The Reinvention of Martha Ross

by Charlene Allcott

  ‘OK, tell me more,’ says Leanne. ‘What’s he like?’

  I sit up so she can see my face. ‘He’s perfect.’

  ‘Just perfect, not extraordinary?’

  I grab Leanne’s arm so she will focus and hear my words. ‘No, you don’t understand – he’s literally perfect.’

  ‘OK, but what’s his flaw?’

  Leanne and I made an agreement when we were in Year 10 that every guy has a flaw and as a woman you must find it as fast as possible. It happened when she fell deeply in lust with Troy Adeyemi, the new sixth-former transferred from somewhere mysterious and exotic like Kent. He was really quiet, bordering on mute, but Amy Mitchell had told us that she had seen him with his mum in Tesco and that he could definitely speak. What he lacked in conversational skills he made up for in aesthetics; he had impossibly high, almost feminine cheekbones set into a perfectly symmetrical face. He stood a good head above most of the other guys and had arms so strong that, even at fifteen years old, I couldn’t look at him without imagining him throwing me on to a bed; not that I would have had any idea what to do when I got there.

  Leanne and I plotted for months about how she would secure him. She was allowed to claim him because we had come to an agreement that anyone who said they ‘actually, truly’ fancied someone would earn the right to pursue that person indefinitely. I was a bit miffed in this case. When Troy started I thought that our shared status of ‘token mixed-race kid in class’ would propel us together. It didn’t. He looked at me the way you would examine a torn cuticle.

  Leanne didn’t fare much better but had a significant weapon in her arsenal: her grandparents had recently moved to the outskirts of town, into a house ordinary in every way aside from one key detail – an outdoor pool. Leanne’s grandfather had been plagued by arthritis for many years and thought a daily swim and the coastal air would heal his ailments. We thought a pool party with amazing bikinis might lure in Troy.

  We had to wait until the weather was appropriate to mobilize. Leanne endured eight long months of watching Troy from afar before the longest winter ever ended. She was unwilling to do anything without parental permission, so we had to work within the parameters of what her grandmother was willing to accommodate. That would be no adult supervision for the time it took her to do her big shop and have a slice of cake and a cup of tea in the garden centre. Leanne managed to invite Troy and a few of his friends with the promise of an empty house and perhaps the implication that there would be alcohol; I think this was when I really started to understand how determined Leanne could be. Of course, there was no alcohol; in fact I had to hide the jug of squash left out by Leanne’s gran. The boys did not seem too disappointed by the lack of booze or birds – they were happy to raid the fridge and throw each other into the pool. I remember one moment when, stepping out of the house after returning from the loo, I looked at the scene unfolding before me and thought, I will never be happier than this.

  As the afternoon drew to a close the lads became restless and Leanne started to worry about her grandmother’s return. When Troy told Leanne that they were leaving to attend another party (our invitation apparently got lost in the post) she told him she had to show him something in the kitchen. Troy’s friends deftly ignored me as Leanne went inside to complete her master plan. When they emerged five minutes later Troy looked as handsome as ever and Leanne looked miserable. She was silent the entire time we cleared the garden and mopped the water from the tiles around the pool. She was silent even after her grandparents came home and I had to speak on behalf of both of us when they asked if we had had a nice time with our friends.

  Later that evening as we both climbed into her queen-sized bed she let out a long, low moan. ‘It was awful,’ she said, ‘it was so, so awful.’ I could feel her body grow tense, simply from the memory of whatever horror she was about to share. ‘He just sort of licked me,’ she said. ‘I mean, he licked my whole face! How can he be so beautiful and such a bad kisser?’ It was after this night that we decided that every man, however wonderful he may appear, however beautiful or cool, has a flaw, and as a woman it is your job to find it and find it fast.

  ‘He’s gotta have a flaw,’ says Leanne now.

  ‘Well, his fiancée died—’

  ‘Oh God!’ cries Leanne.

  ‘I know,’ I say.

  ‘You can never compete with a dead ex.’

  ‘He seems pretty together about it,’ I say.

