Chapter Text
It was Isobel Tucker’s decision to forego an after-church lunch date with her friends Betty and Margery that made all the difference. She had a bit of a headache, so she went home instead and thus missed catching Betty’s grandson’s cold. A cold is nothing to shrug off when a person is 76, especially when that person is prone to bronchitis.
But Isobel is in good health when she watches the news of her son’s resignation. She calls and informs him that she’s coming to London. No, she will not wait until Malcolm visits at Christmas. It’s been a long time since she’s been down and she will brook no argument. The only concession she allows is that Malcolm will pay for the ticket (Super Voyager, first class). Within 24 hours Malcolm’s younger sister Susan is helping their mother to the station and exacting a promise that she will call with news of Malcolm as soon as possible. Sue would love to visit her big brother, but she has a young child and a full-time job.
Malcolm meets his mother at Euston and she has to work to conceal her shock at his appearance. He’s aged five years in the last 12 months. He’s pale as chalk and has lost even more weight. Is he not eating at all? She hugs him tightly and makes bright small talk about the journey (so comfortable!), Sue, the kids, and the weather.
The house is spotless, as usual and there are flowers in the kitchen and the spare bedroom. The refrigerator is full of food, including many of her favorites. He must have gone shopping that very morning.
“I thought I’d cook dinner tonight,” says Malcolm. “I know you want to see London a bit…”
“Dinner in would be lovely!” Isobel squeezes his arm. “Maybe we could have lasagna, with a nice salad. You make such good lasagna.”
“Sure, yeah. I’ll make that if you make some of your rolls. I have everything ready.”
They work on opposite sides of the kitchen. This one room is half the size of the flat they all shared when Malcolm was a boy. She’s proud of how far he’s come with his brains and hard work and tells him so.
Malcolm looks stricken. “No cause to be proud, Mam.” Without looking her in the face he tells how he was blindsided by Steven Fleming. His voice is calm and controlled and his knife clicks steadily on the board as he dices the onions, but Isobel can feel the rage and humiliation emanating from him.
Isobel puts the rolls above the pilot light in the lower gas oven to rise. (Two ovens for a single man. Imagine!) She places her hand on her son’s bony back and gives him a gentle push, just enough to let him know what’s coming.
“You’re well out of it,” she tells him. He starts to argue but she insists on having ten uninterrupted minutes to say her peace. “And it won’t be the first during this visit, my dear.”
Isobel takes a deep breath and bluntly tells her son that he looks dreadful, as bad and Mrs. Isley’s boy did when he came out of rehab. He may love his job but it surely doesn’t love him. When was the last time he felt proud of what he was doing? Does he even remember the idealism that pushed him into politics?
Malcolm concedes every point. Then he tells her about his embarrassing visit to the BBC and the even worse options his agent has brought up since then.
“I just don’t know, Mam. The thought of interviewing some tw-… idiot about the latest diet book makes me want to tie weights on my ankles and jump in the Thames, and that’s the best option so far.”
“You’re like your dad that way. He couldn’t slow down either.”
“Yeah, but as I recall Dad was always in demand, right? If the boats were slow, he did a bit of carpentry. Didn’t he even do some electrical work?”
“And painting. And even a bit of plumbing. He was a talented man, Malcolm. So are you! What about your writing?” Isobel is struck by a sudden inspiration. “What about all the organizing you used to do? The Nationals could use your help. You would be so close to home, and Edinburgh is beautiful! They would throw money at you!”
Malcolm laughs at his mother’s excitement and gives her a quick squeeze. “I think that reorganizing Scottish politics is a bit beyond my ken, Mam.” But he’s smiling as he puts the pasta on to boil and his voice is lighter as he turns the talk to family and neighborhood gossip.
Keeping Malcolm busy is the key, Isobel decides. She “forces” him to take her all over London. They go to dozens of antique shops where Isobel buys Malcolm a new red glass vase. (You need a spot of color in the house.) He insists on getting her a new set of table linens. (Show up those church hags!) He waits patiently while she selects a new coat, suit and hat “for best.” She waits patiently as he pores through old diaries in an antiquarian bookstore. Isobel has her first latte and pronounces it elegant. Malcolm has to buy a small chest freezer for all the food they make together.
