The Family Trap

by Joanne Phillips

  We move our heads simultaneously to look at Maude again. Franklin is laughing at something she’s just said, and Rosa is holding out a box of chocolates, offering up more than just a hazelnut whirl. No one is watching the TV, and for the first time in the history of Twilight the volume is turned down so low it can barely be heard.

  I reach out and take Edie’s hand in mine. ‘It’s the most important thing in the world, Edie. More important than anything.’

  I can feel my eyes tearing up again, and I blink furiously to stop the flow. But just then something happens to restore my faith in the world. Franklin looks across to where we are sitting and his eyes meet Edie’s. Even from here they are bright blue and piercing, and I’m startled by the intensity of his gaze. And even though there is no discernible expression on his face, other than his usual good humour, by my side Edie visibly relaxes. When Franklin finally looks away, I turn to face her.

  ‘Edie, were you and Franklin at Bletchley Park at the same time? Did he work there too?’

  She smiles just a little and nods. A tiny movement, more of a jerk really, but it gives me the confidence to risk one more question.

  ‘And did you know him back then? Were you … friends?’

  She doesn’t nod this time, but a tear forms in the corner of her eye and then trails slowly down her face. Only I can see it, sitting so close, but I pretend I haven’t noticed. I pat her hand and heave myself out of my chair. ‘Cup of tea?’ I ask, but I don’t wait for her to answer before walking quietly away.

  Chapter 20

  From: paulsmart@smarthomes.net

  To: lipsyhill@mad4mail.com

  Date: 9 June 2012 08:46

  Dear Lipsy,

  I got two invitations to your granddad and grandma’s blessing this morning – one from them and one from your mum! Did you know about this? Are you sure she wants me to come? I don’t know what to think. Nothing for months, and now this. I’m happy for them, Lipsy, and I appreciate the invitation, but I’m not sure if I should come. Has she said anything to you about it?

  Paul x

  From: lipsyhill@mad4mail.com

  To: paulsmart@smarthomes.net

  Date: 9 June 2012 10:13

  Dear Paul,

  That’s fantastic news! I’m so excited! Yes, she did tell me that she was thinking about asking you along. I think it’s her idea of an olive branch or something. Maybe she thought it would be easier for you to just turn up on neutral territory. We’re all going out to dinner afterwards, and you’re welcome to come of course, but you and Mum might want to go off somewhere and talk. Please say you’ll come, Paul. You can’t very well say no now she’s invited you herself, can you? That would be the end of it for sure, don’t you think?

  By the way, I walked past your old office the other day and there were decorators in there. Have you decided to rent it out? The old Smart Homes sign is still up.

  Please say you’ll come to the blessing. I just know everything will be fine as soon as you see her.

  Lipsy

  PS: Did Sharon ever tell you about visiting Mum?

  From: paulsmart@smarthomes.net

  To: lipsyhill@mad4mail.com

  Date: 9 June 2012 12:52

  Dear Lipsy,

  I’m still thinking about it, but I guess you’re right. If she really wants to see me … and she did go to the trouble of sending me a card herself. OK, I’ll come. Actually, I’ll be back in Milton Keynes by then. The decorators you saw are getting the office ready for me. I’m reopening Smart Homes! It’ll be just me to start off with, and I’m going to take the business in a different direction. All this cut-throat stuff isn’t for me, and I’ve been thinking about doing something a bit more meaningful with the business. But anyway, at least I’ll be around to sort things out once and for all. Or not, as the case may be.

  Sharon comes up every fortnight and drops Hannah off but she doesn’t stay. She’s different with me these days, actually. I have no idea why. And no, she’s never mentioned going to see Stella. Why are you so interested? Actually, that’s another reason why I’m coming back. It’s not fair on Hannah for me to be so far away. Really, looking back, I can’t imagine it would have worked out for Stella and me here. She was right, you know. She didn’t want to move away, and I should have listened to her. There are lots of things I wish I’d listened to her about. I just hope it’s not too late now.

  Well, see you in a couple of weeks then.

  Thanks, Lipsy. For everything.

