‘That’s a very defeatist approach, darling,’ Mum tells me. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so.’
I do, actually. I mind quite a lot that I need some help and you’re sitting here spouting utter rubbish. I can do that all on my own, thanks.
I shrug as nonchalantly as I am able. ‘I don’t see myself as defeatist,’ I tell her. ‘More pragmatist. Or realist. I am not a magician, Mother. I cannot write a book that is both the same and also not the same. It’s impossible.’
Mum laughs. ‘You need to write something that’s the same but different. So keep the things about the first book that made it so special and then mix things up a bit. It’s like taking a tried and tested recipe for sponge cake and then adding something extra, like chocolate or cinnamon or brandy. It’s the same but with extra spice.’
I think about what she’s saying.
‘I guess it makes sense,’ I say, slightly grudgingly. ‘I think I can do that.’
‘Of course you can!’ trills my mother. ‘Now, the next thing that you need to remember is that you have to kill your darlings.’
‘No way.’ The words tumble out of my mouth in an instant. ‘I’m committed to Daxx and Bella Rose now. I’m not making one of them die.’
‘Then maybe you could bring in a new love interest?’ she suggests. ‘Something to up the stakes and keep it kinky. But darling, all of this is just snippets of advice. The most important thing is that you write about what you know.’
Write about what I know? I thought she said she’d read my book? Does she think that I’ve got first-hand experience of sex on the barn floors of Wyoming with sultry ranchers?
‘Tell me the main themes of the sequel,’ my mother says, putting her plate down on the arm of the sofa.
‘Err, probably sex and humour,’ I say. ‘That’s generally what I’m aiming for.’
Mum tuts at me. ‘No, no, no. Tell me what’s important for the characters. What do they want from life?’
I sit up a bit straighter. I can totally answer this question. ‘Bella Rose wants to reinvent herself,’ I murmur. ‘She wants to show the world that she’s more than meets the eye. She wants to feel loved and sexy and also capable. She wants to push herself out of her comfort zone and be rewarded in the process.’
My mother smiles smugly. ‘Well, there you are then. You need to experience new things and acknowledge the benefits. It’s all about cause and consequence, Hannah. Action and reward. You need to experience the things that you want your characters to feel and then write about it.’
She hasn’t got a clue about how any of this works. I knew I was wasting my time engaging in any kind of conversation with her about this.
And yet – and yet, there is the nugget of an idea forming in the back of my mind. But before I can let it loose I need to address the reason I asked her to come over here in the first place.
‘Why does Scarlet keep coming over to your house?’ I ask, keeping my voice casual. ‘She seems to be spending an awful lot of time with you. What does she talk about?’
Mum gives me a little smile and then shakes her head.
‘I can’t tell you that, Hannah! Surely you know about client-therapist confidentiality? Plus, it’s crucial that I don’t break the Circle of Trust that I have with Scarlet.’ She pats my hand kindly. ‘You understand, don’t you?’
Oh yes – I understand all too bloody well. The ‘Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby!’ Foundation One, Access to Counselling online course has turned my mother into a hip and valuable font of knowledge, and me into a defunct, obsolete loser, as far as my daughter is concerned.
I just want my daughter to talk to me. Why is that so hard for anyone else to understand? I have spent years giving her my all and eagerly anticipating the day when my teenager would turn to me and see that I have so much to offer. And now she’s turning to my bloody mother instead. I dealt with the dirty nappies and the sleepless nights and the stomach bugs. I should be the one she confides in. It’s not arsing fair.
‘Well, thanks so much for all your help,’ I say, standing up. ‘I feel full of inspiration and ready to get cracking right away. So, if you could see yourself out then I can make a start.’
‘If you’re sure.’ She seems a bit miffed that I’m kicking her out so unceremoniously but thankfully she pulls herself to her feet and starts gathering her bags. ‘Enjoy the rest of your day, Hannah.’ She leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about this book, you know. The last one was a hoot, darling. Just try to relax and channel that same energy.’