  Leanne looks thoughtful. ‘As flaws go, it’s not that bad,’ she says. ‘What did we say Alexander’s flaw was?’ I don’t like that she has changed the subject from George but I have to admit I was thinking the same.

  ‘I think that he’s a bit self-absorbed,’ I say.

  ‘Sounds about right,’ says Leanne. ‘That’s quite a big one; why did I let you get away with that?’

  ‘I didn’t give you a choice. I’d fixed him so firmly in my sights, an articulated tank couldn’t have pushed me off course.’

  ‘So what makes it different this time?’

  ‘This time is so different,’ I say. ‘This time I have the list.’

  She makes me get it out. ‘We were quite drunk, you know,’ she says. I pass her the now thin and grubby piece of paper and she carefully examines each point. ‘So, he’s meeting the criteria?’

  ‘He’s more than meeting them; he’s surpassing them.’

  Leanne nods. ‘Well, he’s got the looks. Job?’

  ‘He’s a freelance researcher working in international development.’

  ‘Nice.’

  I point to the next thing on the list. ‘He’s really in touch with his emotions; he went on a ten-day silent retreat.’

  ‘He’s in touch with something,’ says Leanne.

  ‘I won’t lie,’ I say, jabbing at the next point, ‘I don’t really know what his relationship with his family is like, but I know he lives alone. He wants kids but he doesn’t have them because—’

  ‘Dead ex,’ says Leanne matter-of-factly.

  ‘Exactly, but it’s the rest that’s really amazing. He listens to me, I mean really listens, and asks questions afterwards. I don’t have to debate with myself about whether he likes me or whether he wants to be with me.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ says Leanne softly. ‘What about the cat, though?’

  ‘He has one! He’s called Marley,’ I say.

  Leanne shrugs. ‘Close enough.’

  36

  AS LEANNE HELPS me to unpack, Dad calls to tell me he’s bringing Moses over from Alexander’s. He adds, ‘Can you sort it out with your mum, she’s been crying.’ Which has as much authenticity as a Louis Vuitton bag on a Hackney market stall.

  I choose to ignore him and say, ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  When Dad drops Moses off, Millie is so excited by the impromptu sleepover that her bouncing and shouting prevents him from addressing the issue again. He gives me a big hug instead. I am reminded of being a child and falling asleep in his lap as he watched old, black-and-white films into the early hours of the morning. As he holds me I think, you fucked me up, Dad. You made me think I could find a guy who would always be there.

  Once we’ve managed to sedate the children with snacks and Disney, I suggest to Leanne that we get into our PJs and open a bottle of wine, but Leanne says, ‘Let’s finish getting you organized.’ As we return upstairs she says, ‘We should definitely review things. I called Cara the other day. She said to ask you if you’d finished having your tantrum.’

  ‘Review? I’m not a project. I just want to hang out with my friend.’

  ‘What did she mean?’ asks Leanne, ignoring my admonishment. ‘I take it you had a falling-out?’

  I hand Leanne a pile of clothes and she starts to arrange them in colour-coordinated piles. I shake my head, perhaps too emphatically.

  ‘A disagreement,’ I say. ‘She can be so up herself sometimes. It’s as if she thinks she’s superior to everyone.’

  ‘Really?’ asks Leanne. She tilts her head, a
s if examining an object from a different angle. It makes me angry. Leanne always gave me the impression she was keen to have a bitch about Cara.

  ‘I didn’t even think you liked her?’ I ask, trying and failing to disguise my outrage. I didn’t like Cara when I first encountered her at work. When we spoke, which was rarely, it was in brief, instructive missives (from her). I told myself, and anyone who might be interested, that she was ‘very self-focused’ and ‘not my kind of girl’, which is sort of true but also a lie, the sort of lie we tell to protect ourselves. I was intrigued by her and I was intimidated by her, both much more impressive than being likeable; as soon as she offered me an invitation into her world, I RSVP’d yes.

  ‘I admire Cara’s spirit,’ says Leanne thoughtfully. I want to know if Leanne admires my spirit but I’m scared to ask.

