Just What Kind of Mother Are You?

by Paula Daly

  Embarrassed, I mumbled an answer, thrusting the bottles of wine we’d brought at Kate, saying something along the lines of Thanks for inviting us. Then I quickly pulled out a stool from the kitchen island in an attempt to hide myself.

  Joe said a quick hello, gave the ladies a peck on the cheek and did the obligatory, ‘How nicely the house is coming along, Kate,’ while Kate did her best exasperated expression, sighing dramatically, replying, ‘Well, we’re getting there,’ as if they were not renovating a home but were in fact building a school in Namibia and were struggling to locate a clean water supply.

  ‘I’ll open another bottle,’ Kate said, walking across the room. Turning, she added, ‘Joe, you go and join the boys – leave us girls to gossip. Adam’s brought a stupidly large selection of bottled ales for you to get through.’

  Alexa had turned her back and was taking another taste from the pot on the stove. ‘Kate,’ she said, her voice snippy with criticism, ‘these onions are not completely softened, you can’t serve the tagine like this, it’ll be awful.’

  Kate, over by the fridge, didn’t comment.

  ‘You should do what I do,’ Alexa went on. ‘I soften a ton of onions, sometimes shallots, at one time. Then I freeze them in batches, and I use them as I need … it saves ever such a lot of time …’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ said Kate, smiling tightly.

  ‘I do it with peppers and aubergines as well,’ Alexa added. ‘They freeze a lot better than you’d imagine.’

  Quietly, I said to Kate, ‘I’ll eat anything, I’m starving. I’ve not had anything since breakfast.’

  Work had been crazy. Fridays are always the most popular day for adoptions. Then I’d had to go straight through to Ambleside to pick up Joe’s mum, who was babysitting. Joe was still on a job at that time, so he couldn’t get her. Then I had to feed everyone, because even though Joe’s mother is more than capable, she won’t use our cooker because she says she’s unfamiliar with it. And it’s easier to go along with it than to cause a problem.

  ‘Gosh,’ said Alexa, leaving the tagine and sitting down opposite me, ‘you are a busy bee, Lisa. Are you still at the animal shelter?’

  I nodded. Took a big gulp of the white wine Kate had set in front of me. ‘Lovely,’ I said to Kate. ‘Just what I needed.’

  Alexa took a sip of hers, saying, ‘I’ve been working myself, actually, at the gallery around the corner from the cinema.’ Again, I nodded. ‘All helps towards the school fees!’ she quipped.

  This was absolute nonsense, because everyone knew Alexa’s mother-in-law paid the children’s school fees, because her mother-in-law told everyone. Dorothy Willard, Adam’s mother, was one of those noisy, aggravating women who volunteered at the charity shop a couple of mornings a week and loved telling anyone who’d listen about her talented grandchildren. About how they were positively thriving at the superb school she and her husband paid for. ‘Well, it’s what one does for one’s offspring,’ she’d say as I’d dump down a hardly worn winter coat on the counter, or else a stack of Mills & Boons that my mother liked to read. I’d smile at her, saying, ‘You must be very proud,’ and she’d go all mock-modesty, replying, ‘Well one shouldn’t boast, but—’

  I think Alexa liked to work to pass the time, or just to get out of the house, but was ashamed to admit such frivolity to the likes of me – the type of person who works because she has to eat, and so forth. I didn’t hold it against her. No point. The Lakes has always been littered with two extremes of women: the ones who never work … and the ones who never stop.

  ‘How many days do you do at the gallery, Alexa?’ I asked, because I couldn’t think of anything more interesting to say to her.

  ‘Oh, just two or three mornings. I fit it around my MA.’

  ‘Your MA?’

  ‘My master’s,’ she replied. ‘I’m doing a master’s in cultural studies.’

  ‘Sounds … difficult,’ I said.

  ‘It is. It’s taking up far more of my time than anticipated. Adam keeps complaining that he’s lost me to the world of academia once again.’

  I noticed Kate was not commenting on Alexa’s degree and, sensing I knew the reason for this, didn’t say anything further.

