Margaret Peterson

The Grand Entrance of Margaret Potts

“Mary! This isn’t stew! It’s some unidentifiable hash you’ve thrown together! Darling, you’re a smashing solicitorso focus on your legal briefs and leave the cooking to those a bit less, shall we say, brainy.”

“Maggie, I’m not even a woman anymore!” Mary was on the verge of tears, stung by the remark.

Why could she never get even the simplest recipes right? Attempting anything ambitious in the kitchen was firmly out of the question. Everything in her family had been sorted ages ago anyway.

Vera was the domestic goddess, Mary the bright spark, and Sally the wild childone of those people who could make even the most stubborn cogwheel spin however she damn well pleased. Family gatherings meant dinner at Veras place: she did the cooking, while Mary and Sally “manned the trenches” with shopping, cleaning, and wrangling the children. Sally was especially skilled at herding the infamous “Potts clan”making sure Veras house survived another family get-together without needing a complete refurbishment or an annex thrown up.

Children were thoroughly adored (and, honestly, a bit spoiled) in the Potts household, but as for disciplineeven the word just earned a collective shrug from parents and offspring alike.

All seven of Margaret Pottss grandchildrenwhom she loved with wild abandonwere carbon copies of Aunt Sally. Not that it mattered to Sally; her becoming a mother of twonow whirling around the garden, pretending to be Comanches or the local tribes of South Londonhadnt dampened her spirit a jot. She was perched on the garden steps picking the plums destined for Nana Margarets famous compote, half-considering joining in the mayhem, kept in check only by Vera’s withering looks. Vera, wielding a knife like Macbeth at the salad station, muttered for all within a five-mile radius to hear:

“Not a womana tearaway, thats you! Sally, will you ever settle down? Look at Marypillar of the legal community! And Im not doing too badly myself. But you? Always bounding about, riding that death-trap of a motorbike, raving on about the joys of life! Sally, the kids are growing up! How are they meant to see their mother? Right now theyre only six, but in a few years? Theyll be hiding behind the fridge in shame!”

“Oh, Vera, stop being such a drama queen,” said Mary, glancing doubtfully into the stew shed slaved over all morning. She put the lid back on, sighing. “Honestly, the kids have plenty to be proud of. Which other mum can take apart and rebuild a motorbike, eh? Can you? I can barely cobble together a basic soup! Dont I deserve a medal for courtroom heroics at least?”

“Of course. Youre useless at soup, but legendary in court.”

“Exactly! Point being”

“Yes?”

“everyone should stick to their talents.”

“Well said!” Margaret Potts, whod missed half the conversation, glided onto the veranda. All the women gasped, and the kidssensing a brief pause in motherly warfarefroze mid-game on the lawn, gaping at Nanas grand, peacock-like arrival.

“Crikey!” Sallys twins whistled, perfectly in unison, so loud Margaret barely suppressed a flinch.

“Effect achieved,” Margaret murmured with quiet satisfaction.

She twirled, letting her audience fully appreciate her new dress and heelsworn exclusively for serious occasions such as this evening.

“Girls, opinions please. Is it suitable for a lady of roughly a classic vintage, say for a date with a gent I havent seen since about 1983?”

“Maggie, youre fabulous! Hell be gobsmacked!”

“Gobsmacked is one thing, but ideally not floored, thanks,” Margaret replied, strutting grandly before her shell-shocked relatives and assuming her trademark stancehands on hips, chin to the wind. “And if he does hit the floor, what am I to do with his lifeless body? First impressions, girlsI need to know why hes summoned me after all these years. What on earth could he want?”

“Nana, maybe hes after you for, you know, romantic advice?” piped up Veras eldest, Anna, sinking onto the step beside Sally and stuffing a half plum into her mouth. “What?!”

The laughter that exploded after her subtle profundity sent the sun-loving cats running for cover and sent Veras toy terrier into paroxysms of yapping anxiety.

“Anna, youll be the death of me,” Vera chuckled, wiping her tears and heading inside, as Mary soothed the mortified dog.

“Maggie, what was he to you, then?” Mary shooed the kids to the back garden (they knew precisely when it was time to disappear).

“Oh, Mary, it was a romance!”

The word romance lingered on Margarets lips with such theatrical longing that Anna, about to bound after her younger siblings, plopped back down, sighing so dramatically Sally started snorting again.

“Anna darling, its simply not your turn yet for all this romantic business!”

“Yeah? Whens it my turn?” Anna swiped the cleaning cloth from her mum, dabbed up a puddle, and sighed like a windswept Byronic hero. “No one’s ever going to fancy me! So how old were you, Maggie, when you had this romance?”

