Ben holds his fist to his heart and pretends to sob theatrically. ‘He’s taken my place.’
Alice slaps him on the bottom and sends him on his way. Usually, couples as openly in love as they are make me want to smash their self-satisfied heads together. It always feels like pretence, showmanship. But with them, it’s real. They found the elusive fairytale. And they deserve it. Alice is the best person I know and, although I put the poor man through a rigorous testing process in order to prove it, it turns out Ben is probably the only man on this planet worthy of her.
I met Alice at grammar school. She was the only person who didn’t look at me like I was playing at being there – like I really belonged at the comp with all the other rough kids from my estate. She’s genius-category smart, gorgeous and utterly hilarious. Typically, that kind of perfection in a person would make me run a mile, but hidden behind her wild red curls, I recognized a deep insecurity that matched my own. I noticed she never put her hand up even though, when a teacher called on her, she always knew the right answer and then some. Then one day, in the school toilets, I was washing my hands and she was standing at the basin reapplying her eye make-up.
‘Do you think it’s too much? The blue? Does it look silly?’
I looked around to check that she was actually talking to me and, realizing we were the only two people in the toilets, responded, ‘It looks great.’ Because it did. She always looked amazing. I examined myself in the mirror. ‘Mine looks like I applied it with a shovel. But then I need to.’
Alice took a step back and looked directly at me. ‘Are you kidding me? You’re stunning. You’re Emily, aren’t you? We do art together.’
‘Yeah, we do.’
‘Well, next lesson, will you please come and sit by me? I can’t stand the pretentious idiots I’m on a table with.’
And that was the start of our friendship. As well as our self-doubt, we connected over shitty home lives and an unwavering love of Dirty Dancing. I always thought people with money had perfect lives, but her dad was an alcoholic. Her parents split up when she was nine and continually used her to score points off each other. Every Friday night we’d sit in her bedroom while her mum was out on yet another date and we’d drink her mum’s wine and smoke her cigarettes and swoon over Patrick Swayze, hoping one day we’d meet someone who’d tell our parents not to put us in the corner.
‘Right. Wine.’ Alice opens the fridge and starts to fill two glasses with rosé.
I sit at their oak dining table and Alice places my wine in front of me.
‘I’ll just grab my laptop,’ she says. ‘I can’t wait to see these photos.’
As she leaves the room, I look around me. I love their house. It’s muddly, the walls could do with a fresh lick of paint and the leather on the sofa is worn at the corners, but it screams home. Every knick-knack is a keepsake from some great place they’ve visited; all the photographs are full of joy.
Alice sits next to me and hands me her laptop.
‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up. They’re really nothing special. I’m sure you’ve got better ones you’ve taken yourself.’
‘Come on, Em. You can’t get away with that humble shit with me. I’ve known you far too long.’
Every woman needs an Alice in her life. However many times I mess up, she doesn’t seem to see it. The guy was a shit, the job wasn’t good enough, the scumbag deserved it. She has an unfaltering belief in me that I’ll never understand.
I pop my memory stick in and thumbnails of the images of Billy pop up. I start the slideshow, handing the laptop back to her. It’s silly – she’s my best friend – but I’m nervous. The images flash up one after another and Alice stares at the screen but doesn’t say anything. My favourite one pops up. Alice is tickling Billy and he’s gazing up at her adoringly – exactly how she deserves to be looked at. I glance at her to gauge her reaction. Her eyes don’t leave the screen but she reaches her hand over and puts it on top of mine.
When the slideshow finishes, she looks over at me and her eyes sparkle with tears.
‘Oh, Em, I absolutely love them. They’re perfect. He looks so gorgeous.’
‘That’s because he is gorgeous.’
She clicks back to a photo of Billy and Ben building a Duplo tower. ‘He looks just like Ben, though, doesn’t he? I’m hoping he grows out of it, of course.’
I smile. ‘Of course.’
‘Thank you so much. I’m going to pay you, though. I won’t take no for an answer.’
‘There’s no way you’re paying me. I owe you just for putting up with me.’
