‘I was completely supportive of your navel piercing. It was Bob who made all the fuss.’
I opened and closed my mouth in shock. Parents are such liars. And the truth is I think Sarah actually believed that she was all chilled and up for navel piercing. But I was there the day she’d attacked the hapless navel piercer like a rottweiler. I remembered, all too clearly, her threat to have him incarcerated. Sure, Bob had been there finishing off sentences for her, but she’d been part of the act.
‘Have you even called Bob to tell him where you are and how you feel?’ I asked. ‘He told me he’s almost finished the script. Maybe if you talked to him –’
‘I don’t wish to discuss that man. Let’s just enjoy one another, darling. Let’s have some real mother and daughter time.’
Her overuse of the word ‘real’ was really starting to bother me, almost as much as her use of my baby name.
Well, he’s still my father even if he is a slow writer.’ I sulked. ‘And what do you mean by real, Sarah? What other sort of time would we have?’ I asked her even though it was all feeling a bit surreal to me.
Well, you know, real as in, real.’ She struggled a bit more to explain what ‘real’ actually meant, and then she went quiet and looked dazed, almost dopey, just like a woman on medication.
I had to ask. ‘Look, Sarah, Mummy, can I ask you something? Something, well, personal?’
Sarah looked dementedly excited by this prospect. ‘Oh, Calypso, ask me anything!’ She gestured wildly, almost knocking a passing waiter off his feet. ‘I don’t want any secrets between us. I want us to have a really, really close mother-daughter bond. I don’t want you to feel that you need to speak to a counselor when I’m here for you. Mummy’s here for you now!’ She held out her arms expansively. ‘Ask me anything.’
The whole restaurant had gone silent and was waiting for me to speak. I bottled out and began fiddling with my napkin. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Have you got your period, darling?’ she yelled – well, at least it seemed as if she yelled it, and people were looking.
‘No!’ I replied, horrified.
She patted my hand. ‘Well, one day we’ll have a special little mother-daughter talk about your pink cycle and how it will change your life forever and turn you into a real woman.’
‘No, we won’t. And anyway, I’ve been having my period for a year!’
Sarah grabbed my hands and squeezed them. ‘Oh, Calypso, how wonderful. You’re a real woman now!’ She reached out and squeezed my hand. I thought she was about to break into song but instead she set her mouth in a bitter teenage grimace Honey would have been proud of.
‘See, this is what Bob has done to us, don’t you see?’
I shook my head, briefly wondering if it was even worth contradicting her. Okay, Bob might be a bit wrapped up in his script, but that didn’t make him the root of all evil. Despite a sane little voice inside my head that said to let it go, I blurted, ‘I don’t think you can blame Bob for that, Sarah. Besides, I got my first period at school, so what was I supposed to do, send you an e-mail? “Dear Sarah and Bob, I am having my period today”?’
‘Can’t you see, you should have been able to share something as momentous as that with your own mother? But no, Bob always had to be the centre of attention. Bob and his Big …’ she paused, about to say ‘One,’ but after a short hesitation she said, ‘Opus. Your father was like a vacuum of need, and I was always too focused on him when I should have been more focused on you, Calypso. That’s what my therapist taught me.’
Therapist? You’re seeing a therapist?’ I don’t know why I said this when Sarah was giving every indication that she was going gah-gah and in need of professional help. I guess it was a shock, Sarah being so totally boring, grown-up and happy with Bob. Also, it’s never easy to find out your own mother is in therapy. Your parents are meant to be rocks of solid purpose in a sea of turmoil.
‘Of course I am. Everyone in LA is in therapy,’ she declared.
‘But you’re not gah-gah!’ I lied.
‘Oh, don’t be so English, darling. It was Bunny who suggested I leave Bob and come here to spend more time with you. I still talk to her every day on the phone. She’s awfully good, Calypso. She’s made me realise how I have always put Bob first and how I have allowed his needs to oppress me all these years.’