After a week Malcolm seems much better. His color has gone from chalky to merely pale and he checks his phone no more than ten times a day. His former assistant calls daily to make sure he’s okay, and Malcolm’s tone is teasing and paternal, as if he’s more worried about her than himself. Tony the Formerly Worthless agent calls with offers that are not entirely horrible, and a few nibbles from publishers that have Malcolm thinking.
Then the bad call comes. Julius, Lord Nicholson, is requesting the favor of Malcolm’s presence at a private meeting. Malcolm has talked about Julius before and Isobel has a terrible feeling that he is someone who can undo all her work.
“Have your friend come over here, Malcolm,” she suggests guilelessly. “We have all this lovely salmon. T’would be a shame to waste it.” Malcolm agrees, finding the thought of having Julius on his own turf amusing.
Julius does come over, bringing a moderately expensive bottle of wine. He is charming and complimentary, particularly about the food. They have asparagus soup, roasted salmon with tiny roasted potatoes and peas, and some homemade raspberry gelato and shortbread biscuits for dessert.
“You made all this, Malcolm! I had no idea!” Julius is astonished that Malcolm’s family has a recipe for gelato and listens to Isobel’s account of the Italian side of her family with sincere interest. Julius is so taken with Isobel that he tries to enlist her in his argument. Contrary to Julius’s expectations, Malcolm is resisting his siren call.
“Don’t you agree, Mrs. Tucker, than Malcolm is the man to bring back unity?” he asks, tucking into his third biscuit.
Isobel pretends not to take it all that seriously. “Perhaps you’re right, but are you the right man for him?” She laughs and glances at Malcolm who is fetching more coffee.
“I suppose bringing Malcolm back would help, not that you deserve him, but he’s had so many offers”…
“I’m thinking of writing a children’s book,” Malcolm comments, deadpan. “It would be about a spider who uses its webs to tear a house down. Heartwarming, don’t you think?”
This isn’t going well, but Julius is nothing if not patient.
“We’re facing a very tight election,” he continues touching upon Malcolm’s commitment to Labor values, the huge part he could play in the future, the need for all good men, etc. etc.
“You expect to win, then?” Isobel asks, all innocence. “Or do you think Malcolm would be happy in opposition?” Malcolm smothers a laugh, the bastard.
Then there’s a muffled knock at the front door and Malcolm goes to answer it. It’s the kids from down the road selling potted roses for their service club. Malcolm buys one, as always, and is fiddling about with his wallet safely out of hearing range.
“You won’t win,” Isobel confides to Julius with a tight smile. “He’s not going to throw his life away on your lot. I’ll cry if I have to, but you will not get him back.” She locks her round, pale blue eyes on his and Julius realizes that this is where Malcolm gets his bollocking face. Shaken, he raises his coffee cup in her direction.
“It appears that you have the better hand, Mrs. Tucker.”
Malcolm has sent the kids off with cash and a small bag of shortbread.
“How are you two getting on?” he asks, noticing the awkward silence.
“Oh, very well Malcolm. Your mother was just saying that you’re thinking of writing a book. Should I be afraid?”
“Aye, you know what they say: keep a diary and one day it will keep you. I suppose your chapter will depend on what your report says, won’t it?”
Julius would never, ever leak a confidential report, but the involuntary twitch of his hand tells Malcolm he needn’t worry.
And something in the room changes. Suddenly Julius is talking about his family’s annual fete (You will come, won’t you Malcolm?) and Isobel is describing her new suit and the three weddings she will attend this summer. Malcolm gently plays on Julius’s guilt and enlists him in assuring that “wee Sam” will not suffer for his absence. He talks about maybe getting into public policy, perhaps something like Article 19 or Joseph Rowntree. Isobel lights up at the thought, and Julius is almost encouraging.
When Julius leaves with his own small bag of shortbread (Lovely! Thank you!) Malcolm is joking about charging obscene rates as a consultant. Isobel goes home three days later with the feeling that her boy will be all right.