  Alexa, as well as doing silly, pointless work to fill her time, loved to study. I have no idea what a master’s in cultural studies actually is, but I can guess the reason she’s doing it. So little people like me will think: Wow, not only are you incredibly beautiful but you’re really, really clever as well! How is that even possible?’

  She’s not the only attractive woman I’ve met with this affliction. I want to say to them, ‘Stop. Please, just stop. You already have what we all want. You got the beauty, you already got the free pass. It is enough.’

  ‘Will you be a doctor when you finish this one, Lex?’ Kate asked her.

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Gosh, imagine that! Two doctors in the house,’ and, as if on cue, the men came in, carrying their beers, looking for food.

  Alexa’s husband, Adam – Dr Willard – was dressed casually, wearing similar clothes to Guy. When he entered the room I immediately became self-conscious again.

  Kate said, ‘Lisa, have you met Adam? No? Oh, Lisa, this is Adam. Adam, Lisa.’

  I nodded at him politely, and he smiled in my direction. He was what I’d describe as kind-looking. Not handsome, but his face had a softness that was appealing. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Nice to meet you. You’re the animal-sanctuary lady, yes?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Bet that’s a tough job, dealing with the general public in that way.’

  I was about to tell him a couple of anecdotes but, before I could answer, Alexa cut in. ‘Oh, isn’t it just the worst? You wouldn’t believe the silly things people ask for at the gallery. And why does everyone think they can bag a bargain? I blame those haggling programmes. Gone are the days when they’re willing to pay a fair price for something.’

  Adam ignored her, kept his gaze on me. ‘What’s the biggest problem you come across at a place like that?’

  ‘Money,’ I said. ‘Well, the lack of it. The vet fees can be in excess of twenty thousand, and then there’s the food costs and the—’

  ‘Where does the money come from?’ asked Alexa.

  ‘Private donations, mostly. Some kind, rich old ladies leave us their estates. The rest we find from fundraising, and a little from a regional animal charity that pays us to take in cats and dogs from other branches.’

  Joe was smiling as he watched me speak. He had his proud face on. He hadn’t done what I thought he might – that is, removed his jacket and tie, undone his top button. He remained the same as when we’d arrived, and I felt a flush of love for him. He was grinning at me shyly, which meant he was trying to hide that he’d downed at least three beers already. He does that when he’s not quite comfortable. Actually, he does it if the beer is put in front of him. He’s like a kid who can’t say no.

  An hour or so later, and the tagine with the uncooked onions had been eaten, the wine loosening us up sufficiently so that the conversation was free-flowing, the stilted awkwardness of earlier gone.

  I was in the middle of recounting the basic plot of a BBC drama I’d been following, saying to everyone, ‘And it’s the banter between the two detectives which makes it so lifelike,’ when Alexa cleared her throat and slapped me down, informing me that, ‘We don’t really do TV, Lisa. Most of us here are readers, aren’t we?’ And I felt the energy in the room change.

  Nobody challenged Alexa. And, naturally, I felt stupid and gauche, but as I looked around the room, everyone avoided my eyes and I wasn’t sure if I’d been making a fool of myself for a while (and they’d all been too polite to say), or if it was Alexa’s comment that they were embarrassed by.

  I glanced at Joe, but he was no use. He had that loose, devilish expression that told me he was so drunk he was either about to start singing, or else fall asleep. Checking my watch, I saw it was still only nine thirty. I knew th
en there was no way he’d make it through to the end of the evening.

  Kate lightened things momentarily by serving up Delia’s strawberry-shortcake ice cream, which everyone declared an absolute success. More wine was poured, and Guy ushered the children, who’d been watching TV in the den (not readers, then), upstairs to bed.

  Things went downhill after that.

  Alexa, sensing perhaps that she’d killed the conversation earlier, took on a real gossipy air, leaned in at the table and began telling us about a couple they all knew who were having marital difficulties.

  ‘Of course, Tammy’s not admitting it, but everyone knows she’s secretly seeing another man. I saw her buying new underwear in the village … a sure sign she’s up to something. Especially when she’s the type of woman who doesn’t even wear mascara. I said to Pippa that I bet she—’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Kate cut in unexpectedly, her face stony.

