ODE TO A BANKER

I waited, but Ma was still keeping her worries to herself. I felt a wrench of embarrassment, as one of her youngest children talking about her finances. For one thing, we had a long-standing tussle about whether I was ever allowed to take charge of anything. For another, she was desperately secretive.

`What about your own money, Ma?'

`Oh well, never mind that.'

`Stop fooling. You had a lot on deposit with that bank, don't pretend otherwise. Had you drawn any out recently?' `No.'

`So they had it all. Well, Anacrites is the idiot who made you put it there; you should get him to lean on them for you.' `I don't want to bother him.'

`Right. Look, I have to deal with Lucrio on another issue. I'll ask what the situation is. If there's any chance of getting your money back, I'll do what I can.'

`There is no need to go to any trouble. You don't need to worry about me,' wailed Ma pathetically. That was typical. In fact, I would never have heard the last of it if I had left her to stew in anxiety. I said politely that it was no trouble; I was a dutiful boy who loved his mother and I would happily devote my days to sorting out her affairs. Ma humphed.

This might have been the moment to mention the rumours about Anacrites growing too close as a lodger. My nerve failed.

I could hardly imagine Mother and the spy alone together. She had nursed him when he was desperately ill; that would have involved intimate personal contact – but it was surely different from having an affair. Ma and him in bed? Never! Not just because she was a lot older than him. Perhaps I just did not want to imagine my mother in bed with anyone…

`What's on your mind, son?' Ma noticed me thinking, a process she always regarded as dangerous. The traditional Roman virtues specifically exclude philosophy. Good boys don't dream. Good

mothers don't let them. She swiped at me. Out of long experience, I ducked just in time. I managed not to fall off my stool. Her hand sliced through my curls, missing my head. `Own up!'

`I've heard a few rumours lately…'

Ma bristled. `What rumours?'

`Just some nonsense.'

`What nonsense?'

`Not worth mentioning.'

`But worth thinking about until you get that silly grin!'

`Who's grinning?' I felt about three years old. The feeling was confirmed when my mother took hold of my ear, with a fierce grip that I knew too well.

`What exactly are you talking about?' demanded my mother. I wished I were fighting Bos again.

`People get the wrong idea.' I managed to writhe free. `Look, it's none of my business -' My mother's Medusa stare told me that was probably true. `I just happened to hear someone insinuate – obviously under a ridiculous misapprehension – that you might have taken up with a certain person of the male variety who sometimes frequents this place…'

Ma leapt out of her chair.

I sidestepped and hurried to the door, more than happy to leave in disgrace. With the door safely opened, I turned back and apologised.

Ma said rigidly, `I'll thank you – and I'll thank whatever busybodies have been gossiping about me – to keep their noses out of my -affairs.'

`Sorry, Ma. Of course, I never believed it -'

Her chin came up. She looked as if someone with his boots fresh from a cow-byre had dared to walk across a floor she had just washed. `If I wanted a little bit of comfort in my final years, I am surely entitled to it.'

`Oh yes, Ma.' I tried not to look shocked.

`If I did have a friend I was rather fond of,' explained Ma heavily, `assuming I dared to think I would be allowed to get away with it – then you and your high-minded sisters could rely on me to be discreet.' So she guessed it was one of my sisters spreading the story. I had better warn Junia to leave Italy.

`Sorry, Ma

`The least I could expect in return is a modicum of privacy!'

Dear gods. As a rebuttal, this was much weaker than I had hoped to hear. `Yes, Ma.'

`I am not entirely decrepit, Marcus! I have had my opportunities.'

`You are a fine woman,' I assured her, unintentionally echoing Aristagoras. `You can do what you like -' `Oh I will!' agreed my mother, with a dangerous glint.

As I retreated slowly down to street level, I was feeling tired even though I had done hardly anything that morning. In fact, I felt as if I had been sucked down a whirlpool, then spat up stark naked on some extremely pointed rocks.

The old man in the portico had managed to fix on somebody, so I slid past unobtrusively – only to hear my name called in a loud bellow by a horribly familiar voice. I turned back in horror.

`Pa!' Olympus, this was turning into a family festival.