by Lisa Young
Looking sheepish, and ignoring the others, he stuttered an explanation. “Well, not exactly, no. I mean I knew he was getting money, but he told me he was selling cola. I mean coke, well obviously not that type of coke. Shit! Well, you know what I’m saying.”
Not trusting herself to respond, she remained silent and this time it was Donald’s turn to receive the frosty stare of the others.
Lottie was seething with rage and her hands were shaking with a sudden desire to choke the life out of him, and not for the first time. “No, I fucking do not know what you are saying, you half-wit!”
As she strangled the strap of her handbag as an inadequate substitute, Lottie reminded herself that they were on school premises, undoubtedly now being judged for a thousand parental indiscretions. She returned her attention to the headmaster who was silently observing the exchange between the two dysfunctional parents of Robbie, and shaking his head to convey his disapproval of their manner of communication.
Undeterred by the judgement pouring down upon her she persisted with her questioning. “Well, how do you know?”
“Forty witnesses, Ms. Grant, all of whom have provided a statement for the police.”
Lottie swallowed hard. “Forty? The police?”
The headmaster fought a smirk. “Yes Ms. Grant, forty students have all testified to the fact that they bought cannabis from your son, on school premises.”
Suddenly Lottie felt the world spinning and bile rose in her throat. Her son was the local bloody drug dealer! She desperately needed air and clawed at the tight neck of her jumper, and suddenly there was only a welcome blackness.
A SHORT WHILE later, she came around. Her legs were raised on a stool and the floor provided a pleasant cooling effect. Blinking, she gradually regained her bearings and found herself staring at the petite mule-clad feet of the headmaster’s wife. In her hand she helpfully clutched Lottie’s bag. Lottie looked to the side to avoid the view up the woman’s skirt—which she observed was far too short to be considered decent in a school environment—and she was horrified to notice that the pink end of the vibrator was protruding through the opened zipper at the top of the bag.
“Ms. Grant, are you feeling better now? I can appreciate this must have just been such a shock! Your ex-husband has gone and the head had to leave for an important meeting about the budget. He’s printed your son’s exclusion letter, and a copy will also be sent to the local authority. Would you like me to call you a taxi home?”
Recovering herself, Lottie shook her head in the negative and fought back tears as she beat a hasty retreat from the school to the sanctuary of her car. As she sat for a moment she fumbled for the mobile phone inside her jacket pocket, and angrily hammered out a text message to Robbie.
Meet me at home, now! We need to talk!
On the short drive home, Lottie didn’t even attempt to hold back the river of hot tears. She was devastated. Smoking cigarettes was one thing, but Robbie had taken his teenage rebellion to another level. She racked her brain for clues that she may have missed, and she was overwhelmed with guilt that she had been so wrapped up with her new relationship that she had surely neglected Robbie. He must have been so unhappy. Chewing on her fingernail, she vowed to punish him and then love him more, to try to get to the bottom of this.
For the remainder of the journey, she consoled herself with fantasies about the many ways that Donald could possibly meet a painful and grizzly end.
“Fat twat!” she mumbled venomously. He had obviously known that Robbie was in trouble, but how? Had Robbie gone to him to confess? Had Donald brushed it off? “It’ll be all right, mate,” as he was so fond of referring to his son.
“Fucking idiot,” she seethed. “You’re his fucking dad, not his mate!”
Angrily screeching to a halt outside the house, she abandoned the car, blocking both the harbour and anyone else who might be parked farther down the lane. Grabbing her keys, she rushed to the door.
In the living room, Lottie was met by a surly and defensive Robbie, who was sitting in the dark clutching his phone. He glared at her from the protection of his hooded top which partially shielded his face. His hoodie slipped and the glint in his eyes clearly conveyed defiance but behind that she sensed he was like a cornered wild animal.
