by Liz Eeles
‘What about a necklace for your mum?’
I pick up a pretty silver pendant that feels heavy in my hand, but Logan scrunches up his nose. ‘I don’t know the kind of jewellery she likes.’
‘What about a jumper? I saw some gorgeous Aran jumpers on a stall near the Christmas tree.’
Logan shakes his head. ‘I don’t know what kind of clothes she likes.’
Logan doesn’t seem to know his mother very well at all. ‘Does she enjoy reading? I’m sure Flora could recommend some suitable books.’
‘I have no idea what books she’s read already. Urgh, this present-buying is a nightmare.’
‘It’s a good job you only have to buy one whole present then.’
Oops, that’s the kind of sarcastic comment I’d make to Zac. He’d laugh and come back with a witty retort, but Logan might take offence. When I glance nervously at Logan, he blinks at me for a moment before raising an eyebrow and grinning. ‘I do believe there’s more to you than meets the eye, Becca.’
Phew, he’s not annoyed and, on the plus side, he’s getting much better at remembering my name. On the other hand, his comment might imply that my face is no great shakes. Let’s see how he feels when I achieve wish number six and am transformed into a Jasmine lookalike.
‘What about a voucher for a massage or a facial?’
When I point at the tiny beauty clinic that’s recently opened in a corner of the square, Logan punches the air. ‘Yes, that’s perfect! She’ll love it. I knew when I saw you that you’d rescue me – for the second time. Shall we nip to the pub so I can buy you a drink to say thanks?’
It’s very tempting, especially if it might bring me a tad closer to achieving wish number five and securing a date with Logan. But The Cosy Kettle is calling, Flora will be wondering where I am, and who am I kidding about wish number five anyway? Logan is currently waving at a stunning blonde buying cinder toffee from a stall nearby. She looks familiar and I’m sure I’ve seen the two of them pictured together on his Instagram account. She giggles and waves back.
‘I’d better get back to the café so maybe another time.’
‘Yeah, definitely,’ says Logan, wandering off towards the giggler. ‘Thanks again, Becca,’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘You’re the best.’
Twelve
It’s Friday morning, Zac and Jasmine are going on a ‘date’ in twelve hours’ time, and I’m so busy giving myself a pep talk on the way back from the shops, I don’t notice there’s someone sitting on my doorstep until I almost fall over her.
‘Mum, is that you?’ I ask, as a carrier bag holding a pint of milk and packet of Jammie Dodgers bangs against my thigh.
The huddled figure stands up and stretches out her legs.
‘Of course it’s me, Rebecca. Don’t you recognise your own mother? And why are you talking to yourself in the street? People will think you’re mad. Not that I… I mean, I don’t really think you’re… oh, whatever.’
Whatever? Mum really isn’t herself. It’s obvious because she’s dressed in old leggings, a thick woolly jumper and a big hat pulled down low over her eyes. I’ve never seen her looking so scruffy.
I take my key out of my pocket and open the front door. ‘Of course I recognise you, Mum, but I didn’t expect to find you on my doorstep first thing in the morning. Why are you here? Is Dad all right?’
‘He’s the same as usual,’ she sniffs. ‘And why are you out so early? It’s only just gone eight o’clock.’
‘We’re low on milk and I was up early because I couldn’t sleep. You could have knocked on the door, you know. Zac would have let you in.’
‘I saw you disappearing around the corner as I got here and hoped you wouldn’t be long. I didn’t want to disturb Zac. I thought he might still be asleep.’
‘Probably ’cos he’s working from home today, but he wouldn’t have minded if you’d knocked. He’ll be up and about soon.’
‘In which case, we need to go for a walk,’ she says, lowering her voice though there’s no one nearby. ‘I don’t want Zac around because I need to talk.’ This is a first. Mum and I talk, of course, but she never ‘needs’ to talk. Not to me, at any rate. ‘Of course, if you have to get to work…’
‘No, I’ve got half an hour before I need to head to the café. Let me shove my carrier inside and we can have a quick walk through the park, if you’re sure you’re not too cold.’
