‘I’m exhausted. I’m beyond tired. I feel like I’m a shell of a woman going through the motions of life and my brain isn’t quite plugged in. She never sleeps for more than forty-five minutes, day or night. But I love Willow so much. As long as she’s healthy, that’s all that matters,’ she says weakly, as though she’s a robot reciting what she thinks she should say. We’ve all been there.
‘Willow being healthy is not all that matters. You need to be OK, too, mentally and physically. She needs a healthy mummy, doesn’t she? If you broke your arm and had to have it in a cast, would that mean you didn’t love her?’ I say.
‘No, obviously not,’ she agrees.
‘And if you thought you had a fracture in your arm, would you go straight to the doctor to have it checked out, even if you weren’t fully sure it was broken?’
‘Yes,’ she says, still following along.
‘This is the same. We can go and see the GP and have a chat. They can help you, and if they say there’s nothing to worry about, there’s no harm done, you can tick that errand off your list. Let me just be really firm here, because it matters to my mummy heart too, after how terrible I’ve felt over the years with Lyla. Having a blip in mental health does not equal a blip in your love for your baby. It’s more loving to your baby to go and talk to someone because you’re taking care of yourself and you’re the person who takes care of Willow!’ I feel emotional saying all this. I wish someone had said this to me when I had Lyla. I remember Kath talking to me a lot about the baby blues and depression, but the words that rang loudest in my ears were from my mother telling me to pull myself together before Simon came home and found his fiancée a ‘pathetic, crying mess’.
I take a deep breath at the same time as Lacey does and we sit in silence for a few moments, letting it all sink in.
‘I love you, Lacey,’ I say, tilting my head to one side.
‘I love you too, Robin,’ she says, mirroring me. ‘Thank you.’
‘Any time. Now, tell me how long I microwave your boob milkshake for, and go upstairs for the longest bath of your life.’
I SPEND THE REST of the morning and afternoon at Lacey’s. She has a bath and a long sleep and I don’t disturb her once. I remember the feeling of being desperate for a few moments of freedom. Freedom from the baby you love so much, but who affords you absolutely no let-up and who, in your darkest moments (in which I found myself regularly), you deeply, but secretly, resent.
As it’s a novelty for me, Willow is a delight to spend time with. I mean, she doesn’t do an awful lot at three months old, but we have a lot of cuddles, a lot of milk, a couple of squidgy, sludgy pooey nappy changes (I’d forgotten the joy of pre-solid-food changes) and some time in her all-singing, all-dancing baby bouncer. I used to be so jealous of mums who had all these things for their babies. Simon and I were on the tightest of budgets and had the bare essentials, so our bouncer was one of those basic wire and fabric ones. This one makes music, swerves from side to side and vibrates. I’d quite like to have a chair like that for myself!
Spending time with Willow also makes me think of the baby Edward and I lost. He or she would only have been a few weeks older than Willow, and would probably have had a snazzy bouncer, too. I spend some time wondering if I would have been a different sort of mother this time round, and if being financially secure would have made much difference to my mental health. Can money buy you happiness? Thankfully Willow doesn’t leave me much time to spiral into this thought vortex or feel sad about my angel baby because she’s on a three-hourly schedule, and by the time I’ve put her down for a little snooze, washed the bottles, made myself a cup of tea and taken forty-five pictures of her sleeping and looking so freaking adorable, I need to start all over again.
It is gone three o’clock by the time Karl comes home. I take him aside for a quiet word and try not to let my anger at him show. Lacey has been doing such a good job of pretending she’s fine that he’s just been admiring of her and letting her get on with it, as she insisted she wanted to. He is pretty chastened by my words, but promises to be more hands-on. Good.
When I finally get up to leave, it’s nearly four o’clock, and so naturally I have the Mum Guilts about not having seen Lyla much. I could focus on the fact that I’ve helped my friend and looked after a baby all day, but no, the Mum Guilt is banging on the door again.