When she arrived home, she had intended to read him the riot act. However, suddenly she felt unsure of how to proceed. Casting her mind back to her own teenage years, she remembered the fear she had felt when she had been in trouble which had required her mother’s intervention. Confrontation had inevitably led to more anger, and she had remained fiercely determined not to show her mum how she felt, it was her only power. Determined not to fall into that trap, she sat down and placed her hands calmly into her lap.
Robbie continued to challenge her with a mean glare. He remained seated and she felt a glimmer of hope that this indicated she had a chance of being able to get through his steely demeanour. Lottie realised in that very moment that this test was something that she needed to pass if she had any hope of reaching her troubled teenager.
“Can you put the kettle on? That is unless you need to bag up some more spliffs before you lose the light.”
Robbie looked at her in disbelief, sure he was being mocked.
He hitched up his trousers and headed for the kitchen.
Sometime later, Robbie and Lottie sat in the living room. Dusk had overtaken them, but both were reluctant to break the newfound connection they had established during the past two hours. Robbie turned his head and tried to sniff inconspicuously. Despite the fading light, it had not escaped Lottie that Robbie was crying. Of course, there were going to have to be consequences for his actions, serious ones, but more importantly, Lottie had been desperate to know how Robbie had ended up on such a destructive path. As they talked, she had been horrified to discover that Robbie had been befriended by some local youths who had recently been released from the young offender’s institute at HMP Inverness. Former pupils of the school, Robbie had vaguely known them and clearly felt some sense of community in their company as he struggled to stay in education after entering the sixth form. He told her that these boys had treated him as one of them and, having few friends of his own, he had found himself drawn into bunking off school and smoking weed with them at the local park.
After a while he said they had started to put pressure on him to earn his free cannabis by dealing it. They had told him that the school’s students were an untapped source of cash and they wanted him to provide a conduit for the cannabis trade at his comprehensive school. He tearfully told his mum that he had increasingly felt out of his depth, and fearing the consequences, one of which, he said, was that they’d threatened to tell his mum that he was smoking weed, he quickly became trapped in a revolving door of sale and supply.
It transpired that his new associates considered him a gifted salesman, increasing the pressure on him to continue to ply his trade despite the increasing likelihood that he would be caught. Robbie knew that the person leading the sales operations was known as M but he had never encountered him, dealing only with the tattooed youths from the local prison. Eventually, an unanticipated locker search at his school had revealed him to be in the possession of a roll of sandwich bags and his mum’s baking scales, with his locker providing a makeshift hideaway for his illegal trade.
With a long road ahead of them, Lottie realised that she would need to refocus on her parenting if she wanted to try to help him resolve this situation. She decided to give him some space while she had a much-needed drink and took time to reflect on the way forward from here. Robbie disappeared rapidly to his room.
The Coming-Out Party
YAWNING, LOTTIE PULLED back the bedroom curtains and perched on the end of the bed. With her spare hand she absently stroked Alice’s foot which was peeking out from beneath the duvet. Her eyes scanned the horizon as she searched for signs of the winter sun through the hazy sea-mist which lingered on the horizon. Careful
to avoid disturbing the slumbering Alice, she reached forward and opened the window. Closing her eyes, she was greeted by a sudden rush of frost-laced air, pregnant with the salty smell of the grey sea. What an amazing day to turn forty! She smiled in anticipation of the day ahead.
Grabbing her journal, she turned to a fresh page, writing in big letters:
40!!
So far:
Two gorgeous boys
Maintained my sanity through divorce (just!)
Finally out (except for work—must sort this by 41)
Spectacularly sexy girlfriend (keep her!)
Own house
Own teeth
Fabulous sense of humour
Needed:
URGENT—New school for Robbie
New job (with living wage, possibly even career path!)
Playground street-cred
Housekeeper
Lottery win
Learn to sing (think about lessons)
Looking forward to the next 40!