‘I’m absolutely fine.’ She buries her chin in the polo neck of her thick jumper as I peer at her face. She looks different today – the deep furrow between her eyebrows hints at anxiety but her eyes are alive with excitement. She looks slightly wild, as though she’s not quite in control.
I drop my groceries inside the front door and pull it closed. Then I grab her arm and steer her towards the park.
Honeyford Memorial Park is gorgeous, whatever the season. It’s pretty in the spring, as flowers poke through the dark earth, and beautiful in summer with the trees in full leaf and sunlight glinting on the winding river. In autumn, the park is crisp with fallen leaves in rich shades of red and gold. But I like the park best in winter, when it seems to be sleeping as plunging temperatures coat the ground with frost.
Today, the rising sun is a lemon orb in a pale blue sky and the cold grass crunches quietly under our feet.
‘Are you sure you want to walk?’ I ask Mum, as I spot scattered flakes of snow on the path. It must have snowed slightly in the night. ‘Why don’t we go back and have a coffee and I can ask Zac to give us some privacy?’
‘No, I like walking. The fresh air will do us good and we’ll soon warm up.’ She bangs her gloved hands together, her breath hanging white in the air. ‘What were you talking to yourself about when you came down the road? You looked cross.’
‘That’s just my normal resting bitch face,’ I say, because there’s no way I’m admitting that I was giving myself a good telling-off. Honestly, Becca, so what if Zac and Jasmine are going on a date this evening? You want your best friend and your sister to have a good time, don’t you? It’s totally selfish and frankly weird to want to keep your best friend all to yourself. He doesn’t belong to you, you know. And soon your Christmas wish will come true and you’ll be uber-confident and possibly going out with Logan and staying at his place most nights anyway. Thank goodness Mum can’t lip-read.
‘Where to now?’ asks Mum as we reach the shallow river and the path forks two ways.
‘Let’s follow the river along for a while. It looks lovely with the sunshine glinting on the water.’
We start walking along the bank, side by side, our feet slipping on ice-covered puddles. It’s nice being outdoors with Mum, on her own. Usually, she’s chained to the kitchen sink with Dad nearby, or Jasmine’s around, trying to hog all of her time.
‘So what brings you to my door at the crack of dawn?’
Mum gives me a sideways glance. ‘Nothing really. I’m just being silly. But I’ve been tossing and turning all night and needed to talk to someone before I went mad.’
‘You can talk to me about anything, Mum,’ I tell her, touched that Mum chose me to turn to when she could have picked Dad or Jasmine or her best friend, Lesley, instead.
‘I know it’s early and I don’t want to take up your time,’ says Mum, grabbing my arm when she almost slips over. ‘I wouldn’t have bothered you at all, but Lesley’s gone to visit her daughter in Salisbury, it’s not something I can talk to your dad about, and I’d never bother Jasmine because she’s far too busy with her important job.’
Hmm. It sounds like I was not so much the best person to turn to as the only person available.
‘Also,’ adds Mum, walking under a tall oak tree whose stark leafless branches arc into the pale, lightening sky. ‘I know I don’t often say it but you’re far more like me than Jasmine is.’
‘In what ways?’
‘You’re more anxious and less ambitious than Jasmine. And you haven’t lived up to your potential, which is just like me. Oh, I’m so so
rry, Becca. That came out wrong. I didn’t mean that to sound awful.’
I’m not sure how else it could possibly have sounded, but I give a wobbly smile. ‘That’s all right. So what’s the problem, Mum?’
She stops abruptly and turns to face me, her face pinched against the cold. ‘I’ve been offered a place on the art course that I told you about.’
‘But that’s brilliant, isn’t it? I bet they had loads of applicants and they’ve chosen you which just proves how talented you are. Aren’t you pleased?’
‘Of course I am. It’s amazing because I never thought in a month of Sundays that they’d want me. But I can’t take up the offer.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because your Dad says it’s daft. Because I work full-time. Because I don’t have confidence in my artistic abilities. Because I’m scared of life and I know you understand that one.’
Is that how my own mother sees me? Scared of life? That’s pretty depressing.