Alice taps my hand. ‘I like putting up with you.’
I take a large gulp of my wine while Alice scrolls back through the photos.
‘What was it Mr Peterson used to call you? “The bud of genius.” Wasn’t that it?’
I smile at the memory. ‘He probably just wanted to get his leg over.’
‘Well, you were the prettiest girl in the school by a mile.’
‘Hardly. The easiest, maybe.’
‘Don’t you dare! That is not true and you know it.’ Alice wraps one of her long curls around her index finger. ‘Can you remember when I took all those photographs of litter? We had to do that triptych. I called it “The Deterioration of our Souls”. Oh, don’t you just love teenage angst?’
‘Mine was called “Winter”.
‘Yours was actually good. It was those portraits of that elderly couple at the beach, wasn’t it? It was beautiful.’
‘It was clichéd.’
Alice sips her wine. ‘Stop putting yourself down. Mr Peterson was right. You are a genius. You should use your talent. Start a photography business.’
‘And give up the joys of working in the café? No chance.’
‘I’m serious.’
I shake my head. ‘I hate all that selling-yourself stuff. It’s not for me.’
‘Well, I think you’d be brilliant.’ She gets up and heads over to the kitchen. ‘I think I might need nibbles to soak up this wine.’
Rifling through a cupboard, she pulls out half-eaten bags of popcorn and a range of puffed snacks for babies before locating a bag of Doritos and pouring the bright-orange crisps into a bowl.
‘So how are you, anyway? Heard from Alex at all?’
I pick at the Play-Doh engrained into the ridges in the table. ‘Actually, he came into the café the other day.’
Alice rushes over with the crisps and retakes her seat next to me. ‘Why didn’t you text me? What the hell did he say?’
I shrug. ‘He pretended to be sorry that he just upped and left one day. And I pretended that I’m not still in love with him. So all in all, we put on a good show.’
‘Oh, Em.’ Alice places her hand in between my shoulders.
‘I’m OK.’
‘It’s his loss. You do know that, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, sure. I’m a right catch.’
‘You are a catch.’ Alice takes a handful of Doritos and puts one into her mouth.
‘My period’s late.’
Alice practically chokes on her crisp. ‘What? How late?’
‘A week. I did a test. It was negative so I don’t think I’m pregnant, but I wish the bloody thing would turn up so I could stop freaking out about it.’
‘Did you tell Alex?’
‘God, no. There’s no way he’d want anything to do with it. He has his family. I was just a dirty mistake.’
Alice looks at me sympathetically but doesn’t argue. What can she say? It’s the truth. I don’t know why I always do it to myself – choose guys that are entirely unsuitable. Anyone would think I want to repeatedly get my heart broken.
‘So what are you going to do if you are pregnant?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m not. The test would show it up by now. It’s probably just stress and exhaustion. I’ve been working a lot of shifts.’
Despite knowing that the arrival of my period is the desired outcome, I can’t ignore my stupid nagging materna
l instinct. It seems we’re genetically programmed to want to procreate even when we know it’s a terrible idea.
‘Well, keep me posted, OK? You know I’m always here for you.’
‘I know. Of course I will. So anyway, enough about me. How’s Ben?’
‘Oh, you know, he’s a man. “Why is the house always a mess?” “Why is there never anything for tea?” “Why are we only having sex once a month?”’
I reach across her and take a crisp. ‘He’s not bad as men go though, is he?’
‘As men go.’ Alice brushes the crumbs off her jumper. ‘If only we liked pussy, hey?’
I spit my wine on to the table and we both collapse into fits of giggles. Ben walks in carrying Billy, who, when he sees us, starts giggling too, which only makes us laugh more.
* * *
Later that evening, when I walk into the restaurant, I spot Mum sitting in a corner booth, tapping her hideous fake fingernails on the table. She’s changed her hair since the last time I saw her. It’s wildly permed and dyed a shade not unlike the purple of her nails, but at least it looks washed today. She keeps looking down at her phone and then looking around the room but she hasn’t seen me yet.
