Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?: An absolutely laugh-out-loud and feel-good page-turner

by Kristen Bailey

  ‘Aunty Lucy, my eyes have gone fuzzy. I’m going to throw up,’ Violet squeals.

  ‘Get her down, Lucy,’ says a voice from behind us. ‘She’s on my watch.’

  Dad appears, Joe in his buggy fast asleep; he’s done the gallant thing of walking Joe around the park a few times so he’ll nod off. After this park visit, Dad is taking charge of the little ones as Lucy and I have plans for a long overdue night out, though I do hope I can stay awake long enough to actually survive it. Lucy catches Violet and allows her to run off to find a bouncy seahorse.

  ‘I love him so much, Beth. He really is so lovely,’ my dad says to me as he half hugs me. In Joe he has his first grandson – my little one broke the Callaghan girl curse. He treats them all the same regardless – he loves taking Meg’s kids to football matches, he taught Iris how to mend her bike – but he likes to joke that he finally has an ally for when it all gets a bit too screechy. I have no idea what he means.

  He is also the kindest, gentlest person I know. He’s a world away from my mother in so many ways – an antidote to her perhaps. Will thinks he always looks a bit shocked. Like all these women appeared around him out of nowhere and he’s still learning how to deal with it. He knows about Will now, even though we tried to keep it from him, and I can see he’s been trying to work out the best way to give advice. Lucy comes over and drapes herself off his shoulders.

  ‘Not as cute as me when I was a baby though, eh?’

  ‘He may have you beat, Luce. You looked just like a Pre-Raphaelite cherub, but the noises you made – it could have caused seismic shifts,’ he replies.

  I laugh as she pouts. I was five when she was born. It was my earliest memory, my mum introducing us to this mass of platinum-blonde curls. We’re calling her Lucy. That rhymes with juicy, said Meg. We all laughed and she responded by grabbing a handful of Meg’s hair and pulling, hard.

  ‘AUNTY LUCY! I’M STUCK!’

  Our three heads swing around immediately to Iris and then back at Lucy. She’s the only one who’s going to fit up there. She rushes to the rescue and Dad and I take a seat on a nearby bench.

  ‘It’s all she’s good for these days, eh?’ he says, watching her as she extracts Iris from the top of a ladder. ‘That and keeping your mother on her toes.’

  ‘Don’t we all do that?’

  ‘Lucy seems to have a talent for it.’

  We sit quietly and he studies me staring into space, picking at some errant spot on my forehead.

  ‘And Will? How’s all that?’ he asks me.

  ‘Still AWOL.’

  ‘That’s a very accurate use of that term.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Without leave. I am sorry that he’s having this moment. I like Will. Have you been chatting more?’

  ‘We’ve been trying. I think. Actually I try not to think about it too much.’

  He pushes the buggy back and forth to keep Joe asleep. Mum bundled him up with a sleepsuit, hat and two blankets before we left to shield him from the early winter air and I am immediately jealous. While I love my parka, it was bought on the cheap and without insulation. I snuggle up closer to Dad.

  ‘Your mum and I used to book in leave when you lot were growing up.’

  ‘Leave?’

  ‘Beth, we had four daughters under the age of ten at one point. It was necessary.’

  ‘I don’t remember…’

  ‘Your mother made us both a rota.’

  ‘That seems a bit drastic.’

  ‘Have you not met your mother? It wasn’t all smooth going though. I walked out on you girls one summer.’ He says this thoughtfully, obviously with some regret.

  I sit up, curious, as I have no recollection of this ever happening. ‘You did?’

  ‘I won’t lie. It wasn’t my proudest moment. I think it had hit peak hormones and in-fighting. They’d changed all the exam marking systems on us, it was the summer the car broke down on the South Circular and your mother made me buy that stupid van.’

  I remember that bit. The police had to tow us away after we caused two-mile tailbacks, and then came the van. Mum thought it was cost efficient but by the time we’d all piled out of it, we looked like some musical tribute act, with Dad the leader.

  ‘I remember that summer. Mum said you went on a DofE trip with your school.’

  ‘I went walking in the Peak District with my friend, Johnny.’

  ‘You were gone for weeks,’ I reply, confused, slightly hurt.

