Just say no

Before we went to the UK this summer, I contacted a couple of the elderliest relatives - the ones I had to actually write physical paper letters to, the horror - to let them know we'd be around and try to pin down some dates to drop in and see them, to make it as easy for them as possible to get to see us. A little later, the aunt we were going to stay with obviated this by arranging a big family get-together that the elderlies would come to, so one of the droppings-in was dropped. The other one was still slated to happen the following week, because that relative - I shall call her Cousine, as she is half French and my father's cousin - loves fussing and planning and catering to people.

So then I forgot about it for a while and we hared off to the top of the country to see people not related to me, and my aunt reminded me by e-mail that Cousine was still expecting us but wasn't quite sure which day we'd be coming, so I should call her. By this time we had various things that needed to get done when we went back down to London, and I had looked at a map and realised that she lived diametrically on the opposite side of the city from where we would be staying, and I decided that we'd just have to get out of it. I planned to phone her from the road and say regretfully that we wouldn't be able to make it after all. She's a little hard of hearing, and I hate letting people down, so I was procrastinating on making the call.

I finally dialled her number on my cellphone from the passenger seat as we went over hill and down dale in north England. The conversation went like this:

"Hello?"
"Hi! Cousine! It's Maud."
"Ah, Maud, good. Are you in London now?"
"Well, no, actually...

We go down a hill. Call cuts out. I ring back.

"Hello?"
"Cousine? Sorry, we got cut off."
"I think you got cut off."
"Yes, we're in the car. I'm on a mobile phone. We're just coming into County Durham." [That's right at the top of England near the Scottish border.]
"Oh. Oh. I see. You're driving."
"Yes. Anyway, I don't think we'll be able to make it for lunch, but [here's where my mouth kept going when it was supposed to have finished talking] we could probably call in for afternoon tea on Thursday, if that would be okay..."

Into a valley. Call cuts out. As I press redial, I look at B, who's busy driving with an "I'm not sayin' nuttin'" look on his face. Realisation dawns.

"I wasn't meant to say that, was I? I was going to say no, wasn't I?"
"Mm-hmm," he nodded.
"F...lip." (Mindful of little ears in the back.) "I can't change it now."

Back to the phone.
"Maud?"
"Sorry. We lost the signal again. So, about 3.30, then, on Thursday?"
"Lovely. I'm so pleased you can come. I'll see you then."

Apparently, I can't say no. In the end it all dovetailed nicely. I realised that Cousine's house was on the way to the airport from which we were leaving on the Friday, and as our flight was early and we'd have to check in three (ugh) hours before that, it would make more sense to book into an airport hotel for the previous night. So on Thursday morning B took Monkey on an adventure by train into the city to take the underground to meet a friend and pick up keys we'd left behind and then another train out again on the other side, while I drove the rental car, loaded up with our luggage and Mabel (sleeping, partially), halfway round the M25 - London's ring road - and with minimal getting lost we met up in Bromley as planned before going on to Cousine's house nearby.

She had laid on a wonderful cream tea with scones and strawberries and Victoria sponge - all of which Monkey spurned, of course, to my chagrin; such bad manners - and she had a garden with apple trees, and crayons and drawing paper, and then she produced a glockenspiel, of all things, to give to the kids if we had room in our luggage. They had a great time making a joyful din and we took it with us. (Cousine used to be a music teacher. She just happened to have a spare glockenspiel lying around, as you do.) I hadn't been in her house since I was about 16, but it smelled excactly the same, of bumpy wallpaper and must and plush upholstery and memories of oatcakes and Quark and things I'd first or only ever tasted there.

It was a lovely interlude before we headed off for the impersonal airport hotel and the craziness of our return flight to the US, and I'm so glad my mouth overruled my brain when I tried to say no. Maybe it was just instinct getting the better of me.