‘Do you know, I really am.’ When was the last time she could have said that?
She hung up still angry with Harriet, but happy with herself.
Dan hadn’t come out of the office yet. ‘Oliver, go and see what Dad’s doing,’ she told him. This was getting ridiculous.
But he didn’t answer Oliver’s knock. Rude. When Sophie opened the office door, she found the room empty. Dan wasn’t upstairs, either. Then she noticed that the car wasn’t out front.
He answered his mobile on the first ring. ‘Where are you?’ She could hear people talking.
‘At the pub. Is that a problem?’
‘No, but you didn’t tell anyone.’
‘You were too busy with your fundraiser.’
Hearing the peevishness in his voice did nothing to make her soften. ‘A note would have been good,’ she said. ‘Are you okay driving?’
‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be home in an hour. There’s leftover cottage pie for dinner. Can you put some carrots on?’
‘I think I can handle that.’ After today, she felt like she could handle quite a lot of things. ‘See you in a bit.’
She was glad he’d be gone for a little longer.
Chapter 17
Monday
Harriet had instructed Owen to leave his bedroom door open last night. Just to be sure there were no misunderstandings, after he went to bed she propped the door open with a sturdy boot. Nothing should keep that snake from slinking back into its enclosure.
But Spot was still on the loose in their holiday home this morning.
Just thinking about that thing slithering around the house was enough to put Harriet off her breakfast. She added another text to the string she’d sent since last night.
It wasn’t only the snake, though, making Harriet want to count to a million until the kitchen patterns – cabinet fronts and borders and handles and all the little screws attaching them and ooh, those wall tiles! – steadied her pitching mind. They only had six full days left. When she was planning this spouse-salvaging operation, two weeks had seemed like enough time. Barely, but enough.
What had she actually achieved so far, aside from a margarita hangover and a quick fumble on a squeaky bed? If this was a performance review, Harriet would be close to a verbal warning.
She’d never failed an evaluation in her life. She couldn’t start now in what was possibly her most crucial role.
What she needed was a stern talking-to. And a performance improvement plan. Just thinking about it made her feel a bit better. Besides, she hadn’t the energy to waste worrying about something she couldn’t control, and as good as she was, she couldn’t control time. She set about controlling her angst instead.
This wasn’t an end, she told herself. As long as Persephone really wasn’t the reason for their troubles. She wanted so badly to believe that that was true. Otherwise this was all for nothing.
She and James had both let their priorities slip, she supposed. What with her daily commute and her cases and despising every bloody thing about that village, Harriet didn’t make enough time or energy for James. Ditto with James’s early mornings, and most evenings when he climbed into bed before it was dark. Even good marriages take work. Harriet and James weren’t working hard enough. One wouldn’t spend all the time and effort finding and planting a favourite tree in the garden and then not make sure it had enough water, or that its branches weren’t overgrowing or under threat from fungus.
Harriet and James had been under threat from fungus for a while.
She might loathe her husband when his nose whistled or he refused to speak more than six words at a time, but she still couldn’t let herself believe that he was the cheating kind. Not deep down. Some people treated their love life like a smoking habit, always lighting a new cigarette with the butt of the old. That wasn’t James.
She went to the kitchen after her shower. James was at the table with his tree book propped against the milk jug. Billie didn’t even look up from her phone.
‘We’re having breakfast at eleven,’ she reminded him.
James froze with the cereal spoon halfway to his lips. ‘But I’m hungry now.’
‘That’s because you get up at the crack of dawn even though you don’t have to.’
He shrugged and kept eating.
‘Sweetheart?’ She gave Billie her most patient smile. ‘Why don’t you put on something else? That’s not really appropriate for The Wolseley.’ Masterful understatement, if she said so herself.
Billie glanced down at her oversized checked shirt, which Harriet was pretty sure had once been James’s. It wasn’t even tucked into her shapeless jeans. ‘I’m fine.’
