by Lucy Diamond
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lovely as it had been to escape with her friends for a night down at The Partridge, by the following day Gemma couldn’t avoid the feeling that she was one small crisis away from a nervous breakdown. She had tried her hardest to cement a strong new mother–daughter relationship with Karen, but was starting to wonder if it was just too late. After twenty-five years of barely seeing each other, they had little common ground to build on, and Karen was not an easy person to get close to. It was like having a stranger in the house: an opinionated, lazy stranger, constantly passing judgement on her and her family in a passive-aggressive I was only joking! Don’t take it so seriously! sort of way.
‘I don’t like Grandma Karen,’ Darcey confessed in a whisper that evening at bedtime. ‘Why can’t she go away again, and Daddy come back?’
Out of the mouths of babes, Gemma thought, gazing unseeingly at the kitten and pony posters stuck haphazardly on the wall. ‘It’s nice to have Grandma here for a visit – we hardly ever see her,’ she said in the end, stroking her daughter’s soft hair. ‘And she is my mummy, remember.’
‘She’s not a very nice mummy,’ Darcey said reprovingly. ‘Mummies shouldn’t say mean things to people.’
Gemma sighed. Tell me about it, Darce. ‘I know, love, but . . . ’ She straightened up the row of her daughter’s teddies, trying to think of a diplomatic response. She’d always told the children, If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all! – a lesson Karen could have done with learning herself. ‘That’s just Grandma,’ she said, weakly, in the end.
‘What about Daddy? Why doesn’t he come home? Doesn’t he love us any more?’
Ouch. Tough question after tough question tonight.
‘Of course he loves us,’ Gemma said, pulling the cherry-print duvet cover up to Darcey’s chin and tucking it round her. ‘He’s just having a little holiday. He’ll be home as soon as he feels better.’
She had to kiss her daughter and leave the bedroom then, as she had a lump in her throat and knew she was about to dissolve. Her feelings about Spencer had moved from shock and fear, to hurt (Why wouldn’t he speak to her?), to anger (Sod him, then) and now despair. What was going through his mind that he still couldn’t pick up the phone and speak to his own wife and children? What was so bad that it stopped him coming back to them? It had been almost two weeks now since he’d left, the longest they’d ever been apart. The bed was so empty without him, the house so different.
Come home, Spencer, she thought for the millionth time, padding downstairs to where Karen was cackling in front of the television. Please come home.
The next morning Gemma was in the kitchen with Darcey when Karen sauntered in barefoot, already lighting up her first fag of the day.
‘Morning,’ she said huskily, before her eyes fell on her granddaughter, who was sprinkling sugar over her hot Weetabix. ‘Mercy me, Darce, how much sugar are you putting on there? You don’t want to end up a chubster, do you?’
Gemma froze. That’s it, she thought flatly. That is it. The last straw, a line crossed. ‘Don’t say things like that to her,’ she snapped, rounding on Karen. ‘Don’t be so cruel.’
Karen put her hands in the air, her face still puffy from sleep. ‘What have I done now?’ she said waspishly. ‘Pardon me for breathing. Pardon me for giving a shit about my granddaughter’s health.’
Gemma had been making packed lunches at the worktop, but at this, she nearly threw Darcey’s Moshi Monsters sandwich box at her mother’s head. She marched over, grabbed Karen’s arm and dragged her into the utility room, not wanting Darcey to hear what she was about to say. ‘You? Give a shit? That would be a first,’ she hissed. ‘Do you remember what you used to call me when I was little? Do you? Cos I do. Chubs. Chubs! That’s what you called me, and boy, did it stick. It stuck like glue, I couldn’t shake it off, it followed me everywhere. All the way until I was a teenager and ramming my fingers down my throat to try and vomit, because I felt so hideous and fat.’
Karen blinked, taken aback at the savagery of Gemma’s voice, but Gemma wasn’t done yet.
‘That was all you left me with,’ she went on, still gripping her mother’s pudgy forearm. ‘A horrible nickname and the guilt that I might have driven you away. Can you imagine what that felt like? Feeling so unhappy, at the age of eight, that I thought me being chubby was what caused you to leave? Talk about a recipe for self-loathing. Talk about a good way to ruin your daughter’s self-esteem.’
‘I didn’t realize . . . ’ Karen said faintly.
