Surely he could see that that was unfair. But the boy was only five, and he had no intention of quitting, or listening to abstract arguments. He would cry and scream and demand simply because he could, because he was allowed to, because it suited him.
‘I’m hungry. I’m going to get some chocolate.’
She had to pull him back by his arm. He glared at her as if to say ‘how dare you touch me?’ He tried to pull himself away.
‘I’m hungry, I’m hungry, I’m hungry. I want some chocolate. Let me go, let me go!’
She had to assert her authority.
‘That’s enough! I don’t want another word from you, do you hear? That’s enough, you can have some chocolate when Pet comes.’
The boy sensed victory.
‘But that might take ages.’
‘Not until Pet comes round. It won’t be long now. Just sit and wait, there’s a good boy.’
‘But she might not come.’
‘Don’t be silly, she always comes just after eleven.’
‘The other day she didn’t.’
Andrea could not remember if this was true or not. She thought it was probably not, but did not dare to call his bluff. Her memory was not to be trusted at the best of times.
‘She’ll be along soon, you’ll see.’
He stopped trying to escape and looked up at her with puppy dog eyes.
‘I’m hungry now, Mum.’
Just like his father, she thought, but it worked nonetheless.
‘Well alright, just a tiny bit. But you have to promise me you won’t say that about Auntie Pet again, ok? Do you promise?’
‘Promise’,
and he was off to the cupboard where the sweets were kept.
Pet arrived just after eleven with milk and biscuits. Plain biscuits that Sydney all but tossed to the floor in disdain. He would maybe take a wee sip of milk, maybe. Pet threw a glance at Andrea, who sighed heavily, but smiled too, as if saying that everything was fine as far as she was concerned, and as she was the mother, that ought to be enough for anyone. Pet sat down on the sofa next to Andrea and pinched a biscuit.
‘If he doesn’t want his biscuits, I do.’
‘Hey, they’re mine!’
He lunged for the biscuit.
‘A-a. Not anymore. You’re not hungry, remember?’
And she scoffed it down. Sydney smiled at Pet, enjoying the game, and picked up a biscuit himself.
‘And drink up your milk before I have it too, I’m starving!’
He leapt to the coffee table where Pet had placed the glass of milk and threatened to down it in one gulp.
‘Go on, then! That’ll make you big and strong, eh, Mum?’
Andrea realised she was being shown how it was done, but did not appreciate the interference. It was criticism more than advice, she perceived. Well if Pet was such a good mother, although she did not have any children herself, at least not that anyone knew of, well then she could look after the little shit for a while. She searched for an excuse, something more convincing than just passing the buck, but then decided against having to explain herself to Pet or Sydney or anyone at all. Why should she have to? She simply wanted to be alone for a while.
‘Can you stay with Auntie Pet for a bit, Sydney?’
But that sounded too abrupt, so she added,
‘I have to get ready.’
And waltzed out of the room without looking back.
Which was fine with Pet; she preferred to be left alone with her young charge, that way she could treat him as she felt fit without having to worry about whether Mum would agree or not. She had built up quite a relationship with the boy over the years and really felt like she was his Auntie Pet. He was her nephew, or her younger cousin, or family of some kind, because they had spent so many hours together and knew each other so well. Ever since Sydney had been able to half understand her, that is from about six months on, Pet had laid down the law, had drawn him her very simple but also very well defined lines. The boy knew better than to cross them, although he was tempted to test them every so often to make sure there had been no change or development. She could admonish him now with a slight hissing through her teeth. Be good, Sydney, or face the consequences, it’s up to you. He understood her perfectly.
He needed a brother. The poor kid spent so many moments on his own, not knowing what to do with himself, having to turn to adults for fun and companionship, adults who usually had no time for such infantile activity. What was it with the rich, she often asked herself, that they only have one child at a time? The late Sydney Haute, the only son. Andrea, no sisters or brothers. Harvey, the spoilt brat, brought up all on his own. Did they have children just because it was expected of them, like kings and queens of old? Someone to leave it all to, an heir to the throne? Because they certainly didn’t seem to love their offspring very much. They were always too keen to get someone else to bring them up for them. Someone to change their nappies, someone to take them for walks, someone to play with them. Then they sent them away to school or summer camps, or kept them busy with monitors and tutors. More like keeping dogs than starting a family. And now this little chap, once again all on his lonesome.
