Tom and Gabby Ch. 09 - Linda's Parents

Hi guys. I've been writing nonstop for the past few days to get this next chapter finished, proofread and published. I hope you enjoy the next adventure in Gabby's ongoing struggle with Tom and Linda.

Thanks for the ratings/feedback for Ch. 08.

Hope you're still enjoying the series and am always happy to receive comments/feedback.

Work has already commenced on Ch. 10 (The Haircut) so stay tuned.

***

"They're here babe," Linda calls through to the lounge where Tom and I are waiting, and he looks over towards the direction of her voice.

I look up too, though she's obviously not talking to me. I'm sat on my beanbag in the corner of the room, wearing a hand selected pair of slovenly joggers and a baggy t-shirt. I don't move a muscle at the announcement. Tom throws me a warning glance from his seated position on the sofa. I found out only yesterday that Linda's mother and stepfather would be visiting today and was given a vibration-assisted crash course in what would be expected from me. In short, very little.

I am on strict instruction to keep quiet and 'behave myself' while their guests are here. Linda and Tom have promised to punish anything outside of these parameters accordingly.

I hear voices and a commotion at the front door, followed by footsteps descending down the hall, headed towards where Tom and I are waiting.

"I love this floor darling," an uppity female voice sounds. "You wouldn't expect such a nice entrance from outside." The front door closes, and heavier footsteps follow.

"And just look at these high ceilings. It seems so big in here compared to how it looks from the street! Not bad for a grotty little terrace, is it? All thanks to your improvements, I expect?" the voice continues, speaking volumes about the person talking. My gut instinct is to dislike her intensely.

A man's voice sounds in a thick Northern Irish accent. "Alright Lind? Ignore your mother kiddo. She's been bitching all the way down the M6. I knew you'd have got the place looking lovely."

There are rustling noises as they take their coats off.

"Did you put your foot down Daz?" I hear Linda asking, chirpily.

"Only when we hit the motorway kiddo," the Irish accent replies. "Everyone knows there's no speed limit on the motorway." I assume he must be joking, but I don't know anything about this man. Perhaps he's not?

"If that were the case Darren, why did you slam your brakes on every time we passed something mildly resembling a police car?" the haughty woman comments.

"He's an old boy racer at heart, aren't you Daz?" Linda giggles.

"Less of the old, eh kiddo? And I'll have you know, you never complained about my speeding when I was ferrying you round as a youngster! All your pals wanted a ride when they knew I was picking you up, didn't they?" the Irish accent argues back humouredly.

"They did. Their parents felt differently about the matter," Linda retorts. "Come on in. Tom's in the lounge. I'll take you through and then get the kettle on for us all. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse the mess."

I'm greatly confused by her last comment. The house is immaculate. Even more so than normal. She spent most of the morning cleaning, mopping, dusting and generally going over everything with a toothcomb. You'd need a microscope to find any 'mess'.

"Don't worry about it darling," the haughty woman backhandedly comments. "You haven't much time to keep a clean house with looking after that disastrous ex of his, have you? From what you've told me about her, she makes messes wherever she steps."

The footsteps get louder, moving closer, and a slim, blonde, middle-aged woman appears in the lounge doorway before stepping into the room. Her appearance matches her voice perfectly. She's hideously heavily made up, orange in pallor, with poorly chosen bright pink lipstick. I've always avoided makeup but even in my ignorance, I know that hers is not a good example.

Her desperate attempts to use mismatched cosmetics to conceal her wrinkles suggest a life of both sun and sunbed worshipping. She has a look upon her face of distaste, as if a bad smell permanently sits under her nose.

She turns her head towards Tom and her face creases into a wide smile. "Come here, you gorgeous thing," she calls over to him and holds her arms outstretched. Tom moves towards her and squeezes her tightly. She vocalises strangely from within his grip.

"It's lovely to finally have you round," I hear Linda saying from the hallway. "I'm sorry it's taken this long to invite you. Tom and I wanted all the renovations done before you saw the place."

A completely average man steps into the lounge from the hall and waits for the woman to finish hugging Tom. He immediately strikes me as being more softly spoken and self-aware than she is. I'd never put them together. Much like the woman's makeup; they seem poorly matched as a couple.

Tom pulls away from their embrace and extends a hand over to the man, who shakes it familiarly.

