Chapter Text
It was River Standish’s twenty-eighth birthday, and for nearly ten years, he and his mother had celebrated it in exactly the same way. They’d meet, she’d make or bring him his favourite dinner, and they’d watch one of his favourite films. This year, despite the tensions between them, they carried on with the tradition. Not only because they couldn’t have asked for better conditions—it was a Sunday, and they had the whole day to themselves—but also because, on what planet would Catherine Standish miss her son’s birthday? Even if he changed his number and his locks, she would still find a way in.
They met up in the morning and went for a short walk, arm in arm, as usual—except this time, it was more awkward. Then she took him out for lunch. He picked the restaurant, he picked their meals, and later, they returned to his flat.
“Shall we play a game?” River pulled out his chessboard. She had taught him when he was a small boy. He played well—still only managing to beat her a handful of times (if you didn’t count the many times she let him win, that is).
“If you like,” she said, surprised, after checking her watch. It had been a while since they’d played. She had asked a few times before, but he was never in the mood.
“No need to rush anywhere today,” he reminded her.
“I’m only conscious that we need to put the turkey in the oven.”
“Mhm.” River set out the pieces in lines. “Can I have white?”
She nodded and helped him set up.
“How big is the turkey?” She checked her watch again.
“What turkey?”
“The turkey you bought for dinner.”
“I didn’t buy any turkey for dinner.”
“River, we spoke about this—you didn’t—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mother.”
She got up quickly, the stress fuelling her sudden, frantic gestures. “Well, if that’s the case, we need to go and get some now. We’ll be lucky if they have any left—we might have to drive to the big Tesco—”
That’s when River started laughing.
“It was a joke, Mum. A birthday joke. Get it?”
She didn’t at first.
“A Christmas joke?”
She sat back down. “Oh, you’re quoting Peep Show?”
She finally recognised the signs. It had been a while since he’d pulled one of his geeky jokes on her. He reminded her of Charles when he did that. Another sign his mood had improved.
“Well, yeah. I thought we could watch some episodes today instead of a film.”
“Okay.”
“Why are you so on edge? I got the turkey. It’s medium-small, according to the guy in the shop.”
She nodded and played her turn.
“So, Peep Show tonight, is it? Not Hot Fuzz or Bond?”
“Yeah, well, we watched that last year.”
And a couple of years back, it was Johnny English—but never that again. Not after he joined Slough House and started noticing some uncomfortable similarities.
“Medium-small, you say.” She checked her watch again. “So that’s what? Two hours?” She was a stellar mathematician but always a little lazy and imprecise when it came to cooking calculations.
“Yeah, roughly.”
They played in silence for a while until Catherine finally asked, “So, how’s work?”
She could have been leading up to two different topics with that question, and he didn’t like either of them.
“Erm, can you not remind me of that on my birthday? On a Sunday, please?”
She mumbled something softly, apologetically, but after more time passed, she couldn’t help up but bring up the desired topic anyway.
“We were a little upset, you know, when you didn’t show up for dinner last month.”
It had been six months since that awful incident—when River found his boss, more specifically his naked arse, between his mother’s legs. And to make it worse, Enjoyed the view of my bouncing balls? was the message he’d received from him afterwards.
Since then, River had been a lot more careful and a lot less in need of his mother’s attention.
He had reduced contact with Catherine noticeably—never called her first, and when he did, he made sure to message Are you free for a call? beforehand. He never visited unannounced, and even when he did, it was less frequent. He never asked about her plans. He ignored her every time she mentioned Jackson. And, in general, he was acting quite passive-aggressively.
He thought he could get away with this, hoping she’d eventually reconsider her priorities and break up with the bastard.
Then, one day, Catherine mentioned that she and Jackson were thinking of moving in together. If he wanted to come over for the weekend, she said, it would have to be to Jackson’s. That’s when River looked up one-way tickets to Australia—but didn’t buy any. Not only because he didn’t have the money.
Since then, he had distanced himself even more. He made a silent plea—to himself—that he would never see or hear anything to do with their relationship. He didn’t tell her, of course, but she noticed. She knew he wasn’t happy about the arrangement from the beginning, but this was going to extremes.
He had hoped they’d eventually break it off, but they only seemed to grow stronger. And in April, Catherine tried to arrange a dinner for all three of them—to bond, to clear the air, she said.
But River didn’t show up.
Nor did he RSVP beforehand, to be fair to him.
Yet Jackson and Catherine still went.
And waited.
And got stood up.
River paused to gather some strength and patience.
“Oh yeah, sure. Did Lamb shed a little tear? I can totally imagine him all upset.”
She shot him a look, but his eyes were fixed on the chessboard. She waited for him to meet her gaze, but he didn’t.
“If you don’t think Jackson is capable of such emotion, can you at least think about how it made me feel?”
He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead with the fingertips of his right hand before finally looking up at her.
“Well, I’m sorry if it upset you, but I thought I made it quite clear I don’t want to have anything to do with this—with him.”
Catherine looked at him as if he’d just shoved a dagger into her heart.
“Look, Mum, seriously, do we have to do this on my birthday? When I just agreed to play chess with you?” He couldn’t help the automatic eye-roll—one he’d inherited from her.
“All right,” she said eventually, in defeat.
They kept playing in silence, neither able to muster the energy to change the subject.
“River!” she suddenly scolded him. He’d made a bad move with his rook. “You didn’t think this through, did you?”
And she checkmated him.
“Well, I couldn’t focus…”
…
“Cut those diagonally. We want long strips.”
They were in the kitchen. River was handling the parsnips and carrots, while Catherine was dealing with the cauliflower and potatoes. The turkey was already sweating in the oven.
“Goose fat?” He raised his eyebrows as she fetched more ingredients.
“For the potatoes.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just… we’ve never had it that fancy.”
“Oh.” That was all she said.
“And stuffing as well? I thought you didn’t like it.”
“Well, I don’t mind it as much as I used to.”
“Jackson mentioned you had a date last week.”
River stopped the knife just before he could cut himself. Of course, he couldn’t hide something like that from his boss. But he hadn’t expected him to sink so low as to tell his mother. All he’d done differently that day was leave on time and wear cologne.
“You asked him to keep tabs on me?”
“River, you’ve not been easy to reach lately. Of course I wanted to know what you’ve been up to.”
“Mhm.” That was all he could muster.
“I didn’t ask him to check up on you. I just asked how you were doing at work.”
“And he just volunteered that little detail?”
“I pressed for it, River. Come on, you can tell your mum—we’ve never had secrets.” She grabbed his head and kissed his forehead in reassurance.
“It’s not a secret, first of all. And second of all… no, never mind.”
“So, who is she?”
“Someone I met online. Turns out we went to the same uni at the same time—different courses.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not oh, Mum. She’s nice, but it’s not likely to develop into anything serious.”
“Ah.” She sighed, raising her eyebrows slightly.
“I’m seeing her next week.”
“What’s her name?”
“Liana.”
“Lovely,” she said, opening the oven. “Well, if it does get serious, I hope we—I mean, I—can meet her.”
They talked some more, adding all the veg to the oven. When it was time to put in the Yorkshire puddings, Catherine sent River to fetch something from another room. Once he was gone, she quickly shoved three into the oven instead of two.
Then the doorbell rang.