“Exit, pursued by a bear” one of the most memorable stage directions in the Shakespearean canon appears in The Winter’s Tale. The fact that my mother’s name was Hermione was probably just a coincidence and why she named me Perdita, much the same.
Nevertheless, that particular winter when my parents split up was a tragi-comedy, if not a farce! I can’t claim to be the child of a broken family since the year it happened I was close to forty, happily married with two children and a dog.
So, Leontes, (sorry – Leo, as my father is called), came round for supper one evening when my mother was rehearsing her next play. My mother, rather late in life, had developed an interest in amateur dramatics, and this was her first starring role. Well, although it was news to me, I didn’t think it was something much to worry about until his pronouncement was delivered in a dramatically anguished tone:
” I’m convinced your mother is having an affair with her leading man!”
At this point, I didn’t ask what his name was; it would just have been too surreal if he were called Polixenes, so I enquired calmly as why he thought this was the case.
“She just can’t stop mentioning his name, and she’s wearing much more makeup than she has done for years.”
We were in the kitchen at the time of this revelation. My father was helping me load the dishwasher, and in his distress managed to drop a plate which smashed to pieces on the tiled kitchen floor. Well, I hoped it was an accident and not a fit of jealous rage, as he sat down at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. I cleared up the shattered pieces from the floor as I tried to calm him down, whilst struggling to keep an excited golden retriever from hurting his paws. My husband, David, accompanied by two children stuck their heads round the kitchen door, but retreated when I shooed them away.
I must admit, from what my father had said so far, the evidence seemed flimsy, and it was a couple of months later when I finally caught my mother on her own. She was “busy with rehearsals” and was somewhat difficult to pin down. We met for coffee at a small hotel in town. Mum joined me at the table, looking unusually happy and terribly chic; her makeup immaculate and her outfit brand new. This raised alarm bells but as yet no serious cause for concern. She drank her coffee and chattered in an animated tone, about rehearsals and Polixenes (sorry – Peter, her leading man). I listened, mesmerised by her somewhat theatrical hand gestures, her expressive face, and her eyes alive with a passion and enthusiasm I couldn’t remember having seen in my dear old mum. After another coffee, I finally sensed her winding down and dived in when I saw a gap:
“Mum”, I said lightly, aiming for a slightly amused tone, “Dad seems to think you may be sharing more than the stage with Peter.”
Her reaction was unexpected, her expression almost smug, as she gleefully responded:
“Darling, it serves him right, he’s taken me for granted all these years. Is he jealous, do you think? “.
I nodded, raised one eyebrow, and said gently:
“Mother, Dad seems really distressed. Couldn’t you just…
“Don’t worry”, she interrupted, “your father will survive, he’s just grown too complacent and he needs to learn a lesson or two. I know what I’m doing. It will all work out fine.”
I came to the conclusion that this was all a game but I had a funny feeling it was going to end in tears. I paid the bill, followed her out of the hotel as we almost collided with my very dapper looking father with a young blonde on his arm. He had a triumphantly smug expression on his face! I also noticed he was wearing a black tie, and the blonde was in a nicely tailored black suit. He greeted me as my mother brushed past them and disappeared without saying a word.
At this point, I couldn’t decide if it was a Comedy of Errors, Much Ado about Nothing, or The Winter’s Tale, as a change of address card from Mum dropped through the letterbox the following week. The final denouement, as it gradually emerged, more closely resembled a Brian Rix farce! Apparently, a row of epic proportions resulted in Mum stomping out in frustration after packing an overnight bag.
My father then panicked, asked my husband, a lawyer, to sort it all out. A tangled web of misunderstandings, misdirection, and lies emerged as David cross questioned my parents and tried to keep a straight face. Mum had left the script for the play lying on the coffee table open at the page of a passionate embrace between the two leading players. Then she had bumped into Dad and his secretary on the way to the funeral of the senior partner of his company. Bitter accusations of infidelity were flying around! Finally David made them see sense, and both of them smiled sheepishly as he jokingly enquired to whom should he send the bill.
So Christmas with my parents went very well, with Mum back in the family home. And the Boxing Day panto was a roaring success. The children loved it and my father was very proud, Mum looked wonderful in a wig and a fairy tale dress. The leading man was in his late seventies, and according to David, my mother had described him as having bad breath and a dodgy hip. So the passionate embrace turned into a brief peck on the cheek. There was one brief moment of alarm when the bear was a bit too enthusiastic and the leading man tripped just as he exited stage left!
The topic for December/January 2021 Short Story Competition was A Winters Tale.
Bilby
Araminta
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