I watch her walk down the garden path and then I close the door and race back to the kitchen where a quick rummage in the drawers of the big cupboard provide me with the tools I need.
I’ve been struggling to write because I haven’t really understood Bella Rose’s motivation. I know that I want her to be brave and adventurous and above all, a Sex Goddess but that is not enough. I need to write about what I know, and what I know is that I don’t want Bella Rose pinning all her chances of happiness and success on someone else – she needs to take responsibility for her own wellbeing and self-worth and not rely on the people around her to make her feel good about herself because they won’t, not in one million years. Not even if they happen to be her very own flesh and blood.
Which means that I need to do those things too. I need to push myself. It’s as my mother said – it’s all about action and reward and I know exactly how to motivate myself to keep trying new things. It’s what I used to do for the kids when they were struggling to take responsibility and needed a bit of a visual reminder.
I get to work, using a large piece of paper and a ruler and a selection of felt tip pens. And then I walk across to the fridge and pull down the kids’ sticker chart that has been stuck on with fridge magnets for the last three years and forgotten for approximately two years and eleven months. In its place, I put my new creation with its rows of blank squares, hanging a sheet of gold star stickers next to it that were left over from one of my many attempts to encourage Benji to relinquish his nappy and use the potty.
But this chart doesn’t have a checklist of duties like the old one. I am not going to be rewarding myself for washing up or cleaning out the hamster or mowing the lawn. Hell no. Mummy will be rewarding herself with stickers for activities far dirtier than emptying the kitchen bin and there’s no way that I can write them down for all to see.
Not that this is a problem. I’ll know what I’ve done, every single time I put a sticker on another square. This is the perfect way to channel my efforts into the three things that are giving me the most grief right now: writing the sexiest scenes that I can imagine, turning myself into a Sex Goddess and rejuvenating my slightly limp marriage.
It’s going to be perfect.
Chapter Sixteen
The front door slams shut and seconds later Scarlet storms into the kitchen with a face like thunder.
This is becoming something of a habit.
‘How come you’re home so early?’ I ask, glancing up at the clock. ‘School doesn’t finish for another hour.’
‘I had a driving lesson and now I’ve got a free period.’ She marches across the kitchen and opens the fridge door. ‘I did tell you this morning but clearly you weren’t listening.’
I sit back in my chair and give her a firm look.
‘I’m sure that I was listening,’ I tell her. ‘However, I do have a few other things on my mind, you know. I don’t spend all day only thinking about your timetable. I’ve got my own stuff to do.’
‘I thought you had a day off?’ Scarlet pulls out a yoghurt pot and joins me at the table. ‘What are you doing, anyway?’
I slam the lid of my laptop closed, hiding my manuscript.
‘I was researching something,’ I say, thinking fast. ‘For school.’ I need to distract her from what I was actually doing, which was trying to figure out what Daxx’s reaction would be if Bella Rose appeared in the bedroom in a dominatrix jumpsuit. I just can’t decide whether
he’d be horny or horrified – it’s impossible to predict and I think I may need this to be a Gold Star Challenge, no matter how nervous that makes me feel.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my initial reactions to certain situations and have decided that I need to rethink my mantra. From now on my motto is that it is better to be sorry than safe and I am prepared to die on that hill. Although Scarlet discovering my identity of Twinky Malone is naturally exempt. I may be experimenting with new things but masochism is not one of them. It’s possible that I might have a bit of a flair for sadism though.
‘I thought that I could do a topic on how it is better to try something and fail than forever live your life wondering about the missed possibilities.’ I beam at her. ‘We live in a success-driven society and I’m not sure that it makes us particularly open to adventures.’
Scarlet rolls her eyes. She hates it when I try to voice anything that sounds like I might be being remotely trendy and constantly reminds me that I still think the 1980s were twenty years ago.
Which is fair, to be honest.
‘Yeah, well, sometimes it’s better not to bother trying in the first place.’ She lowers her head onto the table. ‘Like my stupid driving lessons. I’m seriously crap – my driving instructor actually made me stop halfway through today’s lesson so that he could “have a moment to recover and calm down”.’
