The Mum Who Got Her Life Back

by Fiona Gibson

  ‘Aw, do we really have to do this?’ Iain groans.

  ‘Seems like it, yeah,’ Jack replies. ‘She reckons it’ll boost our profile and get us loads of press coverage …’

  ‘Celebrity stuff?’ Molly asks, interest piqued. ‘What’ve you got so far?’

  Jack drains the last of his lager. ‘Nothing, unfortunately. We’ll have to get our act together. Apparently the Edinburgh shop have some mittens donated by …’ He tails off and frowns. ‘Some soap woman. The face of waffles.’

  ‘The face of what?’ I ask, laughing.

  ‘I can’t remember. Miranda someone?’

  ‘Miranda Ford?’ Lori stares at her dad. ‘They have Miranda Ford’s mittens?’

  ‘Uh, yeah. Dinah reckons we have to come up with something to match that …’ He grins at Iain. ‘So the pressure’s on, mate.’

  The talk turns to the world of celebrities, in which I used to nurture a passing interest. However, the people whom Lori, Molly and Alfie are gossiping about are famous solely from having appeared on some dating show, and I haven’t a clue who they are. Somehow, without noticing it happening, I have graduated from Grazia to Pinterest.

  Lori turns to me and smiles. ‘Are you coming to our party, Nadia?’

  ‘Oh, what party’s that?’ I ask, glancing at Jack.

  ‘It’s not really a party, Lor,’ he says apologetically, turning to me. ‘We’ve decided to have a little gathering for my parents. Only hatched the plan last night, didn’t we, Lor?’ She nods. ‘They’re going on a cruise to celebrate Mum’s seventieth birthday,’ he adds, ‘and she refused point blank to have a party …’

  ‘So we’ve decided to have one anyway,’ Lori says, grinning. ‘They can come, can’t they, Dad?’

  ‘Of course, if they don’t mind being trapped for an afternoon with us lot …’ He looks at me and smiles. ‘We’re just inviting a few of their friends and relatives who live around Glasgow. It’s really low-key …’

  ‘Oh, you don’t want us there, then,’ I say quickly, ‘if it’s just a family thing.’

  ‘No, I’d love you to come,’ he insists, and I try to figure out whether he means this, or was pushed into asking us by Lori.

  ‘It’ll be fun,’ Lori announces, and I see her catching Iain’s flat expression as he toys with a paper napkin. ‘You should come too, Iain …’

  ‘I’m probably doing something,’ he says airily. ‘When is it anyway?’

  ‘A week on Sunday,’ Jack replies. ‘Just an afternoon thing. If you’re free, we’d love you to come …’

  ‘I could probably switch some things around,’ he concedes quickly, at which Jack catches my eyes and smiles.

  ‘Great. So, what d’you think, Nads?’

  I clear my throat. The thought of hauling Alfie and Molly along to Jack’s family gathering feels rather nerve-inducing. ‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘I mean, I’d love to meet your parents but maybe it’s not the best—’

  ‘I’d like to go, Mum,’ Alfie cuts in, placing his cutlery on his plate. I stare at him in amazement.

  ‘Great.’ Jack beams at him. ‘How was your pizza, anyway?’

  ‘Really good!’ Ah, I see: my son’s been won over by a vegan margherita.

  ‘Molly?’ Jack prompts her. ‘D’you fancy braving our family en masse?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ she says. ‘I don’t work Sundays.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ Jack enthuses. ‘I’m sure you’ll like them—’

  ‘Gran and Grandpa are great,’ Lori exclaims with genuine warmth. ‘They run everything, don’t they, Dad?’

  Jack nods. ‘Yes, pretty much all the young farmers’ activities – karaoke nights, parties, that kind of thing …’

  With the matter apparently settled – and despite my protests – Jack insists on paying the entire bill.

  As we make out way out into the damp and chilly night, I glance at Molly, unsurprised that she has agreed to come to Jack’s do. But where Alfie’s concerned, I’m still amazed. And as we part company, the kids and I walking the few blocks home, I am reluctant to mention it in case he blurts out that he doesn’t really want to go, not to a thing with old people, whom he doesn’t even know, who are holidaying on a ship. I know his father’s take on such ventures: ‘If I ever mention that I might want to go on a cruise, just shoot me. Or let me go, then shove me overboard.’ Since when did we all become so judgemental about other people’s holiday choices? However, it seems that Alfie really is fine about going, and now I’m thrilled that we’ve all been asked along.