  ‘You don’t need to call a friendervention every time I have a minor crisis,’ I say.

  ‘As if I’d have time,’ Leanne says under her breath, but not under her breath enough that I don’t hear it, which seems careless.

  James’s voice floats upstairs. ‘You’ve got a Moses coming through!’ My son runs in and stands next to the bed.

  ‘Up!’ he shouts with his arms raised. I pull him up, scattering Leanne’s folding in the process. Moses squishes my face between his small palms and says, ‘Bisbik.’

  ‘No biscuits, darling,’ I say.

  ‘Bisbik peeeeease.’ Leanne smiles at Moses and I think that maybe she believes I’ve done one thing right.

  ‘Shall we get our wine o’clock on?’ I ask her.

  ‘Actually,’ she says, ‘I was hoping since you’re here that James and I could go out.’

  It’s an affront – I’m a friend in need; I feel like she should offer the evening to me. To leave your newly single mate to go out on a hot date with your husband seems callous, but Leanne’s giving me a roof over my head so what can I say but, ‘Of course. Of course, I’ll do something fun with the kids. We’ll bake cakes.’

  Leanne gives me a ‘like heck you will’ glance but she says thank you. With that she’s gone to get ready and leaves me to potter around aimlessly. I take Moses downstairs and leave him playing cars with Lucas, who is clearly basing his game on a recently witnessed incident of road rage. I go to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and try to source some biscuits but turn up nothing. Millie wanders into the room and watches me for a few moments.

  ‘What you doing, Auntie Marfa?’ she asks. I continue to root around in a cupboard of saucepans.

  ‘I’m looking for biscuits.’

  Leanne comes in and stands behind her daughter. Seeing them there together, the same half-quizzical, half-judging expression on their faces, I am struck by how similar they look. Millie has her father’s colouring but her mannerisms are pure Leanne. I always think Moses looks nothing like me but in this moment I wonder if it’s something you can only see from a distance.

  ‘She’s looking for biscuits,’ Millie says.

  ‘We had a clear-out,’ says Leanne. I look at Millie, who shrugs.

  ‘No worries, we can make them,’ I say. ‘Wanna make biscuits with Auntie Martha?’ Millie whoops.

  Leanne gently pushes me aside and gets out baking stuff.

  ‘We won’t be long,’ she says after she has laid it all out. She gives Millie a kiss on the head. ‘Daddy and I are going to get pizza.’ The word pizza causes my stomach to growl; all the drama distracted me from dinner.

  ‘Let’s start now,’ I tell Millie. ‘Go get the boys.’ Millie runs off.

  ‘Thanks for this,’ says Leanne.

  ‘Any time, and thanks for letting us stay – I promise I’ll get something sorted soon.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Leanne leaves and it’s only when I hear the door slam that I realize that she’s gone gone. The kids run in, hyped up by the promise of sugar. Seeing the three of them there is a little intimidating, but I know I’ve got this.

  When all the children are covered in flour I realize I have no idea how to make biscuits. I’ve eaten a lot of them though, so I can guess the basics – flour, sugar and loads of butter; what doesn’t taste better with loads of butter? I get Millie to be head stirrer and ask the boys to sort the raisins. They dump the entire bag on the floor. Millie is taking her job very seriously; the tip of her tongue pokes out of her mouth as she focuses on not letting anything spill from the mixing bowl. ‘Do you ever make biscuits with your mum?’ I ask her.

  ‘No,’ says Millie, ‘she doesn’t really like a mess.’ I feel a bit smug that I’m introducing her to this quintessential bonding activity. The boys grow bored before the biscuits are ready and I have to abandon the project to build them a den under the dining table. When I return to Millie she has created a dozen mismatched biscuits. She looks so proud and I don’t want to take this away from her so I put them in the oven as they are.

