Mum in the Middle

by Jane Wenham-Jones

  ‘I’m sorry I shouted.’ he said.

  ‘It’s okay.’ I saved the document in front of me and tried to smile. ‘It is indeed my bloody fault. I should have got the mussels – if that’s what the midwife thinks it probably was – in the fridge quicker or not brought them home on the train at all. I am entirely responsible for Sam getting food-poisoning and I am truly sorry, but I know that in the end when you have a beautiful son or daughter and I have a very special grandchild it will all be meant to be …’ I trailed off, a huge lump in my throat.

  Oliver looked at me. ‘You don’t have to pretend. I know you don’t want it either. You told Tilly you didn’t want to be a grandmother when you were looking after Fran’s kids.’

  ‘No I didn’t!’ I said hotly, cursing my daughter’s lack of thought. ‘I said I wasn’t expecting her to have any children YET.’

  Oliver continued to gaze at me – his face sceptical.

  ‘I’m not one of those mothers who would put the pressure on. You know I’m thrilled. I just wasn’t expecting it,’ I finished lamely. You don’t seem old enough, I added silently. Even though he was exactly the age I was, when I had him …

  ‘No, well, it’s taking some getting used to,’ Oliver said awkwardly. He crossed to the pine cupboard with the bottles on top. ‘Can I have some of this port?’

  I watched as he poured himself a hefty measure. I’d noticed at dinner he’d drunk most of the wine we’d opened. I’d been trying to sip slowly so I could still get some work done, but after Oliver’s outburst I’d refilled my glass too.

  ‘I understand, darling. I can remember being pregnant with you,’ I offered, swallowing hard. ‘I would wake up sometimes at four in the morning, and worry. Even though I wanted you so much,’ I added hastily.

  ‘It’s natural,’ I went on, warming to my theme. ‘It’s the thought of the responsibility. Knowing you’ve got to look after this little person for the next twenty years. I smiled at him. ‘Or probably a lot longer.’

  Oliver gave a weak smile back.

  ‘But I promise you won’t mind a bit because when the baby is actually here – a real, tiny person, then you simply feel–’ I stopped, as Oliver shook his head miserably.

  ‘And I expect Sam feels like this too, sometimes. Have you talked to her about it?’

  Oliver shook his head again. ‘It wouldn’t be fair. She’s not feeling well and she’s worried about how we’re going to afford everything. And when we first found out, and I suggested, just once, that maybe–’

  He stopped. ‘I didn’t really mean it but I thought we should at least discuss options.’

  I nodded. ‘You were thinking it through.’

  ‘She got really upset. Said she could never get rid of my baby. She was hurt I even mentioned it. I can’t express doubts now.’

  ‘She may be having them herself. As I said, even though I’d planned it, I used to–’

  ‘Mum!’ Oliver’s voice stopped me in my tracks. ‘It’s not the baby.’

  The theme tune from Family Guy floated through from the front room and moments later I heard Ben give a shout of laughter. I got up and pushed the dining-room door closed.

  ‘What is it, then?’

  Oliver was studying his glass, turning it round and round in front of him. ‘It’s Sam,’ he said with difficulty. ‘I don’t know now if we’re meant to be together or we just have to be …’

  I took a mouthful of my own drink. I’d expected money or lack of parenting skills.

  ‘I mean I love Sam, of course,’ Oliver was saying. ‘I still love her but it’s kind of changed. It’s not …’ He stopped and looked embarrassed. ‘And if we’re going to have a baby, then we’re going to have to be together for ever. I couldn’t leave her for years, could I? What sort of bastard would that make me?’ Oliver looked anguished.

  ‘But you don’t want to leave her. Do you?’ I asked in a low voice. ‘You were going to live together, you told me how good it was, you’d made plans.’

  Oliver didn’t reply. He drank some port.

  ‘You were so happy–’

  Oliver shook his head.

  ‘You’re just panicking,’ I said. ‘You were going to get the flat and–’

  ‘Everything’s changed,’ he said in a rush. ‘It’s–

  He was abruptly silent again as the landline rang. ‘Hold on a minute,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell Paul I’ll ring him back.’