‘How about your sundress? I packed it. It’s going to be nice later.’ Although she’d probably wear those stupid high-top Converse with it. ‘You’d look so much prettier if you made an effort.’
‘Thanks for that, Mum.’ Billie went back to whatever was so fascinating on her bloody phone.
Harriet started unloading the dishwasher. ‘I just mean that it wouldn’t hurt to look like a girl sometimes,’ she said over the sound of clattering plates.
When Billie set her phone down, for the briefest second Harriet believed she was getting through to her daughter.
She was, but not in the way she’d hoped.
‘Do you have any idea how bored I am of listening to you trash me? I’m my own person, Mum, and I know what I like, so you can’t control me any more, no matter how much you want to. Whether you like it or not, you can’t tell me what to do. I’m an adult now.’
Harriet stared at her daughter. So like herself, from her mind to her maddening bloody-mindedness. ‘You are not an adult, not while you’re living under our roof and expecting me to sort out your lifts and laundry and all the care and feeding I’ve been giving you since you were born.’ Harriet’s voice was barely above a whisper. ‘Yes, you’ve got the right to make your own decisions, but you’ve still got some growing up to do. And if I make suggestions about how you dress or ask you not to have that phone fused to you all the time, it’s because I care. This is about respecting what I say. You could do a lot worse than me, you know.’ She thought of Owen’s mother.
James watched this exchange from the table. Of course, he wasn’t bloody saying anything to help. She was so sick and tired of him being a passenger in their marriage, leaving her to do all the driving and maintenance and the tricky reverse parking.
‘That’s all such bollocks, Mum,’ said Billie, ‘because you don’t respect me. You just want to turn me into a carbon copy of you. Can’t you see how stupid that is?’
‘I’ll respect you when you’ve earned it, not when you do exactly as you please and sod the consequences to you or anyone else. Billie, what is so hard about doing as I ask every once in a while? And I’m sorry that you find it so horrible to be like me. All I’m asking is that you look nice sometimes and not embarrass me and be the tiniest bit appreciative of what I’m trying to do for you. I don’t understand what’s wrong with you.’
Enough was enough. If Billie couldn’t even change her clothes, or James save his appetite after she’d been the one to find the restaurant, check the menu, make the reservation and then rearrange the rest of the day around it, well then they could feed themselves from the bins from now on for all she cared.
‘Jesus, Mum, there’s nothing wrong with me because I don’t want to be like you.’ The sneer in Billie’s voice cut Harriet to the bone. ‘And I’m sorry if I embarrass you so much just because I don’t want to wear a stupid dress, but seriously, get over it because if that embarrasses you …’ Her eyes darted from Harriet to James. ‘Never mind.’
‘Oh, no, don’t stop now you’re on a roll. What were you going to say? Come on, since we’re being so honest.’
‘You don’t want honesty, Mum, that’s the last thing you want. You’ve got this crazy idea of perfection that doesn’t even exist. You make us go through all this la-di-da bullshit that nobody likes. You expec
t me to live up to your perfect ideal, or don’t you let me know it. I am so tired of it, and I’m sorry I’m not your ideal daughter and I won’t ever be, but just get over it and leave me alone.’
Harriet was stunned. ‘I only want what’s best for you. If I seem harsh sometimes it’s only because I know what it’s like—’
‘You don’t, though. You don’t even know me.’
‘I know you as well as I know myself,’ Harriet said.
‘Do you really? If you think so then you’re deluded. You know what you want me to be. That’s all. Well, take that and think the opposite, because that’s what I am, Mum, the opposite of what you want me to be.’
‘You’re the one who’s deluded, Billie. You hate me now, and I understand that. It’s cool to hate your parents when you’re a teenager. I was sixteen once, too, remember. So don’t think I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking. Despite what you want to believe, you are like me.’ Then she went over to her daughter. She didn’t dare touch her, though. The rage in the girl’s face warned her not to. ‘Billie, I know how hard it is to be your age. I know what that pressure feels like, with school and exams and your friends and boys.’