  It’s a little way before bedtime but with three kids to get ready I decide to get started. The boys seem to sense that they are being short-changed and both begin to protest. Lucas begs for his mother and Moses chooses his preferred method of resistance, violence. Every time I try to pick him up he struggles and kicks like a wild animal. ‘Millie, can you be a big girl and look after Moses whilst I put Lucas to bed?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says confidently. As I carry a mournful Lucas upstairs I hear her say, ‘Moses, do you like jam?’

  Lucas bleats pitifully as I get him into his pyjamas. I want to tell him that if he thinks life is bad now, he’s got a big shock a-comin’. I carry him to bed, where he lies down but raises the volume on his crying. If he were Moses I would leave him to it and get stuck into wine time but this seems a bit inappropriate with someone else’s child. I kneel down beside the bed and stroke his hot little head.

  ‘One day,’ I say gently, ‘there was a little boy called Lucas. He had a lovely mummy and daddy but what he didn’t know was that his mummy was a princess.’ Lucas grows quiet. ‘When she was little she lived with the king and queen in a little castle in Saltdean.’

  ‘Like Grandma and Grandad?’ asks Lucas.

  ‘Of course,’ I say. Lucas pops his thumb into his mouth.

  ‘Princess Mummy liked being a princess but she thought it was really boring. Princesses have to wear big, big dresses and really heavy crowns and they can’t climb trees or swim in the sea, so one day she went to her daddy and said, “What do I have to do if I don’t want to be a princess any more?” Her daddy said that princesses need to look after the castle so that princes can catch dragons, and that if she didn’t want to be a princess any more she needed to go and catch her own dragon. So, one day the princess walked to the scariest, darkest part of Saltdean until she found a massive, scary dragon called Henry. She said, “I need a favour. Can you come back to my castle?” So, they both went back to the castle and the king and queen told her, “Well done, you don’t have to be a princess any more,” and they all had a big party.’

  Lucas has closed his eyes and his breathing is starting to slow; I take the opportunity to slip out. In the kitchen the scene before me makes Mardi Gras look like a tea party. Millie has decided to introduce Moses to a variety of condiments and he is creating food art on the tiled floor. ‘OK, both you guys need a bath now!’ Millie looks happy but Moses stares at me as if I have committed the deepest of betrayals.

  In the bathroom Millie tells me her dad lets her have loads of bubbles and tips about half a bottle of Matey into the water. ‘Does your daddy give you a bath every night?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ says Millie, ‘it’s “daddy time”.’ As she says this she makes quotation marks in the air with her fingers.

  ‘Do you know what that means?’ I ask, imitating her action.

  ‘No,’ she says happily. After undressing she leaps into the foam with so much excitement I suspect I might have been had. I take off Moses’s clothes and nappy and put him in beside her. He is still scowling. Millie tries to cheer him up by putting bubbles on her head but he is unmoved.r />
  ‘Why doesn’t he like baths?’ says Millie. ‘Baths are the best!’

  ‘I guess everybody’s different, baby,’ I say.

  After their bath, I tell Millie to go and put on her pyjamas and then I tuck Moses into the bed we will share. Despite his earlier refusal he is obviously knackered and falls asleep almost instantly. I watch him for a couple of minutes; I wonder if all the change is too much for him. Perhaps settling down with someone quickly and providing him with a good male role model is the most important thing I can do right now.

  I go to Millie’s bedroom, where she is lying in bed with her pale pink duvet pulled up to her chin. As I’m giving her a kiss on the forehead she says, ‘I love you staying.’ It feels so good to hear it. ‘What will we do tomorrow?’ Millie asks.

  ‘Whatever you want.’

  ‘Can we make friendship bracelets?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. I pat the duvet around her, making her giggle. ‘Millie, what’s that smell?’

  Millie’s eyes stretch open. ‘The biscuits,’ she whispers.

  I race downstairs, which is futile because it’s clear from the acrid scent making its way up the stairs that the few seconds I save will not rescue these baked goods. I pull twelve lumps of coal out of the oven. I guess I’ll never know if I had the right recipe. I feel more let down by this than I should. In search of something to help me hide from my own disappointment, I find a bottle of red wine. It looks quite nice but I know that Leanne bulk-buys wine from Costco, so it won’t be missed.