  Paul x

  *

  ‘Scrub or peel?’

  The beautician standing above me is frighteningly beautiful. If the products she sells are even halfway responsible for that clear, glowing skin and firm jaw line, I’m buying a bucket full.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I tell her, star-struck. ‘Which do you think?’

  She pulls an enormous magnifying glass down from the stand behind her and peers at my skin. ‘Hmm,’ she says. It’s the sound of despair.

  ‘How about both?’ I offer helpfully.

  She shakes her dainty head and purses her lips. She taps her perfectly manicured fingernails on the tray by my head. In the background, tinkling music trips around the room. Lipsy is on the bed next to mine having her back massaged by a woman who could be my beautician’s twin. There are about twenty candles strewn around the room and the walls are painted chocolate brown. It screams calm. So why am I so tense?

  For one thing, I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here. When Lipsy announced that she’d booked us in for a spa day, I was so shocked I dropped the phone.

  ‘Are you sure you want to take me?’ I asked when I’d retrieved it from the bedding. I was in bed because there’s not much else to do at nine o’clock on a week night in bedsit land, and Bump and I were exhausted.

  ‘Of course I do,’ she laughed. ‘Who else would I take?’

  Rosie. Or my mother. Or even, at a push, Robert. ‘You have tons of friends, Lipsy. You must be able to think of someone more fun to take than your mum.’

  She sighed. Not a good sign. ‘Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself, OK? You’re coming and that’s that. I’ve checked with work about your shifts so you can’t wriggle out of it, and I’ve got the whole weekend off and Rob’s looking after Phoenix. It’ll be great. Bonding and all that.’

  Bonding? She must have been reading Robert’s parenting books.

  ‘Will Robert be able to cope on his own, though?’ I ask, stalling. ‘He’s usually so busy at work … Doesn’t he have overtime or something?’

  ‘Mum! You sound like you don’t want to come with me. Anyway, Rob’s job is fine now. The crisis is over.’

  ‘Really? You didn’t say anything.’

  ‘Well, I’m saying now, aren’t I? They made a couple of people redundant, but it was more early retirement or something, so he’s safe. In fact … Well, I wasn’t going to tell you this yet, we were going to announce it after Granddad and Grandma’s blessing, but the thing is, he’s had a promotion.’

  ‘Wow. That’s great news, Lipsy. So, you’ll be better off then?’

  I was mentally packing my bags and moving back in to my lovely little house. If Robert could just earn enough to move them all into a flat of their own …

  ‘He’s not going to get paid any extra, but it’s not all about money, is it? It’s about responsibility and showing how indispensable you are.’

  With my bubble burst, I sat back and let her prattle on. Allowed myself to be persuaded that spending a small fortune on a spa day was in fact a good idea, not a complete waste of resources and time. And now here we are, being pampered by two aliens masquerading as perfect humans.

  My alien decides a facial scrub is the best option, and proceeds to apply a paste to my face that smells suspiciously like Weetabix. With gravel mixed into it. I lie back and think about Bonnie and her facial peel, glad I’ve escaped that dubious pleasure.

  After three hours of scrubbing and pummelling, Lipsy and I are released into the swimming po
ol for more relaxation. Lipsy is svelte and gorgeous in her two piece bikini; I am a beached whale in my maternity tankini.

  ‘Mum,’ she says when I emerge from the changing rooms, ‘you are enormous! When’s it due again?’

  ‘August,’ I snap. ‘Early August.’

  ‘But that’s still ages away.’ She laughs and splashes me as I lower myself onto the side of the pool.

  ‘We can’t all be skinny mummies,’ I tell her, dipping in one big toe, then the other. The water is lovely and warm. As grumpy as I sound, I’m actually looking forward to a nice swim.

  ‘If you lie on your back you’ll float,’ she says when I’m fully immersed.

  ‘Right. That’s it.’

  I’m bigger than her, so I can create even bigger splashes, and soon she’s completely drenched.

  ‘Stop! You’ll wash all the essential oils off my face.’

  ‘Your face doesn’t need essential oils, Lipsy. You’re seventeen, for God’s sake.’

