Friday Night

By Jill Davis

Reader news

25 June 2010 09:31

Friday nights were always special to me.  Around half past six, we would hear the car pull into the driveway, the jangle of keys in the door, and Mum’s cheery “I’m home”.   She was exhausted, but always tried to hide it.

Unlike most of my school friends, my Mum had what seemed like a glamorous job,  that sometimes took her on buying trips to Milan or Paris.  She worked in an upmarket dress shop near Baker Street, and her day would be spent making the wives of Harley Street doctors feel special, helping them to choose just the right cocktail or evening dress.  She loved being surrounded by beautiful clothes, but she had been on her feet all day in high heels. In the 1960’s you had to dress as smartly as your customers.

Mum’s favourite saying was, “a home isn’t a home without flowers.”  Every Friday night, without fail, she came home with the biggest bunch she could afford, carefully chosen with the advice of the ‘flower man’ who had a stall outside the shop.     

I loved watching her carefully unwrap the bright blooms from the paper, the cutting of crisp stalks, then the decision of which vase or bowl would look best in which room.  As the flowers began to settle in their new home, scent would soon spread throughout the flat, mingling with the delicious smell of food.  We were lucky enough to be able to afford a live in home help then, so dinner was cooking.

A pre-dinner drink was another ritual.  We had an enormous wooden cabinet in our lounge which contained both a record player and a radio.   Dad would choose a long-playing record, taking it gingerly out of its cover and then the white sleeve, wiping it with a damp cloth before putting it on the turntable, and inspecting the needle for dust.  He loved The Rat Pack and big band music.  As Mum relaxed in her favourite armchair with a stiff gin and tonic, Frank Sinatra would begin to sing, soothing away the stresses of the day, and her eyes would begin to close.  Sometimes she would be fast asleep when dinner was finally ready, and I always felt guilty waking her up, but my tummy was rumbling.