by Lucy Appleby
Peter got out of the car and somewhat nervously followed Carol up the path that led to the front door of her house ... the house she shared with her mother, Mrs Amanda Riley. Though he had not yet met Mrs Riley, he had spoken to her once on the phone, and she sure sounded formidable. Her acerbic tone reminded him of that of his former school headmistress, Miss Whittaker; she sounded like a woman who would stand for no nonsense, a strong minded woman who was used to getting her own way. Carol was like that too, to an extent, but he liked that quality in her and was perfectly content to let her take the lead in most things. Carol also had an engaging personality. Her mother, however, sounded fierce.
"What if she doesn't like me?" he said.
"Don't be silly, Peter. Of course she'll like you. Straighten your tie ... here, let me do it." Carol made the necessary adjustment. "That's fine. You'll do. Come on in."
Peter stepped into the hall and his nostrils were assailed by a tantalising aroma wafting towards him from the kitchen at the end of the hall. Old dragon or not, it was clear Mrs Riley was a good cook.
"We're here, Mum," called Carol.
"Hello dear." Mrs Riley emerged from the kitchen.
She was much taller than Peter had imagined, around 5ft 10, and her height and bearing gave her an imposing look as she strode towards him. Her dark hair was threaded with silvery strands, and piled up on top of her head. A pair of steel-grey eyes appraised him.
"You must be Peter."
"Um, yep, that's me. And these are for you, Mrs Riley." He handed over a bunch of carnations.
"How kind. Thank you, Peter. Come into the kitchen while I put them in water."
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it, Peepee?" whispered Carol.
"So far, so good," he replied. "And please don't call me Peepee. You know I don't like it. Makes me sound like a urinal."
Carol grinned, took his hand and led him into the kitchen. Mrs Riley was busy arranging the flowers in a vase.
"Dinner smells good, Mrs Riley," offered Peter, keen to get on her good side. "Thanks for asking me round."
"Oh I thought it was about time we met in person. After all, you've been seeing my daughter for almost three months. Carol, be a dear - pop out to the supermarket for me will you? I need a jar of horseradish sauce to go with the beef."
"I can go if you like," said Peter.
"No, it's ok. You stay here, Peter," Carol said. "Get to know Mum." She gave her mother a sly smile, reached for the car keys, and left.
"Sit." Mrs Riley pointed to a chair. "I'll make us a drink. Do you prefer tea or coffee?"
"Coffee please," he said, thinking he'd much prefer a beer. "With milk and sugar."
"Sugar is bad for you," said Mrs Riley. She gave him a disapproving look.
"Ah yes, so it is. Just milk then."
Mrs Riley brought the drinks to the table and sat opposite Peter. "So ... may I ask what your intentions are regarding Carol?"
The question was so unexpected that Peter almost choked on the hot liquid. "Um, well ...it's still early in the relationship but I know she's the girl for me. If everything goes well, we plan on getting engaged at Christmas."
Mrs Riley nodded. Carol had already told her, and it was that which had prompted Peter's invitation to dinner.
"With your blessing of course," Peter added.
"Of course. However, I think we should have a little chat about things, to set my mind at ease that you are the right boy for my only daughter."
At 24 years of age, Peter bristled slightly at the boy reference, but smiled politely. "Sure. I'm happy to discuss anything you want to raise."
He was quite taken aback when she demanded to know the state of his finances, whether he had ever been in any debt, his job prospects and career plan. He fudged his way through, telling the odd little lie here and there, purely in the interests of making himself sound more credible as a prospective son-in-law.
Mrs Riley leaned back in her chair, her arms folded across her ample bosom. "You omitted to mention that Carol loaned you £500 to pay off your credit card debt."
"Ah..."
"Then there's the matter of your student loan still outstanding."
"Oh ... er, yes. I'd forgotten about that," he lied. He began to quail beneath Mrs Riley's reptilian gaze.
"Then we come to household management. From what I hear, your apartment is a tip."
Damn! What else has Carol been telling her? "Well yes, I admit I need to work on that."
"Indeed. So, young man, I have a proposition for you."
"Oh yes?" Her next words came as a total surprise, and were more of an edict than a proposal.
"You will give up the lease on your apartment and move in here. There's plenty of room. It will give you the opportunity to save some money to pay off your student loan, and when you are under my roof I can keep a watchful eye on you."
"Oh! Oh, but I ... I ... I'll have to discuss it with Carol."
"She's in full agreement."
"What? You two have already discussed it?"
"Naturally."
"Um, well, I ... er, I-"
"Good, that's settled then. I understand you need to give two weeks notice on your apartment, so you can move in a week on Saturday. You may have the spare bedroom; it's a decent size, and you can store any surplus possessions in the attic."