‘No. You didn’t, did you? And you didn’t care, either. But I care about my daughter. Oh yes. I love my daughter a lot more than you’ve ever loved me. So I’ll thank you not to speak to her like that again. To never ever try and make her feel bad about herself or use nasty, emotive words to her face. Because she’s lovely. She’s done nothing wrong. And I won’t let you knock her confidence, not for one second.’ Her lungs felt tight, she was breathing hard. She had always been so desperate for Karen to love her that she’d never dared stand up to her with such vehemence before. There was so much anger boiling in her, she realized. So much unspoken rage. ‘Do you understand me? Have I made myself clear?’
‘All right, all right,’ Karen said, not meeting her eye. ‘Message received. Can I have my cigarette in peace now?’
Gemma gestured to the door, not caring any more. ‘Go for it,’ she said. Go and smoke yourself to death, she thought. We won’t miss you.
That day, when Gemma and Darcey arrived home from school, they found the place was empty. All that was left to show Karen had been there at all was the ashtray of fag-butts outside the back door, a stray pink silk scarf down the side of the sofa and a black lacy G-string in the laundry basket. She’d taken off again, just like that, without a word of warning or explanation. Gone who knew where – a bar in Greece, back to Carlos, up a bloody gum tree.
If this had happened a year ago, Gemma might have dissolved into tears of disappointment, but there was a new hardness inside her now: a tough new shield that protected her. There was also Darcey flinging her little arms around her and saying, ‘I’m glad you’re my mum. I’m glad you’re not like Grandma.’
Gemma hugged her back, comforted by the truth in her daughter’s words. No, she wasn’t like Karen. No way. She was a grafter and a sticker-outer; she was loyal to the ones she loved. She’d never do a bunk, dirty knickers and fag-ends in her wake – never. ‘Well, I’m glad I’ve got you,’ she said chokily. ‘I’m so, so glad. Having you and Will definitely makes me the luckiest mummy in the whole wide world.’
Karen was never going to change, she realized, as she toasted crumpets for Darcey and listened to her excited description of the tadpoles her teacher had brought into school and what had happened at playtime. Karen couldn’t magically transform into the mother Gemma had always wished for, because being a mother and grandmother simply didn’t interest her. It wasn’t Gemma’s fault, or her brothers’, or her dad’s, that Karen had upped and left them all, swapping domestic life for one of sunshine and cocktails. It had just happened, and the way back was now closed. Next time, she’d know not to get her hopes up. If there ever was a next time, that was.
The doorbell rang as she put Darcey’s crumpets on the table, and Gemma crossed her fingers that it wouldn’t be Karen back for the last word. She couldn’t cope with any further tumult today.
Instead she did a double-take when she opened the door, to see Will standing there with a black eye and a torn shirt . . . alongside Judy, of all people.
Gemma gaped. ‘What’s happened? Oh my God, Will. Who did this?’
Will barged past her. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he muttered, slinging his school bag down in the hall with a thump.
‘I was driving through town on my way back from the hospital,’ Judy said, ‘when I saw him wandering around the shops on his own. Been fighting, he said.’
Gemma leaned against the door jamb, wishing the universe would just
give her a frigging break for five minutes. Would it never end? If it wasn’t her husband, it was her mum; and if it wasn’t her mum, it was her son. And now here was Judy, having witnessed yet another family failure, by the sound of things. ‘Fighting,’ she repeated dismally.
‘I’m afraid so.’ Judy hesitated. ‘Oh, love, you look done in,’ she said. ‘Is everything all right?’
The genuine kindness of her voice caught Gemma off-guard. Before she could hoist up the barriers and brush Judy off with a polite, forced ‘We’re fine, thanks’, she found herself bursting into tears of defeat and exhaustion, her defences well and truly down. Without a moment’s hesitation, Judy stepped over the threshold and caught her firmly in an embrace.
‘There, there, pet, you have a good cry,’ she soothed. ‘It’s all right. Don’t worry.’
It was not all right, not by a long shot. Family life was so far from being ‘all right’ that just thinking about how awful everything was made Gemma cry even harder. And what a luxury it was to simply sob and be held, even if it was by someone she’d previously considered a threat. It was only the thought of leaving snot all over Judy’s fleece that finally helped her choke back her sobs.
