It was just after five when thirst and daylight forced me from my bed. I crept downstairs and drank a glass of flat lemonade. I was grateful that I didn’t feel as broken as I thought I would, and started to tidy up the kitchen. As I was wiping down the worktops I remembered my bag, abandoned in the hallway the night before. I sat at the bottom of the staircase and pulled out my phone. Seven missed calls and three messages from Dylan. I swore under my breath. Our little jukebox concert had obviously drowned out the sound of his calls. I had a lot of making up to do; Netflix wouldn’t cut it. I compiled a list – dinner, foot rub, unlimited action movies – and that was as far as I got, because I saw a notification letting me know that I had a new email. I think I trembled as I opened it; my recollection is that I was shaking, although of course that could have been all the booze.
Hello Tiny Dancer,
I have an amazing client in mind for you. Pretty high profile and it could probably lead to making further connections. Shall we meet for dinner on Wednesday night to discuss? 7 p.m. at Eleanor’s.
F.
Have you ever tried not to feel excited? It’s an embarrassing process, like trying to withhold a sneeze. I squeezed my eyes closed and smiled to myself. He had given me a nickname. I knew I wasn’t allowed to feel that way – that’s what my wedding vows had amounted to: thou shalt not be excited by any other man – but vows and decisions are an active choice whilst feelings are uncontrollable. A hand on my shoulder made me jump and I let out a small shriek. I turned to see Chloe rubbing sleep from her eyes.
‘Why are you awake, Mum?’ she asked groggily.
‘Why are you awake, silly?’ I replied. She laughed.
‘I don’t know. My eyelids wouldn’t stay closed.’ I pinched her tummy; it was still gently rounded, even though the rest of her had become lean and angular.
‘That was cheeky of them,’ I said, and she scrunched her mouth into a pout before giggling. ‘Since we have time, should I make pancakes?’ Chloe’s eyes opened wide.
‘With Nutella?’ she whispered.
‘Why not.’ My daughter squeezed past me and ran ahead to the kitchen. When I came in behind her, she was sitting in the chair where Ruby had been the night before. She swung her legs under the chair and twisted a lock of hair around a finger. A little girl, ready for breakfast; and that I wasn’t ready to lose yet.
12
I’D FINISHED THE first stack when Dylan came down. He kissed me on the forehead, quick and dry like an uncle, before slipping a pod in the Nespresso machine. He could do that; erase any problems with a night of sleep. Whilst he didn’t subscribe to the adage that one shouldn’t go to bed on an argument, he tried his best not to wake up with one.
‘You want bacon?’ I asked him.
‘No, that’s OK.’ He joined Chloe at the table.
‘I don’t mind,’ I said, walking to the fridge.
‘Then yes. Thanks, Nibs. I would love some.’ That was my forgiveness. I should have been happy it was that easy but it left me frustrated. I wanted to tell Dylan to stick up for himself, that he deserved better, but I gave Chloe her pancakes and started on his bacon.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said, her mouth already full of food. Peeling the clammy strips of meat apart, I felt very domesticated. This, cooking a hearty breakfast for my family, was how I had envisioned being a wife would play out, and this part was as good as I had imagined. I hadn’t factored in the rest of it, the other responsibilities that would push this one down my priority list.
After I’d served Dylan, he grabbed my hand. ‘Maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew living with three feisty women?’ His mouth curled up on one side, a semi-smile that was both apology and absolution.
‘You haven’t,’ I said, squeezing his fingers before letting go, ‘but we have to work together. If we were more together on things, stuff like this wouldn’t happen. We’d see it and we’d address it before it blows up in our faces.’ I was saying it to convince myself as much as him.
‘I know, I know,’ said Dylan, which was not the same as committing to change. He stared hard at his fork, as though the answers he sought might be hidden between its tines. ‘I was thinking I could expand the business, take on some drivers for commission. I could be home more then.’ I poured another batch of batter into the pan and focused on the bubbles forming on the surface. I’d heard the expansion plan before; the first time I was excited, supportive. I imagined us doing it together, both being home for the kids. But the talk didn’t go anywhere; whenever I suggested a definitive action, Dylan would become especially interested in peeling dry skin from his cuticles.