‘That’s not really what I’m talking about—’ I start and then I think about what she’s just said. ‘Scarlet? Are you having problems with your driving lessons? Why haven’t you mentioned this before?’
Her groan reverberates around the room.
‘I didn’t mention it because I knew you’d make a massive fuss about it,’ she mumbles, her head still firmly pressed to the kitchen table. ‘And I didn’t need the stress.’
She didn’t need the stress? Am I actually hearing this correctly? She didn’t tell me that she was struggling with driving because she thought I’d make a massive fuss and she didn’t need the bloody stress? Scarlet is clearly following in Dylan’s ambivalent footsteps, leaving Nick and I with yet another teenager who claims to want to learn to drive but who would rather take fifty times longer than everyone else while racking up a ludicrously insane bill.
Well, I’ve had enough. No more Mrs-Nice-Mother. Hannah Thompson might be happy to treated like a doormat by her ungrateful children, but Twinky Malone is not.
‘We’re cancelling your driving lessons,’ I tell Scarlet, ignoring the shock that rolls in great waves across her face. ‘I’ll teach you myself.’
Scarlet folds her arms across her chest and scowls at me. ‘No way. I’ve told you before – you’ll do my head in. I’m not getting in a car with you.’
I look at her. As in, I properly look at her. This seventeen-year-old girl whom I would do anything for. I would battle demons and run into burning buildings and stop speeding bullets with one hand in order to save her from any harm. She is the light of my life, the meaning to my world – and also, a bit of a pain in my ass. And right now, she doesn’t need me to lay my life on the line to keep her safe. She needs me to bloody well parent her.
‘Okay.’ I shrug my shoulders. ‘That’s your choice to make. I don’t want to make a massive fuss about it, after all.’
She relaxes slightly and heaves out a deep breath. ‘Thank god for that. There’s no way that you’d be able to—’
‘I’m still cancelling your driving lessons,’ I interrupt. ‘So you have three options, as far as I can see. You can come out with me or you can pay for your own lessons or you can forget about driving all together.’
Her mouth gapes open.
‘How am I supposed to pay for my own driving lessons?’ she snarls. ‘They cost a fortune.’
Yes. Yes they bloody do.
‘You can get a job.’ My voice is calm and measured, like the cool-headed parent that I am but inside I am like a cobra, coiled and waiting, ready to parry her every strike with a better countermove.
‘You paid for Dylan’s lessons,’ she retorts. ‘It’s not fair if you don’t pay for mine. It’s not equality.’
Teenagers are so predictable. She’s not even making this a challenge.
‘Equality isn’t about you all getting the exact same thing,’ I inform her, reaching into my bag and pulling out a nail file. ‘It’s about ensuring that you all get what you need. And what you need right now is to stop acting like a brat and cop on.’ I buff my nails casually, as if this conversation is boring me. ‘So you can either pay for your own lessons or you can gratefully accept my very generous offer to teach you to drive. What’s it going to be?’
Scarlet sucks in air, like she’s struggling to breathe. The room is silent apart from the sound of my nail file and I resist the urge to make eye contact. I am in control here. It doesn’t matter to me either way what she decides. I couldn’t care less whether she learns to drive or not. I’m not even going to—
‘Will you teach me to drive?’ Her voice is so quiet that it’s almost a whisper. ‘Please?’
Thank Christ for that. I wasn’t entirely sure how I was going to explain to Nick that I’d just stopped our daughter from ever being able to drive and that we were probably going to be on chauffeur duty for the rest of our lives.
‘I suppose I can do that,’ I say, trying to sound reluctant while flinging my file to the table and leaping out of my chair. ‘I’ve got an hour until I need to collect Benji – we’ll go for a drive and then pick him up from school at the end.’
Scarlet starts to speak but I’m already up and heading for the hall.
‘Come on!’ I call over my shoulder. ‘There’s not time like the present.’