  ‘Mum?’ Alfie looks at me as I let us into our flat.

  ‘Yes, love?’ Ah, he’s had a change of heart already. My stomach sinks a little.

  ‘I was just, um, thinking. About Jack, I mean …’

  ‘Oh, look,’ I say quickly, trying to pre-empt what’s bound to come next, ‘it was nice of you to say you’d go to his do, but you really don’t have to …’

  ‘It’s not that, Mum,’ he interrupts. ‘It’s just … you know that celebrity sale thing he mentioned?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, what about Dad?’

  I can’t help smiling at that idea. ‘I know he’s done pretty well for himself, Alf, but I can’t imagine they’d get much at auction for one of his faded old T-shirts …’

  ‘No, not Dad’s stuff.’ Alfie snorts at my idiocy. ‘I mean, could he help out by asking around? He knows everyone in the business, doesn’t he? I know he says he hates all that showbizzy crap, but he’s connected …’

  ‘Well, yes, of course he is,’ I concede. ‘D’you honestly think he’d help? I mean, he doesn’t even know Jack.’

  ‘’Course he would,’ Molly enthuses. ‘It’s for charity, isn’t it? Dad’s always giving money away. And remember when he allowed himself to be auctioned that time? “Win dinner with Danny Raven?”’

  Alfie smirks. ‘That young film student won it.’

  ‘Yes, and your father was such a surly sod about it that the guy said he wouldn’t bother with dessert, as he had to go home early …’

  Alfie laughs. ‘Ask him anyway, Mum. Bet he’ll be able to get hold of something …’

  I look at Molly, and then at Alfie, thinking: maybe this is his way of showing he’s accepted Jack, after that terrible first meeting. And now I’m wondering if Jack will be viewed as part of our family one day, and if we will be part of his. I know I’m jumping the gun here, but how lovely it would be if Jack became mates with my kids, and Lori started hanging out with them, in a little-sisterly role … she and Molly certainly seemed to get along well when they were searching for Pancake. Perhaps that’s how it goes, when you start dating again as an empty nester? Maybe it just takes a little adjustment before everyone settles down and gets used to the new shape of things.

  ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea, Alf,’ I say, winding an arm around him and managing to plant a kiss on his cheek, before he wriggles from my clutches and spins away.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jack

  While I wouldn’t wish for anyone to lose their beloved dog, I am very slightly grateful that it happened. Before Pancake’s disappearance, things had started to feel a little odd – sort of distant – between Nadia and me. We’ve certainly seen a lot less of each other since her kids – particularly Alfie – came home. This is normal, I know, and God, I’d hate to feel as if I’m being possessive over her time. I mean, I’m not a monster, the type to resent a woman’s family when I’ve only been seeing her for a few months. Anyway, at least our pizza night enabled me to meet Molly in a non-mortifying way, and hopefully persuade Alfie that his mother hasn’t involved herself with a jerk.

  ‘Thanks for coming out last night,’ I tell Nadia when we speak on the phone during my lunch break on Friday.

  ‘Oh, I wish we’d found him,’ she says. ‘But I do have some good news for you. I spoke to Danny about your celebrity auction thing. I thought he might be able to help …’

  ‘Really?’ I say, surprised but deli
ghted, as Dinah has just called me again, cajoling me about the darn thing.

  ‘Yeah. It was Alfie’s idea actually. I’m not sure if he’ll come up with anything, but you never know …’

  ‘I really appreciate it,’ I tell her as I finish my lunch in the shop’s back room. ‘So, what’re you up to later? Fancy meeting up, or coming over, or—’

  ‘Could we just have a quick drink?’ she asks. ‘I’m at the studio …’

  ‘Great, yes. You can come over to mine afterwards, if you like.’

  ‘I’d love to but Alfie’s full of the cold. I did say I’d bring some provisions home and rustle up dinner.’

