Faking It

by Portia MacIntosh

‘Erm…’ I start, but she gets there first.

  ‘You’re not my mum,’ she tells me, as though she’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

  ‘Well…’

  ‘You’re not my mum – my mum would never do that,’ she says, seriously freaked out.

  ‘To be fair, I think she might have, having heard what he did,’ I tell her, knowing full well that the jig is up.

  ‘Auntie Ella?’ she squeaks as the most logical explanation occurs to her.

  We’re away from the scene of the crime now, so I pull over again, take off my seat belt and turn to look her in the eye.

  ‘Yep,’ I say, kind of casually, given the circumstances.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she blurts. ‘Oh my God! What are you doing here? Where’s Mum?’

  ‘Look, it’s all OK, your mum is fine,’ I reassure her. This has already been one hell of a day and she seems so freaked out – the last thing she needs to hear is that her mum is in prison.

  ‘Your mum just needed a break,’ I tell her. ‘So, I said I’d fill in.’

  ‘You look just like her,’ she tells me. ‘Only much cooler. So, it’s been you since Mum supposedly got a haircut?’

  ‘Just before my haircut,’ I admit. ‘But pretty much around that time.’

  I watch as a visible wave of relief washes over her.

  ‘Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re not her,’ she says. ‘She would have killed me for going to that party, and then for what I said after – I was expecting you to drown me in the pond, or, I mean, I was expecting her to drown me… This is confusing.’

  ‘Oh, believe me, I know,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I think your mum would have handled it better than you think, you know.’

  ‘No, she definitely would have flipped,’ she replies. ‘You’re being so cool about it. Mum always talks about you like you’re the worst-case scenario.’

  I don’t know what to say to that. It feels like a huge slap in the face, that Emma would say that about me. Especially given her current circumstances, and the fact that I’m the one here, looking after her kids, taking care of things.

  ‘Maybe I’m misunderstood,’ I tell her. ‘Or maybe my life went a little off course, and your mum struggles not to compare how I’m doing to how she’s doing… You need to make sure you get the best start in life. You’re an intelligent young woman – and you’re way more like me than you are your mum – but you need to do what I didn’t get chance to, which is to harness all of it and put it into something good. I know you think I’m a square, banging on about your exams, but, seriously, just do them. Just boss them, get them out of the way, and then do whatever you want but know that you have them under your belt.’

  ‘I guess I got distracted,’ she says. ‘I just wanted to have some fun.’

  ‘You have so much time for boys – and they’re not all like dip-shit Eddie,’ I tell her. ‘Some of them are worth it.’

  ‘Like Josh’s uncle?’ she says with a cheeky smile. ‘Suddenly that makes a lot more sense.’

  ‘I was thinking more along the lines of your dad – not for me, obviously, but for your mum. She’s so lucky to have him,’ I say.

  ‘Josh’s uncle is seriously hot though,’ she says, chatting to me as though I’m her friend now.

  ‘Oh God, yeah,’ I reply, pretending to fan myself with my hand. ‘He’s on a date with his ex tonight though.’

  ‘Thanks for being so cool,’ Millie tells me. ‘Mum really never would have trashed his car like that – if only because she loves this car more than anything on the planet.’

  Fuck, I really hope I haven’t damaged it.

  ‘She probably wouldn’t have told the girl he was in bed with that he had a diarrhoea problem either,’ I add with a laugh.

  ‘Oh my God, you didn’t?’ she replies.

  ‘Yep,’ I reply. ‘You’re welcome.’

  The satisfied smile on her face makes it all worth it.

  ‘You’re not going to tell my mum about any of this, are you?’ she asks.

  ‘If you promise to knuckle down at school, and give the shady older boys a miss, then I don’t need to tell her,’ I say. ‘And I can give you my number, so that you always have someone you can talk to about these things. I need you to do me a favour though. The, erm, relaxation resort that your mum is at – she’s there for another couple of weeks, and you know what she’s like, she’s terrified of looking bad in front of other people, even though I tell her not to give a crap what other people think of her.’

  It’s fascinating, how easy it is to just be myself in front of Millie now, but I can’t help but notice how, even though I’m being me, I’m still curbing my bad language a little.