  But it was Tilly demanding to know why I hadn’t answered my mobile and in full flow about rehearsals and the run starting and a possible flat share in Tooting with the gay cousin of Shane, who was ‘adorable’.

  Oliver started to get up, but I flapped my hand at him to stay, while I waited for my daughter to draw breath. Tilly had realised she would be much happier sharing with a man because although Danni was calmer and had asked Tilly to consider staying on, it would only be a matter of time before she went bonkers again.

  Oliver topped up his glass and sat back down, looking morose. ‘Tell me in a minute,’ I mouthed.

  ‘So I’m going to stay there for ten days and then after the run, I’ll probably be moving in with Matthew,’ Tilly was saying, ‘so I’ll just be back weekends till then.’

  ‘Okay, well whatever–’

  ‘It really doesn’t matter,’ Oliver said in a low voice.

  ‘IT DOES,’ I mouthed back. Tilly was still talking. ‘Tilly, that’s all lovely but I’m having a chat with Oliver–’

  ‘Oh!’ Tilly did not sound pleased.

  Across the table, Oliver shook his head crossly and stood up again.

  ‘And it’s important,’ I said firmly, flapping my hand again and ignoring Oliver’s black look. ‘So can I call you back, darling?’

  ‘No, I’m going out,’ Tilly was sounding bored now. ‘If you’re okay with all that, I’ll see you Friday night.’

  ‘It’s fine!’ I trilled, ringing off and leaping across the room to grab Oliver’s arm. ‘Darling, please talk to me.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘What’s changed? Apart from being pregnant and having to move in here,’ I added, realising it was a stupid question, because everything had. ‘You’ll have your own place when Sam’s parents get back and–’

  Oliver had his face turned away from me. I sat down and after a moment he did too, taking another big mouthful from the tumbler in his hand. He was slightly flushed.

  ‘I suppose we’ve been together nearly three years now,’ he said slowly, eyes still averted. ‘And it’s not going to be the same as in the beginning …’

  ‘No,’ I took quite a large swallow of wine myself, sensing I had to get whatever I said, absolutely right. ‘Relationships do change …’

  ‘She feels sick a lot of the time and she’s very tired …’

  ‘It won’t always be like that …’ I said, reflecting that actually, yes, that was my life for what felt like a decade when the three of mine were all under six and I was constantly knackered. ‘She’ll start to feel better soon and–’

  ‘But people still stay together, don’t they? Even though–’

  I tried to think how to summarise tactfully, showing motherly insight that would not make him sink into a pool of embarrassment.

  ‘Of course,’ I began. ‘One can’t realistically expect to keep up the level of romance and passion one feels at the very beginning, but gradually that is replaced with something deeper, warmer …’ I stopped.

  Oliver raised a wry eyebrow. ‘Is that what happened with you and Dad?’

  ‘Yes!’ I said firmly. ‘We had many happy years together,’ I went on, my determination to be positive making me declare this rather loudly. ‘And even though we wanted different things eventually that doesn’t mean–’

  Oliver was looking at me now, expectantly. I had to be reassuring.

  ‘–I wouldn’t change a moment of it. We have three amazing children and your father and I were only agreeing the other day,’ I paraphrased, ‘that we were so glad we’d marri
ed and it was all so worthwhile.’

  Oliver gave a small nod and I ploughed on.

  ‘It’s all quite usual you start off hardly being able to keep your hands off each other and then–’ I hesitated as Oliver winced, clearly uncomfortable with this level of sharing from his mother. ‘Then things settle down.’

  Had I been unable to control myself in the face of Rob’s animal magnetism? There was that incident in the bus shelter, but we’d both been drinking … Did he ever turn me on the way David had the other day? Maybe I’d been drinking too much now – my glass was empty.

  ‘Sam’s a lovely girl,’ I went on, ‘and she makes you very happy. You told me she was your best friend.’

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘Imagine how you’d feel if you went upstairs now and she said she was leaving you?’

  Oliver nodded. ‘Devastated. I know.’

  ‘It will all be okay. I know it will.’

  Oliver shrugged. Then gave a small, resigned smile back. ‘It’s going to have to be, isn’t it?’

