know. I’ve sold quite a few too.”

“But what about all the old furniture and paintings? What have you done with them?”

“Your Dad chose that furniture—it was always too big and chunky for my taste, but it was good for a family. The sofas were worn, so I got rid of the lot. The family portraits are in the loft. They were very drab.”

“How could you take down the family portraits? Some of them are quite valuable.”

“‘If you like them so much, you can have them.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Tom is a bad influence. Look, I don’t want to fight. I’m going to put my things in my room.” Mother opened her mouth.

“No, don’t say anything more. I need some space.” Veronica stomped out. Maggie smiled softly, waiting for the next outburst. How could she make Ronnie understand?=

Veronica flounced back into the conservatory a few moments later.

“Mother, what have you done to my room?”

“You don’t have a room. You don’t live here anymore. You have your own home and family, and I have an art studio. The light in there is perfect.”

“But my things? What did you do with my stuff?”

“It’s all in the loft. You can take anything you want.”

“But mother, those things, this house, our childhood. How could you throw it all away?”

“Ronnie, those were good times, happy times, but I am not going to live in the past. Neither should you.”

Maggie looked at her watch. “I have a hairdresser’s appointment. As you’re so concerned about the stuff why don’t you sort through it while I’m out? Anything you don’t want can go to charity.”

Veronica groaned when she saw the mountain of boxes in the loft. Not only had Lucy tricked her into this visit, and now her mother had tricked her into cleaning out the loft. Fortunately, the boxes were labeled, and she saw hers immediately. Then, she noticed some sketchbooks, on top of a pile of faded photo albums. She carried the pile to the guest room and began leafing through them. Her mother’s name was inside the front cover. The pages were filled with exquisitely detailed drawings, so accurate she mistook them for photographs at first. Talent like this was too special to be buried in an attic!

Veronica flipped through the photo albums, running her fingers down the pages. Her mother was so beautiful in her wedding pictures. Then came the baby pics, and Veronica saw how as she and Lucy grew, mother’s clothes grew less fashionable, her hair more simply styled, weight slowly increasing, gradually replaced by a dowdy widow. Ronnie thought about her mother’s immaculate appearance at tea this morning. Mother had emerged from that cocoon into a butterfly.

Veronica’s wedding photos were in the next album, and she stared at her own radiant face. She looked so happy there, her face unlined, not a touch of the grey she fought relentlessly. She was thinner now, hair still immaculate, but it took so much concealer to hide the bags under her eyes. Trying to have it all, she was run ragged balancing family, business and keeping up appearances. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been as happy as in that photo, or as happy as her mother looked now. There was a lesson here, and suddenly, Veronica knew she didn’t want to repeat history.

Laughter echoed from outside. Ronnie looked out to see Tom and her mother in the garden. Mother looked gorgeous, younger even. There was no mistaking the happiness that radiated from her. How could she have been so wrong? Veronica cringed when she remembered how rude she’d been. Cheeks flushed; she went downstairs.

“Mother, Tom I’m so sorry. I owe you both an apology. I’m really sorry. Mom, it’s good to see you happy. I’m pleased for you.”

“Thank you pet. I knew you’d come round.”

“Just so you know, my intentions are honorable—I want to make an honest woman out of your mother if she’ll let me.”

“And I told him that I wanted my daughters’ approval before I accepted, but you never visit, so Lucy said she’d get you here.”

“Lucy! I should have known! You’d never believe the things she told.”

“It’s good to know I can still surprise you, although I didn’t plan on you arriving at quite such an inconvenient moment.”

“Yes, I think I need to give you back your key. I will phone you beforehand next time. And bring my family.”

“‘I’d like that. I’ll phone your sister, and we can all go out for dinner together.”

“Oh, I’ll do that. It’s the least I can do after what she’s put me through”.

Veronica picked up her phone imbuing her voice with leaden tones, “Lucy I’m at mother’s. It’s serious. We have to talk. Can you come round now?”

“What’s wrong? What happened? You were supposed to sort everything out. Ronneeeee what have you done?”

Veronica laughed. “I haven’t done anything, but Mom’s helped me come to my senses.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Denice Penrose is a freelance writer who has a patchwork of jobs on Academic Research Projects. She lives in England with her husband, and kowtows to the six cats, who are their furry children.