‘Who is this Bunny woman and how would she know whether or not Bob’s oppressed you, Sarah? This is mad. Bob couldn’t oppress a fly. He’s got his faults, I’ll grant you what with his appalling dress sense and those horrible noises he makes when he eats, but that can’t be classed as oppression, even by Hollywood standards.’
‘Bunny is my therapist. She warned me that you might become hostile at the news of losing your father so suddenly.’
‘I haven’t lost him. I e-mailed him the other day. And he e-mailed me straight back. He’s still my father even if he is annoying.’
She glared at me and I glared right back, and then I realised the waiter was standing there, and I went bright red.
Sarah took charge, slipping seamlessly from gah-gah loon to her mother superior bossy boots. We’ll have two large thick-crust pizzas, thank you, double the cheese, double the pepperoni –’
‘But I don’t want pepperoni,’ I interjected.
Sarah ignored me, waving my words away as if I were the mad one. ‘Double everything in fact, and triple the carbs!’ she insisted, glaring at me in a very oppressive way.
The waiter looked clearly unnerved and turned to me for support. I smiled reassuringly at the poor guy. He was only about nineteen and quite fit, I noticed. Two large. One Hawaiian, and one pepperoni and two Diet Cokes,’ I told him sweetly. ‘And make those thin crusts,’ I added firmly as I gave Sarah a warning stare.
She didn’t say another word until the pizzas arrived, and then she thanked the waiter effusively. We ate our meal in cold silence. I expect she had found this particular mother-daughter bonding session a bit of a letdown. I wondered how she’d describe it to her therapist, Bunny. But then after a while I began to feel bad because, whatever was going on with her and Bob, she was definitely going through a difficult time (although I was starting to think this Bunny might be more responsible than Bob for this whole drama). So as we were leaving the restaurant, I took my mad madre’s hand in mine and thanked her for lunch. Would you like to have a look around the shops, Sarah?’ I suggested brightly, hoping to coax her out of her mood.
She didn’t need much encouragement. She wrapped her arm around my waist and gave me a squeeze. ‘Sorry if I’m being a bit full on,’ she explained. ‘It’s just that I’m still finding my feet as a single mom.’
I spoke to her gently. ‘But Sarah, you’re not really a single mom, are you?’ I asked. Or was she a single mom? I wondered briefly, remembering the essay competition. ‘Bob loves you. I know he can be annoying, especially when he slurps his cereal and plays the harmonica, but he does love us both and he does want you to go home. You two belong together. Who’s going to finish off his sentences for him?’ There, I’d said it. Bugger Bunny and her nutty therapy.
But Sarah was not so easily persuaded. ‘I belong here,’ she said, adding ‘with you.’ ‘And you’ll adore the house in Clapham, Boojie. It’s right on the Common. I can’t wait for you and your friends to have your sleepover party on the exeat weekend. I’ll pick all of you up and we can go back on the train together. Won’t that be super?’
Super. Public transport was not the standard form of conveyance for Saint Augustine girls, but I was certain my friends would be more than happy for the adventure. Apart from Honey, obviously. “Yaah, that sounds great,’ I agreed cheerfully.
‘Super. We’ll have a real girls’ night in!’
‘As opposed to one of those faux girls’ nights in?’ I teased, but my poor madre just looked at me as if I were speaking in tongues again, and then her eyes glazed over the way mad people’s do.
‘Sarah, you weren’t serious about Bob not b
eing part of your emotional thingamee were you?’ I asked gently as the sun slipped behind a cloud for what I expected would be a very long visit.
‘I don’t want to talk about anything serious,’ she said gaily. ‘I just want to have fun with my Boojie.’
‘Boojie?’ A voice came from behind. It was Kevin, Star’s boyfriend and Freddie’s best mate.
‘Hel-lo there!’ my mother sang – yes sang.