"I must admit, I was wondering when you'd let us see the place. I suppose there was a lot of clearing out to do after everything you told me about Tom's ex being a closeted hoarder last month," the haughty woman reasons.

"We cleared out everything unnecessary, didn't we Lind?" Tom grins. "Your daughter has impeccably high standards Wend," he schmoozes shamelessly.

"She gets that from me darling," the woman, I assume her name to be Wendy, crows. "I couldn't bear the thought of her living here in the disgusting condition it'd been in. You must be happier with it like this Tom?" she remarks.

"Oh absolutely," Tom confirms. "Linda's done a fantastic job of getting the place up to scratch. She did all the designing; I just did the heavy lifting. She's really turned this into a home for us. Yet another reason why I love her."

The whole farce of it is sickening. Tom never puts on airs and graces, yet somehow feels he needs to for this woman. It feels as though I'm looking at a total stranger while he's acting this way. Even more so than normal.

Wendy grins, showing off her glistening, unnaturally white veneered teeth.

"Just look at them Daz," she gloats to the Irishman. "Aren't they just a picture? They're perfect together."

I turn and look at the wall. In seeing Linda's mother now, I feel as though I have a somewhat better understanding of a few of her damaged perspectives.

"Aye. They are Wend," the man, Daz agrees. "You've picked a good one with our Lind, fella," he tells Tom.

Linda's mother, Wendy, turns and looks around the room, seeming to admire the hearth and all the framed photos of Tom and Linda on it, before moving her cold narrow eyes onto me and fixating.

"I mean, look at what he'd had to put up with before he met our Linda," she comments. Her stares are hostile, and she makes it abundantly clear that she has made her mind up about me already. She exudes contempt, despite having never met me.

The man, Daz peers at me, interestedly, as if I'm an unusual exhibit to be gawked at.

"You were absolutely right when you called her 'plain' darlings. She's definitely not a looker, is she? Especially with that scraggly bird's nest of hair, and a filthy scowl across her face," Wendy comments, bolshily.

"She's not doing any harm there, mum," Linda calls through. "Let her be and just ignore her."

Wendy rolls her eyes and makes a noise similar to that of a horse blowing a raspberry.

"What does everyone want to drink?" Linda asks, cheerily. "I bought some Earl Grey for you mum."

Perhaps prejudicially, I've always assumed Earl Grey tea to be a drink for pretentious snobs. For that reason, it doesn't surprise me in the slightest that Linda's mother drinks it.

"That'll be fine," Wendy replies, as if it's an imposition of some kind. "Unless you've got a nice merlot in?"

The badly concealed pigmentation around Wendy's nose suggests a heavy drinking habit. Her unprompted request for alcohol at ten in the morning confirms it.

Linda shakes her head to herself, then disappears from my view, removing herself to the kitchen to prepare the drinks.

"Sit yourselves down," Tom invites Linda's parents, and they accept his offer, taking a seat on the sofa beside my beanbag. Tom sits back down into his normal seat. I hear cups being placed down in the kitchen. The lack of conversation in the lounge makes the distant crockery noises in the kitchen seem louder.

Tom appears to be studying the awkwardness as Wendy and Daz look at me in distaste. The distaste is predominantly from Wendy. Daz is trying his hardest to avoid looking at me at all. It's the preferable approach between the two.

"Shall I go and take Gabrielle into the other room," Tom asks, politely.

"Don't be silly darling," Wendy insists. "She's best in here, where we can keep an eye on her. We wouldn't want her getting up to any mischief, left unsupervised, would we?"

I resent her implication. This woman is meeting me for the first time today, and yet she already feels qualified to impart suggestions for 'managing me'.

I look up at her, hatefully and realise that my antipathy goes noticed, as all three of them are now looking right at me.

Linda strolls into the room, holding a steaming cup in each of her hands. She hands one to Tom, who smiles at her in appreciation, and then the other to Daz.

"Cheers kiddo," he expresses.

"We heard from Tom's solicitor a couple of days ago," Linda eagerly tells her parents.

"What's that my darlings?" Wendy enquires, still throwing sour glances at me. I prick up my ears, curious as to what Linda might be referring to. I didn't even know that Tom had need for a solicitor.

"He's confident that everything's going to go through smoothly and quickly for us. Especially given Gabrielle's...compromised state," she elaborates.

