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

by Rebecca Smith

  The last breakfast. It all sounds so final and, for the millionth time this week, I feel tears springing up behind my eyes. But I have to get a grip. I’m not going to make this any easier for Dylan by behaving like a middle-aged drama-queen. I force my shoulders back and attempt a smile. Nick bends down and gives me a kiss, which nearly makes me cry again because if it weren’t for us getting together all those years ago then we wouldn’t even have a child to take to uni.

  I take my time in the shower and by the time I get out there’s a hot cup of coffee next to the bed and the smell of sausages wafting up the stairs. I put on the clothes that I have chosen for today’s outing and that absolutely didn’t demand two hours of my time yesterday afternoon, standing in front of the mirror and swearing at my reflection as I tried to find items that suggested cool-and-funky-mother while also projecting a do-not-mess-with-my-offspring vibe, which is a harder call than one might have initially anticipated. Then I take a deep breath and head out to face the day.

  The car journey is strangely stilted and completely unlike every other trip that we’ve made this summer, where the kids could only communicate at two hundred decibels while Nick and I attempted to hold deep and meaningful conversations in between navigating disasters. This time the backseat is quiet and I find myself reverting to the kind of mothering that went out of fashion around the time of Benji’s fifth birthday. My attempts at encouraging a quick round of ‘I-Spy’ fail miserably and nobody is even remotely interested when I propose a family game of ‘Yellow Car’ which is alarming because they normally leap at any opportunity to give each other a smack and this game practically legalises sibling abuse. When I enthusiastically point out a tractor on the other side of the road, Nick leans across and quietly suggests that we just listen to the radio and I grudgingly acquiesce.

  When we reach the campus, smiling students in purple T-shirts direct us to a car park. Nick turns off the engine and I twist in my seat, not knowing what words to say to my slightly nervous-looking son.

  ‘So—’ I begin and then a tapping at the window distracts me.

  A grinning student is gesturing to us to get out of the car.

  ‘Welcome to campus!’ he trills as we open the doors. ‘You’re Dylan Thompson, right? My name’s Liam and I am going to be your student mentor during Fresher’s Week. We’re on a bit of a tight schedule so if we can get you moving then that’d be great!’

  ‘How does he know who you are?’ I hiss at my son.

  Dylan grins. ‘My reputation precedes me.’

  Scarlet groans. ‘Plus his name is on that massive sign that you had to put on the windscreen when we got here.’

  Nick walks round to the boot and opens it up. It’s crammed with Dylan’s belongings, all stuffed into every bag that we own and when we ran out of those, plastic bin bags.

  ‘Do you want to take his kitchen bag first?’ he asks me but before I can reply I am gently but firmly maneuvered out of the way by a group of students who have materialised from nowhere and who now begin to very efficiently empty the contents of our car boot onto luggage trollies.

  ‘If you come with me I’ll get you signed in and sorted with your key,’ one of them says to a stunned Dylan, and then she whisks him off before I can even say goodbye.

  ‘I’ll just get his clothes bag,’ says Nick, stepping forward, but he’s stopped before he can get within touching distance of the car.

  ‘We’ve got it covered,’ Liam assures him. ‘We know what we’re doing so it’s probably best if you guys just stand back and let us get on with it, yeah?’

  I wince. Nick is ridiculously territorial about packing and unpacking the car and I’m sure that he’s about to assert his authority and demand that anyone under the age of twenty step away from the vehicle. But instead, he gives Liam a quick nod and moves back to stand with the rest of us.

  ‘I think we’ve been demoted,’ I whisper to him. ‘I feel like an old person.’

  ‘Are we going to get to say goodbye to Dylan?’ asks Benji, looking worried. ‘Because I’ve made him a card and I haven’t given it to him yet.’

  I give my youngest child a calming smile. ‘Of course we will! We won’t leave without seeing him first.’

  Hell no, we won’t. Not if I have to stalk every last inch of this campus to find him.