At the door, Lacey is crying again. Today I’ve told her over and over it is just Mum Guilt, and that she needs to ignore it, but I’m not even taking my own advice. She’s promised me she’ll book in with her GP. I wish I could go with her, but Karl will, and there’s a bit of me that’s secretly relieved because I didn’t want to have to tell her that next week is crazy busy and that I am feeling a touch tense that Natalie has suggested we have a ‘review meeting’ soon. I hug Lacey hard and tell her I am here for her night and day, and that she is a good mum, a good woman, that she just needs to open up to Karl a bit more and that it is all going to be all right.
It is. It is all going to be all right.
ELEVEN
STEPPING THROUGH THE DOOR is like old times, with the smell of home cooking wafting through, and as I walk into my kitchen, a table full of productivity.
‘Mummy, we’re working on Auntie Kath’s new line – lavender phone cases!’ Lyla declares, standing up on her chair to greet me and nearly toppling off.
‘Steady, love! And yes, we are! Colly thinks I need to get with the times and appeal to the younger market now that I’m up and running with all my other lavender creations, so that’s what I’m doing. We’re pressing purple pansy petals and lavender sprigs into these phone case whatsits, and then you young folk obsessed with your gadgets can attach them to the back of your phone and have a calming bit of nature wherever you go,’ she says, smiling and gesturing a clear phone case around.
‘That’s such a good idea!’ I say, plonking my bag on the worktop by the kettle and going over to look at all of them.
‘Yeah, and each one is unique, just like us,’ adds Lyla with an adorable attempt to wink at Kath.
‘You should take her with you round the stockists as a sales assistant,’ I laugh to Kath, leaning over to give Lyla a big squish and a cuddle.
‘I might have to! I’m not really sure where to see about stocking these,’ Kath says, surveying the table full of materials. ‘Colly’s set me up with some floristry friends, who have put a few pots of my lotions and bath bombs by their tills, so I think they might take a couple, but where could I put these where the youngsters will see them?’
‘What about selling them online and using social media to promote them? Or seeing if there are any local bloggers who could help spread the word?’ I suggest, admiring a couple of them. They really are good. I’d buy one!
‘I don’t know how to do any of that internet malarkey, and Colly has a girl to do his computer bits at work. Oooh, could you set me up?’ she adds, as though a light bulb just pinged on in her head.
‘Oh Kath, I’m beyond busy at the moment, with work and Lyla and Edward and now Lacey, but I might have just the solution for you! There’s a group started at our school called Women Who Win, and it’s full of smart women with smart ideas. Some of them want to start something, and some of them just want to be part of something. I bet there would be someone there who would love to help out on this sort of thing,’ I say eagerly.
‘Oh, would they? That’s very nice of them! Will there be someone who can set it all up on the websites?’ she asks, starting to clear her things away while Lyla fiddles with some loose petals and watches the back-and-forth with interest. She takes everything in these days.
‘I’m sure there would. Plus, on sites like Etsy you don’t really have to set up a website, they have templates and steps you follow to make it all really simple. Then maybe you could set up an Instagram account or go on Facebook to share what you do a bit, and promote it. You’d be a worldwide hit in no time!’ I say, flourishing the phone case elaborately, making Lyla giggle.
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‘Well, I’ve no idea what she just said, but oh my giddy aunt, your mummy’s got all the ideas, hasn’t she?’ Kath says joyfully to Lyla, who’s loving this family time.
‘You’re my giddy aunt!’ she says, standing up on her chair again and giving us a little dance. How do children have this much energy all the time? I can’t remember the last time I wanted to stand on a chair and shimmy about, but it’s almost a daily occurrence with her. They say men are a mystery, but I’m adding children to this list, too.
We clear the beautiful debris away into Kath’s array of old biscuit tins, floral boxes, jiffy bag envelopes and ziplock baggies, and I make a mental note to order her a label maker and stackable storage boxes. While I’ve been out, Kath and Lyla have popped to the shops for ‘the essentials’ and whipped up a chicken and veggie bake and an apple crumble. Our Kath does not do things by halves.
We sit down around my big old oak table that has seen me through many years and tuck in.
‘This is lovely! It feels like the olden days,’ I say, putting my fork down and taking stock of my gorgeous family.
‘What, like when you were little and you didn’t have electricity or cars?’ Lyla asks, with full cheeks like a hamster.
‘Please don’t talk with your mouth full, and I’m not that old. I was a child in the 1980s. We had everything you have now!’ I retort.