‘Some extra money would be nice,’ I said lightly. ‘I could apply to do a four-day week.’ Dylan chewed on some bacon rind thoughtfully.
‘Are we poor?’ Chloe piped up.
‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘Why would you ask that?’ She shrugged as she licked Nutella from a piece of pancake.
Ruby came in from the hall. She hovered in the doorway, already in her uniform. Her head was down but her fists were clenched. She was prepared for another assault. I put together another plate of pancakes and smothered them in syrup. As I held them out to her I asked, ‘Is it over?’ She nodded and took the plate. We ate our food together in silence. It was not comfortable but we were together in our discomfort. Dylan took the girls to school without further discussion and I felt quite triumphant. I had taken control of a sticky situation, the kind you advise fellow mums about in a knowing tone. I was even left with enough time to blow-dry my hair and get the kitchen in order. I looked behind me as I left for work and it was as if nothing had happened.
The sense of achievement didn’t last long; at eleven I hit the hangover peak. What I had thought was a strong constitution and efficient processing was me still being pissed. Bettina had strategically decided to work from home, so I didn’t have her to distract me from the pain. I did what any woman would do – overcompensated. I wrote half a dozen overdue blog posts for a chain of theme restaurants and, even though I was absolutely certain I would have to rewrite them, I rewarded myself with a latte when I finished. Before I took my first sip, Annie interrupted me to ask if I wanted to help her brainstorm campaign messages for Emerge.
‘Of course, I’m brimming with ideas,’ I said. In an attempt to distract from how odd that sounded, I threw her a thumbs up to convey my enthusiasm. I’m not sure it worked – if anything she looked scared – but I concluded that wasn’t the worst thing. Fear is a short step from threatened, and if I could threaten Annie perhaps I could keep her away from my job.
‘I’ve booked the blue meeting room,’ she said. ‘It’s got the comfiest chairs.’ I agreed although I hadn’t noticed. I downed the rest of my coffee, eager for the caffeine to rouse my nervous system. When I got to the blue room Annie wasn’t there, and a petite black woman was seated at the glass table.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Annie said she had booked this.’ I felt a pulse of excitement that she might have made an error.
‘Yeah, I’m here for the meeting,’ said the woman. ‘I’m Marie.’ When she said her name I remembered her standing awkwardly at the front of a team catch-up some weeks ago, eyes trained on her shoes as Carter introduced her as a new intern. Today her head was held high, and earrings made of a string of tiny yellow pom-poms danced next to her neck as she spoke. She seemed very young a few months ago, and she still did, but now her youth spoke of potential and vitality rather than inexperience. She was blossoming as I withered. ‘I’m assisting Annie with Emerge,’ she added. So, my assistant now had an assistant. After Ruby learned to walk she developed a habit of making a break for it. We’d be ambling along, looking at dandelions, and she’d cut loose, sprinting across the park, careering down crowded pathways. I’d call her name and roll my eyes at laughing passers-by, but underneath I was terrified, convinced that this might be the day that I didn’t catch up with her. As Marie watched the door for her new boss’s arrival, I realized that Annie was off the reins.
> I felt too low on resources to muster up even the tritest of small talk, so Marie and I sat in uncompanionable silence until Annie entered several minutes later. I’d never known her to be late. A few months before, there had been a bomb scare at Tower Bridge. London’s public transport, messy at the best of times, was at a near standstill. I felt so smug when I arrived, sweaty and shaken, ready to share my commuter war stories, and there at her desk was Annie, her face a mask of concentration. The city’s chaos had failed to ruffle a single feather on the wings powering her professional ascent. If Annie was late, she was making a point and the point was that she was in charge; the party didn’t start till she got there. Annie gave us each a printout of the project outlines before sitting.
‘See, so comfy. I told Carter about this chair company,’ she said, and beamed at me. I didn’t respond. The thought of riffing about office furniture with our ice-cold commander was unthinkable. I felt ambushed. It didn’t seem considerate for her to usurp me without a heads up. She should have taken me out, sat me down and explained how she planned to expose me. I might have stepped aside graciously had she done so.