‘Help me with this, and we can go and see Uncle Bro with the dogs. Come on.’
Sydney carried his plate down the corridors to the kitchen, trotting behind Pet like a duckling behind its mother.
Of course, there was always hope. Maybe Harvey and Andrea would seal their relationship with one of their own, that way giving Sid a playmate, albeit a bit late in the game. Yet somehow Pet couldn’t see it happening. It was not easy to say why, but that was not important. She just could not imagine it, and that was usually enough. Andrea had been a reluctant mother right from the start. How could she want to be a mother when that meant sacrifice and unconditional love? Not exactly up Andrea’s street. Nor Sydney’s, the father’s, either. They were far too used to having everything done for them to want to get bogged down pretending to be caring parents. Luckily they had her, and Luz and Bro to fall back on. Not Joe, though, he kept his hands well clean he did. No, no kids for Mr. Stein!
Pet would have made a fairly decent mother most people agreed, but she was not so sure. Firstly, she did not like to cut people up into different categories. He’s a good husband, or she’s a wonderful friend. No, you either were or you weren’t everything. Maybe she had picked that up off her father, how he had not wanted to say that he was no more than his professional status, but it was an opinion she held strongly. You are a good mother because you love children, and are able to put others before yourself. In all cases. It was a natural conclusion to being how you really are, not having to fake it or try too hard to be like how others want you to be. If you were just natural, that’s all. And Pet was not the marrying type, so raising a family became, if not impossible then at least more difficult. She was not the marrying type because she liked men. Not one type of man, she had no preconceived preference, couldn’t care less if they were dark or fair, tall or short, fat or slim, just as long as something clicked between them. They would come into her life almost by accident, and more often than not leave in the same way. There was nothing planned, and she preferred it that way. There had been married men, life-long bachelors, passers through, and the odd one who had quite simply grasped at the opportunity to get his end away without a fuss. She never demanded anything in return, it was all here and now and the devil be damned, tomorrow is another day stuff. Naturally she could not entertain at the House, but even that suited her, too. Pet made love in the toilets of quiet bars, in the backs of enormous lorries, in a telephone booth under the shade of trees. She enjoyed quick gropes under snack bar tables or in the last row of the cinema. It was clandestine and naughty, and so much better than those awkward hotel room scenes, where you both undress embarrassedly and slip under the sheets like nervous novices. Here I am, undressed for the part. We shall now practice mutual sex. I am ready. It was all too mechanical and only served to put her off the whole idea. How muc
h more exciting to ride the moment, to let the lust surge, to brush and suggest until it was unbearable. Now, here and now, and who gives a shit if they catch us! So finding a man and marrying him, and setting up a stable home, with children and the whole works was not going to happen, was not in her nature. No matter, she had Sydney to pretend with. And Bro to look after too, of course. And what man would put up with her and Bro, eh? Not an attractive proposition. Still, it was not up to her to question her destiny. Things were as they were, and there was no point fighting it. But Sydney would grow up an only child, of that she was sure.
Later, before the mirror, Andrea reminded herself that she did not need to justify her actions, or her opinions for that matter, to anyone. She was a free and independent woman who made her own decisions, followed her own criteria. Nobody had the right to judge her, to criticise, or to force their own moral values on her. Andrea didn’t need any of that, thank you; she was quite capable of thinking for herself. She gave herself a confirming nod. Too bloody right. But the truth was, as she realised whilst pursing her lips for the lipstick, that she was feeling a tiny bit repentant for having thought badly of Pet. Yes, she was fat and ugly, and smoked all the time, forever slipping off to have a quick cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the toilet window. She waddled rather than walked, and was constantly out of breath. What else? Her teeth!