You know, I heard about this the other daymy friend Elizabeth is all in a flap: her sons decided hes going to marry a girl whos not from their usual set. I really get itIve got kids too, and honestly, I would worry as well.
It actually reminds me of the Robinsons. You remember Helen Robinson? Her son basically just dropped the news on her: Heres Sophie, weve tied the knot. No warning, nothing. The Robinson family is absolute classic middle-class Englandprofessor, two solicitors, a ballet coach, chief engineer, a respected book reviewer, and even a top heart specialist in the ranks.
And who is this Sophie? Well, lets just say, rather a questionable background and, frankly, not the best manners. Her dads nowhere to be seen, her mum works on a dairy farmmilks the cows every morning, can you imagine? As for education, she trained as a decorator and plasterer, not exactly Oxford material. Absolutely no airs, as plain as they come. It was like fate just chucked her right into the Robinsons path for a laugh.
Mind you, Sophie kept to herselfquiet as a mouse, barely noticed her rustling around the hallway.
Wait and see, Helens friend Alice kept telling her, shell make herself at home and youll be besides yourself in no time.
Come autumn, Helens son gets sent off on assignment to the States for work. And Helen told Alice, Honestly, just thinking of that girl pottering about the flat gives me the ick, makes me not want to go home.
By New Year, her son was back, but in March, he dropped another bombshell: first, hed been offered a contract in America; second, hed met someone called Nicole over there; and third, his divorce from Sophie would be wrapped up by Thursday and hed be flying out Friday. Dont fret, Mum, Ill phone, he said.
She shed her tears, saw him off, gave a little wave.
Sophie packed her thingsjust a travel bag and a carrier from Sainsburysher whole fortune. She looked like a stray left out in the rain.
Helen forced herself to ask, Do you have anywhere to stay?
Softly, Sophie replied, In about a month therell be a free bed in the hostel, until then some of the girls said I could borrow a camp-bed in their room.
Helen thought for a moment, then said, Just unpack, stay here until theres somewhere decent to go. And she called herself a fool for it. Alice agreed.
Every morning, Sophie dashed off to workdecorating and plasteringcoming back late, grey with exhaustion. She even tried to pay for her keep, insisting she made enough.
Three weeks went by like that. And thenout of the blueHelen was rushed to hospital, had to stay for six weeks. It was tough going; she barely pulled through.
Her son called a few times, saying, Hang in there, Mum! I sent our pic with Nicoleme, Nicole, and Niagara Falls. Frankly, Nicole didnt seem worth the bother.
Alice dropped by, not very oftenfamilies, responsibilities, you know how it is.
Meanwhile, Sophie cooked up broths, made fresh juices, carefully poached chicken pattiesgently coaxing Helen to try just one more spoonful.
I dont trust this Mother Teresa act, Alice would say, Are you sure shes not moved herself in for good? Nicked half your flat? Fancy a chicken patty? No? Are you sure? Because Ive come straight from work and Im starving.
When Helen was discharged, Sophie took her home, helped her up to the flat, and scurried straight back outhad to dash to work.
Not a speck of dust anywhere, Helen shuffled to the kitchen and found a little note on the table: Mrs. Robinson, thank you. Theres lunch in the fridge. Wishing you a speedy recovery. S.
Checked all her secret stasheseverything intact.
Glanced into her sons room, not a trace of Sophie.
A week later, Helen wandered down the long echoey corridor and gave a knock. Three beds, a small table, a camp-bed shoved underneath.
Helen said, Youll move out once your flats sorted, right? Come on then, pack upweve got a taxi waiting and the meters running.
In September, they headed out to buy Sophie a decent autumn coathad to, poor girl could hardly turn up anywhere in what she had; boots too, and maybe a handbag. They bumped into Alice in the shopping centre.
Alice had a nudge and a wink and said, Good helps hard to find these days, let alone for free. Youve done well for yourself, Helen!
But Helen only shook her head, Thats your cleaner, Alice, Ive got a daughter-in-law. Come on, Sophie, lets crack onneed a bag for you, some trousers, and I fancy treating myself to a scarf.
And you know, Helen adds, She saved up for her own deposit, didnt take a penny off me. The buildings nearly finished, Im helping her pick wallpaper, but shes never got a minute, works like a trooper. Just last week she barely made it through the door, I turned to make tea and found her fast asleep sitting upright.
Helen sighs and says, Its daft, but I worryso young and pretty, proper grafter, plus shell have her own place soon. Sophies a clever girl, but anyone can be led astray, cant they? I lose sleep hoping she doesnt end up with some layabout or a wrongun, someone whos not from our sortSometimes, when the kettle whistles and the rain rattles against the kitchen window, Helen catches Sophie humming to herself as she paints a swatch of colour onto a postcard or threads a new button through a jumper cuff. The flat feels differentlighter, almost as if some lost warmth has returned, drifting gently through the rooms like a song from another room you cant quite recall.
One evening, as autumns shadow deepens, Helen asks, Do you ever miss it? The countryside. The cows. All of that? Sophie just grins, flicking plaster from her thumbnail. Sometimes, in the mornings. Its quieter here though. Feels like I can think for once. She offers Helen a slice of honey cake. Youre not half bad company yourself.
Over the weeks, it becomes less clear who is helping whom. Helen finds herself at Sophies new flat, knee-deep in wallpaper samples, laughing at the wildest patterns. Shes the one insisting Sophie takes a Sunday off, organizing a surprise picnic under the plane trees in the parkbarely edible sandwiches, tart apples, thermos tea, both of them bundled in hats and scarves, cheeks pink from the cold.
That night, Helen stands on her balcony, looking over twinkling windows and the bright little box of Sophies kitchen where the lights still on, dazzling like a jewel. She thinks how odd it is, the way life shakes you up and sets you back downsometimes with just the right person beside you, quite by accident, and all the heavy things you once feared turn light, a feathers weight on your shoulders.
She pulls her scarf tighter, breathes in the city air, and smiles. Who knew what the next chapter would bring? It didnt matter, reallybecause for now, Sophie was home. And so, Helen realised, was she.