I rub my frozen nose for a moment until the feeling starts to come back. ‘I used to be shy and a bit of a wuss, Mum, but I’ve changed since I came to Honeyford. And I’m still making lots of big changes. You can too.’
‘Changing in what way? You’re not changing your job again, are you? You can’t keep chopping and changing, Becca. Not after what happened in Birmingham.’
I sigh. ‘I left my job in Birmingham because it all got too much. And I moved to Honeyford and I’ve got another job in The Cosy Kettle. So it’s all good.’
‘But you had such a good job in Birmingham, Becca. We were all so proud of you.’
‘It was a good but stressful job in a high-powered office that almost drove me nuts.’ I think back to how I was then – a bag of nerves, prone to panic attacks, who fled the big city for Honeyford. Gradually, this gorgeous little town has worked its soothing magic on me. ‘Anyway, managing The Cosy Kettle is a good job too, and it’s far less stressful.’
Except when I’m trying to organise an upmarket event for a drop-dead gorgeous bloke, while also transforming into a better version of myself.
‘So how are you changing, then?’ asks Mum, with a frown.
‘I’m trying to be more assertive and be, um, my best self,’ I say, channelling Stanley, who’s taken reinvention to a whole new level. ‘What I mean is, it’s never too late to try and ditch the bits that aren’t working and focus on what will make your wishes come true.’
‘Hmm,’ sniffs Mum. ‘I’m a bit old to start being what I’m not.’
‘But what if what you are now is what you’re not? What if your potential is hidden under years of looking after us and being what Dad expects you to be?’
Mum scrunches up her face as though I’m talking a foreign language she doesn’t understand.
‘What if really you’re a great artist who should be spending her time painting and creating and feeling fulfilled? That’s the life path you could have taken. But you’ve been side-tracked by cooking and cleaning and working, and your confidence has drained away.’
‘I’m fulfilled by my family, not side-tracked,’ says Mum, looking rather put out. ‘There’s nothing wrong with being a wife and a mother.’
‘I’m not saying there is. But what if you’ve done the wife and mother thing for years and now it’s time to give free rein to your more artistic side?’
‘You girls might have left home but there’s still your father to look after.’
‘He’s an adult and capable of looking after himself.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Mum raises her eyebrows and she’s got a point. Dad has always expected to be looked after and she’s made a rod for her own back by going along with it.
‘When do you have to let them know whether you’re going to take up your place on the course?’
‘By the new year.’
‘So at least you’ve got some time to consider it and how you might make it work.’
‘There’s nothing to consider. Dad doesn’t want me to go part-time at work and spend money on something frivolous.’
‘But it’s not frivolous if it will make you happy.’ My voice is getting louder and a woman jogging under the trees glances over at us.
‘But would it make me happy?’ hisses Mum, pulling me along the path, away from her.
‘I don’t know, Mum. Are you happy now?’
She thinks for a moment. ‘I’m not unhappy, not really. But I’m feeling more and more that there’s a huge unexplored part of me that’s gradually withering away.’ She blinks as though her words have taken her by surprise.
‘That’s sad, Mum.’ I put my arm around her shoulders and squeeze tight as we walk along. ‘If you could make a wish, right now, what would it be?’
‘For you and Jasmine to be well and happy.’
‘No, a Christmas wish that’s just for you. It can be anything.’
‘I suppose I would wish that I could pursue my art before it’s too late.’
‘Then have a think about the actions you need to take. Wishes don’t come true by magic. You have to make them happen,’ I tell her, parroting Zac’s wise words.
‘You’re sounding very insightful all of a sudden.’ Mum sighs. ‘Thank you, Becca. I have some more thinking to do.’ She stops and pulls up her sweater sleeve to check her watch. ‘Heavens, time’s getting on. We’d better get back before your father sends out a search party and you’re late for work.’ Her woolly gloves scratch my face as she cups my cheeks in her hands, bends my head towards her and kisses me on the forehead. ‘Thank you, Becca. You’re a good daughter.’
Together, we crunch back along the path in companionable silence as a tiny robin redbreast hops ahead of us.