  ‘I need you to keep pretending that I’m your mum,’ I say. ‘Only your dad and Marco, Josh’s uncle, know the truth. As far as everyone else is concerned, I’m your mum.’

  ‘OK, sure,’ Millie replies.

  She unfastens her seat belt and leans across the car to hug me, squeezing me tightly.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ she says. ‘Thanks for everything.’

  ‘It’s all good,’ I tell her. ‘It’s just nice to get to spend time with you. Come on, let’s go home. Your dad has taken Henry out bowling and he said they were going to get dinner somewhere after. We could grab a takeaway and have a girly night?’

  ‘I would absolutely love that,’ she replies.

  ‘Awesome,’ I say. ‘We can ransack your mum’s dressing room, use some of her fancy face creams.’

  I think Millie and I are about as excited as each other at the idea of a girls’ night. But it’s about so much more than whacking on a Hugh Grant movie, ordering a pizza and slathering our skin in something from Yves Saint Laurent. I’m excited to hang out with my niece, to get to know her properly, and for her to get to know me – the real me, not the urban-legend version of me that her mum warns her about.

  This is what I’m going to miss, when Emma gets out and things go back to normal. It isn’t the heated car seats and the Balenciaga trainers that make me feel as if I’m walking on clouds; it’s having a family. Now that I’ve got one, I don’t want to let it go.

  38

  Weeks ago, when Marco was trying to rumble me and he caught me out with the whole ‘rugby away game’ line, I assumed the early morning away game was made up. Turns out it isn’t made up, it’s a football game instead. So, I was up early this morning, convincing a reluctant Henry that he’d have such a fun time at his football match, even though I was fairly sure that couldn’t possibly be true, not being up this early on a weekend, in the cold and the dark.

  I reminded him how excited his dad was to see him play and, God love him, he reluctantly got up and got ready.

  It turns out, because we were going to a football match, Emma’s car is the car for stuff like that; Rich’s car is a muddy-children-free zone, so I had to drive. Also, because I genuinely had already offered to give Marco and Josh a lift, they travelled with us. So, it was me and Rich in the front and Marco, Henry and Josh in the back. We all made small talk, all the way here, but what I really wanted to ask about was last night, and how Marco’s date went. But I knew I couldn’t do that in front of Rich, not without him wondering why I was asking – I really don’t want to seem like I care, even though I really do.

  Watching kids play football would be like watching paint dry – if paint were really bad at drying, and you were terrified the paint was going to break its neck.

  It’s so cold out here. Not even the half-time cups of cheap instant coffee are doing anything to help take the chill off. I honestly think that the only way to keep warm would be to see if one of the coaches would sub me in, but I know for a fact these kids could run rings around me. Then again, if I did try my luck running around the pitch in these heeled boots, I suppose the inevitable ambulance might be warm…

  Rich is loving spectating, cheering the boys on from the sidelines, and, I have to admit, it’s hard not to root for Henry when he gets the ball, not that he do
es all that often.

  The final whistle is blown and, with a score of 7-5, the boys’ team is named the winner.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ I ask Rich, noticing the look on his face as he stares down at his phone.

  ‘Yes,’ he replies. ‘I do need to pop into the office though.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ I reply.

  ‘Don’t worry, a taxi to Manchester from here isn’t far at all. I’ll just get a taxi there and then another one home later,’ he reasons.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I reply. ‘I can hurry the boys up?’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine,’ he insists. ‘Let the boys enjoy their victory. See you at home tonight.’

  Rich gives me a peck on the cheek, for appearances, before he leaves. Then it’s just me and Marco.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, kind of awkwardly.

  ‘Hi,’ he replies with a smile. ‘How did it go last night?’

  ‘It actually went well,’ I tell him in hushed tones, just in case any of the other parents are listening. ‘It sounds like the little shit was trying to pressure her into having sex and when she said no, he just did it with someone else.’

  ‘Wow, that is brutal,’ Marco replies. ‘Someone needs to teach the bastard a lesson.’