  ‘Everyone knows, Katy—’

  ‘You don’t know for certain she’s having an affair,’ finished Kate, and Alexa rolled her eyes at her, meaning: Don’t be so naïve, which made Kate shout: ‘Think about the children! Don’t start spreading ugly rumours when you have no evidence. Think about Tammy’s children.’

  The table fell into uncomfortable silence again. It was Kate’s tone. So unlike her. I’d never heard her speak that way before.

  Alexa stared at her, affronted. ‘Think what about the children, Kate? If they are not happy, then the last thing Tammy and David should do is stay together for the sake of the children.’

  Kate put her glass down. ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Because it’s true.’

  ‘It’s not true! That’s what everyone says, that it’s okay to just up and leave whenever the mood takes you. They say, “The children will be all right!” “Better for them to be brought up with divorced parents than in an unhappy home.” Well, you should know, Alexa, that it’s not all right. You of all people should know that.’

  Alexa sighed, as if she was thoroughly bored. ‘Not this again.’

  Walking into the room, Guy cleared his throat. ‘Ladies, ladies—’

  ‘Shut up, Guy,’ Kate snapped.

  I’d dropped my head, furtively glancing around the table. Joe was smiling openly – he loves it when people are drunk and they start arguing, especially family. Alexa’s husband, Adam, sat there pretending nothing was happening at all and was scraping up the last of his ice cream.

  ‘If two people want to have an affair, let them,’ Alexa continued. ‘Christ, Kate, life is bloody short, love is thin on the ground. People need to take love when and where they find it. If Tammy’s got a little romance in her life, let her have it, and don’t be so fucking sanctimonious.’ Then she said, ‘You lose your prettiness when you get all tense like this, Kate. Really, it’s not good for you.’

  Kate was shaking now. Quietly, she said, ‘I can’t believe you’re pretending to forget what it was like.’

  ‘It’s life, Kate. Get over it.’

  I went to stand, saying, ‘Does anyone want anything from the kitchen?’, but Alexa shot me a look.

  ‘Sit down, Lisa,’ she said. Then, addressing Kate again, ‘We’re not the only people to have divorced parents, you know. And you can’t go around hating everyone who puts their children through it.’

  ‘I don’t hate them,’ Kate replied. ‘I hate the way they act so blameless. I hate the way they bring strangers into the house, acting as if it’s fine when you know it’s not. Don’t you remember what it was like for us? To come out of the bathroom when you were thirteen and find a man in the hallway? It was excruciating, Alexa, you know it was. And if you want to pretend otherwise, that’s fine. But I can’t.’ She gave a small sob and got up, leaving the room.

  For a while nobody spoke. Then, finally, after a minute, Adam looked at Alexa, saying, ‘Was that really necessary?’

  And she threw her wine at him.

  ‘Oh, fuck off, you pathetic little man,’ she shouted, and stormed off as well.

  The men all sighed and sat back in their chairs. I didn’t know what to do. ‘Should I go to them?’ I asked. ‘Should I see if they’re okay?’

  ‘Not if you want to keep your teeth,’ Guy answered. He refilled the glasses. ‘From experience, I’d say it’s best to let them sort it out. If you go in there now, you’ll only end up coming off worse. Believe me, Lisa, you don’t want to come between them.’

  Joe chipped in, slurring, ‘It’s siblings, Lise. You don’t understand, being an only one.’ And he was right: I didn’t. But his comment was still a little wounding, probably because I was drunk and slightly irrational. Also because it is wounding when someone says you’re incapable of understanding just because you have no experience of something.

  I replied by saying, ‘Oh, like you do understand, Joe.’

  Joe got on just fine with his sister, mostly because he never saw her. He shrugged, his face blotchy from the booze, then, narrowing his eyes at me, he said, ‘Maybe if your dad hadn’t fucked off when he did—’

  ‘Joe!’ I said, and stared at him. We didn’t discuss this. We never discussed this in front of people. Especially not people like this. But Joe had passed over into that territory I referred to as Nasty Pissed. And though generally Joe was a sweet drunk, once the eight-pint mark had been crossed, he became argumentative and hostile.