‘Erm, hello. Kevin Pyke, I’m a friend of Calypso’s.’ He extended his hand and gave me a look that said, ‘I’m afraid. I want to run away.’
‘My name’s Sarah, Kevin. I’m Calypso’s mummy.’ With that, Sarah grabbed Kevin’s hand, but not to shake it. Instead, she pulled him along with us down the cobbled lane, swinging his arm in one hand and mine in the other. ‘Now, Kevin, I want to hear all about you. You and I are going to be super friends, I can just feel it.’
‘Yes, Mrs Kelly,’ Kevin agreed, but I could tell he was afraid. He kept trying to look me in the eye as a few drops of rain began to fall, but I couldn’t face him.
‘Isn’t this simply super, kids? Don’t you just love an English shower!’
Kevin laughed. ‘Actually I think it’s about to piss down, Mrs Kelly.’
‘Sarah. You must call me Sarah. I don’t want you to think of me as some old woman with no idea about current trends, Kevin. I’m a writer on one of your teen shows, Gladesdale. So, Kevin, tell me ALL about yourself. I want to know everything. I want to know what makes you tick. I want to know the real Kevin.’
‘Right. Well there’s not much to tell,’ he told the mad madre. ‘And see the thing is, love to chat and all, but have to run. Meeting the girlfriend, you see.’
Trust Star to be referred to with an article – I wondered if Freds referred to me as the girlfriend? I suspected not. I wondered if he even said ‘my girlfriend,’ but I doubted that as well.
‘Ooooh, who’s the lucky girl, Kevin?’ Sarah pried embarrassingly.
‘Sarah!’ I scolded. ‘Don’t be such a busybody.’
‘Star. She’s, erm, a friend of Calypso’s. Actually, Calypso will fill you in. I have to leg it or I’ll be –’
‘Oh, lovely. I know Star well. She came to stay with us in LA when we were still a family …’ She allowed her voice to trail off as if she couldn’t go on, which was sooo not true. She was dying for Kevin to say something sympathetic so she could pour her heart out.
Poor Kevin looked like a fox caught in a trap. ‘Okay. Well, sounds cool but Star will murder me if I’m late.’ He pointed at me as he backed off. ‘And Freddie is looking for you too, Calypso. Nice to meet you, Mrs Kelly, I mean Sarah,’ he called out as he legged it down the lane.
With that, he was gone and so was my hope of finding a way of pretending to Freds that I hadn’t actually made it into Windsor that day.
I was definitely going to have some material for my essay now. My life was looking increasingly tragic by the minute. And then it got really bad. ‘Calypso!’ Freddie called from the other end of the lane. He looked gorgeous; his dark hair that did funny sticky-out things without gel, still upright despite the increasing rain. I couldn’t see his dazzling cornflower blue eyes yet, but I was drawn to him just like the moon is drawn to the earth, or is it the sun, or the other way around? The point it is, I longed to run towards him.
‘Is that … is that … is that?’ Sarah repeated, over and over again in a swoon.
My distressingly fit boyfriend began moving towards us. With each step he took, my mind threw up a thousand reasons why I should resist the overwhelming desperation within me to run for the hills.
My dread of being embarrassed by Sarah won. It took me a split second to grab my mad madre’s hand. ‘Quick,’ I hissed. We have to leg it. It’s a game we play!’ I explained.
‘Oh, super,’ Sarah squealed as we ran like a pair of bag snatchers down Bond Street. She was laughing and shrieking, probably exhilarated by how teenage and puerile it all was. Or perhaps this event would feature on an episode of Gladesdale. Or maybe it was just her medication. Either way, we arrived at her car in a state of soggy, giggly dishevelment.
My life was ruined. I had just run from my boyfriend, and however fit and wonderful Freds was, unlike Sarah, he was not going to see the fun in what I’d just done.
