by Erin Green
Then Ben and I left the music shop, heading towards this quiet café a little further up the steep hill.
‘So she said I was dead?’ he asks me now.
I nod, unsure whether I’m supposed to justify my mother’s actions.
‘Didn’t you think it weird that she didn’t take you to a grave to lay flowers on my birthday or Father’s Day?’
I slowly shake my head. I feel so stupid. It must have been easy for her to string such a tale. I didn’t question anything. I simply believed everything I was told.
‘And no one else in the family has ever commented or hinted at the true facts?’
‘No.’
Ben sits back, deflated and yet very much alive compared to the father I’ve spent years yearning for.
‘And Dan?’
‘I guess he knows as much as me, unless she’s taken him into her confidence and I was the only one who didn’t know. Which wouldn’t surprise me, actually.’
‘You’d think he’d have slipped up if he’d known all these years.’
‘You’d think she’d have slipped up, but she never has.’ Even after a late night with her mates, after one too many brandies. Or when we were short of money when school trips needed to be paid for or Christmas was nearing. Or when she lost her temper with me for being me . . . which was probably too much like him.
‘I simply couldn’t stay,’ he says. ‘It was killing me inside.’ He hesitates before continuing. ‘Look, Benni, I didn’t even know she was pregnant with you, but I was there for Dan. I stayed for his sake, not your mum’s. He was only a little boy, a toddler, and she was simply . . .’
I’m not going to make this difficult for him. I understand exactly what he means. My mum is demanding. Suffocating. Wanting to know everything about everybody whilst not truly caring about anyone or anything other than where her next drink is coming from.
‘Does she still drink?’ His voice is soft, his eyes sympathetic.
I give a sharp nod. There’s no point denying what she is.
‘An alcoholic in the true sense of the word,’ I say. ‘Semifunctioning is how I describe her.’
‘And Dan?’
‘Now there’s a question.’ I pause, trying to find the words to describe Dan and his wayward behaviour. ‘Dan’s Dan. The product of an alcoholic mother, a whining younger sister and a social system that probably doesn’t take kindly to young men like him. Especially when he can’t be bothered to help himself by working, or studying, or doing the right thing. If you get my drift.’
Ben grimaces.
‘He’s a waste of space, in my opinion. He’s been lucky to get some well-paid jobs labouring on motorway maintenance, but at twenty-eight he should have established himself in life: a home of his own, a partner, a steady job. Instead, he’s gambled it all away. I love him to bits, but he doesn’t help himself. It wouldn’t surprise me if history doesn’t repeat itself – heavy drinking often goes hand in hand with gambling.’
‘I see . . . And you?’
I give a heavy sigh. ‘To tell you the truth, I’ve got little more than Dan. I haven’t had his opportunities when it comes to employment and have never earned decent money, but I’m nothing like those two, as strange as it might sound having been raised in the same house as Dan, by the same mother, with the same attitude to schooling and her issues regarding money and alcohol. I’m a fish out of water when I’m with them.’ I stare up into his kind blue eyes. ‘Maybe I’m more like you.’
Ben nods slowly, his gaze never leaving mine.
‘Maybe you are your father’s daughter . . . in which case, I understand why you escaped down here for a holiday on your own. What else do you do back home?’
I explain about the agency and the factory; about the solo holiday advert I spied online and the two friends I’ve made in just seven days.
‘And you . . . any family down here?’ I eventually ask the burning question.
‘I have two teenage lads with a previous partner,’ he says. ‘Look, lass, this is quite a shock for me and it will be more so for them. They know all about Dan, but you . . . Well, she never even told me you were on the way. I’m not the kind of guy that leaves a woman when she’s . . .’
I can hear the struggle in his voice.
‘I have to be honest with you. You’re probably not worldly-wise enough to understand how I felt back then, but I simply needed a new beginning. I’d become someone I didn’t like, or even recognise. I wanted to reinvent myself, be the man I’d once planned to be.’
‘I get that,’ I whisper. I know exactly how it feels.
‘Everything with your mum happened so fast. We went from first date to parenthood in a matter of months. I thought I was doing the right thing by going with the flow. The relationship wasn’t built on love or attraction . . . it simply happened and then it all got too much for me. I’m not proud of my actions. It looks like I skipped out, but I didn’t, honestly. It was a sad situation. I couldn’t cope with her or her drinking, and I had nowhere to take Dan. I thought they were both better off without me. I told her it was over, explained why and even where I was heading. She was amicable at first, but within weeks she’d stopped me seeing Dan, then she started ignoring my calls. One thing led to another, and I lost touch when they moved house.’ He pauses. ‘It sounds pathetic, I know. I never intended not to see my son. We could have made it work, if only things had been amicable.’
I can’t judge him. I know how it feels to live in that situation. Suspecting there’s more to life but knowing I’m not getting a sniff of it because of my mum’s lifestyle.
‘But there comes a moment when we make our own choices,’ I say as cheerily as I can in an effort to lift the mood.