  ‘Right, of course …’

  I hear her sigh. ‘It’s been a bit crap lately, hasn’t it?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say firmly. ‘You have tons of stuff on, I get that …’ I’m doing my utmost to not sound like a needy houseplant, requiring constant tending. However, when we meet after work I can’t help feeling slightly disappointed that one drink is all we manage before her phone rings.

  ‘Oh, Alf. Can’t you get hold of Molly and use her key?’ she asks tersely, mobile gripped to her ear. She exhales loudly and rolls her eyes at me. ‘You don’t have a jacket on? It’s not that cold, love. Yes, I know you’re ill …’ The pub is busy, as it’s Friday evening and there’s a sense of bubbling good humour as the night is only just beginning. But not for us, as Nadia has to leave straight away. ‘He went out,’ she explains, snatching her jacket from the back of her chair.

  ‘Really? Why?’ I thought he was ill, is what I mean. But apparently, he was so desperate for Lemsip while Nadia’s been in the pub – we’ve been here for less than half an hour – that he ventured out by himself, shut the door behind him and had forgotten his keys. ‘And now,’ she says with a grimace, ‘he’s locked himself out.’

  She kisses me briefly on the lips, and rushes off to the rescue.

  All weekend, Alfie’s cold goes on. Oh, I know that’s normal for any virus-type thing, and of course Nadia wants to look after him as now I gather it’s full-blown flu. But it’s a little disconcerting when I call her on Sunday evening – and the whole family (Danny included) are about to go out.

  ‘We’re going for dinner,’ she says distractedly. ‘Danny’s been away location-hunting so he’s hardly seen the kids. He really wanted to get us all together …’

  ‘Oh, right,’ I say, which must come out oddly as she says, ‘We’re just going to a cheapie little noodle bar.’

  ‘I’m just glad Alfie’s better,’ I say, which doesn’t sound right either; after all it was a cold/flu, not malaria. Did it sound like I was being facetious? I wasn’t looking to meet up tonight anyway; Lori is here, with a couple of friends. As it’s a school in-service day tomorrow I agreed that she could have a sleepover. However, as Nadia and I finish our call, and I wish her a really fun night out (‘It’s only a quick bowl of noodles, Jack!’) I wonder if I have somehow made things worse, by not doing very much at all.

  Perhaps that’s why, later that night, I find myself doing the ridiculous thing of googling interviews with Danny Raven. These tend to be found in the broadsheet newspapers and specialist film magazines. He’s not the kind of ‘famous’ that the Daily Mail goes for. As far as I can gather, no one’s particularly interested in his love life (he’s been with Kiki for years anyway) or wants to photograph him in his Speedos on a beach. No, he’s more the highly respected kind of famous: thoughtful and clever, and a handsome fucker too, I decide, finding myself sinking into a cesspit of gloom as I read about his most recent film, a critical success, and ‘an important comment on today’s fragmented society’, according to the newspaper’s clearly besotted interviewer.

  Were you surprised by the incredible success of Lavender Road?

  DR: I was, yes. I mean, I always believed in the film, right from the start. I knew it had heart and I knew it was a story I had to tell. But the response – well, it’s blown me away really, and I’m humbled by it.

  Fuck, he’s a talented bastard. A decent person, too, by all accounts. Although Nadia’s told me some of the lunatic things he did when they were together – buying that Reservoir Dogs suit, and then getting pissed while he was wearing it and leaning against a lit candle at a party.

  ‘Can anyone smell burning?’ he’d asked, apparently.

  ‘It’s you!’ Nadia had shrieked at him. ‘You’re on fire, you bloody nutter!’ So that was the suit. There were loads of other incidents too, and eventually her patience just ran out. But not so much that she can’t enjoy a Sunday night out with him now …

  I fetch a beer from the fridge, then retreat back to my bedroom where I read on:

  What’s next in the pipeline?

  I’m starting to cast for another film – a follow-up of sorts, although it’ll be its own story. But there’ll be characters from Lavender Road who’ve moved on, and a new protagonist – a girl who’s just come out of the care system as her birth mother has shown up after having disappeared for many years …

  You often cast untrained actors, don’t you? Why do you favour that approach?

