the three men looked at each other in confusion. Their mothers would have been screaming blue murder. Unhurriedly, she placed the trays on the table and closed the oven door.
Rarely did anything faze Mike, but, on this occasion, Mrs Harman had completely wrong-footed him. ‘Shall I put the kettle on, Mrs Harman?’
Eric just shook his head in disbelief.
‘Well, how funny is that. I can only assume that you’ve come to take some sort of revenge on one or more of my sons, but there you are, offering to make tea.’ She made a huffing sound. ‘Not even they do that. Well, yes, I suppose I would like a tea, thank you.’
Mike pulled out a chair for her to take a seat, and then he turned to fill the kettle. Willie leaned against the doorframe. ‘Sorry, missus. I didn’t mean to give you a fright.’
Eric was rolling his eyes. ‘I’m gonna wait in the car.’
Mike nodded.
‘So my sons have upset you, I take it?’
‘I’m afraid they have. But, listen, I won’t take it out on you.’
Mrs Harman reminded him of his own mother. They were roughly the same age, although his own mum was always dressed in the latest fashionable clothes. She wore jewellery and never left the bedroom without a coat of pink lipstick.
This lady, though, couldn’t be more different, with her flat grey hair, a thick waist, swollen ankles, and her old-fashioned twinset-and-pearls look. And the sad, tired expression, no doubt from years of being worn down, certainly accentuated the difference.
The kettle boiled, and Mike spotted the teapot and one china teacup and saucer; the scene reminded him of sitting in his grandmother’s kitchen. ‘Tea should only be drunk from a china teacup, or porcelain if ya can afford it,’ she would say. He remembered her dainty cup with the floral pattern and the chip on the side. He also recalled the day he presented her with a whole tea set that he had nicked from Alders. Her eyes lit up and she hugged him. ‘Aw, little Mikey. Now I can have all me mates over for tea.’ She always called him little Mikey, even when he was six feet tall. He poured the tea just how his grandmother liked it and presented it to Mrs Harman.
‘There ya go, love.’
Doris looked at the colour of the liquid and smiled. ‘Lovely, that. It’s just how I like it.’ She gracefully picked up the drink and sipped it. As she gently placed the cup down, she sighed. ‘So, may I ask what the boys have done now? I’m assuming it’s bad.’ She huffed again. ‘But then, it always is, with my lot.’
‘You’ve no need to be involved. It’s just business. I’m sure they know the rules.’
‘The rules? No, they don’t know the rules, love, I can assure you of that. Um … do you make your own mum a cuppa, then?’
Mike gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Of course I do. Why do you ask?’
Doris’s eyes clouded over. ‘Does she do your washing?’
Mike frowned. ‘Of course not.’ Then it dawned on him; she was comparing him to her own sons. ‘I look after my mum. I take her for dinner every Sunday, if I can, and I wouldn’t have my dear ol’ mum lift a finger.’
‘Yeah, well, see, that’s where my boys don’t know the rules. In fact, if I’m brutally honest, they’re all shits, even my daughter. All out for herself, she is. You’d think I’d have had at least one good egg among ’em, but, no, they all take after their father, and he’s a real horrible bastard.’
Mike pulled out a chair and sat opposite; he sensed she needed to get her annoyance off her chest. ‘Do they give you a hard time, then?’
She took another sip of tea. ‘Hard time? Ha, that’s an understatement. D’ya know, Harry told me to go and stay with me sister up in Bath. Obviously, he was expecting trouble. I wanted to hit him with the saucepan. My dear sister has been dead for six months. My only ally, my Tilda, and that fat git didn’t even remember she’d passed away. They’re selfish, my lot. They come in this very kitchen with their bags of washing, their tans glowing from their holidays abroad, and then they slap down their shitty clothes for me to scrub. And as for Scottie, I know he has money, and yet he still goes through my purse and nicks me pension. That ain’t right, is it? You wouldn’t do that, would you?’
Mike had a sudden thought.
‘Don’t they offer to take you on holiday? I always make sure my mum has a good two-week break away somewhere nice.’
‘Ha, my kids have never even offered to take me for a Sunday lunch somewhere nice, let alone a bleedin’ holiday. I ain’t been away since I went to Bath with me sister, what, four years ago now.’
‘That’s not fair, is it?’ He softened his gruff voice.
‘Life ain’t fair, love. I should know,’ she replied, taking another sip of her tea. She looked up at him. ‘D’ya treat ya mum on her birthday an’ all?’
Mike smiled. ‘Yeah, I do, every year. I drive my mum to a place called Rye. It’s beautiful, with cobbled streets and views as far as the eye can see. She loves the little tea shops, the antique shops, and the fish and chip shop. She stays in my seventeenth-century cottage and just enjoys soaking up the atmosphere.’
Doris was staring off into space. ‘Ahh, it does sound wonderful. She must be so proud of you.’
‘Well, I tell ya what. Why don’t you go and pack a little suitcase and I’ll treat you to a nice stay in the very same cottage? Call it a birthday treat, seeing that your own boys haven’t seen fit to spoil ya.’
She blinked and came out of her daydream. ‘What? Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. Besides, I don’t even know you, and, well, I was just having a moan, really. ’Ark at me, chatting away, and you being all nice, an’ all. Suppose you’re really ’ere to bash me boys? Anyway, what have they done now?’
Mike sighed. He wanted to get the dear old lady away from the potential scene of a bloodbath. ‘Yes, Mrs Harman, I’ll probably give ’em a clump, but, really, I just want a word. They did something unforgivable, I’m afraid. In fact, it was very cruel.’
Doris nodded, genially. ‘Sounds like them.’ She stared at Mike and frowned, as her head slowly tilted to the side. ‘Are you by any chance related to Arthur Regan?’
Mike sat up straight. ‘Why?’
Her eyes seemed to drift off again. Maybe it was her escape to another time or another place. ‘You just remind me so much of him, that’s all. Now, he really was a gentleman, but he was a rogue, all the same.’
‘Knew him well, did you?’
Unexpectedly, the tears in Doris’s eyes welled up. ‘Yes, I did. He was the love of my life, he was, before Frank came on the scene. Oh, ’ark at me. Never mind. It’s all in the past.’
His mind now all over the place, Mike felt his heart beating fast. Could this woman, the mother of his archenemy, have once had a thing with his father? He was dying to know.
‘Was this Arthur married then?’
She smiled and blinked away the tears. ‘Oh no. We were very young. Never mind. Anyway, enough of all this. I don’t think any of my sons will come back. They’re too concerned with saving their own arses. I know you’re probably wondering why I’m not running around frantic, like, or trying to escape to call them, but, the truth is, I really don’t care. I really and truly don’t care what happens to them. They were never my children. They were Frank’s – well, theoretically. I think I was just an oven to cook his evil seeds. There, I’ve said it, now. Look, I’m off to the church. You can stay and wait, but I bet they won’t show their faces.’
Mike grabbed her hand. ‘Listen, Mrs Harman. Please. You deserve better. You’ll love Rye.’ He winked and tapped her hand. ‘Go on, pack a bag, and let me spoil you.’
‘Oh,