I certainly wouldn’t have felt such a need to prove myself, and might not have blurted out, ‘Teeth!’ Both women stared at me. I noticed simultaneously that they were frowning and that neither had the furrows that run from my nose to my mouth. Marie even had a crop of acne glistening on her chin, a clear indicator of the fresh hormones flowing around her body. ‘Let’s lead with teeth!’ I cried. Marie coughed. ‘Teeth are the future?’ I added with less fervour. Annie licked her lips.
‘It’s a bit obvious for a conference on orthodontistry. I’ll get you up to speed on the messaging before we collate our ideas.’ I should have backed down, but to do so would be to publicly acknowledge her as a leader, and I was paranoid that my pub antics could have made their way through the office grapevine. I wanted her to know I could match any pace she set.
‘You might think that, that it’s obvious, but often the obvious is … not so obvious. It’s like no one would lead with teeth, so let’s do it. Let’s be …’ Marie nodded slowly, as you do to a particularly elderly person. ‘Let’s be the teeth people.’ Annie opened her mouth and I spoke quickly to curtail her objections. I think I believed that if I spoke long enough, if I gave them enough weak ideas, they could squeeze them together and make one good one. ‘We could start with an image of teeth, you know, like that classic ad that had a photo of a … God, what was it? I know it. It’s so famous. Anyway, it was just an image of this product because the product stood alone, and here the product is teeth and also—’
‘Before you continue,’ said Annie in a measured tone, ‘I’ll refresh us all on the client specifications.’ She cleared her throat and read from the handout. ‘No teeth. The industry is oversaturated with images of perfect smiles. So …’ I wanted to evaporate or at least have a stroke, something big enough to distract from the previous minute. My phone rang, which would have to suffice.
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘it might be important.’ I escaped to the hallway, resting my forehead on the cool paintwork before answering the number I didn’t recognize.
‘Stinkface!’ came the greeting, after I offered a tentative hello.
‘Henry,’ I muttered, turning so I could lean back against the wall. ‘Why are you calling me at work?’ I knew why my younger brother was calling me on a Tuesday afternoon – because normal hours didn’t apply to him. He had probably just woken up; I don’t think he’s ever owned a watch. Henry is a person for whom the term ‘drifter’ was invented. I haven’t known him to have what could be classed as employment since … since ever. Which is why I knew if he was ringing me, he was calling to ask for money. ‘What number is this?’
‘Lost my phone, didn’t I. Well, it was stolen by this chick, but that’s a long story. Got this from a friend.’ Henry had a lot of friends.
‘I’m not giving you any money.’
‘Sis. Sis, come on. Why do you assume I’m ringing to ask for something?’
‘Because you’re ringing to ask for something.’
‘Well, I am. The pleasure of your company, for lunch today.’
‘You’re taking me to lunch?’
‘Exactly.’
‘When?’
‘Now.’
I sighed. ‘I can’t just drop everything when you call.’
‘Why?’ said Henry, amusement in his voice. ‘Whatcha doin’?’ He treated working people like members of a quirky collective. I thought back to Annie and Marie – they were probably drafting the perfect anecdote to summarize my idiotic performance.
‘I can fit you in if we meet right now.’ I emphasized the last word.
‘I’m already at Veggie Delight. It’s on Curtain Road. See you when you get here.’ Curtain Road was a ten-minute walk from the office, but getting Henry to move towards me would only result in untold delays. He’d meet a busker who would tell him about a squat in Dalston, and three days later I’d get a text apologizing and telling me about his new pet ferret. I rushed back to the meeting room and stuck my head around the doorframe.
‘I’m afraid a client’s moved a meeting forward. Send an email with what you need from me.’ I tried to withdraw before Annie could question me, but of course her reflexes were as sharp as always.
‘What client?’ she sang.
Rather than saying, ‘None of your business, you overachieving little twot,’ I replied, ‘It’s a secret.’