  In front of us, the car is rapidly emptied and Dylan’s bags taken off to god-knows-where by beaming students who appear to be livening up their day by undertaking their own version of Wacky Races with the luggage trollies. I think about the chocolate brownies that my mother lovingly baked for him to share with the rest of his flat and wince again, hoping that they make it to their final destination in one piece.

  ‘If you come with me, I’ll show you where Dylan’s room is,’ says Liam, giving us another fifty-watt grin. ‘I need to check in with him and make sure he knows what’s what.’ Then he sets off at a brisk pace and we have to dash to keep up with him.

  ‘Why are they all smiling so much?’ I hiss to Nick as we charge through the main entrance.

  ‘They’re probably on drugs,’ he whispers back.

  I screech to a halt. ‘If you think I’m leaving our son here with—’

  Nick bursts out laughing. ‘I’m joking, Hannah. Obviously.’ He gestures to the laughing, cheery young people milling around us. ‘They’re smiling because they’re happy and they’re happy because they think this is a good and safe university, okay? Now hurry up because Liam is on a schedule and he isn’t waiting for us. And neither are Scarlet and Benji so unless you want to leave them all here, we need to catch up.’

  I scowl at my husband and scurry after him. There is a time and a place for humour and merriment and this is not it. Not that Scarlet seems to understand the gravitas of the situation any better than Nick does. I can see her up ahead, deep in conversation with Liam. This would not necessarily be a problem on its own but I can tell from here that she’s gone to full Scarlet mode. If Liam is chirpy then Scarlet is the equivalent of an entire flock of pigeons.

  She’s obviously re-thought her boy ban.

  The poor lad doesn’t stand a chance.

  Liam makes a comment and Scarlet’s peals of delighted laughter ring out around the campus. He turns to look at her and she throws back her hair like she’s starring in her own shampoo advert and it’s only now that I notice her wearing my very lovely, very expensive birthday scarf, which she definitely did not ask permission to borrow. I narrow my eyes, reminding myself to take it back just as soon as we’ve got Dylan settled.

  Once we’re inside the hall of residence, I calm down a bit. The place is filled with anxious-looking parents all doing their best to keep it together and it’s absolutely true that misery loves company. I walk along the corridors, eagerly observing the scenes around me and taking comfort that I do not, in fact, appear to have a monopoly on crazed-mother status.

  ‘I’ve put twenty-six stamped, addressed envelopes in your bag,’ says one nervy mother to her daughter as we walk past. ‘So you can write to me twice a week and it won’t cost you a penny. I’ve even written most of the letters for you – all you have to do is fill in the blank spaces to let me know how you’re feeling and what you’re doing.’

  I wonder briefly if I should have done this for Dylan and then give myself a reality check. I’ll be lucky to get a text message, never mind an actual letter written on actual paper. That mother is even more deluded than me and I love her for it.

  Inside Dylan’s flat, it is organised chaos. There are bags and people everywhere and the noise is deafening. Liam leads us down the corridor and then stops at an open door.

  ‘You all settled in then, mate?’ he asks as Dylan appears in front of us. ‘Unpacking done?’

  ‘Yeah, all sorted. Thanks.’

  ‘Excellent! In that case, you’ll probably be up for the first socialiser event at four o’clock, yeah? I’ll swing by the flat and pick you all up and then we can head down to the Student Union.’

  Dylan nod
s enthusiastically. ‘Is that the toga tea party?’

  Liam smirks. ‘Yeah, mate. You got a toga sorted out yet? Don’t worry if you haven’t – just use one of your sheets. You won’t be sleeping in your bed tonight anyway so it’s not like you’re going to need it!’

  My head is turning between the two of them so quickly that I’m at risk of getting whiplash and my brain is on overdrive with questions. How can Dylan have unpacked so quickly? Why won’t he be sleeping in his bed tonight? What on earth is a toga tea party?

  The last question is half-answered almost immediately by a retreating Liam.

  ‘One bit of advice,’ he calls as he walks down the corridor.

  Thank god. Finally he’s going to do some student mentoring.

  ‘Have something to eat before we go out. Drinking tequila out of teacups can be a bit brutal unless you’re used to it. See you later!’

  I gawp at him as he gives Scarlet a slightly scared look before scurrying out of the door and then I turn to gawp at Nick.

