Faking It: The most hilarious and laugh out loud page turner you’ll read this year!

by Rebecca Smith

  ‘Is it really necessary to drag him into this?’ asks Nick. ‘It’s not a big deal, Hannah. All kids say stuff like this – and he doesn’t know anything about your book. Just calm down.’

  I narrow my eyes at my husband. ‘You might not think it’s a big deal, Nick – but if we let him get away with inappropriate language now then where’s it going to end up, hey? Penis might only be the start of it.’

  ‘I hardly think this is a gateway to—’ starts Nick and then our youngest son appears in the doorway and the interrogation can begin.

  ‘Is supper ready?’ he asks, sniffing the air apprehensively. ‘I can’t smell burning.’

  ‘Give it time,’ says Nick.

  I ignore them both and gesture Benji to sit down.

  ‘How was your day?’ I start. I don’t want to leap right into the gritty stuff straight away.

  ‘It was okay,’ Benji tells me. ‘Mrs Cowl got cross with me because Logan was talking and so I wasn’t allowed to use an iPad but I didn’t mind because I got to read a book instead.’

  ‘Reading a book isn’t a punishment!’ I exclaim.

  ‘Why did you get told off if Logan was the one talking?’ Nick asks at the same time.

  Benji shrugs at both our responses and I move on.

  ‘Did anything happen in the playground at lunchtime?’ I prompt. ‘Maybe with Auberon? Perhaps some kind of argument that got a bit silly?’

  Benji wrinkles up his forehead. ‘No. We played football for a bit until Logan kicked it over the fence.’

  ‘It’s just that Auberon’s mum seems to think that you said a rude word to Auberon,’ I say, pulling my sad face. ‘A not-very-nice word that has made Auberon’s mum feel quite upset.’

  Benji stares at me blankly. ‘I didn’t say anything.’

  I pause. I’ve never known Benji to lie to me but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t. He might just be exceptionally good at it.

  ‘Well, Auberon’s mum is quite sure that you said an offensive word.’ I pull out a chair and sit down opposite Benji. ‘It’s better to admit it now and then we can move on.’

  Benji’s upper lip starts to tremble. ‘I didn’t say anything bad!’ he insists. ‘Honestly, Mum.’

  I maintain eye contact and try to channel a calm but firm manner. ‘So you didn’t say the word penis at school, then?’

  Benji bursts out laughing, which is not the reaction that I was expecting.

  ‘Oh that! Yeah, I said that! I thought you said that it was a not-very-nice word?’

  I glance at Nick for support but he seems to be thoroughly enjoying the entertainment being laid on before him and just waves his hand nonchalantly at me, which is no help whatsoever.

  ‘Well, it’s not a word that should be shouted at other people,’ I tell him. ‘You know better than that.’

  Benji nods. ‘I do know better than that. Which is why, when Auberon was shouting “You’re a willy” to the people who were walking their dog on the other side of the fence, I told him that you shouldn’t be embarrassed about using the proper word for things and that he should really be shouting “You’re a penis”.’ He pauses and stares at me. ‘Was that wrong? Because you’ve always told us that there’s nothing embarrassing about using the right word for body stuff.’

  ‘You have always told them that,’ agrees Nick, nodding seriously. I resist the urge to knock his can of beer off the table.

  ‘It’s clearly just a misunderstanding,’ I say. ‘I’ll let Auberon’s mum know what happened and then we can forget all about it.’

  ‘Why did you say that penis is a rude and offensive word?’ Benji is obviously not prepared to forget all about it. ‘I’ve got one and so does Dad and Dylan. Does that mean that we’re rude and offensive too?’

  The grin on Nick’s face is large enough to house one man and his dog which is handy, because if he keeps this up then he’s certainly not sleeping under this roof tonight.

  ‘Only sometimes,’ I mutter. ‘But it’s not necessarily linked to your genitalia. More of a personality thing, I’d say.’

  ‘So can I go then?’ Benji pushes his chair back and stands up. ‘Only I’m in the middle of a game with Logan and if I’m gone for too long then he’s going to destroy my house and I’ll have to start building it again.’

  I nod. ‘You’ve got twenty more minutes of screen-time and then you’ll have to come off, okay?’

