“You meanmytitles…” my mother replies, rather offended.
“Yourtitles are simply ‘Lady Delphina’, or ‘widowed duchess’, depending on what you prefer.” With her final remark, Jemma glances furtively at Lance, who stands in the doorway with his typical composure.
Blowing from her nose like an angry dragon, my mother climbs up the stairs, as stiff as a piece of marble.
*
My mother doesn’t say a word during the drive to London that evening. We arrive in front of the block of flats where the Pears live, in a suburban neighbourhood with shabby surroundings and people of questionable taste in the street.
Jemma jumps out of the car in her best mood.
“Home sweet home.”
“I can see nothing that I would call ‘home’, here,” my mother mumbles, casting a sidelong glance at the neighbourhood from her car seat.
“Mother,” I growl.
“What an adorable place. Just lovely,” she then comments, insincerely.
Jemma puts the key in the lock, but it doesn’t work.
“They must have changed the lock again. Bloody burglars.” Then, she whistles very loudly and a new key falls from the top floor, as though the hand of God had appeared.
This time, the key works, the door opens with a creak and it scratches the floor. “This door gets more and more warped. Hold it tight or it will hit you in the face.”
The entrance hall is rather bare, except for an umbrella stand and a light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
“Top floor. Take a deep breath because there is no lift, but you will be surprised by the view.”
My mother looks around, as confused as a child who gets lost at the station. “Is it safe?”
Jemma is already halfway up the stairs. “Apart from a shootout in 1997, everything has always been nice and quiet here. A drug dealer once lived on the second floor, but they’ve been much more careful in choosing the tenants, since then.”
“My mother was referring to the staircase,” I point out.
“Of course it is, even though the handrail is not secured in some places, so you’d better hold the rope. Xien always says that he’ll fix it, but he hasn’t done it in years!”
I don’t have the strength to ask who Xien is.
I have no idea how many stairs we climbed, but we’re pretty high. Jemma opens the door of the flat. “Mum, Dad, we’re here. Oh God!” She shouts, closing the door immediately. “We can’t go in.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Is the dinner cancelled? What a pity,” says my mother, ready to go down the stairs again.
Jemma whispers to me: “My parents are naked.”
“Are we early? I don’t think so,” I hesitate, looking at my watch.
“Not really… they’re, um, always naked. You know, they are nudists, that’s how they live.”
God knows why, but instead of being upset, I find this hilarious. “Please, let my mother go in first.”
“No, I’ll have them get dressed.”
We wait outside for a few minutes, then Jemma opens the door. “Come in! Meet my father, Vance, and my mother, Carly!”
“Welcome!” A lady wrapped in an Indian sari welcomes us. “Get comfortable, make yourselves at home. Take off your shoes.”