  I felt uncomfortable. Suddenly, the dynamics had changed. I was the only woman, alone at the table, with my smashed taxi-driver husband and a well-spoken, rich property developer and a consultant dermatologist. It all seemed wrong and awkward. If Adam hadn’t given me a consolatory smile, a smile to say, Don’t be upset, I think I would have left.

  And I should have. What I should have done was go and find Kate and Alexa and check that they were okay. Looking back, that would have been the right thing to do. But I didn’t. I stayed, and I continued to drink. And by the time Alexa came back forty-five minutes or so later, we’d all kind of forgotten about her and Kate. Joe had passed out (as I knew he would), on a lovely striped easy chair. And I’d got a bit over-friendly with the two men.

  I’d kicked off my shoes and was dancing to MTV in my stockinged feet, holding my glass, and we were laughing and shouting. Alexa stood in the doorway and said, ‘You’re spilling out of that dress, Lisa. You should sit down,’ and, stupidly, I sniggered at her. Which was not the best thing to do, because she got mad. Understandable, but it had just felt so funny that she was telling me off.

  Glaring at me, she shouted, ‘You look like a fucking trollop, Lisa! Sit down!’ Which made me stop in my tracks.

  Then she turned to her husband. ‘We’re going. Get your coat from upstairs and ring for a taxi. Kate is fine now, thank you all very much for asking.’

  Guy approached her, his arms outstretched. ‘Oh, don’t be like that, Alexa,’ he boomed. ‘We’re only having a laugh.’ He tried to hug her, but she pushed him away, marching over to the corner to get her handbag.

  I backed out of the doorway, saying, ‘Excuse me, I need the loo,’ and I made for the stairs, thinking I could hide up there until she left. I felt like a teenager at a house party when the parents returned home and switched the lights on.

  Seconds later, I crashed into the bathroom, fumbling with the lock, before sinking to the floor against the bathtub.

  The room was beautiful. All enamel and chrome, marble and mirrors. I looked around dreamily, wishing I could afford even the hand soap, never mind the thick, fluffy towels stacked neatly on the built-in shelves. God, I would die for this bathroom, I was thinking, when the door handle began turning slowly.

  Adam leaned his head around the frame, and said, ‘Can I come in?’

  My eyes were wide. ‘No,’ I hissed, automatically adjusting my dress. ‘Of course you can’t.’

  ‘Please,’ he persisted. ‘I just want a quick word. It’ll only take a minute.’

  ‘Oh, okay, but be quick. Your wife is waiting.’

  ‘Guy
’s calmed her with a drink.’

  He edged in and closed the door. I wasn’t sure if I should try to stand but, to be honest, I was disastrously drunk. My limbs were loose and not to be counted on.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked him.

  ‘I hate her,’ he said flatly, and I couldn’t help it – I burst out laughing. Had to put my hand up to my mouth to stop.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ he said. ‘I really fucking hate her.’

  ‘It kind of is,’ I said, still laughing, then: ‘Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop now.’

  He knelt down, too close for me to focus. I was moving my head backwards and forwards, trying to get his image to sharpen. ‘Sorry,’ I said again, and without warning he pressed his lips to mine.

  Horrified, I said, ‘Stop. You can’t do that.’

  ‘Let me … please.’

  ‘I’m married.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  He kissed me more deeply, and I was too shocked to stop him. I wasn’t kissing him back, but I wasn’t pushing him off either. I was just kind of numb. Numb and confused. It was as if I were watching this scene play out from somewhere across the room. Not actually partaking in it.

  Then he stopped and he looked at me.

  ‘I’m really, really drunk,’ I said helplessly, and he hushed me, putting his finger to my lips.

  ‘You’re beautiful.’

  And I wanted to say, ‘No I’m not, I’m cheap.’ But I didn’t. I liked hearing his words, even if I knew he didn’t mean them.

  Instead I said, ‘What about your wife?’, and he shook his head as if their relationship were a lost cause.

  ‘You’ve seen her, you’ve seen how she is,’ he said. ‘She attacked you because she couldn’t stand not to have all the attention.’

  ‘She attacked me because she thinks I’m stupid. And she’s right. I am stupid compared to the likes of her.’