  ‘Who is used to drinking tequila out of a teacup?’ I ask, my voice incredulous. ‘Who, Nick? And what do togas have to do with tequila?’

  My husband shakes his head silently, clearly as confused as I am.

  ‘Let’s see your room, then,’ says Scarlet. Other than her brief attempt to seduce cheery Liam she has been uncharacteristically quiet so far and I’m sure she’s taking everything in, storing information just in case it can be used to her advantage at a later date. She muscles past me and steps inside and I follow her, eager to see my son’s new abode.

  He is not all settled and his room is not sorted. Instead, bags are strewn across the floor, the contents spilling out onto the carpet as if some kind of burglary has taken place.

  ‘Nice.’ Scarlet doesn’t appear to notice the mess. ‘You’ve got your own en-suite bathroom too – you’re so lucky. I’ve been asking Mum and Dad for an en-suite for years.’

  ‘And when you’re earning enough money to pay for the house extension that would be required for you to have private bathroom facilities then you can get back to me,’ Nick tells her.

  I clap my hands. ‘Right then! If we all pitch in then I think we can probably get this place unpacked and ordered in the next few hours. Nick – why don’t you put his lamp together? Benji and Scarlet, you can start putting his toiletries in the bathroom and Dylan, you can help me make up the bed because, regardless of what helpful Liam may think, you are actually going to need somewhere to sleep tonight.’

  I lean down to find the bag containing his bedding but a hand on my arm stops me.

  ‘Actually, Mum – I think I’m good to do this myself.’ His voice is quiet and when I glance up at him, he looks worried. ‘I need something to do when you all leave, otherwise I’m just going to be sitting here feeling weird.’

  I stand and Nick puts his arm around me, pulling me close.

  ‘I think it’s probably time we headed off,’ he murmurs in my ear. ‘Give him a chance to meet his new flatmates and sort himself out.’

  No. Absolutely not. Not happening. He’s not ready for us to go.

  ‘Look at him,’ whispers Nick. ‘He’s ready.’

  I’m not ready.

  ‘I suppose we should let you get on with it,’ I say, taking a very deep breath. ‘But promise me that you’ll make your bed before you go out.’

  Dylan laughs. ‘I promise.’

  I can do this. I can find the strength from somewhere very deep within me to smile at my boy and give him a final hug and then walk away without making a scene. This is not a time for sobbing. This is a positive, life-affirming moment and we are incredibly lucky to be experiencing it. This is where Dylan is supposed to be. It’s a good thing. The important thing now is not to cry.

  ‘I don’t want you to go to university!’ The howl bursts out of Benji like a coiled spring and when I spin round, his face is red and streaked with tears. I move towards him but Dylan beats me to it.

  ‘Hey, little bro. No cry-face, okay? I’ll be home soon and you can text me whenever you want.’

  Scarlet joins her brothers and the three of them stand in the middle of the room, their arms wrapped round each other.

  ‘Be safe,’ she murmurs to Dylan. ‘Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do.’

  ‘God, Scarlet.’ Dylan pulls out of the hug and stares at her. ‘That gives me a lot of options. I thought you said that I should stay safe?’

  Scarlet punches him on the arm. ‘Whatever, loser.’

  Dylan grins. ‘You’re going to miss me really, you know you are.’

  Scarlet opens her mouth to utter a retort and then she stops, her eyes glistening suspiciously. I swallow hard and press my lips together. Scarlet never cries and if she starts now then I’m totally done for.

  ‘I got you these,’ she says instead, reaching into her bag and pulling out a family-size pack of chocolate bars. ‘So that you won’t starve to death. And also these, so that you don’t get any minging diseases or, god forbid, spawn any gross offspring.’

  She tosses both the chocolate and a packet of condoms onto the bed and then marches past us to the door. ‘Are we going then?’

  I wonder briefly if I should remove the condoms before deciding that, awkward as it is to see them lying there in front of us, deliberately taking contraception aids away from one’s teenager is probably not deemed to be good parenting practice.

