Son

"Mrs Greenwood?"

The sun was sliding across the horizon, eye level for the patrons of the Markham Hotel. Ellen put down her dessert menu and slid her glasses down her nose. "Yes?"

A small boy stood in front of her, bouncing on his heels, sympathetic eyes wide: he was terrified. And why not? Skin should not crease so, should not fold over; hair should not be white. Ellen was clearly a wreck of a woman.

She smiled, encouraging him.

"Mama –" He cleared his throat. "My mother, Mrs Kerensky, is over there. She wanted to know if you were Mrs Greenwood, and if you would speak to her."

Ellen followed his quavering finger and found, without too much difficulty, a familiar face smiling from across the hotel terrace. Ellen gathered her things and stood. "Of course. Tell her I'd love to."

He got up, relieved to run off. Ellen made her way between the tables to her son's old girlfriend, who had been Jenna Crawford. Since then she had apparently married, and was blossoming; loose curls tumbled about her face and her cheeks were rosy. She stood as Ellen approached, smiling.

"Mrs Greenwood! How are you?"

"Fine, thank you. You look well."

"We're doing great, aren't we, Matt?" She rumpled her son's hair. "Matthew's a little shy, don't mind him. Sit down, if you have the time."

"Nothing to interrupt. I'm on holiday."

"But the same routine," Jenna said, unsure. "Haven't I seen you here before?"

"Of course."

"A holiday from what?"

Ellen spread her fingers apart. "Work. People. Life."

"I envy you! a little," Jenna said with a laugh. Ellen sipped at the water a waiter had rushed to provide her with.

"How's Tom?"

Ellen put her glass back down. "I don't know."

"You don't -"

"He insisted on rushing off with that girl, that – Leslie – absolute scandal, I'm sure you heard. You were in touch then."

"He's your son," Jenna said.

"Not any more. Have you eaten? The tripe is delicious."

Jenna obediently bent her head over the menu, hiding her disappointment.

Leslie was in an abusive relationship when Tom met her, married to a man absent six months of the year, whether he was away on business or living with one of his girlfriends. She was with him for four years. Two of them she spent with Tom, and by the end she was pregnant. Rick kicked her out, Tom took her in. His mother was furious.

Ellen had been raised by the old laws, by the Church. Sex before marriage was not an option; abortion was not an option; Leslie was not an option. There was no right way, but in her mind the best way was to leave Leslie to sort it out with her husband.

Tom stood before Ellen in her kitchen. She kept her eyes downcast, lips pursed.

"Rick left her."

"She deserved that much from him."

"I told you what he is. She was not in a marriage."

"Don't tell me that. She took her vows."

"Oh, Christ. Is she a fucking nun?"

"Tom!"

"What, should she live alone in that castle, while her husband runs around with his whores?"

"Tom!"

"What? Mother?"

She sighed and let it go. "You can't take a girl like that."

"I love her. We love each other, and our child."

He was too proud already. It would all come to nothing. "If she committed it once, she'll do it again. Adultery is not something to be trifled with, my boy."

Tom pulled his arm from her grasp. "We're going to be married."

"Not with my consent."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but I won't leave her."

Ellen threw her hands up, frustrated. "She will leave you! What makes you think she won't?"

"I'm not Rick, I won't fuck her over."

"Tom, don't curse, please."

Tom ignored her. "What else can I do? My child needs a father. Leslie's a great girl, Mother, you liked her when you met her."

"I didn't know the circumstances then."

She watched his jaw settle into an obstinate position, and sighed again. Her mouth trembled, but she bit it back. "Have you anything left? Here, since you lived here?"

"I shouldn't."

"Go, then. Marry her, I don't care. Don't come back."

Ellen was waiting for the tram when a hand touched her shoulder. She turned. Tom was grinning down at her, tentatively.

"Hello, Mother," he said.

"Tom."

His expression faltered. She stood before him, her heart beating, her toes numb. He waved an arm at the crowd. "I saw you, in all of this. How are you managing?"

Still a sentimentalist, she thought. She had missed him very much. "All right."

"Father is…?"

"Gone."

"He left you?" Tom was flabbergasted. She smiled a little grimly.

"He passed away."

"How long?" Tom breathed the words, shocked tears in his eyes.

"Four years."

"You didn't call."

"You have Leslie, don't you? You don't need your parents."

Tom swallowed. "Listen, Mother –" His voice cracked. "Listen. My little boy – John – he should have a grandma. You were always so good with kids, and he –"

"Aren't Leslie's mother and father alive? She was quite young, if I recall correctly."

"Still," he said with a smile. "And yes, they are. We're close, it's wonderful. But John would love you. To come."

"Thank you," said Ellen. "You are kind."

Ellen cried into her lonely pillow that night. She had missed him very much.