There’s still time to change my mind, to turn around and head for the vodka bar, spend the rest of my birthday obliterating myself with shots. It’s tempting, but for some strange reason I don’t understand, I walk further into the restaurant. Most of the time our shared genes mean nothing to me. But, occasionally, I feel the strands of DNA wrapping themselves around me and pulling me towards her. Like for a short time my memory’s been wiped.
As soon as Mum sees me, her mouth forms a simpering smile of gratitude and I wish I’d turned around and walked back out. She stands up to greet me and hugs me tight. I let her hold me for a few moments, then pull away and sit down in the booth.
‘It’s amazing to see you. I’m so glad you came. Oh, it’s so good to see you. You look thinner. Are you eating? I hope you’re OK. You look amazing, though. You’ve always been so beautiful. I can’t believe you really came.’ When Mum talks, it’s like a stream of consciousness. She barely takes a breath. ‘Things are going to be different this time, I promise. It’s going to be perfect. Oh, look at you. You’re so beautiful. It’s so good to see you.’
She reaches over and puts her hands on my cheeks. It irritates me, like she feels being my mum gives her some kind of God-given right to touch me. All the times I needed her to hold me, she didn’t. I move my head away and bury my face in the menu. I don’t fancy any of it. I’m not hungry. Mum pretends to study hers but I know she’ll wait for me to order and then have the same. I suppose I should find it endearing but it just pisses me off.
‘What do you want, sweetheart? It’s my treat. Have anything that you want.’
She reaches over and places her hand on my arm. It feels like a tarantula, her fingers digging into my skin. Get off me.
‘Don’t be silly, Mum. You have no money. I can buy my own.’
‘It’s your birthday. I’m treating you. No argument. Anyway, I’ve got a job interview next week. I’ll be able to take you shopping. We could even do a spa day.’
I still find it astounding just how much she hasn’t got a clue. ‘I don’t want your money, Mum.’
‘I didn’t say you did, love. I just want to be able to treat you. You know, to make up for the fact I never could when you were little.’
I take a deep breath. ‘I never cared about the money.’
I wanted you to protect me.
The waitress comes over and I order a ham and cheese toastie because it’s the cheapest thing on the menu and a large glass of white wine because it’s the only way I’m going to get through this. As predicted, Mum orders the same but with a Diet Coke. Screw her and her turning-her-life-around bullshit. She couldn’t do it when I needed her to. But now that the damage is done, she’s as clean as a whistle.
‘Actually, I’ll have the tuna melt.’ I say it just as the waitress is walking away so that Mum doesn’t have time to change her order. It’s petty and stupid – I don’t even really like tuna – but I can’t help it. Whereas being around some people makes you a better person, Mum brings out the very worst in me.
‘So what are you doing with yourself at the moment, Em? You working?’
‘I work in a café. It pays the bills.’
‘You should be a teacher or a doctor. Something like that, clever girl like you.’ The waitress brings over our drinks and Mum takes a sip of her Coke while I take a large gulp of wine. ‘Not sure where you get it from, though. It’s not from me, I was useless at school, and it certainly wasn’t from that waster father of yours.’
‘You need a degree for those jobs, Mum, and university was never really on the cards for me, was it?’
‘Why not?’ I can see I’ve touched a nerve. ‘We would’ve supported you. We never stopped you from doing anything you wanted to.’
I don’t respond, just drink more of my wine. I wish I could tell her all the ways she made it nigh on impossible for me to make anything of my life. In my head, I’ve explained it to her in brutal detail, but when I see her, the words freeze in my throat and I end up swallowing them back down.
Our order arrives and we both pick at our food. Mum’s never been a big eater, always been rake-thin. When I lived with her, whenever she saw me tucking into food, like if Shane brought a KFC home or something, she’d always say, ‘Careful you don’t get fat,’ and pinch my tummy, like she was on a mission to give me an eating disorder.
‘Remember that time we went to the zoo?’