"Fucking hell, that's brilliant Tom," Daz enthuses. "You were worried about it turning into a right song and dance, weren't you? I'm made up for you, fella. I find it madness how they make it so easy to marry the wrong person, but when it comes to getting rid of them, it's like cutting off a ball! We went through it all with my ex, didn't we Wend?" he tries to engage her in the conversation, and distract her from her persistent staring at me. I've taken to staring back at her, and neither of us is backing down.

Wendy suddenly realises that everyone is waiting on her answer and pulls her judgmental gaze away from me.

"Yes, we did," she sighs, having been listening to the conversation, despite not appearing to. "Daz opted for irreconcilable differences, and it took an eternity to get it sorted. Linda won't remember all the fuss we had with it," she reminisces. "From what you've told me, you'll save yourself a world of trouble by going down this 'mental capacity' route. You're absolutely right of course. I can see it just by looking at her. Nobody will take much convincing of her obvious insanity, when the time comes."

I stiffen defensively, outraged by what I'm hearing. They're all trying to word things vaguely, but I understand the general theme. I make a mental note to demand answers from Tom and Linda when the guests have departed.

I look directly at Wendy, and notice the smug way her lips are curled. Clearly Linda must have inherited this from her.

When I look up, I notice Linda looking down at me with a cautioning expression.

"You want to get it all done without anyone even talking to her ideally. It's worthless. I mean, does she even understand what it's going to mean? Or is she still under the delusion that this situation is temporary and Tom's going to throw away his new, improved life to take her back?" Wendy callously continues.

"We don't want to cause any unnecessary upset at the moment Wend," Tom tells her, firmly.

"I wouldn't bother at all, darlings," Wendy offers her opinion without even being asked. "It's not going to impact her, is it? Her life is going to continue unchanged. She'll still be here with you, won't she? Following your rules and living by the conditions you've set for her? As she rightly should be. She doesn't need to know about anything outside of that, does she? What benefit will it provide?"

The world according to Wendy. What a delight!

"I think that's a bit of an oversimplification, mum. We'll talk to her about it when the time is right, when everything's sorted," Linda steps in. She seems to be trying to reign her mother in a little.

"It's your decision of course, but I really don't see the need, Linda," Wendy drawls. "She creates enough fuss as it is. You don't want her going completely off the rails about it. Just get it done and say nothing."

The whole interaction is awkward for everyone but Wendy, who is enjoying the sound of her own crowing.

She's been in the house for ten minutes, and she's already insufferable.

Daz takes a turn at trying to stop her. "I think Lind and Tom know what they're doing with her, don't you?" he appeals. "I think they know what's best for Gabrielle better than we do."

Linda smiles at him, grateful at his attempts to mediate. The dynamic between them is strange. I'm convinced that this clear dysfunction between Linda and her mother is why she is the way she is.

"We do know what we're doing Daz," Linda says. "Our situation with Gabrielle is quite unique, but we've gotten her into a routine, and we're both happy with how things are going, aren't we Tom?"

"We're doing perfectly Lind," Tom responds. "You're a natural at this."

Wendy looks around the room, seeming to realise she's unsupported in her opinions and that everyone is feeling uncomfortable as a result of her misinformed advising.

I'm sat on a beanbag, dressed like a homeless person, the clear outsider of the group and my presence is less toxic than hers in this moment.

She clears her throat.

"Of course she is," Wendy says. "You're right. This is a unique situation, there's hardly a rulebook on how to cohabitate with mentally unstable exes, is there? Don't listen to me. My Linda knows exactly what she's doing. I'm just backseat driving here," she submits and accepts Tom and Linda's authority in their own home.

There's a few moments of tense silence before Daz speaks to break it. "When do you get your new car Tom," he says, referring to the new Ford Mustang that Linda has bought and paid for as a surprise for him. She's even paid extra to have his business logo painted on the sides. They're waiting for it to be delivered to the dealership and are due to collect it next week. I find the gesture crass. Tom's current car is fully functional and only seven years old. We'd chosen it together, a couple of years back, and while not a 'dream car', it's been reliable and served him dutifully.

"We're picking it up next week, Daz," Tom tells him. "I've wanted one for years, and Linda surprised me by turning the dream into a reality. It's sort of a theme with her! I'm going to have to make an honest woman of her soon."

