‘I knew you could fix it,’ Marion said as Peter handed back the iron.

‘It was only the fuse gone, Mum.’

‘You know I don't understand these things. Your Dad used to do all that.’

Marion picked up a framed photo from the sideboard, dusted it and put it back in its place on the lace mat. ‘It doesn't seem like three years ago.’

‘Well I've been living at home again for nearly that long,’ Peter reminded her.

He thought back to the gossip that had spread round the village when Dawn, his wife, had left him and gone to live with a local farm labourer. The village had approved of his returning home to Mum. He would help her come to terms with being a widow, and in return she would look after him.

Peter looked at his mother. She had aged considerably since her husband's sudden death. She was only in her mid-fifties but looked much older. She had become nervous and always seemed on edge, as if expecting disaster at any time. Finances and the upkeep of the house worried her the most - probably because she had always delegated these burdens to her husband. Now she allowed herself to rely heavily on him.

‘Now is there anything else you want mended before I put my tools away?’

‘No love. That's all, thanks.’

Peter put his tools back in the garage. Dawn had always complained that he spent too long in the garage when they had been married. She was jealous of the time and attention, and money too, that he lavished on his numerous projects - machines to mend, cars to restore. Now he allowed no such garage projects to fill his time. He had forced himself to be more outgoing. Since his divorce he had become the lynch pin for several village activities. Although he knew his mother didn’t like him being out so much.

Peter went back indoors.

‘Mum, don't forget I'm teaching my car maintenance course tonight.

‘What time will you be home?’ Marion asked, trying to hide her disappointment at another evening alone.

‘Don't know - it takes a while to put all the equipment away - and I'll probably call in for a pint afterwards.’

‘You're always out. Never in.’

Peter took no notice of her predictable remarks. Much as he loved her and cared about her, he couldn't stay at home forever.

She always waited up for him, no matter how long he stayed out. The first time he had stayed out all night, she had panicked and almost called the police. Since that time, Peter had always phoned to tell her if he wouldn't be home. He never revealed any more than that. He never told her where he was, or who he was with. Helen, with whom he spent these missing hours, had urged him to tell Marion about their growing relationship .

‘Mum don't wait up for me tonight.’ Peter began, dreading where the conversation would lead. ‘I won't be back till the morning. I'll be with a friend...’

‘I suppose he's one of your mates from the pub. I agree you shouldn't drive home if you've been drinking, but don't forget you've got to get to work in the morning.’

‘It's not that Mum. It's...’ he forced himself to go on. He'd promised Helen. ‘It's Helen. I'll be with Helen.’

‘And who is she...?’ Marion interrupted.

‘A good friend. I've known her six months now. I'm very fond of her.’

Marion swallowed. Words stuck in her throat. She had guessed this might be the reason behind her son's unexplained absences.

‘I'm...’ she searched for words to express her feelings. Hurt, upset, selfish, frightened, all flashed through her thoughts, but she managed to say, with a faint smile, ‘I'm pleased.’

Peter hadn't been prepared for this. He put his arms round his mother and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I still love you Mum,’ he whispered.

Marion half expected Helen to be a frightful divorcee, on the lookout for another man, but when they met later that week, she found out, to her surprise, that Helen was a pleasant young woman with a six-year-old daughter called Emma. She could see that Peter thought the world of them both.

Gradually Helen managed to guide Marion towards interests and activities which took her outside the isolation of her home. Emma treated her like a new grandmother.

‘I haven't been so happy for years,’ Marion admitted to Peter, with a smile.

‘Nor have I, Mum.’

‘There is just one thing wrong though,’

A worried look chased the smile from Peter's face.

‘You couldn't fix the kettle for me! You know I don't understand these things!’