  ‘They do,’ I reply. ‘But I hear someone smashed into his car while he was at the party – such a shame.’

  ‘Oh my, what a terrible accident,’ Marco replies sarcastically.

  ‘How was—?’

  ‘Mum, we won, we won,’ Henry interrupts, grabbing me by the wrist, yanking on my arm like a bell-ringer.

  ‘I saw! I’m so proud of you,’ I tell him as I ruffle his hair. ‘You too, Josh.’

  I really am proud of Henry. He might not be my kid, but I’ve got such a lump in my throat, seeing him so happy and so proud of himself. It’s nice.

  ‘Why don’t we all go for some lunch?’ Marco suggests. ‘To celebrate.’

  ‘Yes, let’s do it,’ I reply. ‘I’m starving.’

  The boys charge off towards the car. Marco and I follow closely behind.

  ‘What were you saying before?’ he asks me.

  ‘What?’

  I play dumb, because I don’t really care, do I? (Spoiler alert: I really do.)

  ‘You said “how was” and then the boys interrupted,’ he says, refreshing my memory.

  ‘Oh…’ I pause, as though this information isn’t at the forefront of my brain. ‘Oh, yeah, I was just asking how your date went last night.’

  ‘My non-date,’ he corrects me. ‘I didn’t go in the end.’

  ‘Is that my fault? I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to ruin your night with my dramatic family.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ he insists. ‘I just thought about it and, well, someone who would kick me out on the street for losing my job isn’t someone I want to go for a drink with.’

  I can’t help but smile.

  ‘That’s pretty good advice you gave yourself,’ I tell him.

  ‘Yeah, it sounded like the no-nonsense advice the new and improved Ask Alison would give,’ he replies.

  Finally, at the car, we strap the boys in before getting into the front seats.

  ‘I’m so hungry I’ll eat anything, anywhere,’ Marco tells the boys. ‘What do you fancy?’

  ‘Can we go to McDonalds?’ Josh asks.

  ‘Ooh, yeah, I could murder some Maccies chips,’ I reply, with an enthusiasm I only seem to reserve for food.

  ‘Can we really?’ Henry replies.

  Oh, God, is that another thing Emma isn’t a fan of? I’d feel terrible saying no now, and they have just been running around all morning, and it is just once…

  ‘Yeah, why not?’ I reply. ‘Let’s go!’

  I can’t believe Marco didn’t meet his ex last night. He was all dressed up and ready to go, and I know he helped me find Millie, but the night was still young. He must have just genuinely decided that he didn’t want to, which sounds to me as if he’s definitely over her.

  Oh, if only I weren’t a married woman. But I don’t suppose I will be for much longer.

  39

  ‘Mum, dinner is amazing,’ Millie announces, all smiles.

  Rich practically chokes on his ratatouille.

  ‘Are you feeling OK?’ he asks her. ‘You’re being nice.’

  Henry sniggers.

  ‘I just really appreciate everything Mum is doing for us,’ Millie insists, potentially laying it on a bit too thick to be true.

  ‘It really is good,’ Rich says. ‘You’re not eating much.’

  ‘I’m worried I’m not going to be able to fit into my outfit for the fundraiser,’ I confess. ‘Not that I’m losing weight for an outfit – I would never do that – I’m just so bloated. I’ve had a few days of eating rubbish.’

  ‘What are you wearing?’ Millie asks curiously.

  ‘You know the scene in Grease where Sandy finally decides to be a bad girl?’ I say. ‘That.’

  ‘Oh my God, what’s Dad wearing?’ she asks with a playful look of worry.

  ‘You won’t believe what your mum’s got me wearing,’ he says – but he sounds pretty excited about it. ‘A black suit with a bright pink shirt, and a ridiculous black wig.’

  ‘No!’ she shrieks, but she’s smiling. ‘I cannot imagine you in that.’

  ‘I did ask him which Danny Zuko he wanted to be, and gave him all the options, and you know your dad, obviously he chose the one in the suit,’ I say with a laugh. ‘Always business.’

  After dinner the kids head up to their rooms and Rich helps me clear the table.