  We swim along side by side, until Lipsy gets bored and takes off in an elegant crawl. I plunder on with my lopsided breast stroke, enjoying the weightless sensation of being in the water. After twenty minutes we clamber out, wrap ourselves in white fluffy dressing gowns, and lie on wooden steamer chairs sipping mineral water.

  ‘This is the life,’ Lipsy says.

  ‘Sure is. Shame we have to work at all, really. Be nice to do this every day. Minus the scrub,’ I add, gingerly touching my face. ‘That was a bit brutal.’

  ‘Ah, but you look amazing, Mum. Ten years younger. Just think how gorgeous you’ll look for the blessing next week.’

  I shrug. ‘Suppose so. It’s not a big deal though, is it? Just a couple of hours in church.’

  I feel Lipsy tense by my side. ‘Come on, Mum,’ she says, her voice falsely casual, ‘you’re going to make a bit of an effort, aren’t you?’

  ‘Effort? How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you’re going to dress up, right?’

  I hadn’t planned to. I make a noncommittal noise, and Lipsy carries on.

  ‘I think that tube dress you’ve got is perfect, you know. That biscuit-coloured one from Tiffany Rose? You absolutely must wear that.’

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘I insist on it.’

  ‘Well, OK then. Whatever.’

  I can’t get all excited about my mum and dad’s blessing, I just can’t. Everyone’s going on about it like it’s a real-life wedding, and while I know it’s sweet and all, I just can’t get behind it the way Lipsy is. Maybe it’s because my mum’s been so weird with me lately. One minute she’s berating me and storming off across the city centre, the next she’s asking me to sign birthday cards and being all gushing. Last night she phoned to wish me a happy spa day, and said she hoped I had a really lovely time. Her moods have always been erratic, but I can’t keep up with her these days.

  I promise Lipsy that I will wear the Tiffany Rose dress if she shuts up about the blasted blessing, and she settles back in her chair with her eyes closed and a smile on her face. Bump seems to be having a quiet moment, so I lie back too and let the peace wash over me. Maybe this spa day was a good idea after all. Bonding. Wrapped in white fluffy cotton, with the tinkling music at the edge of my consciousness, my skin scrubbed and oiled and very relaxed, I feel a rare sense of well-being wash over me. Bump shuffles and settles his position and I let out a long, contented sigh.

  I might have made a complete mess of my life so far, and lost the only man I’ve ever truly loved, but this is a new beginning. Lately, I’ve begun to feel almost glad that Paul’s gone. It’s a terrible thing to admit, but it’s true. If he had stayed, if I had managed to talk him round, I’d always be feeling wrong-footed. Guilty for trapping him into the kind of family life he never wanted. But I’ve set him free, and I’ve set myself free too.

  Yes, I wish it could have been different. I wish he had wanted a family; I wish I’d been braver and more honest. But this way I’m not responsible for ruining someone else’s life. This way, I’m just getting on with living my own.

  From now on, it’s just me and my family and my baby. And nothing – nothing – will go wrong this time.

  Chapter 21

  The church in Shenley Church End is a delight of ancient stone amidst the red brick of modern executive homes, with a turreted tower that can be seen for miles. As I walk through the gate, I find myself feeling oddly excited. Well, I’m not made of stone. This is the church where my mum and dad married the first time around, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy for them. They’ve come this far, in spite of everything. Or maybe because of everything. No matter what’s gone before, I’ve decided to be supportive today. This is their day. I’m not going to ruin it by being grumpy.

  In honour of my new-found generosity of spirit, I’ve chosen my outfit with a lot of care. As instructed by my fashionista daughter, I’m wearing the tube dress I bought online from Tiffany Rose – it cost nearly a week’s wages but it’s worth every penny for the way it hugs and proudly displays my bump. And after spending all my days hiding my stomach under an ugly tabard, it sure does feel great to be showing it off. No one seeing me in this dress could doubt my condition, and no one could fail to be impressed by my lovely bump. I don’t know what my mum and dad have told their friends about Paul and me, or the baby and me, but this will be the first time most of them have come face to face with my pregnancy. Ditto my extended family, such as they are. I wonder if my great aunt Alice’s daughter’s cousin will be here. I must remember to say happy birthday if she is. Try as I might, I cannot bring a picture of her to mind.