‘That’s true, lass.’
At last I’ve found someone like me. He’ll understand how I feel.
I reach across the table for his hand. It’s scaly and dry, yet comforting nestled in mine. He’s calm, I’m content. I can’t argue with his explanation; I know it couldn’t have been an easy decision to make. Though Mum’s life couldn’t have been easy either. Which comes first, loneliness or drunkenness? I wouldn’t have wanted to be in either of their shoes, but still, she shouldn’t have lied. Who knows what she’ll say when I get home and explain?
‘I think you’re right, Ben . . . Dad,’ I tell him. ‘New beginnings are important, but you have to be brave enough to take a chance in life.’
‘Too right, lass.’
Ruth
‘I don’t know what you expect me to do,’ I say, as Emma tries to ignore my efforts to reason with her. ‘He’s my son.’
I watch as she wipes the worktop for the umpteenth time, avoiding my gaze when she turns to the sink to rinse the cloth of crumbs. Jack sits at the dining table, cradling his tea, listening to my muted apology to a woman who was a total stranger not more than a few days ago.
Once again, I’m piggy in the middle.
I step forward and gently touch Emma’s arm in a futile attempt to stop her robotic motions of wiping and clearing.
‘Can’t he check into a hotel?’ she asks.
‘He’s my son . . . I’m not going to see him without somewhere to stay, am I?’
Emma finally stops cleaning, glances up at me and sighs.
‘If it’s a big deal, we’ll both find somewhere else to stay,’ I say. ‘What’s it to be?’
‘Ruth . . .’
‘No. I’m not asking my son to leave.’ My ‘no’ is defiant and strong. It sounds like a ‘no’ that means ‘no’, and not a soft, flimsy ‘no’ that ought to grow a backbone.
‘OK, when you put it like that.’
I squeeze her arm and mouth, ‘Thank you.’
‘Jack, let’s go and fetch the rest of your stuff from the car. Where did you say you’d parked?’ I keep him talking as Emma resumes cleaning the kitchen and we
make our escape from the cottage.
‘What’s her problem?’ asks Jack as we cross the playing fields where every inch of parking space has a car bumper wedged into it.
‘It’s not you. It’s the situation. We’ve got on so well for a week, and now, when we’re genuinely having a great holiday, things have changed. I think she’s irritated by your arrival but not by you.’
‘Thanks for being so bloody honest, it’s just what I need: more women telling me what I should be doing – I hear enough complaints at home.’
‘She doesn’t mean it, and I’m sure Megan doesn’t either.’
‘Believe me, Megan means every word. In the month we’ve been living together, she’s changed big time.’
‘Oh Jack, I’m sure she hasn’t.’
‘Mum, she has. Now she doesn’t want to go out at all at the weekend; she just wants us to stay home and save money. She’s cutting out discount coupons from magazines, saving up for a dishwasher. She expects me to say no to every boys’ night out. As if!’
‘She’s trying to build a home with you . . . she’s nesting.’
‘Nesting? Mum, we’re far from nesting, believe me . . . Why can’t we just carry on having fun, enjoy ourselves with the added bonus of living together? Megan’s moved the goalposts.’
When we arrive at his car, I instantly see that it contains not only a couple of suitcases, but also football boots, a gym holdall and a skateboard I thought he’d flogged on eBay years ago.
‘Have you moved out?’ I ask, shocked by the contents of his car.
‘You could say that.’
He depresses the key fob, lights flicker and die before he lifts the tailgate, his hand pushing the contents back into place as they attempt to spill on to the tarmac.
‘Jack—’
‘Mum, don’t give me a lecture. I’m big enough and ugly enough to choose my own path in life. I’ve got my reasons so what’s it to be – are you going to help or hinder me?’
‘Jack!’
‘Mum, please!’ his voice is whiney, he knows how to get on my good side. ‘I need some space; I thought a night or two here might be the answer.’
‘You can’t simply run out on a relationship because things aren’t going your way.’
He pauses, his hand resting on the open tailgate, and eyes me.
‘I’m not running out on her, Mum. If you must know, the real truth is she’s maxed out on my credit card in just four weeks and hasn’t the money to pay her share of the rent.’
‘No!’
‘Yes. Now do you get my drift? I was embarrassed to tell you – I feel like a total mug, Mum. I know I deserve better than that from a partner.’
‘I can’t believe she’d do something as calculated as that. She’s never caused you a moment’s trouble in two years. Are you sure?’
‘Believe me, I’m sure. We’ve a fully furnished house all bought online with my credit cards so now she’s trying to claw back every penny to meet next month’s minimum payments.’
I fall silent. A mother shouldn’t meddle in her son’s affairs, but surely he’s got the wrong end of the stick here.
‘Here, can you carry this, and maybe this?’ Jack piles several bulging carrier bags into my arms. ‘They’re not too heavy for you?’
‘I’m fine,’ I struggle to say under the bulky weight. ‘I can manage.’