  Benji groans. ‘Can’t I stay on a bit longer? Logan’s Mum lets him stay on for hours.’

  ‘Well, I’m not Logan’s Mum,’ I retort, looking meaningfully at the kitchen clock. ‘Time is ticking, Benji – you’ve only got nineteen minutes left now.’

  The kitchen door slams closed behind him as he sprints off to claim his precious allocated time on the computer. I pick up my phone and then pause.

  ‘What am I going to tell Allegra?’ I ask Nick.

  He shrugs. ‘The truth. It’s not that complicated, Hannah.’

  The laugh that pushes itself through my tightly pursed lips is as humourless as I feel.

  ‘Not that complicated? Are you insane?’ I lean back in my chair and stare at my husband. ‘I can hardly send Mrs Perfect Mother a WhatsApp message telling her that her perfect son was shouting abuse at complete strangers.’

  ‘Why not?’ Nick looks puzzled. ‘That’s what happened. Benji shouldn’t be branded as the problem here – her kid was the one doing something stupid, not him.’

  ‘But it doesn’t work like that,’ I tell him. ‘If I tell Allegra that Auberon was behaving in a less-than-fabulous manner then she’s going to make my life a living hell. You know the phrase “don’t shoot the messenger”? Well, Allegra won’t do anything as humane as to shoot me. That would be far too easy. She’ll spin this out and exact her own brand of torture for the rest of the school year until I’m begging her to just put me out of misery.’

  Nick laughs. ‘You’re being a total drama-queen! Just tell her that Auberon was being a bit daft. What on earth can she possibly do to you?’

  I lean across the table and fix him with a firm look.

  ‘She can do anything she likes,’ I intone. ‘Because she is in charge of the goddamned world, Nick.’

  ‘Really?’ Nick rolls his eyes at me. ‘The goddamned world?’

  I nod. ‘If I get on the wrong side of her then the rest of the school year is going to be a complete misery. She’ll act all nice to my face and bitch about me behind my back and I’ll end up being given all the crappy jobs at every school event.’

  Nick stands up and stretches his arms and I find myself hoping that he’s not about to disappear off to start working on his bloody Land Rover again. Annoying as this conversation is, it’s quite nice being here in the kitchen together.

  ‘I still think you’re overreacting. Tell her what happened in the playground with Auberon and Benji and then let it go. And if she tries to get you to do anything that you don’t want to do then just refuse.’

  Sometimes, the extent of Nick’s naivety is hard to fathom.

  ‘One does not simply “say no” to Allegra,’ I snap, shaking my head. ‘It’s not a word that she understands.’

  ‘Come off it, Hannah.’ Nick sighs loudly. ‘Just send her a message and let’s try to enjoy the evening. I’ve had a knackering week and I’ve spent the last five days stuck halfway up a tree with a chainsaw in my hand. Right now, all I want to do is chill out for a bit.’

  ‘Is there any more news on that forestry contract you were going after?’ I ask. ‘It’s been ages.’

  ‘Are you sending that message or not?’ replies Nick, and then my phone beeps again with another missive from Allegra, this time in the form of the praying hands emoji. She’s clearly getting desperate.

  ‘Fine.’ I swipe my screen and start to type. ‘As long as you’re aware that it won’t only be me who suffers. She’s currently on the search for a willing dad to dress up as Father Christmas for this year’s Festive Fete and I’ve heard a rumour that you’re in the runni
ng. This probably isn’t the time to raise your head above the parapet unless you’re prepared to spend five hours sweating in a cheap Santa suit while small children try to pull your beard off.’

  ‘Not a chance.’ Nick wrinkles up his nose. ‘You don’t seriously think that she’d ask me to do it?’

  ‘I do,’ I tell him. ‘I definitely heard her talking to one of the other mothers about how “that sexy tree surgeon” would be the perfect choice and as far as I know you’re the only parent who fits that description. Well, the tree surgeon part anyway.’

  Nick scowls at me and I suppress a grin. ‘So I’ll send this message telling her that Auberon was yelling about his willy because as you said, it’s only the truth and it’s not that complicated.’

