Flying Saucers

We love this moving tale, told with Gabrielle Mullarkey’s usual warmth and humour!

- Gabrielle Mullarkey

The first time I met my boyfriend Matt’s mum, Rose, I was a bag of nerves. She had invited me round for my tea, Matt meeting me after work so we could go there together.

Picking up my delicate china teacup really carefully, I’d nodded at the jar of Rose’s lime jelly on a doily and asked, “Is that named after you, by any chance?”

“No,” she’d frowned. She obviously didn’t expect me to do jokes, especially so soon after meeting.

Plus, I couldn’t help seeing myself through her eyes – a too short skirt, a too-high heel and a past I’d stitched together out of the scraps my own mum left me.

“Where is your mum these days, Amber?” she’d asked.

“These days” made it sound like she knew Mum from before, though they’d never met.

I told her my mum Maggie was living in Bolton with a tropical-fish expert called Dave.

But Rose didn’t look too impressed with this information about my family background. She was very respectably married. Even as we spoke, Matt’s dad Bernie was out in the garden tending to his bulbs.

He’d put his head round the door when I arrived and said, “Lovely to meet you, pet.”

“So,” Rose asked next, “you’ve lived on your own since..?”

“I’ve been in supported living since I was 18, Mrs Jenkins,” I said, waiting for her to say, “Call me Rose.” She didn’t.

Matt said, “Mum, what’s with the third degree? Amber’s got her own flat. It’s really nice. And she’s got a job.”

“Oh?”

“My flat’s in town – one of the new ones in Johnson Mews,” I told her.