Peter's mouth remained open as he rapidly processed this information. It would be great to be under the same roof as Carol, though disappointing they couldn't share the same bedroom ... still, there might be frequent opportunities for sex. The idea would certainly save him a heap of money, but the downside was the thought of living with Mrs Riley. He wasn't quite sure how that would work out.
"I won't charge you anything for bed and board, but you will be expected to keep your room clean and tidy and do a few chores around the house... and no coming in drunk. Is that clear, Peter?" Her grey eyes fixed on his own.
"Absolutely clear." The fact that he wasn't expected to make any financial contribution was one enormous bonus. I'll have lots more beer money! he thought gleefully. "Right then, I'll give it a go."
Mrs Riley smiled thinly. "I'm sure we'll rub along just fine, providing you don't break any house rules."
"I'll be the perfect lodger." Peter flashed one of his big cheesy grins.
Mrs Riley didn't reciprocate, merely raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to see your room?"
"Sure. Lead on." He followed her upstairs and along the landing. She flung open the door at the end and motioned him to enter. "Wow, this is a nice room. I really like it."
"It has it's own en suite. It could do with a bit of a clean. Why don't you get started, dinner will be in forty minutes."
"You want me to clean the room?" Peter was gobsmacked.
"Yes that's right ... get a bit of practice in." She actually smiled as she said that. "You'll find a vacuum cleaner and cleaning materials in the cupboard on the landing. I'll see you later
"Bollox," muttered Peter crossly as Mrs Riley went back downstairs. He looked round at the room. In his eyes it seemed pristine. With a bad grace he went to the cupboard and got out the vacuum cleaner, then spent the next ten minutes figuring out how to switch it on.
"Ah, there you are!" Carol entered the room. "I see Mum's got you organised already."
"Too bloody right. Say - why didn't you talk to me about moving in?"
"Don't you think it's a good idea? I think it will be great!"
"Well yes, so do I now I've got over the shock ... but you could have discussed it with me first."
"I wanted Mum to check you out first. You see, there'd have been little point in suggesting it to you only for you to be disappointed if Mum didn't take to you."
"Oh - so I'm in her good books am I?"
"Of course you are, Peepee. You might not have realised it, but she was checking you out as a potential son-in-law. Kind of like an informal interview. If you hadn't passed the test, you'd have had dinner and then been shown the door. But you needn't worry - you have the seal of approval. She told me you have potential but need training and di ..." Her words trailed off. Not that it mattered, as Peter was so full of himself he didn't hear the end of her sentence.
"I'm glad about that. She's a bit scary is your mother. But I clearly won her round with my good looks and charm. The flowers might have helped too."
"I'm sure they did. Ok, I'll go set the table and leave you to finish up here."
"Oh," he pouted. "I thought you were coming to help me."
"No way. It's your job. Get on with it." She blew him a kiss and left the room.
Dinner was delicious, and Peter realised he was on to a good thing having someone to regularly cook for him. Mrs Riley didn't ask any awkward questions or cast him any dark looks during the meal, and he felt he would fit in fine with the household; and of course it would be terrific living with Carol.
Little did he know what lay in store for him...
The next two weeks flew by, and Peter moved in with Carol and her mother. The first week passed by without incident and Peter settled into the Riley household. Every morning he'd get up and find a cooked breakfast waiting for him, and when he returned home from work Mrs Riley served up a tasty and nutritious dinner. It was like a dream come true, particularly since he was useless at cooking and had previously existed on pizzas, burgers and fries.
But on the Friday evening of his second week, something happened that turned his world upside down. Mrs Riley always attended her Bridge night on Fridays, and as one of the ladies was ill, Carol said she'd attend.
"I enjoy a game of Bridge now and then," she told Peter. "And you'll be fine on your own. You can watch sport on TV all night."
"Good idea," he said, and when the two women had left, he nipped out to stock up the fridge with a few beers for the weekend. Who should he bump into at the checkout but two guys from work. Marty and Ben were in the process of buying a keg of beer and a bottle of rum.
"Hey Peter," said Ben. "Looks like you're going to have a fun night."
"Sure am. Can't beat watching football and darts with a few cans of lager."
"Cool. Doesn't Carol mind?" asked Marty.
"She's gone out with her mother," said Peter with a grin. "Ladies Bridge night."
"Great! We'll come round and join you," said Marty.
"Oh. Well I'm not sure..."
"Come on mate," said Ben. "Bridge lasts ages. We'll be gone before they get back."
"Go on then," said Peter. It would be fun.
"What's the address?" asked Ben. As he was writing it down his mobile rang. He answered it. "Hi Stu ... sorry, we're going round to Peter's tonight ... sure you can." He turned to Peter. "It's okay if Stu comes along as well, isn't it?"
"Don't see why not. Tell him to bring some booze."
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