  ‘I don’t know what you’ve done to Millie, but thank you,’ he says. ‘Thank you for everything, across the board, you’re doing such an incredible job.’

  ‘She’s such a brilliantly intelligent young woman,’ I tell him. ‘And she had that going on long before I got here.’

  ‘It’s just so nice to see everyone so happy,’ he says – he’s obviously not including the whole ‘wife in prison’ thing, which he never seems to want to talk about, even when we’re alone, and I’m not going to make him. ‘I’m so relaxed, I might even chill out down here, watch a bit of sport.’

  ‘Well, have fun,’ I tell him. ‘I’m going to go upstairs, read some more of my mum’s book. I’m flying through it now.’

  ‘Are you enjoying it?’ he asks me.

  ‘Enjoying isn’t the word,’ I reply with a laugh. ‘I’ll let you know when I finish it.’

  I had to break off for dinner, but I was reading one of Mum’s later chapters, which was all about making amends. Auntie Angela is firmly of the opinion that you cannot live a peaceful life if you have anything hanging over you. Covering everything from never going to bed on an argument to forgiving and forgetting before you pass away (Mum sure knew how to poke people in the emotions), the chapter could not be clearer: clear your conscience.

  I know I haven’t been the world’s best anything during my thirty-four years on this earth but I don’t think I’ve ever done anything I truly regret… except maybe one thing.

  I shove on some warm clothes and head back downstairs.

  ‘I’m just going to get some air,’ I call to Rich.

  ‘OK, no worries,’ he calls back.

  As I head for the front door Marty comes bounding over, hoping it’s time for a walk, even though Rich only took him for one, before dinner.

  I open the door just enough to squeeze my body through, so that Marty can’t run out with me. As I do, I hear a notification come through on my phone.

  It’s from Marco:

  What are you up to?

  I reply:

  Digging up the garden – want to join me?

  I’ll be there in 10.

  ‘I have to admit, when you asked me if I wanted to dig up the garden with you, my brain went somewhere else completely,’ Marco jokes.

  I smile as I hand him a trowel.

  ‘You actually want to dig up the garden?’ he says with a laugh. ‘Why?’

  ‘Do you rem
ember me telling you about Simon Wright, the kid who hit me with his bike?’ I say, keeping my voice low because we’re in the garden, at the side of the house.

  ‘Yeah, he got his bike confiscated for it, so his dad bought him a new one,’ Marco recalls.

  ‘Well, I didn’t exactly leave it at that,’ I admit. ‘He turned up to school with this new bike, even better than the last, and again, he did his usual swerve into me as he rode past me. I was so, so annoyed. It just felt like such a huge slap in the face, I wanted him to pay.’

  ‘He’s buried in this garden, isn’t he?’ Marco jokes with a faux-serious look of horror.

  ‘Nothing quite so sinister, although it was a body part I buried,’ I admit.

  Now Marco looks worried for real, which only makes it funnier.

  ‘He parked his bike at the front of the school and – remember what I told you about the school statue? He parked it next to that. And that day in particular, we were playing hockey in PE, and I wasn’t enjoying it at all, so I pretended I needed the loo, to kill some time. And as I walked past that new bike, with the hockey stick in my hand…’

  ‘You hit his bike?’ Marco replies.

  ‘No, I missed his bike. I hit the statue,’ I confess. ‘Took its hand clean off.’

  ‘Oh, shit, so that was you?’ Marco laughs, quickly lowering his voice again. ‘So, it’s the hand that’s here?’

  ‘Yep,’ I reply. ‘After years of pretending it wasn’t me, it’s a hard habit to break. But it was me. I shoved it up the back of my polo shirt, and tucked the shirt into my PE skirt, until I could get it inside to hide in my locker. I’d brought it home and buried it in the back garden before anyone even noticed it was missing. It was a CCTV blind spot, but they just about pinned down a shortlist of suspects, and I was one of them. I really wanted to return it, maybe try and fix it back on myself, but I didn’t know how and then suddenly, you know, it’s today, and a million years have gone by.’

  ‘So, what? You want to dig it up?’ he asks.

  ‘Yeah, and return it,’ I reply. ‘I’m sure they could fix it.’