I know exactly which story she’s going to tell. She tells it every time I see her without fail. It’s because it’s the only good day we had together. You think she’d realize how shit it is that we have only one good memory to reminisce about, but it’s like she thinks reliving it will bring us closer, that perhaps I’ll focus on that day and forget all the rest.
‘You dropped your banana in with the gorilla, remember? He plodded over, gobbled it up and he definitely smiled. I don’t care what anyone says. He smiled.’
Mum chuckles to herself. To be fair, it was really funny.
‘I’m so happy to have you back in my life, Em. I’m going to hold on tight to you this time.’
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mum.’
‘What do you mean?’
Her hand shakes as she picks up her glass. She’s so frail, so weak, and I know that I can break her with just my words. I want to scream at her to get a grip. I want to shake her.
‘You still with Shane?’ I ask casually, but his name feels repulsive in my mouth, like a slug slithering along my tongue.
She nods and I feel sick. ‘He’s really changed, Em. He’s working at Smith’s. They’re even looking to give him more shifts because he’s been so reliable. He takes good care of me.’
I push my semi-eaten plate of food away and search in my bag for a twenty-pound note.
‘What are you doing? You’re not leaving, are you?’
‘I’m sorry. I thought maybe I’d come here and feel different, but I don’t.’
Mum reaches over and grips my wrist. ‘Please, Em. Please just stay a little longer.’
I reclaim my arm. ‘I can’t.’
Mum’s jaw tightens and I can see she’s getting angry. I’m glad. It’s easier for me to walk away when she’s like that.
‘Nobody’s perfect, Em.’ She picks at the skin near her thumbnail and I realize that’s who I get that delightful habit from. ‘I know I’ve made my mistakes but I always loved you and I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m trying to put it right.’
I swallow down the bile rising in my throat. Why do people think that loving someone is some kind of achievement? An absolution. It’s her fucking duty to love me. She’s my mum.
‘I wish you’d left me with Tina. I was happy, Mum. Things could’ve been so different for me if you’d just let me be.’
It’s a metaphorical sword to the heart. H
er shoulders hunch and her head drops like it’s too heavy for her to hold up any more.
I stand up and put on my jacket. ‘Bye, Mum.’
The restaurant is packed now and it’s hard to weave my way through the overcrowded tables. I turn around just long enough to see Mum slumped in the booth, head in her hands, crying, and the waitress walking towards her with a birthday cake topped with glowing candles.
* * *
On the way home, I stop off at my local. It’s as busy as it ever gets. The landlord, Andy, is flirting with a group of women at the bar. The majority of Andy’s hair was last seen in the nineties but he refuses to let the last few strands go, sweeping them across from one side of his head to the other. His stomach squashes against the bar as he leans over and whispers something in one woman’s ear and she laughs as if it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard (it won’t be; I’ve spent many a night listening to Andy’s jokes).
When he sees me, he excuses himself and heads over to my end of the bar. ‘What are you doing here? I thought it was your birthday today.’
I’m oddly touched that he remembers.
‘It is. Happy birthday, me.’
He takes the house rosé out of the fridge and pours me a large glass. ‘You look like you need this. Happy birthday.’
‘Thanks.’ I wince at the sharpness of the wine. ‘A quarter of a century.’ I raise my glass.
‘And spending it with me? That’s what dreams are made of.’
I down the rest of the wine in one mouthful. If Mum taught me one thing in life, it’s how to get smashed. Without asking, Andy refills it and then goes to serve some young lads. I’m pretty sure they’re not old enough to be out drinking. One has attempted to grow stubble and it looks like the fluffy down on a chick, but Andy doesn’t bother checking for ID. I expect he’s glad of the business.
I feel someone’s eyes on me and turn to see Sam sitting in a booth with a friend. Automatically, I hide my face. I know it’s anger management, not Alcoholics Anonymous, but it feels wrong getting drunk in front of him, like eating a sugary cake in the doctor’s waiting room.
Out the corner of my eye, I see him saying goodbye to his friend. I focus on tracing the droplets of condensation on my glass and wait for him to leave. A minute later and there’s a hand on my back.
Saturdays at Noon Page 8