Linda grins, enjoying being talked about so favourably, and excuses herself to go and finish her mother's drink.

I feel Wendy's gaze on me again and look up to see her studying me begrudgingly. I abandon trying to follow Tom and Daz's conversation, and lock glares with her. She tries to disguise a smirk.

A battle of wills seems to have been commenced and neither me nor Wendy wants to be caught fighting it.

Linda returns after a couple of minutes and places Wendy's drink down on the table beside her.

"Thank you darling," Wendy says and straightens her posture to give the impression of having been ignoring me in her daughter's absence.

Linda seats herself beside Tom and I see him place a supportive hand on her lap, demonstrating his affection for her. It seems to remind her that she's not alone in her uncomfortableness.

"What I meant to say earlier, is that I'm delighted that things are moving along on that front darlings," Wendy exults. "Hopefully, in a few short months, once you've got that piece of paper framed on the wall, he'll finally be able to put the sorry business of his first marriage behind him and pretend it never happened."

Her words are deliberate; chosen to be insulting to me.

She appears to notice Tom's hand on Linda's leg, and she smiles.

I don't imagine Wendy's ever experienced this sort of relationship with another living person. It's difficult to imagine anyone ever being tender with her. I expect she mates with them and then eats them alive, like some sort of praying mantis.

"We live with a constant reminder that it happened," Tom says pointedly.

"Of course you do, darlings. But you mustn't dwell on picking a bad one the first time," Wendy commiserates him. "Everybody makes mistakes and thankfully, you're with the right person now and you're much better off for it," she smiles over, and then looks sideways at me, ensuring that I know who her words are directed at.

"Truer words have never been spoken Wend," Tom confirms, stroking Linda's leg lovingly. "We're going to do amazing things together, aren't we Lind? I love you to pieces, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life making you happy."

He's portraying them as the perfect, loving couple and Linda looks like a Disney princess, who's gotten her happy ending. I'm the only person in the room who sees through the façade and knows she's actually the villain of the piece.

Tom's sickening, romantic bravado turns my stomach and I physically turn my back to the sentimentality, facing myself towards the wall obnoxiously.

I feel like I'm subtle in my gesture, but Wendy's reaction instantly notifies me that I've caused offence.

"Are you listening over there, you ungrateful beast?" she screeches. "You're lucky that Tom met my daughter. You might not have been so fortunate if he'd have met someone different. If it'd have been me, I'd have thrown you out onto the street with your belongings in a bag, regardless of your mental problems!"

I decline to rise to her provocation although it pains me not to, and continue to stare at the wall, my lips pursed, slowly counting to ten to refrain from reacting. The grey paint is a far better view than Wendy's vindictive, orange face, boring into me.

"Gabrielle?" Linda calls over, firmly. "Would you like to turn around and look at my mum while she's talking to you? You know it isn't polite to face away when you're being spoken to."

I want no involvement in the situation. I can feel my blood pressure rising, exponentially. If I have to look at Wendy, I'm going to lash out at her, I'll be unable to stop myself. I have no interest in openly engaging with a decrepit sadist. I think I endure enough at Linda and Tom's hands, without further abuse from their extended generations.

"Gabrielle?" Linda repeats. I remain stoic.

"I'm going to give you until the count of three, and then I expect you to be turned back around and at least listening to this conversation. I'm not asking. I'm telling," she warns, condescending me expertly, trying to exert her authority over me in front of her parents.

"One," she begins. I sit firmly, unbudging.

"Two," she continues.

I consider the potential consequences for my uncooperativeness and wonder whether my pride is worth the inevitable suffering that Tom and Linda will inflict later. I'm openly undermining their power.

"Three!" Linda calls over, louder. I hatefully rise and reposition myself to face them all again with my head up high, determined to look unintimidated. I cross my arms tightly to demonstrate my discontent.

"Just look at the way she's sitting there scowling at you Linda! I've never seen such disrespect! And after everything you do for her?" Wendy stirs the tension, outraged.

Tom sits forward from his seat and clears his throat.

"Right Gabrielle, that's enough. Let's get you into the dining room. Now," he instructs, annoyed and starts to stand. Linda leans over to him before he lifts himself. He listens intently and then nods at her, appearing to be in agreeance with whatever she's said, before kissing her on the lips. He relaxes back into his seat and looks egotistically over at me.