'Hi, George, is Elizabeth in?' Marjorie asked.
Fortunately George was in the kitchen when his neighbour barged in. Out of habit he'd left the back door open, when the last thing wanted were visitors. Marjorie was used to walking in to neighbours homes, or at least the kitchen, where gossip was shared.
'Hi, Marjorie. She's not in. Not expecting her back soon,' he said.
It looked odd that he didn't invite her in for a coffee, or even to sit down to catch up on local news. The atmosphere was strained, then a thump of something heavy dropped startled them both.
'That's Liz, my niece. Her aunt is ill, so I'm looking after her. That's where Elizabeth is, looking after her sister,' George lied.
'Oh, right. Is that why she was missing, the other evening?' she asked.
'What? Oh, yea, that's it. Mystery solved,' he nervously laughed.
'Hi, Mrs Jones, how are you today,' Liz asked.
She flounced in, and opened the fridge for juice. George scowled at her. It was bad enough Marjorie hearing her, but seeing her could be disastrous. Any moment he expected Marjorie to recognise Liz, as being Elizabeth. Awkward questions would follow.
'Want something to drink?' Liz asked.
'Sorry, Marjorie, would you like a coffee, a tea, something stronger. I could use one,' he said, making it sound like a sigh.
Marjorie chuckled, and pushed him into a chair.
George hoped fixing a drink would be enough of a distraction that she didn't question Liz. He noticed Marjorie wasn't wearing her glasses, so that helped. If she started asking the girl questions, the game would be up.
His wife was hypnotised to act like an adolescent, through no fault of his. He'd just used the phrase to put her into the role as Liz, with the intention of getting rid of it. Marjorie interrupted them before he could do anything. As soon as the neighbour left, he could get down to sorting out this mess. He wanted her hypnotised as his wife, not as Liz, a teenager.
'Now you know what it's like looking after an adolescent. I'll get you a drink, wine? I know where it is,' she said.
'Go to your room, Liz. Marjorie and I have adult things to talk about,' he told his wife.
'Uncle, do I have to?' Elizabeth whined.
'Go now, please. I won't tell you again!' he irritably spoke.
'I want to go on a date, with my boyfriend,' she said, sounding as though she would stamp her foot.
'Then go to your room and get ready,' he told her.
'Thank you uncle, like, you're real fab,' she said, and air kissed him.
'Wait. I didn't mean you can go out, I just meant, well. . . Just get ready in case I change my mind,' he sighed.
Liz looked at him as though she had won.
He looked out of patience. How could he let his wife go out on a date? She had admitted smooching that damn boy, and he guessed they had fumbled around. He didn't want some boy experimenting with his wife, while thinking like an eighteen year old. He had to undo this mess before something bad happened.
He imagined her becoming involved with an older, more experienced lad. Elizabeth was highly moral and would have the strength to say no, and make it stick. Whereas Liz was vulnerable, and might not be given the chance to say no. The thought of his wife being taken by some streetwise kid, made him shudder.
Marjorie looked at him as she reached for two glasses. He wasn't coping with a young girl. He and Elizabeth hadn't been blessed with children, so he was unused to handling them.
Two glasses and a bottle were on the table before he could blink.
'You're lucky she isn't challenging your authority, yet. What are you going to do when she does?' Marjorie asked.
'I haven't thought it through that far. Hopefully her mother will recover soon, and the girl can go back home,' he said.
She continued giving advice about dealing with children, and applying the advice to Liz. A glass of wine helped the discussion, so it became natural talking about Liz. It was easy to forget the awkward and painful situation, that Liz was really Elizabeth, his wife.
He looked at Marjorie after a couple of glasses of red wine, and realised how nice she was. Their chat about this and that had relaxed him. He'd forgotten about reawakening Liz, and the idea of taking control of his wife through her. They retired to a comfortable sofa to finish the bottle.
'You were right, they are a handful. Everything I say and do is misinterpreted. Either way, it's wrong for some illogical reason,' he recounted.
Marjorie laughed. She took his hand, and patted it.
'Poor man,' she sarcastically spoke.
'Well, that's the trouble, I'm just a man,' he exaggerated a sigh.
She got up from the sofa with remarkable finesse, and came back with another bottle. She knew where her friend kept the booze. She'd also made a phone call home, asking for help.
'You need a break. It's unfair to be left with an adolescent girl. They're worse than boys. The boys want a girl, but don't know how to go about it. The girl does, but she won't tell him, or make it easy for him,' she lectured.
'That goes throughout life. Everything becomes more complicated than you first think,' he mused.
***
'Hi, mom, Mr Atkins,' Leonard said, not sounding enthusiastic at all.
'I called you over for help. I want you to take Liz over to Bluebell. The girls can have a sleepover, and give George a rest,' she said.
George choked on the wine, and tried to recover.
'Oh! That won't be necessary. She's fine here,' he said.
He was grasping for excuses why she shouldn't leave, and failing to convince even himself.
'She might not want to. Just go and ask her if she wants to stay with Bluebell,' Marjorie told her son.