‘You’ve had a time of it lately, haven’t you?’ Judy said, opening her bum-bag and pulling out a handypack of tissues. ‘Here – have a hanky.’ She stood there uncertainly while Gemma blew her nose. ‘Do you want me to make you a cup of tea? Don’t worry if you’re in the middle of something, but I’m not in any rush, if you want to talk.’
Again it was on the tip of Gemma’s tongue to say no and shoo her away, to keep her at arm’s length, but she could no longer remember why she’d disapproved of Judy in the first place. ‘That would be great,’ she said weakly. ‘Thank you.’
Later that evening Gemma managed to prise the truth out of Will. It sounded as if a group of boys had been teasing him for a while, first about not having any money, and then more recently ‘about Dad going mental’, as he glumly put it. Things had come to a head when Will lost his cool, got into a fistfight and walked out of school.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ he mumbled, once she’d dragged it all out of him. ‘I just couldn’t stand it any more. I hate Dad for bailing out and being so crap. And Grandma was doing my head in, too. Sorry,’ he said again, glancing at her guiltily. ‘I know she’s your mum and all that, but . . . ’
‘It’s okay,’ she told him. ‘I’m the first to admit she’s not the easiest person to get along with.’ She put an arm around him, unable to be cross. ‘You know that she walked out on Grandad, me and your uncles, don’t you? Just like your dad has done now. So I do understand how you feel – confused and angry and hurting. It took me a long time to stop blaming myself that she’d gone. I thought it all had to be my fault, when of course it absolutely wasn’t.’
He said nothing.
‘Just like it’s nobody’s fault that Dad’s gone. Not yours, not mine, not Darcey’s. Okay?’
He nodded, scuffing a foot along the carpet. They were up in his bedroom, both perched on the bed, and she was resisting the urge to kiss his poor battered face, and go out and throw a few punches at those boys herself. She’d given him arnica for the bruising, and pizza to cheer him up, but it would take a few days before the purple-blue swellings began to subside. Thank goodness Judy had been there to bring him home to her. Thank you, Judy, she thought for the hundredth time. I owe you one.
‘I’m sorry you’ve had to put up with all of that on your own,’ she said. ‘The other boys at school, I mean, and the teasing. And I’m sorry if I’ve been so busy with work and everything else that you haven’t come to talk to me. But I’m not going anywhere, you know. I’m staying right here with you and Darcey. And I’ll always put you two first, if you need me, all right? I mean it.’ God, did she ever. She remembered her dad making a similar speech back in the day, gruff and fierce, and it had made her feel safe. That was all she wanted for her children: for them to know she had their backs.
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘I know things have been strange this year. We’ve all had a tough time. Which is why it’s so important to stick together and help each other – me, you and Darcey. We’re a team. And as soon as Dad comes back’ – If he ever bloody comes back, she thought with a grimace – ‘then he’ll be part of the team again too. Okay?’
He nodded again.
She leaned against him for a moment: her sensitive, taller-by-the-day son, with pimples breaking out on his forehead; the son who’d stood up for her against her own mother, and who was feeling the absence of his father so deeply that he’d lashed out against his tormentors. He was hormonal, Will, but had always been the most mild-mannered, laid-back boy, never previously one to get in a scrap or an argument. ‘In the meantime we’ve got Grandad, and your uncles, and friends . . . ’ she went on. ‘And we’ll be fine. We’ll get through it together.’
‘And Judy,’ he said.
‘And we’ve got Judy,’ Gemma agreed. Judy, whom she’d misjudged quite badly, by all accounts. She’d have to think of some way to apologize and start afresh. God, life was complicated sometimes.
As she left Will’s room and trudged downstairs, she decided that enough was enough. She couldn’t keep accepting the doesn’t-want-to-speak-to-you calls at Jonny’s. Driving up to Newcastle in person and persuading Spencer to come home was impossible right now, with the children and work to think about, but she had to reach out to him somehow. She had to act. In sickness and in health, she reminded herself. Through the hard times and the good. They had both said some pretty hurtful things to each other, but the marriage was bigger than that, wasn’t it? She was not like Karen: bailing out when the going got tough. Her marriage was worth saving – and she would bloody well fight for it.
She curled up in her favourite armchair with a pad of paper and a pen, and tried to put her feelings into a letter.