  It’s something that just seems to work for the films I make. There’s a freshness there, an authenticity you sometimes don’t find with trained actors who know the business; they have agents and a career plan and they’re great, yeah, but when you find someone off the street, so to speak, it can be quite dazzling.

  Interestingly, the big-name stars involved in your movies tend to have smaller roles.

  Yes, well, we like them to know their place [laughs].

  Like Seb Jeffries?

  Yeah, Seb and I go way back, to my first film twenty years ago, when he was just starting out and not the big star he is now. For me to cast Seb in a main role would be a mistake, I think. He’s brilliant, but for me it’s more powerful to see him in a supporting role, to let the fresh, untrained actors sing out. It’s more interesting. It’s not what people expect.

  What I love most about your films is that, despite the bleakness, there’s always a strong sense of optimism – a belief in the importance of family ties …

  God, yeah. At least I hope so. I mean, that’s what drives us all, isn’t it? What else is there, if we don’t have that love that binds us? I can’t imagine anything more—

  ‘Dad!’ Lori bangs on my bedroom door, interrupting my reading.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Not in bed already, are you?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Could you heat up the rest of those samosas, then? But don’t come in my room. Just leave the tray outside my bedroom door.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Nadia

  Oh God, what a night. A catch-up over noodles ended up with Kiki telling me all the best places to go to in Barcelona – she has been numerous times with girlfriends – while Danny, Molly and Alfie settled into a far more satisfying conversation of their own. Why had she come along at all? I know she’s fond of the kids, but this seems to be happening more and more; that she’s just ‘there’, whenever we get together.

  Thank goodness it’s rare. Mercifully, Molly and Alfie usually spend time with their dad without me being there.

  ‘You really must come to me for a facial before you go,’ Kiki remarked. ‘I can tell you really need one, Nadia.’ She leaned a little closer across the table, gaze fixed upon my face. That’s the thing with socialising with a skincare guru. Like falling into conversation with a dentist at a party – when you’re convinced they’re inspecting your teeth – I can’t help feeling that Kiki is always assessing the state of my pores.

  ‘I’ve never really been a treatment kind of person,’ I explained.

  ‘Oh, you should try it. You’ll feel like a new person! A facial is the one thing that’ll make a big difference to the way you feel …’

  No, Kiki, I think darkly; the one thing that’ll make a big difference is Alfie remembering to flush the loo instead of leaving his pee sitting there, worryingly dark in hue and st
inking out the bathroom. Of course, I doubt if anyone ever flushes in student halls – and I suppose I’m less worried about his toileting habits than the recent announcement that he has chucked in his chance of further education. But still, it’s starting to get to me, and what d’you do in that kind of situation? Ask the pee-leaver to please flush (around fifteen times daily) to no avail, or flush it yourself – or leave it, just to make your point, and endure the smell?

  ‘Life’s so stressful these days,’ remarked Kiki, who I’d imagine has never had to involve herself with another person’s wee, ‘but honestly, a facial releases tension like nothing else on earth.’

  Danny looked over and grinned. ‘Apart from gin,’ he said with a snigger.

  ‘Well, that helps too,’ she agreed with a tinkly laugh. ‘Seriously, Nadia, would you consider it?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure if, er, I have the right skin type for it,’ I blustered, as I’ve heard about her ‘treatments’. We’re not talking the smoothing on of deliciously scented oils, oh no; apparently, Kiki massages the face from the inside, jamming her pokey fingers into the mouth. I’d worry, frankly, that she could do me serious harm. ‘I’ll think about it, though,’ I added.

  ‘Are you a bit sensitive, skin-wise?’ she asked, toying with a spinach leaf on her chopstick.

  ‘Very,’ I said firmly.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ she asserted, flashing those bright white teeth. ‘C’mon, my treat. Pop over sometime and I’ll give you one …’

  ‘Ooh, aren’t we modern,’ Danny said with a guffaw.

  ‘Stop it, Dad,’ Molly retorted, laughing.

  Kiki beamed at me. ‘Give me a ring and we’ll fix something up, okay? Go on, Nadia – you do so much for everyone else. You really do owe it to yourself.’ Then Danny, who is hardly strapped for cash these days, diverted our attention by making a big issue about the price of the green smoothie Molly had ordered.