“Sixteen!” Margaret spread her hands, catching Veras eye. “What are you gawping at, love? Yes, I was green, naive, and gloriously foolish! Wouldnt happen to Anna; shes bright and beautiful as her mum. Still, girls do need warning that mens hearts are slippery things. Shouldnt she know, or do you disagree?”

“Oh do get on with it, Maggie!” Sally wheezed, tears streaming, finally recovered. “Theres no shifting Anna nowlet her stay and learn a thing or two.”

Anna beamed, settling comfortably on the steps, lifting her big, green eyes to Nana Margaretthose eyes so like Margarets that friends always remarked on it, even though Anna wasnt actually, by blood, related. Neither were Vera, Mary, and Sallyfor all that Margaret had become their very centre, their true north, quite without paperwork to prove it.

Margaret Potts had entered the lives of the Potts sisters not long after their own mothers untimely end. Their dazed, grief-stricken father lurched about like a bewildered ghost. Vera, aged only eight, had suddenly found herself the captain of a ship without a map.

Sometimes, when she asked her father the simplest questions, his only answer was: “Vera, wed better ask Mum. Shed know”

Vera was terrified of those words. They made it seem her father was slowly losing his mind. So she stopped asking and started simply doing. Looking after Mary was manageableshe was five, sensible and not likely to leap out a window. But Sally, at only two, was a whirlwind, never giving Vera a moments peace.

Their grandmother lasted perhaps a season before holding her hands up: “Sorry, son-in-law. I cant manage it, aches and pains and your girls are lively. Ill take Vera with me if you wish, but the little ones, well, youll have to fend for yourselves.”

Vera listened in horror, clutching Sally tight as the screwdriver-wielding toddler wailed at the prospect of being split up.

“Dont cry! Ill never leave! Ill hide! Shell never find me!”

Luckily, her gran didnt try too hard. Their father just grunted, and Gran returned to Sussex fortified by the belief that all was well.

Then, a few months later, Margaret arrived.

Sally caught a fever that wouldnt break, and Vera, near collapse, went to her fatherholed up in his studypleading for help.

“”Dad, Sallys dying!” she blurted out, barely recognising the quavery voice coming from her mouth.

By some miracle, those words sank in. The study door swung open, the doctor was called, and for the first time in months, Vera felt an adult take the reins.

Margaret Potts, locum paediatrician, fielded the call, muttering to herself as she skirted torn-up London pavements and wondered how on earth shed get dinner done. On her way up, she interrogated the neighbours on the Potts latest drama and received a comprehensiveand unsolicitedbriefing.

Once inside, she took charge and that, as they say, was that. She rang for an ambulance, berated their father so loudly he surrendered all defence, and, with a few well-chosen words, installed herself as the rock of the Potts familyunflappable, unmovable, and suddenly, the centre that held them all together.

After their father finally remarried, only to meet an abrupt and tragic end a year later, Margaret swooped out of work, rancoatlessthrough the drizzle to the girls school, and arrived just in time to break the news herself, gathering the girls in her arms, impressing on them only this: You are not aloneyou have me, and I will never leave you.

And she didnt. The paperwork for adoption was already in hand. Margaret quit the surgery, took double shifts at two private clinics, and guided her sparrow-fledglings with unshakeable determinationeven if none of them quite followed the path shed imagined.

“A star on stage, Mary? Thats a twist! But all right” Out whizzed her phone, and two days later Mary was at auditions. A year of drama club later and Marys career as an actress quietly faded.

“Sally, if youre intent on breaking your neck, at least do it with decent kit!” Margaret bought the protective gear, the dirt bike, sold her precious seaside cottage if needed (childs safety before nostalgia, always), and even found a professional stuntman to help Sally channel her daredevilry without any actual broken bones.

When Sally opened her mechanics workshop with the money left over, Margaret simply shrugged to her friends: “Why not? It pays! Who needed the old standards anyway?”

Vera, the eldest, caused no bother. She was old before her time. Sometimes Margaret would just hug her, whisper in her ear: Just breathe, little one. Im still here.

Not that everything ran smoothly. Margaret often wondered if shed done enough, but looking backwith all three daughters grown, thriving, with families of their ownshe decided shed given them all she had. What more could anyone expect?

Her days were full and happily routine, until three days agoa long-forgotten voice on the phone called her name, sending her favourite mug crashing to the floor and herself, aimless, into her armchair, missing it entirely and winding up on the rug, blinking at the ceiling.

“Anna, ring your mother! I require immediate psychological backup!”

Half an hour later, Vera burst in, driving like Lewis Hamilton, Sally close behind, helmet under her arm. Even the cat barely had time to evacuate.

“Maggie, whats happened?”

“Think Ive finally lost my marbles!”