‘You didn’t have the internet or Netflix or Kylie Jenner Lip Kits,’ she says without missing a beat.
‘When did you get so sassy, please?’ I ask, laughing at her.
‘I dunno. Corinthia thinks I’m really cool. She’s asked to come for a sleepover. I said she could because it’s OK, isn’t it?’
‘Oh. Well. You’ve got closer friends than Corinthia, haven’t you?’ I ask hopefully. I really want to avoid any contact I might have to have with her horrid mother, Valerie. We’ve never really seen eye to eye and have had one or two ‘stern words’ (aka she was nasty about Lyla a couple of years ago so I called her a bitch), so I can’t imagine she’ll be thrilled to have her daughter stay here. Although she hasn’t been much of a problem these last few months, so maybe she’s turned over a new leaf.
‘So can we?’ Lyla interrupts my thoughts.
‘I think it sounds nice for Lyla to be having friends for sleepovers,’ Kath says warmly. ‘You used to love having sleepovers at my house when you were little. Do you remember, we used to make biscuits together and you and your friends would save them till really late for a midnight feast.’
‘I do! They were such lovely nights! And Derek would steal them away, leaving clues for us to find and rescue them!’ I reminisce excitedly.
‘That’s right, he did! He was such a good egg, wasn’t he?’ Kath smiles with sad eyes.
‘He really was. The very best egg.’ I reach out and put my hand on hers.
‘But can Corinthia come, though?’ Lyla badgers.
‘Go on, then. It’s lovely to make friends, so if her mum says yes then we’ll arrange a date,’ I concede.
‘Woohoooo! Yasss queen!’ Lyla cheers. She’ll be as bad as Skye soon with her youthful lingo.
ONCE LYLA IS IN bed, I know it’s my opportunity to talk to Kath about bigger topics.
I make us both a big mug of sweet tea and plonk down on the brown leather couch. I don’t care what Edward says; it’s part of my freaking soul, dammit.
‘Oo-eee, what a day!’ Kath says, taking a cautious sip in case it’s too hot. Kath, as always, looks amazing. I think if anyone else wore some of the outfits she does, they’d look utterly gaga, but not Kath: she is the definition of rocking your look. Today she has on cerise-pink pedal pushers with little blue forget-me-nots embroidered (potentially by her) on the legs and matching blue tiny pompoms stitched around the hem (definitely by her), a floaty white cotton blouse, four or five chunky glass bead necklaces of varying colours, one with a selection of shells interspersed, a pair of tortoiseshell glasses (even though she doesn’t need them) nestled in her well-coiffed hair (Kath used to be a salon stylist, so her hair is always on point) and a rainbow of eyeshadow shades on her eyelids. She’s always been eclectic with fashion, but the eyeshadow is new.
‘I like your make-up, Kath, it’s really bold,’ I start.
‘Thank you! Colin says he loves how colourful I am, so I started making a bit more of an effort. I found a lovely kit in Boots that has a hundred and twenty eyeshadow colours and I’m trying out each one. I’ll be taking over your job soon!’ she jokes.
‘Crikey! I’d best warn Natalie,’ I says. ‘I’m glad things are going well with Colin. Are you as happy as I hope you are?’ I ask.
‘I really am, lovey,’ Kath says, reaching for my hand to reassure me. ‘He’ll never be your wonderful uncle, but he’s a good man and I know Derek will be looking down on us, smiling at how well we’re getting on and how happy we are. We’ve all got what we wanted. You’ve got Edward, I’ve got Colly and Lacey’s got Willow – it’s perfect!’ she says cheerily.
‘Are you sure you’re OK, Kath?’ Despite her cheeriness, I know something isn’t quite right. I can tell. She’s been distant for weeks, and I am actually starting to feel a bit worried now.
‘Oh yes, lovey, I’ve got everything I need,’ she says brightly. ‘No need to worry about me.’
When you’re really worried about someone, and they tell you not to worry, even though you know you should carry on worrying, you feel a guilty relief. I’ve got so many things to worry about, I’m getting a bit overloaded: that upcoming work meeting with Natalie, Kath being distant, Lacey being down, Lyla getting on with Edward, bloody Valerie and I having to arrange a play date, being part of WWW and introducing Kath’s lavender business at the next session. It’s all a bit much. I can feel myself getting warm and itchy round my neck. Urgh! This is horrible.
