Dad was letting my mother down - his age was showing and along with an inability to progress; he was sinking into middle-aged mire. Mum, on the other hand was far from over-the-hill and when circumstances brought us together, we did all we could to cure the problem!
I wouldn't usually think to cuckold Dad, but Mum had needs and I was there...
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
I really wanted to curl up and die.
For fuck's sake - I'd found my dream girl, we'd married and rented a super little house, we'd settled down and for the best part of five years we'd been here - and now it was all falling apart.
My wife had begun to become increasingly nasty towards me for some reason although it took me several months before it really sank in; before I understood that it wasn't just a case of PMT or something; that she was serious.
She'd started to pick at me; to ignore household tasks; to come home from work when she chose to and I just knew that something was going on but I did my best to ignore her angry words and deeds and to let time do the soothing. I'd done nothing to upset her to the best of my knowledge but she was obviously trying to pick a fight, to stir things up.
And so it all came to a head one day when I finally retaliated and told her what I thought of her actions and deeds - and then she bit back at me hard - and then slammed out amid an ear rattling yelling and banging of doors.
When she returned later that evening she simply told me that she was leaving and that nothing I could do or say would change her mind.
But to be honest, right at that moment I had no intention of saying much - the idea of her leaving actually felt good right then. The peace while she'd been gone had been delicious, while the tension beforehand had been such that it actually felt great to know that our marriage was over and that the rowing would be gone.
All I could do was to mutter "Good riddance" as I left her to her packing and went off down to the pub.
A few hours later and I returned, to find the place silent and empty. Not empty of our possessions but empty of life - a cold and lonely place and I knew that I was on my own from now on.
The following day I phoned my parents to explain and Mum made all the right noises, sympathetic loving sounds and words to calm me, followed by an invitation to pop over for dinner and a chat that evening. I accepted with alacrity, knowing that Mum's cooking was top class and that otherwise I'd be dining alone on some insipid frozen dinner.
Mum welcomed me with floury hands and a kiss on the cheek, while Dad handed me a tumbler of scotch and ice as we met.
"Hard luck, old fella," he said as he patted me on the back and led me to the armchairs by the fire, "These things happen."
"Yeah but why me?" I groaned, "What did I do to deserve that? We used to get on so well and then it all kind of went wrong all around me..."
"I'll tell you what Chris," said Dad, "In my opinion it's because you're too easy going. You should have put your foot down a long time ago, put yourself in charge, know what I mean. Sometimes it pays to keep the little lady under your control."
It wasn't so much a question as a statement of fact so I merely went "hmmmmmm" as I vaguely agreed with Dad and we sat there gently cogitating.
That was until suddenly someone slapped me sharply on the back of my head.
"Aaaahh!" I cried as I spun around, and there was Mum, her hands now clean and on her hips.
"Don't listen to a word he says," she said firmly, her mouth set and her eyes glittering, "He's all mouth and no action!"
I couldn't help chuckling quietly at Mum's words and because Dad was now visibly reddened with embarrassment, leaving me feeling as if I was in the middle of an argument.
"Well, you two seem to have managed fine the way you are," I said, attempting to defuse any verbal fights, "You're still together after what, thirty years?"
"That's all down to the fact that I've kind of got used to him and his silly ways," said Mum, her hand now gently soothing the patch of my skull she's whacked, "If I'd let him rule the roost we'd never have got anything done. On the other hand perhaps he'd be the boss now at work if he'd followed his own advice."
She looked scornfully at Dad who cringed and buried his face in his scotch, the subject of his stalled business career apparently a sore point between them.
"Ummmm, dinner smells good," I said partially to divert the conversation and partially because delicious scents were now filling the air, "Have I got time for another drink?"
"Just about - dinner'll be about twenty minutes, darling," said Mum, "I'll join you - come and pour us one each Chris."
I levered myself from the armchair and smiled self-consciously at Dad who managed a small smile back, then I headed to the kitchen.
It was a biggish room and as I did the drinks on one side of the room, on the other side mother was doing her best witchy impression, busily muttering to herself and stirring pots amid clouds of steam and other vapours.
The delicious scents were stronger here and I carried Mum's glass of wine to her where she worked, my nose working overtime.
"Mmmmm, thank you darling," she breathed as I put it down on the worktop beside the cooker, "Is your Dad still in his chair?"
I stretched my neck to look around the door frame and from where I stood I could still see the back of Dad's head in the armchair.
"Yeah, he's happy with his scotch," I replied, "Why?"
"Oh, it just seemed a good time to tell you," Mum said as she sipped something from a wooden spoon, "Your Dad's got to do some shift work; they're making him work at night."
"Cooo, he won't like that," I responded, a throaty chuckle rising, "Anyway, I thought he was in change?"
Mum laughed, sharply and even acidly.
"Hah - as if!" she snapped, "He's no more in change of his work than he is of me."
She drained half her glass in one go.
"Like I said, if he was only half the man he says he is he might have found a better job by now," Mum continued, warming to her task and then she added, almost ruefully, "And if he was a stronger man at home I might have been nicer to him as well..."
The subject matter was curiously fascinating and yet it also spoke of unrest; not a line I wanted to enlarge upon considering my own problems, but somehow I wanted to keep talking - partially because I was curious and partially because I just plain like to chat with my Mum.
"That all sounds a bit personal," I said, "Perhaps you shouldn't be telling me this, Mum."
"You're family," said Mum, "So you're entitled to know but I wouldn't have said a word about it to most people."