She slammed the journal shut, noticing a sudden movement from the bottom end of the duvet. Odie appeared with his hound nose twitching frantically, sniffing for any possible threat from the chilly salt-laden breeze filling the room. Detecting nothing, he licked his mistress’s protruding big toe before disappearing back underneath the covers. Leaning backward, Lottie tucked the duvet around the slender form of Alice and gently replaced an escaping strand of hair behind her ear. Alice broke a smile before burying her face in the pillow.
Pulling on her slipper socks Lottie felt a toasty warm hand creep up the back of her pyjama top. “Where are you off to so early, birthday girl?” Alice murmured as her hand gently caressed the small of Lottie’s back. “Don’t go without opening your presents!”
Lottie paused mid slipper-sock and was persuaded back beneath the duvet. Alice produced an envelope and a small red, ribbon-wrapped box. Lottie opened the envelope first, recognising the logo of a local travel agent. Squealing with delight, she hugged Alice as she read the details of a weekend for two in Paris. Alice was well aware that Lottie had longed to go to France and that she considered her schoolgirl French to be above average. She often told Alice she felt she must have been French in a previous life, much to Alice’s amusement. She frequently reminded Lottie that her love of a baguette smothered in cream cheese did not constitute evidence of her French genetic heritage.
“Merci beaucoup,” Lottie drawled in what she hoped was a seductive French accent.
Alice shook her head in despair before drawing Lottie’s attention to a smaller envelope which had fallen out. Picking it up, Lottie raised an eyebrow before opening it, and saw that inside was a small handwritten note. Reading the message her eyes filled with tears.
Lottie,
I love you. I think I knew after our second date that I was going to love you and now I know I do.
You make my heart sing,
Alice xxx
Looking up their eyes met and Lottie noted the anxious frown which was etched on Alice’s delicate features. Reaching across she cupped Alice’s cheeks and pulled her forward planting a tender kiss on her lips. The tension left Alice’s face as Lottie replied. “I love you, too!”
Beaming broadly, Alice chuckled. “I knew you’d make me say it first though!” she said, before she pushed the box towards Lottie. She carefully unwrapped her second gift, squealing I delight for a second time as she discovered the contents. The rabbit-ears only version of the Ann Summers acclaimed Rabbit vibrator.
“Good job I didn’t open that in front the kids!” she giggled.
Sometime later, Lottie emerged from the bedroom with an afterglow. Alice continued to expand her knowledge of the sextoy industry and she was a willing pupil. Lottie flicked the kettle on to boil as she turned her attention to her mobile phone which had been buzzing insistently with multiple text messages and several missed calls during the past hour.
Scanning her messages, she noticed a text from Virginia.
Mate, can’t wait to come to the party, it’s going to be cracking, I’ll bring bubbly, Love ya. V xx
Just then the phone rang and it was Mel. “Hey, sweet cheeks! No cocktails for you tonight, the family is coming remember? Anyway, can’t stop. I promised your mum I’d pick up some booze. I’m guessing prosecco is the preferred tipple. I think it’s gonna be a right laugh, but your mum has no idea who’s coming! Happy Birthday! Laterz!”
Lottie groaned inwardly.
A couple of weeks earlier her mother had begun to harass her about her birthday plans. Not being big on event planning, Lottie had happily abdicated responsibility for organising anything, having given her mother permission to arrange a small gathering. Only three hours later, she had been horrified to discover that she had opened a Facebook invitation—Lottie’s 40th—which was open to all and sundry. She had decided in the end that her mum’s intentions were well meant and left it in the hands of her family to create a guest list.
Mel hung up and Lottie was nearly knocked off her feet by Odie who was hoping for his morning chicken. Behind him, hoodie up and his free hand unpleasantly lodged down his trousers, stood Robbie. In his other hand, thrust forward was what looked suspiciously like a birthday card. Lottie’s heart was immediately filled with love. Her surly teenager had managed to muster up a card! This was going to be an amazing day. She thanked him rather too profusely, leaving him embarrassed. He hastily retreated from the unwelcome attention, back to his man cave.