‘Are you all right, love?’ Kath asks, watching me scratch at my chest and get up to open a window.
‘Yep! Fine,’ I say. There it is again, that magical word ‘fine’ that we use to shut out any help or show any shred of emotion. When does fine ever mean fine?
‘You don’t look fine. I’m your auntie – I know when you’re not yourself. Maybe I can help,’ she coaxes, really in her element now the emotional weight has shifted from me looking in on her, to her helping me.
I decide it’s now or never.
‘OK, I’m not super-fine. I’m mostly fine.’ Can anyone ever just say they are not fine?
‘That’s a good start. What’s not super-fine, then? Is it Edward?’ she offers.
‘No, it’s not Edward. He’s been so, so good with us, both Lyla and me. It’s, well, it’s lots of things – like work, and Lacey, and I’ve missed you. Lacey said you’d been visiting her, but you’ve been too busy to visit us properly,’ I say, embarrassingly, like a whiny child. I need to get a grip.
‘I have visited you! I popped in with the extra lavender bags last week, and you saw me out and about the week before when I was in M&S with my friend from crochet group!’ she protests.
‘It’s not like it used to be, though! Popping in one week and bumping into you in M&S the week before? I used to come in and find you decluttering the airing cupboard, or Lyla would go to yours for whole afternoons to play,’ I carry on needily. I don’t think I’ve realised how much I’ve missed her until I’ve let all this out.
‘Well, life’s a bit busy at the moment, isn’t it, pet? You’ve got your Edward and I’ve got my Colin and Lyla’s getting bigger at school and wanting to spend more time with all of her little friends, isn’t she?’ Kath tries, weakly.
‘I do have Edward, but you were here first. And you have Colin, but … you still have time to see Lacey,’ I whisper quietly, looking into my cup as I say the last bit.
Kath pauses and looks into her cup, too.
‘Willow is very special. And we can both see that Lacey needs help, even though she’s not been admitting it to anyone. And being with Willow, well … it’s … healing, isn’t it?’ Kath
says, still looking down.
‘I know what you mean. My heart breaks for how long Lacey and Karl waited for her, so having her here is wonderful. I think once Lacey’s back on her feet, she’ll feel wonderful, too.’
Kath lifts her head and looks into my eyes for a moment. Kath might be fifty-four, but her eyes are so young. I always think it’s a bit cringey when people say eyes ‘sparkle’, but Kath’s really do.
‘She will. Willow is so special. All babies are special, wherever they are,’ she concludes eventually after a few seconds of silence, looking a bit teary. I think she might be gently referring to my miscarriage last year.
‘They are,’ I say. ‘I would like to see you more, though. Maybe I can work around your schedule a bit, now you’re doing more,’ I offer.
‘That’d be lovely. I don’t want you or Lyla to think I don’t love you. I do, very, very, very much. I’ve just had such a lot to do lately, and … such a lot to think about,’ she says again, a bit wobbly.
‘Is it all getting a bit much with the lavender business?’ I ask, sensing she might have bitten off more than she can chew.
‘Yes, it might have done.’ She nods.
‘Well, we love you and we want to help. Why don’t you bring some more of the cases over tomorrow night, and Lyla and I will help you put them all together? We can make an assembly line and have you up to speed in no time! Meanwhile, I’ll add you to my WWW group mailing list, and everything, I promise, will be OK,’ I say triumphantly.
‘Thank you, my gorgeous girl, I’m so glad to have you in my life. You and Lyla are so special,’ she says, misty-eyed. Usually it’s me with the surplus of emotions, but tonight Kath’s on form.
To lighten the mood, I spend the rest of the evening introducing Kath to the joys of reality TV on Netflix.
‘So, they’re all going to stay at this villa for a whole summer and try to fall in love with each other?’ and, ‘They’re a bit flighty, aren’t they? One chap one day and another the next, but all sleeping in the same bedroom! In my day if you so much as disappeared into another room for more than five minutes, your mother would have your guts for garters!’ were some of my favourite moments of outrage from her.
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