Dear Spencer,
Hi. I hope you’re okay. I’ve been thinking about you, and us, and our marriage, a lot since you left and, even though things have been pretty crappy so far this year, I’ve been reminding myself that this wasn’t always the case. We’ve had so many happy times, Spence. So many shining, gorgeous moments.
Remember when we first started going out together and I made you that mix-tape, and you took the piss out of me for liking New Kids on the Block and Kylie & Jason?? Don’t worry, I’m not about to make you another one. Instead I’m going to compile a Greatest Hits selection of us so far: Gemma and Spencer, Volume 1. Just because I think we’ve got something special here. Just in case you’d forgotten.
So, coming straight in at number five: Holiday in Majorca, pre-children.
Oh my God-d-d! . . . I have so many funny memories about this holiday. You thinking you’d forgotten your passport at the airport and getting your dad to drive over and turn your flat upside down looking for it – before finding it yourself, tucked in the ‘safe place’ at the bottom of your carry-on bag. Me thinking I was Madonna on the dance-floor in that nightclub, then skidding on a bloody ice-cube and going flying arse-over-tit in front of all those people. Having cocktails on the balcony of our room and thinking we were dead cosmopolitan, right until the wind blew the door shut and we got locked out there for hours! Oh, and do you remember that moment in the sea?? I know I do . . .
Moving reluctantly on to a new entry (boom-boom) at number four: Southwold Beach, Valentine’s Day, fifteen years ago.
One of the happiest days of my life – just you, me, an empty beach and an engagement ring. It was perfect, Spence. So perfect. And then afterwards, when we went to the pub to celebrate, do you remember?, you burst in there and announced to everyone, ‘I’m going to marry this woman!’ and we got free drinks all night. And then of course we were too pissed to drive back and ended up staying in that weird B&B and both had to bunk off work the next day . . . I loved it, though. I loved how proud you were of me, that you wanted to tell the world, starting with every last punter in the Lord Nelson pub. A really sp
ecial day.
On to number three: Corsica, two summers ago.
I could have picked so many family holidays, you know. They’re all up there in the Greatest Hits compilation. But this one stands out to me as being the very best of all. It wasn’t just the amazing weather. It wasn’t just the stunning scenery (the colour of the sea, do you remember? I couldn’t get over it!). But it was the first time since we’d had kids that it felt like a real holiday again. W & D were that bit older and we were able to do such fun stuff with them – snorkelling, going on that boat trip, horse-riding along the beach . . . oh, it was amazing. I wish we could do it all over again. (But we could, Spence. This is what I’m getting at. We COULD.) I can remember, quite clearly, rubbing cocoa-butter into your warm, sun-bronzed shoulders back at the villa, and thinking how utterly, utterly happy I was. How I had everything I had ever wanted right there in my family.
Number two: our wedding day, Larkmead Church.
Where do I start? I’ll never forget walking up the aisle with my dad and seeing you there waiting for me. Was there ever a more handsome, funny, loving, loyal groom? I don’t think so.
The sun shone, our friends and family were all there celebrating with us, and you had tears in your eyes as you made your vows, you big softy. (I loved you for that.) It was such a wonderful day. I don’t think I stopped smiling once. And then after the dinner and the speeches and our dance (Whitney!!) and the disco, we were in the taxi at last, off to spend our wedding night in that posh hotel, and it was just the two of us again, me in that big dress and you in your suit . . . Just thinking about the moment we drove off and looked at each other, it still gives me goosebumps even now. ‘Hello, Mrs Bailey,’ you said, a bit drunk and sexy. I’m telling you, I nearly exploded with lust right there and then on the back seat.
NUMBER ONE!
Okay, so I’m actually cheating here, with two glorious memories jammed into top spot, but I couldn’t separate them. It is, of course, the days our babies arrived – our beautiful, solemn-eyed son, and our beaming, dancing daughter. I’m having a little tear right now, thinking about those precious, precious moments, a newborn baby snuffling in my arms, looking into your eyes and feeling awash with so much love. Do you remember what you said when Darcey was born? ‘We’re all here now. Our family’s complete’ and I was just like, YES. EXACTLY. Nothing will beat those two special days. They are cemented into my heart, locked in there like treasure in a vault. And we made them happen, Spence. How lucky we have been.