‘A secret?’ Annie shook her head, either with confusion or shock. And then she smiled evenly. The sort of smile that makes men on market stalls slip an extra apple into your bag. ‘OK. A secret.’ She glanced at Marie, whose eyebrows flicked momentarily skywards.
‘Yes. Confidentiality,’ I said brusquely before walking away. I heard a high-pitched laugh follow me out of the office; it immediately took me back to leaving my first lesson the day after I had cut my own fringe aged twelve.
13
THE RESTAURANT WAS actually two roads away from the location Henry had specified, and locating it added another five minutes to my journey. I was sure I could feel my blood-sugar levels plummeting and felt panicked I wouldn’t have time to get served. As I walked in, it became apparent that serving time wouldn’t be required, because Veggie Delight was a buffet where for five pence less than a fiver you could eat as much as you desired. My brother was sitting at a table for four in the centre of the room, two steaming bowls in front of him. He stood up and kissed me on the cheek without finishing his mouthful.
‘What a treat,’ I said, looking past him to take in the peeling wallpaper. As I sat down, a profusely sweaty man in stained chef’s whites placed a knife and fork wrapped in a paper napkin in front of me.
‘Keep them,’ he drawled.
‘How sweet. A gift,’ I said.
‘No,’ said Henry. ‘You’ve got to keep hold of your cutlery between courses.’
‘Yeah, I got that.’ Henry pushed one of his bowls towards me.
‘Here, don’t get up,’ he said. It looked like moulding porridge; my stomach lurched in protest. I slid it back towards him and out of range of my nose.
‘Don’t be such a snob,’ said Henry.
‘You think a snob is someone who bathes, Hen.’
‘When they use soap,’ he said. He flashed me a grin, and I caught sight of the tooth he’d chipped falling out of a tree and never got fixed. In almost every memory I have of him as a child he has some part of his body plastered or bandaged. Mum would proclaim that she parented creatively, which was another way of saying she couldn’t be bothered to set boundaries. It made Henry fearless, never willing to evaluate risk, whereas it terrified me and left me inclined to play safe. Henry put the fork in my hand and I dipped it tentatively into the goop. He pushed on my fingers so the tines sank deeper into the bowl. I pulled up a forkful, and Henry watched with what had become known in our family as his full-force grin, the same one he would use on me when I found him covered in my lipstick
when he was five. I could never resist it. I closed my mouth around the fork, my mind skipping through several expressions of derision, but as the subtle, sweet yet spicy flavours danced on my tongue, I found myself unable to voice any. I closed my eyes to ward off other stimuli that might intrude upon the experience.
‘Told you it was good,’ said Henry. He pushed the bowl back to me and started on the other portion of goop. I was embarrassed that I had made assumptions about the food because of the non-existent service and casual regard for hygiene, but I assured myself it was a logical conclusion. This was not seeing a bloke in a hoodie believing he was going to rob me; this was seeing a bloke in a hoodie, waving a knife, shouting ‘give me your money’, and not being willing to take the risk that he would not. Some judgements protect us; they might not always be kind but they are necessary. Henry never made assumptions and I loved him for it, but it also drove me crazy, because when you fail to make judgements you let anyone in and accept everything. Worst of all, Henry never judged himself – not his ripped-beyond-a-fashion-statement jeans or his laissez-faire attitude to employment – which was why he never felt the need to make a change: there’s no progress without shame.
‘I did want to see you, obviously,’ he said between mouthfuls, ‘but I do also want some money.’ I dropped my fork on the table. The noise drew the attention of the waiter/chef/manager, who stared at the utensil and then glared at me.
‘Of course you do,’ I said. ‘Why do I ever think things will be different?’ I barked the words; a spray of spittle landed on the table between us.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Henry. He tilted his head to the side, eyes wide, face receptive. I sort of wanted to throw something for him to fetch.
‘You’re who you are. You dance through life expecting everything to be OK because there’s always someone waiting to put things right. Just because you’re my brother and I’d like you to be different doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. People don’t change, not at their core.’
More Than a Mum Page 9