  ‘Talk to her,’ I urged. ‘Ask her how she’s feeling about it all …’

  The dining-room door swung open and Ben waved an iPad at us, grinning widely. ‘Hey bruv, you’ve got to see this clip on YouTube. It is sick!’

  Oliver swilled down the last of his drink, put the glass on the table and got up. ‘I’m there.’

  There he still was when I gave up and went upstairs. The wine had made me foggy and tired and I’d decided the best thing I could do was set the alarm for dawn. If I had a clear run tomorrow, I’d get everything finished.

  Sam was on the sofa with the boys, wearing pyjamas. I was relieved to see her leaning comfortably against Oliver, who was holding her hand. Both turned to smile at me. Ben waved the remote control but kept his eyes fixed on the screen. ‘Night, Mumsie!’

  As I sat on the edge of the bed, weary to my bones, my mobile beeped twice.

  I grabbed it, hoping it was David. It wasn’t.

  Caroline wanted to know if I had time for a drink before I caught the train on Friday. Gabriel was thanking me for my support. Scrolling down, I found a text from Gerald I’d missed earlier, asking if I’d be in time for lunch on Monday. I looked at it guiltily. With all that was going on, I’d barely given my mother’s appointment a thought.

  My fingers hovered over the keys. ‘Never text a man drunk, unless you’re already at the stage where you can summon him for sex,’ Caroline had advised. I put the phone down and went through to the bathroom. Roll on Saturday.

  A shame we weren’t at the summoning stage right now …

  Chapter 33

  ‘But you will be soon?’ said Caroline.

  She was perched on a stool at the champagne bar in St Pancras, looking impossibly stylish in a cream linen dress with ruby-red bag and heels that perfectly matched her lipstick.

  I felt sallow and crumpled. The make-up I’d blearily applied on the early train this morning had long gone and my own linen – in the form of a pair of wide-legged blue trousers – looked as if someone had been chewing it.

  As Caroline crossed one smooth golden leg over another and grasped the ice-filled bucket, I was glad that at least I was afforded limb cover. Epilation was high on my to-do list.

  I’d tried to protest that I was feeling too tired, looking too tatty and rendered incapable of intelligent speech after a sixteen-hour stint getting the plans ready and a morning team meeting that had lasted all day, but Caroline had still ordered a full bottle.

  ‘It will perk you up,’ she’d said. She was now filling my glass. ‘You said you’ve nothing on tonight.’

  ‘Tilly’s coming.’

  ‘I bet she goes straight to the pub.’

  I took a mouthful of the deliciously cold bubbles. Caroline was right. I could feel my spirits lifting already. ‘Probably.’

  ‘So tomorrow’s the night.’ Caroline was back on the subject of David. ‘I suppose that’s sensible. Get him into bed and sort it out one way or another.’

  ‘I can’t just–’

  ‘Of course you can. Get your hair done–’

  ‘And my legs waxed–’

  ‘Obviously. Oh, and try this.’ Caroline pulled a tiny pot out of her glossy bag. ‘It is fabulous.’ She unscrewed the lid and held out a pale pink cream for me to see. ‘Smells divine but wait till you put it on your face.’ She produced a small gold mirror too and handed both to me. ‘GG Glow mousse. Just about to be launched. Reacts with your skin’s ph to provide the perfect individual colour and coverage just for you.’

  She tilted her face on one side for my inspection. ‘I’ve got it on but it will look different on you.’ I surveyed Caroline’s flawless complexion and sighed.

  ‘I’m sure it will.’

  Actually, I had to admit, the fluffy potion was nothing short of miraculous. By the time I’d smoothed it over my nose and cheeks and Caroline had whipped out a palette of eye colour, which she expertly dabbed into my sockets, I looked quite restored. ‘Now this,’ she instructed, thrusting a huge mascara wand at me and ignoring the curious looks of the businessmen behind us. ‘Two coats.’

  She dropped all the make-up, including the bit-too-shocking pink lipstick I was now sporting, into my bag. ‘I’ve got shedloads of it, darling. You look amazing!’ She topped up our glasses again. ‘He won’t be able to resist you.’

  I peered into the mirror again and admitted I had scrubbed up quite well.