  To top off my transformation from down-trodden care worker to glamorous mum-to-be, I’ve squashed my swollen feet into high heels, and I’ve piled my hair up high and put on make-up. I look a million dollars. Well, a million times better than I usually do, anyway.

  I wander into the church and find my mum dressed up like an aging TV presenter at Ascot. I’ve promised myself that I’ll be nice to her all day today. Which will clearly include lying. But I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture.

  ‘Mum,’ I gush, ‘love the hat.’

  I think the hat is meant to resemble a monotone basket of fruit, although I can’t be completely sure. Through the white netting I can just about see her eyes. She looks nervous.

  ‘This blasted thing keeps making me sneeze,’ she says by way of a greeting. She holds her nostrils between manicured fingers and I suppress a smile.

  ‘Where did you get it from?’

  ‘Oxfam,’ she hisses. ‘But don’t tell your father.’

  ‘OK. But ... why?’

  My mother pulls me to one side, while smiling and waving at incoming guests as though she’s the queen. ‘I couldn’t decide if I should wear a hat or not, that’s why. It’s not as if I’ve done this before, or had any idea how to dress for it. You’ve been no help, whingeing on all the time about how pointless it all is, and your father hasn’t a clue. I didn’t want to spend a lot of money on a hat I’d wear only once.’

  Or maybe never would be a better choice. I bite my tongue and say, as kindly as I can, ‘Take it off then, why don’t you?’

  ‘Should I? Oh, I just can’t decide. Your aunt Marjorie is over there, look, and she’s wearing a hat. Surely the bride should wear one too?’

  ‘Mum,’ I say, sighing heavily, ‘for the hundredth time, you are not getting married. You are already married. This is just a blessing.’

  ‘Yes, well, we all know what you think of it, Stella. But I didn’t think you’d resent your old mum her moment of glory, despite the mess you made of your own big day.’

  It’s at times like this I wonder why daughters aren’t given a manual when they are twelve or thirteen: How To Manage Your Mother would be the title, or something similar. Maybe their fathers could help put it together, and it would explain all those little oddities that make no sense: the mysterious offence-taking at the slightest thing; the strange moods and disconcertin
g glances; the snipes and cutting remarks handed out along with defiant declarations of love.

  On second thoughts, fathers would probably be no use either. My dad, besotted with my mum as he is, has less of a clue than I do about what goes on in her mind.

  But I’ve decided to go out on a limb here, so I’m not going to react the way I usually would. I let her remark pass and I tip my head down slightly and give her a gentle kiss on the cheek. The look on her face is priceless. She meets my eye and smiles. I grin and hold out my hands.

  ‘OK. Give me the evil hat.’

  ‘Thanks, Stella. You’re a life saver.’

  My mother takes the offending article off her head and I drop it on the floor and stamp on it. ‘Oh, Mum, I’m so sorry,’ I wail. ‘How on earth did that happen?’

  ‘Must have been a sudden draught,’ she says, smirking. ‘Never mind, love.’ And then she gives me a quick hug and traipses off to say hello to the vicar – a long-haired, far-too-young-looking guy called Nigel, who almost certainly wears a thrash metal T-shirt under his robe. Mum turns my way, primed to introduce me, and I nearly give myself whiplash in my hurry to look elsewhere.

  Lipsy, Robert and Phoenix arrive, and I slip into the pew beside them. A distant relative of my dad pushes us all along from the other end until I’m crammed up against the aisle. I turn to check if everyone’s here, and that’s when I see him.

  Paul.

  Lit from behind like an angel, he’s standing in the arched doorway looking drop-dead gorgeous and completely bewildered.

  Paul? Here? I rub my eyes and look again. He’s still there. He steps inside the church and looks around. Runs his hand through his hair. Then he turns and slides into a pew near the back.