  ‘No!’ Nick darts across the kitchen and snatches the phone from my hands. ‘Are you insane? I’m not dressing up as sodding Father Christmas.’

  I smile sweetly up at him. ‘So we’re on the same page then? We’re in this together?’

  Nick grits his teeth and nods. And then we throw Benji under the metaphorical bus and write a penitent message to Allegra, apologising profusely for our son’s use of the word penis and assuring her that he will never use the correct terminology for that particular appendage ever again. And did we say how sorry we were?

  ‘I feel like a traitor,’ Nick says when we’ve finally pressed send.

  ‘That’s because we are,’ I tell him. ‘Treacherous, cowardly, disloyal parents who care more about what other people think about us than the moral high ground.’

  ‘It’s for the best though, isn’t it?’ He pulls another can of beer from the fridge and pops the top open. ‘It would be more damaging for Benji to see me prancing around as Father Christmas than it is to be considered a bit rude, surely?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I agree. ‘Although I might have quite enjoyed the performance.’

  Nick grins. ‘Maybe we can have our own Festive Fete. You could dress up as a sexy fairy with glittery wings and a fairy wand.’

  My phone beeps again, saving me from telling him exactly where he can stick his fairy wand – this time with a message from someone I’m actually happy to hear from.

  ‘Dylan wants collecting,’ I say, standing up. ‘Can you finish cooking the fish fingers?’

  ‘If by finish, you actually mean can I start cooking the fish fingers, then yes, I can.’ He takes a swig of beer and gestures at the still-cold oven.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. And maybe you can get Scarlet to run her Head Girl speech for the new pupils past you while I’m gone? I heard it the other day and it needs a bit of toning down.’

  Our daughter has obviously confused our school with a totalitarian dictatorship, if her welcome address is anything to go by. Not that Miriam would necessarily disagree with her. I’m torn between being impressed and alarmed by her tenacity.

  Outside, the air smells like autumn. The leaves are still on the trees but it won’t be long until they’re gone and Dylan will be gone with them. There’s two weeks to go before he heads off to university and it’s impossible to figure out how I’m supposed to be feeling. Part of me wants the next fourteen days to last forever but part of me wishes that we could just be at that point already because the anticipation and waiting for him to leave is half-killing me.

  I pull up outside his girlfriend’s house and think about how unprepared I am for him not to be living at home. I’m excited for him, of course I am, but I’m scared too. Scared that he’ll be lonely and unhappy. Scared that he won’t make friends or that he’ll hate his course. Scared that he’s committing to more debt than I can bring myself to calculate. And selfishly, scared that we won’t survive him going. We’ve been a family of five (well, six, with Dogger) forever and I can’t imagine it ever feeling okay with only four of us in the house.

  The car door opens and my boy throws himself down onto the passenger seat.

  ‘Thanks for picking me up, Mum,’ he says, leaning across and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘How was your day?’

  He always asks me about my day. How am I supposed to let him go when he’s so bloody lovely?

  ‘It was fine,’ I say, checking the mirrors and pulling away from the kerb. ‘How about you? Was it alright saying goodbye to Zoe?’

  He leans forward and retrieves his phone from his back pocket. ‘Yeah, I guess? I mean, it’s a bit weird and awkward and everything but it was okay.’

  His phone pings and he starts to type. I focus on the road and try to think about something else but it’s impossible – nothing feels as big as Dylan’s impending departure.

  ‘Is Zoe nervous about leaving so early?’ I ask, after a few minutes of silence. ‘And how are her parents doing?

  I am obsessed with how other parents are handling this major life event. I’ve spent hours online looking for forums where people (mostly women) talk about how they coped with their children leaving home, looking for tactics and strategies that might help my brain to calm down, just for a bit.

  ‘She’s a bit anxious about meeting her flatmates,’ Dylan tells me. ‘They haven’t got a group chat like my flat has so she isn’t sure what they’re going to be like. But her parents are chill with it all, you know?’

  ‘Oh, they’re chill?’ I indicate and pull left onto our street. ‘Of course they are. Because why wouldn’t they be? It’s a chill thing, isn’t it? I am also chill. And cool. Totally cool. Because it’s all going to be absolutely fine and brilliant and amazing.’