  ‘I did a lot of walking.’

  I can just picture him now. It’s Dad’s thing. He’d have worn knee-high socks and a compass around his neck. He’d have drunk a lot of tea, quietly, pensive. He’d have eaten his beloved corned beef which my mother refused to have in the house because it looks like dog food.

  ‘Oh… But you came back?’

  ‘Naturally. Your mother didn’t speak to me for a month after. She was glad I’d “got it out of my system” but she was fuming. I was on washing-up duty for six months after that.’

  ‘And Mum? Did she ever do similar?’

  ‘Never. Which is why she’s much better than me, always has been. We just don’t say that to her face.’

  We both smile. Lucy is still on that climbing frame and other parents look on in dismay. Someone reminds her that the equipment is for people aged twelve and under and she tells them to wind their necks in.

  ‘I just needed space to see things a bit more clearly. Parenthood has quite a sharp, intense spotlight; it’s stressful. You forget to look after yourself sometimes, to breathe. You’re not a bad person if you need to work out your feelings sometimes, if you don’t do it right all of the time.’

  ‘You think that’s what Will’s done?’

  ‘I don’t know, love. You, Ems, Megs and Gracie picked such different partners. All very different to each other and me, I reckon. I am sorry I can’t help more. Lucy told me he wrote you a letter though.’

  ‘He did but I didn’t read it.’

  He goes silent for a moment. ‘Lucy may have taped it back and sent us all a photo of it.’

  I swing my head around to hear this. ‘Us?’ I glare over at Lucy, trying to work out ways I could kill her on a slide.

  ‘Everyone else in the family. It’s a very sincere note. He is very sorry. It explained that he thought there was a way this all should be. Family life, parenthood. How your sisters made it look so easy and how hard he was finding it. He apologised for being selfish and callous with your feelings.’

  I pause. I know why I didn’t read it. I didn’t want to be disappointed. I didn’t want my pride to get in the way. And he’s still not here.

  ‘Do you think it’s enough?’ I ask my dad.

  ‘I think parenthood isn’t a perfect thing. He’s working that out for himself now.’

  I hug him and rest my head on his shoulder. It is my favourite shoulder. He’s helping more than he knows by not judging Will. We watch as Lucy storms over, pushing her sleeves up as she does so.

  ‘Did you see that mingebag over there trying to pick a fight?’

  ‘Handled so classily too, Lucy,’ our dad says.

  I scowl at her for what she did with that letter. I’ll tackle that later.

  ‘I learned that from Mum. Anyway, squidge up…’

  We move up so she can have Dad’s other shoulder.

  ‘Did you see me climb that climbing frame, Dad? Did you? Wasn’t I great?’

  He rolls his eyes at her. ‘Very good. Do you remember that time you scaled the shed and tried to jump into that paddling pool in the garden?’

  ‘Didn’t I break my fibula?’

  ‘Three days in hospital and a visit from social services.’

  I understand now why Dad may have taken that long walk that summer. I remember Lucy’s accident well. We thought she was faking until she got up and her leg turned into spaghetti. Emma saw it and threw up which is a wonder, Mum says, that she ever made it into medicine.

  ‘They’ve done this park up
nicely,’ Dad says, looking around at the crowds of children squealing and doing rounds of the monkey bars. Nearby, a dad is spinning the roundabout, then puts his hands to his thighs, looking like he might pass out. ‘It was a dump when I used to bring you here. Mum and I had to do the rounds first to check for needles and used condoms.’

  ‘Nice, Dad,’ I say.

  ‘Your mum used to come here with nail polish remover and take off all the tags and bad words on that climbing frame before she’d let you on it.’

  ‘She did?’ Lucy says. ‘Obviously worked on me.’

  Dad shakes his head. We look over to see Violet and Iris playing on a see-saw.

  ‘So I have news,’ Lucy suddenly announces. ‘It’s very important news but I need to tell just the two of you for now. Don’t tell Emma because she has all that ex-husband gubbins going on.’

  Dad furrows his brow. Why can’t we tell Emma? Have you shagged her new boyfriend?

  ‘And don’t tell Mum because she’ll stress and fly out there and make a fuss.’

  Dad’s whole body tenses up next to me. ‘Grace, what’s wrong with Grace?’