‘Girls,’ Billie said. ‘Not boys, Mum, girls.’ She widened her eyes. ‘Since you know me so well, you know I’m gay, yeah?’
‘Pshh, gay.’ Billie wasn’t gay. She was trying to get a rise out of her. Like every teenager on the planet did with their parents.
Billie crossed her arms over her horrible shirt. ‘That honest enough for you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not gay,’ Harriet said. She looked to James for support, but he was too busy staring at Billie with his mouth open.
‘I promise you, Mum, I am. One hundred per cent totally gay.’
‘But you don’t seem gay.’
‘What, just because I’m not wearing my Women Turn Me On t-shirt?’
Harriet said nothing for a moment. ‘You don’t …?’
‘Christ, Mum, I can’t even talk to you!’
Harriet’s eyes sought the windowpanes in the doors that led to the garden. Five rows, ten panes on each French door plus fifteen on each window either side. Then the casements (four) made up of four sides each, sixteen, plus the wooden strips between the panes. Twenty-one plus twenty-one plus thirteen plus thirteen.
‘Is it true?’ she murmured.
‘Why would I lie about it? It’s no big deal, so get over it. And by the way, I’m going to Pride in Brighton on Saturday, and I’m meeting friends there. You don’t know them.’
‘I know your friends, Billie.’ Harriet’s mind raced through them, but none of them seemed gay, either.
‘Not those ones. I’m taking the train down to meet them.’ Her expression challenged Harriet to try stopping her.
By ‘meet them’, she’d better not mean she was meeting them for the first time, that these people were online friends, because that could be anyone posing as a teenager: weird man (or woman!), murderous psychopath, anyone.
They all watched Owen stroll into the kitchen in his sweatshirt and tracksuit bottoms. He shuffled to the fridge, filled a glass with orange juice and downed it while he leaned against the worktop. Then he must have noticed the yawning silence in the room. ‘What’s up?’
Harriet looked between Billie and James. She was not about to be the one to out her daughter. Finally, Billie spoke up. ‘I’ve just told them I’m gay.’
‘Cool,’ he said. ‘Anybody wanna finish this?’ When they didn’t answer, he drank the rest of the juice from the carton and wandered back upstairs.
A thought occurred to Harriet. ‘Did he already know?’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘I can’t believe you’d tell a complete stranger before your own parents.’
‘Oh, because you’re taking it so well. Mum, it’s not a big deal.’
Now James spoke up. He covered the distance between them in a few long strides. ‘That can’t have been easy to tell us, sweetheart, so thank you. You’re dead right, it’s no big deal, and we love you.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ she said as she accepted his hug. A willing hug!
Billie went upstairs then, without looking at Harriet.
Much as that hurt, it was probably better, because Harriet could form no words. She hadn’t seen this coming. She had no plan for it.
‘Do you think she cares about going to The Wolseley?’ she asked James.
‘I don’t think any of us cares about The Wolseley, dear heart.’
She cancelled their reservation. Her heart wasn’t in it any more, either. James got another cereal bowl from the cabinet for Harriet, but her appetite had gone.
When her support would have really mattered to Billie, she’d won first prize in the world’s worst parent contest. James had been sensible and encouraging, but not her. She had to go and say the first thing that came to mind. Now Billie would probably remember that for the rest of her life whenever she thought about coming out to her parents.
Harriet had fucked up. That was textbook: how not to react when your child tells you she’s gay.
When she thought about it, though, Billie had been right about one thing. She was disappointing Harriet. What a horrible, judgemental thing to think, but there it was. She’d never admit it out loud – it just added to her Crap Parent status – but Harriet could think of loads of times when Billie had fallen short of her expectations.
That wasn’t Billie’s fault. Never her fault. The fault was all Harriet’s. She’d been lying to herself since before her daughter was even born. We just want a healthy child, she’d tell anyone who asked whether she preferred a boy or a girl.