  Dylan gives me a look as I turn off the engine.

  ‘Are you doing okay, Mum?’

  It’s so important that I don’t project my fears and emotions onto him. This isn’t about me. It’s about my darling, sweet, first-born child and I have got to be strong enough for both of us.

  ‘Me?’ I laugh in a light-hearted manner. ‘I’m absolutely fine! Why wouldn’t I be? I won’t have to wash your stinky socks or spend hours collecting dirty plates and mugs from your room or chauffer you around the place because you decided that driving lessons weren’t that interesting!’ I plaster on my chirpiest smile. ‘I should have sent you packing years ago!’

  Dylan puts his hand on my arm. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m ready for the next adventure, Mum.’

  ‘Of course you are.’ I turn away to open the door so that he can’t see my face because I’m getting this all the wrong way round and he’s not the one who is supposed to be comforting me. ‘You’re absolutely ready.’

  It’s me who isn’t ready. And I don’t think I ever will be.

  Chapter Eight

  The instant that we step inside the doors of Ikea, I start to regret my life choices. The place is heaving and, judging from the strained expressions on the faces of the adults in front of me, lots of them are here on the same mission as us.

  ‘So,’ I say, in the cheeriest tone that I can muster. ‘Here we are! I’ve got a list and if we stick to it then I think we can get this done pretty quickly.’

  Scarlet snorts sarcastically. ‘I think we’re going to be lucky to get out of here before closing time.’ She nods in the direction of Dylan, who has already wandered off and is now staring at a mocked-up display of a bedroom with wide eyes.

  I shake my head and start to weave my way through the assembled throng, pulling Scarlet behind me. I’ve been dreading this trip all summer. Nick half-heartedly offered to join us and I initially thought that maybe the whole thing would be more bearable if we turned it into a family day out – but then I came to my senses and remembered the last time that Nick stepped foot inside this shop. My usually mild-mannered husband morphed into a raving sociopath and there was very nearly a nasty incident when he insisted on walking the wrong way around the shop floor, despite the fact that there are clearly marked arrows. He ranted that if they wanted his money then he wasn’t going to be herded around like cattle and that if he felt like turning left instead of right then he damn well would. It was hig
hly embarrassing and I vowed never to cross the threshold of this particular store in his presence again.

  Plus, by the time we got to the checkout, the trolley was filled with a ton of useless crap that he insisted were necessary purchases and that are all, despite his protestations, still crammed into the back of the kitchen cupboard. He hasn’t cut a cucumber into a fancy spiral shape even once.

  Anyway, Nick is at home with Benji and I am here, attempting to make light of the fact that today is all about helping my son to leave home. I was slightly surprised that Scarlet wanted to join us but I’m glad that she’s here. She reminds me that I’m still going to be a mum; that there are still people who need me.

  ‘Look at this,’ says Dylan as we battle our way towards him. ‘I definitely need one of these.’

  I look at where he is pointing. ‘Absolutely,’ I agree, pulling out my list. ‘I’ve got duvet cover written down here. But these are just the show rooms. I think we’re better off waiting until we get down to the next floor – then you can see all the choices and we can find something that’s practical and cheap. You don’t want anything that’s going to be too high-maintenance to wash.’

  ‘No, not that. This.’ Dylan moves forward and picks up a cactus plant. ‘This will look brilliant in my new room!’

  ‘That’s actually adorable,’ says Scarlet, joining him. ‘They’ve got them in three different coloured pots – you should get one of each. But Mum’s right – this floor is boring. Let’s get down to the good stuff on the next floor.’

  ‘I don’t think—’ I start, but my words are lost in the air because it’s as if someone has just announced the start of a race. Dylan and Scarlet are off, bounding across the room, pointing things out to each other as they go but never breaking their stride.

  I dash after them, pushing my way through the other shoppers. This is not what I had envisaged in the slightest. I thought we would wander through the room displays and I could show Dylan my vision for how his room at university should look. And then maybe we’d get a coffee and perhaps a plate of meatballs before making informed, sensible choices about our purchases. I did not think that I’d be spending the morning hurtling after my children while they witter on about cacti. We are here on serious business and I can feel myself starting to get prickly.