Honestly, I wish I’d tried to channel Twinky Malone years ago. Just imagine the parenting wins I’d have achieved if I’d been a bit more forthright and feisty instead of constantly worrying about stuff like their wellbeing and self-confidence and mental health.
I find my shoes and wait while Scarlet reluctantly plods to the front door.
‘My instructor has dual-controls in his car,’ she tells me, as we walk to the car. ‘And I’ve never had a lesson where he hasn’t had to use them at least three times.’
I put my arm around her shoulders and give her a quick hug. Just because I’m being a bit firmer doesn’t mean that I have to remove all the love.
‘And that is probably part of the problem,’ I explain. ‘You’ve got the safety net of him being able to brake or whatever and so you’re not invested in your own progress. Honestly sweetheart, you just have to trust me.’
I open the car door and swing into the passenger seat. Scarlet goes around to the other side and I wait until she’s safely strapped in before turning and giving her my most bolstering smile.
‘You’re going to be fine. Just do everything that you normally do in a driving lesson and I’ll give you advice as you need it. Okay?’
Scarlet grips the steering wheel and nods.
‘If you’re absolutely sure?’ she asks.
‘I’m sure,’ I trill, feeling quite excited. Maybe this will be the start of a whole new dynamic between us. I have a ton of parenting energy to spare now that Dylan has gone to uni and god knows, Scarlet has always required more than her fair share of my time and attention. This way I can show her that I am absolutely here for her when she needs me and maybe she’ll stop stomping off to talk to my mother about her problems and will actually trust me with her feelings.
I will be an uber-parent, solving all of her issues while sharing my own life experiences in a fun, non-threatening, Twinky Malone kind of way.
Starting right now.
‘You just need the freedom of driving without the fallback of knowing that someone can take over from you,’ I say. ‘You need to take responsibility for your actions and solve your own problems.’
I’m quite good at this. I wonder why I never considered becoming a driving instructor before – the amount of money I’ve spent on lessons is surely evidence that they must all b
e multi-millionaires?
Scarlet tentatively turns the key and the engine roars to life.
‘It’s like that bit in Wind in The Willows!’ I tell her, chuckling lightly. ‘You know, when Mr Toad gets a car and all he wants to do is travel on the open road? Poop, poop!’
Scarlet makes a strained noise and then releases the clutch.
And I am suddenly re-enacting a mash-up of Wind in The Willows meets The Fast and the Furious and I could happily give myself a good slapping for thinking that freedom was the answer to Scarlet’s driving woes when it is quite clearly the very last thing that she needs.
‘Perhaps slow down a little?’ I croak, trying to make myself heard over the whining of the engine.
‘Don’t scream at me!’ yells Scarlet. ‘I need a calm environment or this is going to end very badly.’
I hold out my hands to placate her and then keep them up – I have a feeling that I might need to use them to brace myself in the very near future.
‘I’m not screaming. I’m merely pointing out that there is a speed limit on our road and I suspect that you’re exceeding it by some tiny margin.’ I glance at the speedometer. ‘Bloody hell, Scarlet – you need to slow down.’
Her eyes dart wildly to the dashboard. ‘The dial is only on six!’ she shrieks. ‘I’m nowhere near the speed limit. Stop freaking me out!’
‘You’re looking at the rev counter,’ I inform her in what I think is a very measured and controlled tone of voice. ‘If you look at the dial next to it, you will see that you’re actually going fifteen miles over the speed limit and if you’re caught on camera then you could get points on your licence.’
I’m not actually sure that this is true. Can learner drivers even get points before they’ve passed their test? It’d be just my bloody luck if they gave them to me instead, as the so-called responsible driver.
‘Alright, alright!’ howls my daughter. ‘Just stop stressing me out, okay? I can’t drive under these kinds of conditions. You need to relax, Mum.’
I am starting to wonder if she can drive under any kind of condition but I wisely keep this thought to myself and Scarlet finally eases off the accelerator, bringing the car back to both a safe and legal speed.
Faking It: The most hilarious and laugh out loud page turner you’ll read this year! Page 15