Since everyone was so keen for honesty today, Harriet had to admit that she’d wanted much more than that. A healthy baby, of course, obviously. Billie hadn’t even finished her first cry when Harriet thanked their biology for a girl. That was the first lie – that she hadn’t cared what sex she was. She’d know how to raise a girl. By the time the midwife had counted the baby’s fingers and toes and pronounced her healthy, Harriet was already hoping for more. She saw the wisps of Billie’s soft blonde hair and wanted it to be immune to the frizz that she had to pay good money to have smoothed at the salon. She looked into the baby’s deep-blue eyes and wanted them to stay as bright (they’d turned grey like hers).
That was just the tip of the iceberg. Sleek hair and blue eyes were superficial wishes, but it didn’t take long for Harriet to get greedy for achievements, too.
She wanted a good sleeper, a non-fussy eater, a child like her who walked and talked and read early. Billie wasn’t any of those things, and Harriet was disappointed. No matter that Billie reached all the amazing milestones that children do, Harriet wanted more.
When Billie started doing well at school, Harriet wondered if she might end up going to University College London like she had. When she joined the school hockey team, Harriet gave her the old captain’s armband she’d worn.
On and on, Harriet had mapped out Billie’s life. It looked a lot like Harriet’s.
So, what was her daughter now doing, marching at Pride? Harriet had never marched at anything in her life, let alone anything to be proud of.
Billie was right. All this time she hadn’t known her own daughter.
Chapter 18
Monday
Dan didn’t give Sophie the bitter pill till he got out of the shower on Monday morning. He was going into the office. That was the London office, not the one he’d been squatting in, down the corridor from the kitchen. He’d be gone the whole day.
She watched him putting on his tie. ‘You packed your suit?’ She was sure she hadn’t seen him do that.
He came round to her side of the bed, kissed her on the nose and took her hands in his. ‘Always prepared, just like the Scouts.’ He inspected the backs of her hands. ‘Did you bring your tanning cream?’
‘Hmm? No, I forgot.’ She let out a big sigh.
‘Come on, Soph, it’s only one day. You won’t eve
n miss me.’
She hadn’t been worried about that. ‘This is a family holiday, Dan.’ He should be there, too, whether it was comfortable for her or not.
‘Don’t be cross. I’ll make it up to you tonight.’ His kiss left no doubt about what he meant.
‘Then promise me something. Promise me that after you get back tonight, you aren’t going to lock yourself in that office for the rest of the week.’
She’d meant to sound playful, but something in Dan’s expression shifted and she knew she was off the mark. ‘Sophie. You don’t understand what it’s like to work like I do. I’ve got obligations, people depending on me. I don’t want to go to the office, but I have to. You were the one who extended this holiday to two weeks, remember? I’ve taken extra days off for you, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t put any more pressure on me than I’ve already got.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. We’ll be fine. If I drive you to the station then we could use the car today.’
‘I’ll drive myself,’ he said.
‘Then we haven’t got the car.’
‘No change there, when you haven’t driven it since we’ve been here.’
‘But it would be nice to do something later. You’d mentioned that we would, remember?’
‘I can’t help going into work, Soph, I told you that! Please, now, don’t make it harder.’
She wasn’t ready to give up the point. ‘I’m not. I’m making it easier. If I keep the car then you won’t have to worry about us being stuck here all day. I can get something for dinner, too, if you want.’
Dan shook his head. ‘I’ll get something for us on the way back. Where will you go?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘We can decide after my treatment. Is it an hour again today?’ She knew it sounded incredibly spoilt, but she was starting to tire of going to the spa. Much as Dan wanted her to be, she wasn’t a luxury kind of woman.
‘They’re all an hour long, but you’ll need to skip it today,’ he said. ‘The children, remember? Who’s supposed to look after them? I can’t be in two places.’ He mock-knocked on her head. Silly bean.
The Staycation: This summer's hilarious tale of heartwarming friendship, fraught families and happy ever afters Page 18