  Nick nods. ‘The traffic’s going to be awful. We should probably head on if we want to be home before teatime.’

  Dylan gives Benji another squeeze and then looks at me.

  ‘It’s easiest if you just go,’ he says. The nervousness in his voice brings me to attention and I snap into mother-mode.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I agree, pulling him in for a hug. And in my head, I am speeding through a camera-reel of images, revisiting all the times that I have held this boy in my arms. Remembering the crying baby and the naughty toddler. The worried little boy and the determined, life-loving young man. And it’s so bloody hard but I remind myself that I am not losing him.

  I can’t rid myself of the feeling that I am losing part of myself, though.

  ‘Have a wonderful time,’ I say, finally releasing him so that Nick can have a last hug. ‘And text me now and again, okay? Just so that I know you’re doing alright.’

  ‘I’ll text you loads,’ Dylan promises, blinking hard.

  ‘The occasional proof of life would be great,’ Nick tells him. ‘Just so we don’t worry.’

  The walk down the corridor from his room to the exit simultaneously lasts no time and also forever.

  ‘Make your bed as soon as you’re back in your room,’ I remind him. ‘And hang your towel up in the bathroom.’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ Dylan says. ‘You don’t have to panic.’

  ‘I’m not panicking.’ I dismiss his comment with a casual flick of my hand. ‘But also, I packed you some milk and it’ll need to go straight into the fridge. And you should probably have a proper lunch if you’re going out later so maybe you could cook some pasta.’

  ‘I could,’ agrees Dylan mildly. ‘I’ll see what everyone else is doing first though.’

  We reach the door.

  ‘I made you a card,’ sniffs Benji, putting his hand in his pocket and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. ‘So that you don’t forget about me.’

  Dylan takes it from him. ‘I love it,’ he says, his voice catching. ‘And I love you. I’m not going to forget about you, Benji – I promise.’

  ‘See you later,’ says Scarlet and then she grabs Benji’s hand and holds it tightly.

  ‘Have adventures,’ I tell him, not wanting my parting words to be sad. ‘Although, maybe not too many all at once. And only safe adventures, okay?’

  ‘Bye guys.’ He waves his hand as we step outside. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  And then we’re doing it. We are putting one foot in front of the other and walking away, leaving our first-born child to the tender mercies of a group of s
trangers. Nick holds my hand and together we take one, two, three, four, five steps towards our new normal life.

  Until Nick wrenches his hand out of mine and sprints back to where Dylan is standing in the open doorway. I watch as he puts his hand in his jacket pocket and pulls out an orange, which he thrusts at our bemused son.

  ‘Eat it!’ he shouts, as he jogs back to me. ‘And I’ve left you a packet of Vitamin C in your rucksack so you don’t get scurvy.’

  I reach out and grab his hand and we watch as Dylan gives us a salute and then closes the door.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask, my voice wobbling with the effort of not bursting into tears.

  Nick makes a gulping noise and rubs his eyes with the back of his other hand. ‘I’m fine. No, I’m not fine. This is crap and I hate it and I don’t know how we’re supposed to do this.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ I tell him. ‘But other people do it so I guess it must be possible. Shall we go home and drink all the wine?’

  He nods and we turn around and make ourselves walk towards Scarlet and Benji who, from the look on their faces, have been having their own emotional moment.

  The journey home is even quieter than the previous trip.

  ‘At least you don’t have to share the backseat with Dylan,’ I quip after half an hour, in a pathetic attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

  There’s a pause and then Benji speaks up.

  ‘I was thinking that only being two of us in the back would be good,’ he tells us. ‘But it isn’t as great as I thought it’d be.’

  There’s not really a lot that I can say to that.

  Chapter Eleven

  Our new normal life is not feeling normal in the slightest. Despite our very best efforts to keep moving forward in a calm and positive manner, our offspring seem utterly determined to make everything as difficult as possible. Dylan started the dramatics by texting us three hours after we’d arrived home from dropping him off, casually informing us that he’d ‘chopped the top of his thumb off’ when he was slicing an onion and was currently en route to A&E by bus. At least that was where he hoped the bus was going.