“Hardly breaking news,” Vera muttered, peeling off her coat. “Sally, couldnt you drive like a normal human?”

“Oh, look whos talking,” Sally retorted, plopping her helmet on the cats cushion. “Dont get haughty. Your pillows softer than mine. Maggie, havent you seen my latest masterpiece? Magnificent, right?”

“Absolutely uniquewhat is it supposed to be, dear?”

“A dragon!”

“Of course. Entirely your style.”

Regaining focus, Maggie said, “Girls! Would you mind terribly if I went on a date?”

“WHERE?!”

Anna giggled, vanishing to put the kettle ongoodbye trigonometry revision, hello family intrigue!

The ensuing debate lasted days. Come Saturday, the entire clan gathered under Veras sprawling roof and Maggie held court.

“What shall I tell you? He was my first love! Oh, he was a visionhair, height, the lot, and a voice that turned my knees to custard before hed said more than Alright!”

“Nana, did you love him?”

“Madly,” sighed Maggie, eyes heavenward. “I loved and it hurtterribly!”

“But why, Nana? Why hurt?”

“Because, darling, it wasnt mutual. In fact, it brought nothing but trouble. I lost myself to it! Therecould Shakespeare put it better?”

“Come on, Nanado go on!” Anna begged.

Margaret dramatically waved Annas school book as a fan. “Pay attention! And hushjudgement is for the birds! Long ago, my first love came to nothingwhat hope for betrothal at sixteen for me, seventeen for him, and a rival already experienced at eighteen?”

“She was older?” gasped Anna, quickly shushed by Sally.

“Difference seems silly now, but at the time it was everything. She was a university student, our mothers were friendsand piece of advice, Anna, never boast to your mates about how wonderful your boyfriend is. Jealousy, dear, is the rot at the heart of the human condition.”

Margaret recounted the tale: the envy, the secrecy, the agony. She even revealed shed written him a confession of love, only to later send him a letter turning him down.

“But why, Nana?” Annas eyes were round with surprise.

“Because, poppet, I had nothing to offer but my love. And sometimes thats just not enough. Menpeople reallymay want more: a continuation, a family. I could never give him children; it was just… not to be. When you find someone who takes your interests as their own, hold onto them! Trust me.”

Anna pondered a plum in her hand, stroking the bloom away with her thumb. “And next?” she asked quietly, noticing tears streaking down Margarets cheeks.

“Dont cry, Nana,” Anna leapt up, hugging her tightly. “Itll ruin your make-up!”

Lucy chuckled, offering tea. “No more stories, Nana. Youll flatten us all.”

“And besides,” Margaret rallied, “I need to freshen up for tonights grand entrance! Its only fair the household makes a bit of effort now and again!”

As the aunts cleared away, a hush fell over Veras usually boisterous housea blessed, rare moment of calm.

But peace never lasted long at Potts Hall.

A couple of hours later, a car pulled up and out stepped a dapper, pint-sized gentleman in a flat cap, consulting a notepad before knocking on the garden gate.

“Evening! Is it possible to see Mrs. Margaret Potts?”

Vera, answering the door, hesitated but decided the event could only add sparkle to the already surreal day. “Youre early, you knowtheyre not due to meet until later!”

“Quite right, but I couldnt wait,” the guest replied, eyes twinkling.

By the time Margaret emerged, the entire household fell silent with shock.

Her eyes, transformed by the twins enthusiastic use of permanent markers, were so dramatically outlined even Anna fetched the mop without being asked, while the traumatised terrier wailed and hid under the table. Margarets updocrafted in a forty-minute operation by her granddaughters while shed nappedresembled a floral Tower of Babel.

“Margaret! Youre a vision!” gasped Vera, collapsing into laughter as the guest, having forgotten to set down his left foot, gawped, then whipped off his cap, shining his bald head in the evening sun.

Most of the family was beside themselves, rolling in the peals of laughter that bellowed down the street.

“That that magnificent hair!”

The guest, after a pause, joined in. “Ah, once I was curly, dashing, and a menace! Those days are passed, but Im still delighted to see you, Maggie!”

Margaret, coming to her senses, glanced at Anna (midway between awe and horror), rushed indoors, and for a good five minutes the only sounds were the wild, utterly unladylike howls of a woman who had survived it all.

The family, gathered on the veranda as Margaret returned as best as possible to human form, laughed long into the evening, welcoming the start of a fresh chapter in the mad, loving, resilient Potts family saga.

As Vera poured another cup of tea, she gave her adopted mother a quick squeeze and whispered in her ear:

“No fear, Maggie. Were right here. Go on, be brave!”

Because the best families arent always the ones drawn from the same blood, but the ones who, no matter what, never let you face life alone.