Is That You Dear?

“Is that you dear?” Polly asked of her son Sam, who dutifully phoned her at 4 o’clock, on the dot, every Saturday.

“Yes, I’m here Mum”, Sam replied, preparing himself for their standard, scripted conversation, which he’d worked out he could fit in, in between getting home from golf, picking up the children from their play dates, putting the rubbish bins out, and unloading the dishwasher “How are you?” he opened.

“Oh, I’m fine dear”, Polly responded, following the text.

“Well, what have you been up to Mum?”, Sam asked, at the same time checking the emails on his laptop.

“Oh, nothing much”, Polly responded, “I did get my hair done on Tuesday, and they put these lovely purple streaks through it. They’re really quite pretty, and they’re the same colour as the local football team’s outfits, so I’ll be right in the mix when the season starts next week”.

Sam latched on to the ‘hair done’ mention, but glossed over the colour reference because one of the emails was from a client asking him if he was interested in a lucrative management contract.

“That’s nice Mum”, Sam continued the thread. “It’s always good to get a tidy up, isn’t it? Gives you a bit of a lift, doesn’t it?” He looked at his watch, thinking he might just have time to take Boso, their dog, for a quick jog if Mitzi got back on time from her yoga session. The offer of a new, well-paid contract had given him invigorated zest.

“Yes, and I got a tattoo on Friday”, Polly went on. “I saw the ones that Gina, the hairdresser had, and they looked quite lovely, like wearing a permanent decoration, so I thought, why not? Mine’s the Greek goddess Aphrodite, and she was all about love, so it makes me feel sort of happy inside when I look at it”.

Sam hurried along with the conversation, tagging the words, ‘Gina’, ‘lovely’, and ‘happy’, but running over the tattoo remark.

“That’s great Mum, what else has been happening?”, he asked, checking out the cricket scores on the tv news. “Have you been doing your exercises? I saw a YouTuber on how these oldies keep fit just by sitting on a chair. Now that would suit you wouldn’t it, Mum?”

Polly’s tone changed. “Oh yes, dear. I’m keeping fit. I go along to the over 70s ballroom classes, and that’s where I met Randolph. He’s my dance partner, and he can certainly do a very sassy soft shoe shuffle, I can tell you”.

Polly paused momentarily, wistfully recalling their last waltz together. “He’s very gentlemanly, and he’s got such a funny sense of humour, he makes everyone laugh. It’s nice because we usually go for a drink afterwards. He has a beer, and I have a gin and tonic, and then he sees me home”.

As he finished checking out the next day’s weather forecast, Sam began to pick up a very different vibe from the normal talk routine. He was putting together ‘dance partner’, ‘sassy soft shoe shuffle’, ‘beer and gin and tonic’, and it wasn’t adding up to what he’d expected. He’d never known his mother drink anything more than a glass of cider, and he began to suspect the reason for the unusual turn in their usually predictable exchange.

“So, who’s this Rudolph Mum?” he queried. “What’s he all about?”

“It’s Randolph dear, not Rudolph”. Polly replied. “He’s not a reindeer, but his nose does look slightly red in the early morning light. I think he’s from somewhere in Europe because he’s got a bit of an accent, and he’s got that creamy, mustard, Mediterranean skin colour. It’s quite attractive in a swarthy kind of way, and a few of the ladies have hinted that they wouldn’t be averse to dancing a Rhumba with him”. Polly’s expression spelt out the full inference of what she was saying.

“He’s very particular with his dance steps as well”, Polly went on to explain. “Almost is never enough for him. Whether it’s a progressive side step, or a double reverse spin, it has to be absolutely tight and sprightly. It makes me feel like I’m on 'Dancing with the Stars' when we take the floor. Anyway, we get on so well, we thought we might go on a little trip together soon, a sight-seeing tour or a cruise or something”.

Sam needed to take a moment to review all the points and half-missed points of their conversation, and put all the two and twos together. When he did, it didn't add up he wasn’t happy at all with the potential answers.

Going into management mode, he confronted Polly with his version of events. “So, you’ve dyed your hair purple, got yourself a tattoo, and now you’re going to go dancing off with some lothario you’ve only known for five minutes? Is that right?”

“Well not quite dear”, she answered. “I don’t think we’ll be doing much ballroom dancing while we’re away, but maybe just a tad of the other type of dancing, if you know what I mean”.

Sam could not believe what he was hearing. His quiet, demur and contained mother seemed to be morphing into what, he wasn’t sure, and certainly didn’t want to contemplate.

After a short consideration of the alternatives, he voiced a plan of action. “Look Mum”, he said. “Don’t go making any plans just yet. We’ll come up at the weekend so we can catch up. Mitzi was talking about that new café that’s opened near you, so we can go for lunch”.

“Okay, that’ll be nice Sam, it has been a while” Polly responded, “The café has had some good reviews and it is licensed".

Relieved that he’d managed to contain the situation for the moment, Sam wanted to be sure his mother understood the arrangement.

“Right then Mum. We should get to you around 11. We’ll pick you up, then we’ll go and have a nice meal together, and you can enjoy a gin and tonic”

Satisfied that he’d made himself clear, he signed off the chat. “I’ve got to go now Mum because I’ve got another call coming in. Bye then, and we’ll see you on Saturday”.

Polly had no time to say goodbye before the line went dead, but she smiled to herself. “I was wondering just what it would take to get you to come and visit”, she laughed.