  My mind also goes into freefall. Dad’s eyes glaze over. Lucy met up with Grace for a weekend in Amsterdam a couple of weeks ago. It was fun, debauched, but Gracie had sounded fine. We just all hope and pray that the universe is looking after her and showing her some kindness. She is owed.

  ‘Grace is coming back next week,’ she says slowly. We all know that, we’re excited about her returning.

  ‘She’s coming back with some babies.’

  Dad and I sit here, trying to take this information in. I do the calculations in my head. She wasn’t pregnant when she left; did she get pregnant out there? Does she have a boyfriend? Or did she have a fling? I can see Dad asking himself the same questions.

  ‘When she was in Vietnam she met these two little girls out there and she’s adopted them.’

  Grace? Grace is a mother? I look over and tears start to trail down Dad’s cheeks. He hits Lucy on the arm.

  ‘You’ve had this information for an age, why didn’t you tell us? Why hasn’t Grace told us? Does Meg know?’

  I hug him and hand him one of Joe’s muslins to wipe his face. These muslins are really useful.

  A whole new identity, a brand new life, just like that. Our Gracie, with daughters.

  ‘She wanted to be sure. I found out in Amsterdam. Their names are Maya and Cleo, they’re three and one, and man, they are cute as hell.’ She gets out her phone and shows me a picture of them sitting on Grace’s lap. It’s the best picture I’ve ever seen. The girls are laughing, pure joy on their faces, and Grace looks relaxed, happy.

  Dad studies it for ages, his bottom lip trembling. ‘I’m going to have eight grandchildren,’ he says, confused. ‘How?’

  ‘She’ll tell you the story when she gets back. It’s lovely.’

  ‘Does she need anything?’ Dad asks.

  ‘She just wants to do things on her own for the moment. I offered, but she said to just tell you two so you can help prepare Mum. This will be a shock and Grace doesn’t want drama, so you have to help, Dad. Rein her in a bit.’

  Dad looks like it might be an unfathomable task.

  Lucy turns to me. ‘And she wanted you to know because you’re chill. Plus she needs baby things and you have all the baby stuff.’

  ‘I have a shop’s worth,’ I say, smiling broadly. ‘Oh, Luce. She’s a mum?’ Tears roll down my cheeks too. She’s going to be an amazing mother. I have new nieces. And for a split second the first person I want to tell is Will. He loved Grace and her husband, Tom. When Tom passed away it broke his heart. The news would mean the world to him.

  ‘Why are you all crying?’ asks Violet, skipping over. She instinctively goes to Dad first and hugs him, embedding herself in his fluffy beard.

  ‘I’ve just heard some really lovely news, that’s all.’

  ‘But Pops, you never cry.’

  She’s right. However stressed, angry or sad he may have been while we were growing up, I never saw tears. I wonder if he shed them elsewhere. This makes me cry even more. Violet gives me a strange look, probably because I’m an ugly crier. I snot like a SodaStream.

  ‘I thought you were crying because that woman over there told Lucy to stick something up her bum?’ Violet says.

  We look over at the woman glaring at us from the sandpit. It’s not the face of a happy woman.

  ‘I hope you gave her what for, Luce,’ Dad says.

  ‘Of course. I told her to stick it up her own arse, she might like it.’

  Dad closes his eyes. ‘Another phrase you learned from your mother?’

  Lucy roars with laughter. ‘I didn’t think you and Mum were into that?’

  ‘Only on Wednesdays,’ Dad replies.

  I crease over in laughter as Lucy sits there and, for once, has no words. Nothing.

  Track Twenty

  ‘Songbird’ – Oasis (2002)

  ‘Is that a bra? Or an actual top?’ I ask Lucy. I scan her outfit from the giant puffer coat to the skinny ripped jeans. ‘I swear we used to have crop tops like that when we were little. Mum bought them in multipacks and we all shared.’

  ‘And I stuffed mine with socks. Remember that kid who lived down our road, Mitchell? I kissed him in his garden when I was twelve. He felt my boobs, one of the socks fell out and he cried. He’d thought he’d squeezed too hard.’

  I sit on the Tube in hysterics as a man opposite us watches closely. How are these two people related? he seems to be thinking.