Zac is wandering around the kitchen with a bad case of bedhead hair when I rush in after seeing Mum to her car.
‘I thought you’d gone in to work early,’ says Zac, absentmindedly scratching his stomach. ‘I couldn’t find you but there was a carrier bag full of milk and Jammie Dodgers by the front door. Cheers for that. There’s nothing better than biscuits for breakfast.’ He pulls a Dodger from the pocket of his trackie bottoms and has a nibble.
‘I was out having a heart to heart with Mum and now I’m going to be late for work.’ I grab a bowl and start pouring cereal into it. Stray cornflakes bounce off the worktop and disappear down the gap next to the cooker.
‘Jasmine pays us a visit earlier this week, then your mum… it’ll be your dad calling in for fish and chips next.’
‘I doubt it. Dad rarely strays far from home territory. He’s like a homing pigeon that never actually flies anywhere. He doesn’t much like his family flying away either.’
‘Was your mum all right?’ asks Zac, pushing his fingers through his wild curls as I splosh milk into the bowl. ‘What was the heart to heart about?’
‘We went for a walk in the park and she told me she’s been accepted onto that art course she was telling me about.’
‘That’s fantastic news! Do you want a coffee?’ He waves the kettle at me.
‘No thanks. No time. Yeah, it would be fantastic news for Mum if she wasn’t going to turn it down.’
Zac pauses with his finger on the kettle switch. ‘Why’s she going to do that? Her paintings are really good.’
‘I know.’ I pause to shovel in a large mouthful of cornflakes, chew and swallow. ‘But Dad’s still not keen on her going part-time at work, and spending her time and money on what he sees as a frivolous hobby.’
‘That’s such a shame. It’s not frivolous when she has real talent.’
‘That’s what I told her.’
‘Do you think it helped?’
‘I’m not sure. I told her a bit about the changes I’m trying to make and suggested she could change her life too. I even got her to make her own Christmas wish, which was to take up the art course offer.’
‘I bet you sounded inspirational and wise.’
‘What, me?’ I laugh. ‘Probably not. But I hope our chat might help her to make up her mind.
’
‘Are you going to speak to your dad about it?’
‘Do you think I should? Maybe that’s something Jasmine should broach with him.’
‘Why Jasmine and not you?’
‘I dunno. She gets on better with him than I do and I can’t remember the last time Dad and I had a proper chat.’
Truth be told, I find Dad a bit intimidating. Not physically, because he’d never lift a finger against me or Jazz. He’s more intimidating mentally, because he’s such a bombastic character who views shyness as a personality flaw.
‘Does your sister understand your mum’s emotions as well as you do?’ asks Zac, rootling round in the cutlery drawer for a teaspoon. However many we buy, they mysteriously vanish into the ether.
‘Probably not.’ I think for a moment about my goal to be more assertive. ‘Yeah, maybe I’ll get Dad on his own and have a word. Good idea.’
‘Poor Pauline,’ says Zac, waving a clean teaspoon in triumph. ‘That’s really hard if she has to give up her place. It’s nice that she confided in you, though.’
‘Yeah, she didn’t want to bother Jasmine, who’s busy with her important job. And Mum and I are the same, apparently – nervy types with no ambition.’
‘Ouch.’ Zac grimaces. ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that.’
‘I’m sure she did, but it’s OK. She’ll be impressed when my sophisticated Christmas party is a huge success. So will Flora, and I already feel more confident and assertive than I did. My Christmas wish is coming true which thankfully means I’m not going to be a screw-up forever.’
Zac grins. ‘I’m very pleased for you, Beccs, though I never thought you were a screw-up in the first place.’
‘Not even a leetle bit of a screw-up?’
‘Never! Annoying, argumentative and an occasional pain in the arse, absolutely. A screw-up? Nope.’
He ducks when I pick up the local takeaway menu and chuck it at his head. ‘Oh, and talking of my Christmas wish, did I mention that Logan Fairweather reckons I have amazing cheekbones, and he’s thanked me for rescuing him, twice?’