But I didn’t have a chance to dwell on how gutted I was inside. I had to distract Sarah so she wouldn’t want me to explain why I’d just dragged her away from Freds. It’s times like this that blurting actually comes in quite handy. There’s a competition,’ I blagged. I know it was wicked to take advantage of my mother’s madness, but I couldn’t exactly tell her the truth, could I?
As it was, I didn’t need to blag. Sarah was babbling away excitedly about how hilarious and outrageous we were, running off like that on Prince Frederick, as she insisted on calling him. ‘Bob would die!’ she said and tooted the horn with happiness.
‘Definitely,’ I lied. ‘Now about this essay,’ I continued.
‘Wasn’t it wonderful – the look on his face? I can’t wait to tell Bunny. She’s always urging me to be more playful.’
No doubt she would soon start wondering about when she would meet Freds, so I was determined to distract her now with talk of the essay competition.
‘Yes, so there’s this essay-writing competition,’ I insisted. ‘An autobiographical sort of thing. You know, drawing on one’s own life experience, that sort of thing.’
‘Oh, Bunny is big on that. She has made me keep a Journal of Pain since I first started seeing her. I write down all the agonies I endure each day. That was how Bunny made me see the pattern of neglect I was suffering at the hands of your father. I’m soooo glad that you are finally able to see the value of committing your pain to paper, darling.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed uncertainly. ‘It’s not my usual field, but I think I’m going to have a shot at it. There’s really big prize money if you win, and they’re publishing the best five in the Telegraph, so there will be a lot of recognition.’
‘Oh darling, a prize? Imagine if you win? Oh, this is exciting,’ she exclaimed, finally tuning in.
‘Yaah, well, I don’t think my life’s been nearly traumatic enough for me to win, but –’
‘Boojems! Don’t put yourself down. You’re life has been full of pain. Shoved off to boarding school, tortured by that dreadful Honey girl, oppressed by an overbearing father and coming from a broken home –’
I cut her off before the violin chorus started up. ‘Mmmm, but you see because it is about one’s own life experience, it’s bound to get, well, quite personal, you know what I mean.’ I looked at Sarah for signs of how she might feel about this. Her gaze was fixed on the road. It was raining heavily now, and the wipers were making it difficult to see what was in front of us. Also, she was still having gear-stick problems. But I persisted. ‘I thought I might write about us, you know, as in my family sort of thing. Like Gerald Durrel, you remember that book. My Family and Other Animals, Bob gave it to me when I was six.’
Yes, darling, you’re a very talented writer. You know I support all your creative endeavours.’
‘So you don’t mind?’
‘Why would I mind?’
‘No, no, there’s no reason you would, but you know it might mean mentioning you and Bob? You are my family if you see what I am saying?’
‘I still don’t understand why you think I might mind. The truth will come out. We can’t hide our pain under a bushel our entire lives, darling. That’s what Bunny says. So you must write this essay. If Bob has a problem, he’ll have to claim it as his own. I’m proud of you, Boojie,’ she said. And I could tell she meant it. ‘So, when do I get to meet this Frederick. We can’t keep teasing him like this forever, Boojie.’
‘No,’ I agreed, my fingers firmly crossed behind my back. We can’t.’
ELEVEN
The Risk of Taking Your Soft Toys Too Seriously
‘You what?’ demanded Star, for the thousandth time later th
at evening after Sarah had dropped me off at school.
‘I told you what,’ I replied through gritted teeth. ‘Look, I’m not proud of it.’
‘I think it’s hilarious,’ laughed Indie. She was funny when she laughed, mostly because of the way she put her hand over her mouth as if laughing at something truly shocking, which I suppose legging it from HRH was in a way.
‘Sarah enjoyed it,’ I added, as if giving my poor mad madre a good time made up for the mess I’d made of my relationship with Freds.
‘Only she had no idea that the reason you were running away from the poor guy was because you’re so embarrassed by her,’ Star pointed out bluntly.
My face went bright red. ‘That is soooo not true! I’m not embarrassed of Sarah. I love her.’
A Royal Mess Page 9