  ‘Text him on the train, while you’re feeling gorgeous,’ she urged. ‘Start razzing him up.’ She fished a miniature phial of perfume from her bottomless clutch and dabbed some on my wrists. ‘This is new too. Isn’t it heavenly?’

  By the time I’d hugged her goodbye and made my way to the Northstone train I was feeling mildly glamorous and pleasantly sloshed and dreaming David might appear in my carriage, also smelling heavenly, and be so bowled over by my make-over he immediately suggested a romantic dinner (I was quite hungry now too) before whisking me home to his no-doubt super-cool house and massive, crisp-sheeted and firm-mattressed bed in his thrillingly masculine sleeping chamber.

  Somewhere during this reverie I did start dreaming – somewhat bizarrely – of Malcolm bringing me poached eggs in bed because there was no milk to scramble them with – and woke up abruptly with my neck bent sideways, to find the train at a standstill somewhere between stations and my mobile ringing.

  I looked around hastily, afraid I’d been snoring, but the carriage was empty save a young man with a rucksack who was also asleep.

  I looked at the time and the darkening foliage on the steep banks outside the window, and concluded I must be just outside the town. I felt exhausted, my earlier buoyancy gone. Tilly hadn’t left a message but I imagined she was calling to tell me she was out with Ben and Gabriel. Perhaps, I thought hopefully, Oliver would go too, or he and Sam would already be in bed.

  If the train didn’t move soon, everyone would be.

  Ten minutes later there was an announcement from a weary-sounding bloke apologising for signal problems and the train rumbled forwards and crawled into Northstone.

  The young man opened his eyes and stumbled onto the platform. As I followed, I saw a group of people getting out of the end carriage. I heard someone call out goodnight. Then they separated out and two of them, walking close together, began to come towards me.

  I jumped back on the train.

  A uniformed figure was coming down the row towards me, eyebrows raised. ‘You all right there?’

  ‘Er – yes, sorry. I thought I’d dropped something.’ I made a show of examining the empty seats. The ticket collector leant down and looked under the table. ‘Can’t see anything, love. But we get all sorts left. At least one iPad a week. You’d think they’d look after one of those, wouldn’t you? More money than sense. My two are the same …’

  I did some nodding and thanking and a bit more pointless checking and when I couldn’t find any reason to stay another moment, stepped cautiously back onto
the platform. It was empty, apart from a girl wheeling a bicycle towards the exit.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. It couldn’t have been David. Just someone tall who looked like him.

  I tried to analyse my panic. It wasn’t just because the reflection in the train window had told me the make-up was well past its best – or that my hair was flattened one side from where I’d been slumped in the corner.

  The thought of sending him a bold, encouraging text now the champagne had worn off, seemed far too brazen for a Friday night. Even a conversation on the platform, with others about, would feel awkward. But I’d be seeing him tomorrow …

  As I walked up the path to my house, hugging this thought, I saw the curtains were half-drawn. A figure I didn’t immediately recognise crossed in front of the light in the middle. It didn’t look like either of the boys. And was too stocky to be Gabriel. The front door opened as soon as I put my key in the lock. ‘I phoned you!’ said Tilly. ‘I was worried when you were so late.’

  ‘Drink with Caroline.’ I kissed her before she stepped back and I saw who else was in the room. ‘Oh for God’s sake,’ I said, gracelessly. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Mum!’ Tilly shot me a furious look ‘You said it was fine!’

  ‘Hello,’ said Rob, getting up from the chair. ‘You look nice.’

  ‘I didn’t take that bit in,’ I told Tilly crossly, as I kicked off my shoes, reeling at the shock of my ex dishing out his second compliment in as many months, bringing the grand total to more than he’d managed in twenty years.

  ‘Dad’s helping me take my stuff back. I knew you weren’t listening,’ she said, martyred. ‘Too busy with Oliver.’ She shot her father a knowing look.

  ‘Don’t start that, Tilly,’ I said sharply. ‘We were right in the middle of a conversation that was important.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Rob asked weightily.

  ‘Yes fine. Where are the boys and Sam?’

  ‘Oliver and Ben have gone to the pub, and Sam’s upstairs skyping her mum. I was going, but Gabriel’s got to work late so I thought I’d keep Dad company till you got back.’ Tilly made it sound as though she were doing me a favour.