  ‘It’s Calvin Klein. There’s an overlay thing,’ Lucy replies.

  ‘That’s completely see-through.’

  ‘Prudey Judy.’

  ‘Slaggy Maggie.’

  The man opposite is even more confused now. It really does look like I’ve taken this reprobate under my wing as part of some community project. I peer over Lucy’s shoulder as she trawls through lengths of Snapchat messages, where she appears to be chatting to someone called D’Shaun.

  Lucy and I used to go out a lot, pre-Joe. She was the sort whose evening would start at eleven and Will and I, like sheep, would get sucked in. Eight hours later, we’d be eating bagels and watching the sun come up over Stoke Newington. I want to say I miss those days, but really I think all I might miss are the bagels. With salt beef, pickles, dripping in mustard. I could totally be down with that tonight.

  ‘Hey. After we’re done, I could get us into a club in Mayfair?’ she says.

  ‘Posh.’

  ‘I mean there’s a bit of an S&M vibe but you don’t have to partake.’

  I give Lucy a strange look. So we go to a bar in trainers, sit and have a G&T while we watch rich people get teased, blindfolded and shagged? ‘I’m good. How do you know about this club?’ I reply.

  ‘I worked there for a bit.’

  I raise my eyebrows at her.

  ‘I expect that sort of response from Emma but not from you,’ she says. ‘It was bar work, you mucky thing. I saw some stuff though. It’s a lot of fun watching old men show up in their stained Y-fronts sitting in cages with their leather masks.’

  I’m pretty sure if I wanted to do that, I could just log onto Pornhub and drink from the comfort of my own sofa.

  ‘Speaking of which… Have you had a ménage à moi yet?’

  I love how Lucy says this so casually as we sit on the District Line. If I didn’t know what that meant, she also does a strange action like she’s mixing at imaginary decks.

  ‘Ummm…’

  ‘I’ll take that as a no.’ She looks unimpressed with me. ‘I’m disappointed with you, Beth. I thought sexually, you and me had something in common. We had to literally push Emma into having sex again. You used to be quite open about these things.’

  ‘Are you calling me frigid?’

  ‘I’m saying that when I’m feeling shit about life, I have a wank and I feel better. It’s finding joy in small things.’

  ‘I don’t reckon your bits are
that small anymore.’

  She pushes me in my seat. ‘Ha. Ha. Ha. I haven’t had a baby come through mine yet. Yours must be a like a wizard’s sleeve.’ The insult comes with more actions. ‘At least you haven’t lost your sense of humour. You are all awful to me, it’s because you’re so jealous.’

  I’ll admit there are shades of truth there in her words. We’d all like to be a little more Lucy.

  ‘It’s because you’re perfect.’

  She hooks her arm into mine, sensing no sarcasm in my tone.

  ‘There’s no such thing, you know that, right? Even I have my things.’

  ‘What? A scar on your leg from when you fell off the shed?’ I joke.

  ‘I’m coarse, flighty, desperate for attention, immature and I’ve worn so many wigs for work that I have really bad scalp psoriasis.’

  To prove a point, she takes off her beanie and shows me lines of red patches and flakes on her head. A couple on a date next to us look at us strangely.

  ‘Luce. That looks sore. What are you putting on that?’

  ‘Olive oil. Emma keeps telling me it’s scalp herpes and I keep telling her she’s a bitch.’ She puts her hat back on and then cups her hands around my face.

  ‘Perfect is boring. Now do I need to get you a vibrator for Christmas?’

  I laugh and shake my head. I have one of those somewhere but I may need to dust it off and replace the batteries.

  ‘I just want to see you happy, B.’

  I shrug. Am I happy? Who knows? In these situations, I tend to compare my happiness to the lowest alternatives and by that measure, I am OK. I love Lucy checking in to see how these levels can be topped up though. My phone beeps with a message from Giles.

  QR codes and VIP passes attached for the after-party too. Looking forward to seeing you xx

  It’s not just any night out tonight. We’re off to see Special K do a guest segment alongside one of the biggest rappers in the country. I was in two minds about accepting the invitation as I’m not sure I have the energy for a full riotous rap gig, but Lucy persuaded me otherwise.