Lottie flung open the back door and gulped in two large breaths of fresh air. The familiar gurgling of her irritable bowel reminded her that she needed to remain steady and calm in order to avoid an unwelcome flare-up of her condition. However, thoughts of the day invaded her peace, and she wished she had paid more attention to the guest list.
What she knew for sure was that the family was coming, her brother and sister along with their various offspring and unsuitable spouses. Also her mum, Elspeth, who had until recently lived abroad in France, was making a guest appearance.
Pre-Alice, Lottie had a determined approach of complete denial to the stealthy progression of years leading her forward towards this significant milestone. But now she felt a renewed sense of optimism for the second act of her life, and she intended to embrace her new-found prospects by immersing herself in the celebrations, vowing to put the struggles she’d had to get to this point behind her.
As she poured hot water from the kettle, she contemplated the upcoming family-bonding time with little enthusiasm. Suffice to say, her family was not close. Her elder brother, John, however, had been a source of support in her coming out days. He maintained a determined approached to support her no matter what her life choices were, as she did with him. A prime example of this was his choice of spouse. Lesley, his wife, was not a favourite on Lottie’s list of in-laws. Adding to this was Lesley’s determined scepticism about Lottie’s sexual orientation. She continued to struggle with the concept of Lottie’s newfound sexual proclivity.
“But Lottie, you’re not a real lesbian, you’ve had cock!” she had announced at one family occasion.
Lottie had chosen to humour her sister-in-law, and the conversations she wasn’t able to avoid usually ended with Lottie biting down hard on her lip while nodding and smiling. At a previous gathering of the clan, Lesley had been faced with the wrath of Archie who was a firm supporter of his mum’s choices, and was a flag-waving rainbow-wearing member of the Mum’s out and proud support club. Archie had come in on the back of yet another awkward conversation between Lottie and Lesley, where Lesley had been enquiring as to whether Lottie had considered herself perhaps as bisexual as opposed to gay. Without uttering a word Archie had purposefully marched forward towards his aunt and skilfully pushed a pickled gherkin into her flapping mouth. Aunt Lesley recoiled in horror at the offending pickled object, and pushed Archie’s hand firmly away trying to eject the unwelcome condiment.
“Archie! For goodness sake, what a
re you doing? Get off, you know I hate gherkins!” Suddenly Archie stopped and a broad smile broke out across his juvenile features. With resignation he sat back on his ankles and proceeded to dip into the jar he’d been carrying as he munched on a gherkin.
Shocked by his physical assault, even Lottie was rendered speechless, and both had stared at Archie with something akin to fear.
Archie, oblivious to the fuss he had caused, had paused in his munching to declare through a full mouth. “You don’t like gherkins and Mum doesn’t like boys!”
Point made. Lottie smiled broadly remembering the pride she had felt at her child’s simplistic, yet ingenious, explanation of his point. When it came to worldly understanding and loyalty, Archie was her favourite person for grounding her back to what was important.
Lottie folded napkins around her meagre collection of battered cutlery, while her mind wandered as she recalled her past encounter with her sister’s husband, Tony, the previous year. Lottie had made a dutiful visit to her sister, Amanda’s, home, despite her reservations about their lifestyle and the New Age church organisation they had immersed themselves in. Lottie was not religious but nor was she anti-religion. Nevertheless, after some difficult discussions with her sister on the topic of the Bible’s supposed view of homosexuality—she hated that word— she wasn’t a frequent visitor to her sister’s home.
However, during this particular stay, the church was holding a fellowship gathering which had required Lottie’s participation. To her relief the gathering was very informal, and food and nonalcoholic beverages were in plentiful supply. Mingling as little as possible, Lottie had made several skilful circuits of the downstairs rooms, avoiding in-depth conversation with any of the guests. Tony was a self-proclaimed preacher who had partially completed a course in theology before opting out to make his own interpretation of the ancient religious scripts. Lottie could not deny that their home was impressive. Generally filled with a large collection of social misfits, the occasion exuded acceptance.