Within a few minutes, we’re making the return journey to the cottage. I have no doubt that Benni won’t complain about Jack staying over; young people are good at accepting whatever is thrown at them, unlike us older folk. In fact, she could be the solution to talking Emma round. I pray that Benni has returned to the cottage in our absence and that Emma has given her the lowdown on Jack’s arrival. If so, I’m expecting a very different atmosphere on our return.
‘Mum?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, struggling under the weight of his belongings.
‘Happy birthday for yesterday.’
‘Thanks, Jack.’ In a blink of an eye my maternal instinct forgives him. There’s always next year.
Emma
Where the hell is Benni when I need her support?
I uncork a cheeky Merlot and pour a large glass before sauntering into the garden to sit alone amongst the sweet-smelling lavender. I’m not peeved that Jack’s here as such; it’s the fact that I’m expected to welcome him with open arms into our holiday cottage for the remaining week without a please, thank you or kiss my arse! The three of us were having a jolly nice time, and now everything will change. And while he’s lying on the sofa, shoes off, remote in hand, flicking through the channels, his mother’s upstairs changing the sheets in order to give up her room and sleep on the sodding sofa. It’s Jack who should be kipping on the sofa. Bloody typical; it’s taken her days to stop worrying about her mother, and now this.
Give me strength: the kids of today don’t know they’re bloody born!
Instantly I feel guilty for condemning an entire generation. Benni is an exception to the rule.
I sip my wine, and smile. Benni does make me laugh. First impressions suggest a young woman who appears physically robust but nothing else. She can’t cook, she doesn’t drive, she hasn’t even secured a permanent job yet. But despite all this, she’s fearless. She accepts whatever happens and gets on with it. Creatively finding solutions to whatever situation she’s faced with – now that’s a skill worth having in life.
If only I’d had some of her gumption as a youngster, I wouldn’t be here on my own, childless and wasting my talents at thirty-nine, would I? No way, José! I should have taken more chances in life, seized the day more often. Instead, I kept hoping things would change for the better, without actually doing anything about it.
I prop my feet on to the seat of the chair opposite and sip my wine.
What I wouldn’t give to turn the clock back. To relive moments when I held back from saying what I truly thought, doing what I wanted and taking the risks that others advised me not to take.
‘Hello, who’s that hogging the sofa?’
I jump as Benni appears from the dining room to stand beside my chair.
‘Hi, I was just thinking about you. That’s Jack. He appears to be staying with us for a few days because he needs his mum.’
Benni’s eyebrows lift comically into her blonde fringe.
‘Do I sound like a bitch?’ I ask, aware of my tone.
‘Yep, but you might have a valid reason.’
‘Listen to you, all deep and meaningful. Go on then, tell me my reason and ease my conscience.’ Her phrase intrigues me.
Benni points to the open bottle of Merlot.
‘Yeah, sure, grab a glass then you can explain yourself.’
I watch as she returns inside. I see her pass the first kitchen window, then the second, to stand before the glasses cabinet.
I silently urge her to reach for the top shelf and grab one of the large wine glasses, not the titchy tumblers lined up like soldiers with easy access.
I smile as she stretches up to the high shelf.
That’s the spirit, girl.
She returns to the patio, puts her glass on the table and waits. I know why.
‘You’re such a sweetie, you know that, don’t you?’ I lean forward to pour the wine, understanding her manners and her appreciation of my invitation.
She shrugs off my compliment.
‘And you need to stop doing that too.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Rejecting every compliment you’re given. It gets you nowhere in life. Be bold; accept and acknowledge praise. All you have to say is “thank you”, regardless of how embarrassed you are.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can. Let’s try.’
‘Emma!’
‘You have a lovely smile.’
She turns away, hasti
ly sipping her wine. The evening shadows hide her intense blush, which I know is burning her cheeks.
‘Just say it. Lift your chin and say it with pride.’
‘Thank you, Emma,’ she mutters into her chest.
‘Useless . . . bloody useless. You can’t go through life shying away from people; it doesn’t bring you happiness and it doesn’t get you anywhere fast.’ I stop as the church bells begin to chime, and point to the twilight sky, signalling for Benni to listen. ‘I forgot to say, it’s “Abide With Me”. Martin told me the other night.’
‘Oh . . . the football anthem,’ she says, listening appreciatively and nodding in recognition.
‘No,’ I correct her, as if offended by her modern association and lack of knowledge, despite my own shortcomings. ‘It’s a hymn, actually, written here in Brixham.’
‘But it’s played at some football finals too,’ insists Benni. ‘I’ve heard it.’
The tuneful chiming ceases.
‘Anyway, game over, we’ve named that tune. So why might I have a valid reason?’ I ask.
She turns to face me, and I can see excitement bubbling from within. Suddenly her stature changes, her eyes sparkle and she leans forward, eager to share.
‘Because today I realised there’s always a reason for our actions. We might not want to be totally honest with others about the root of an issue, but there is always a reason.’
‘Wow, and that’s your thought of the day?’
‘I’ve never realised until today—’ A smile of contentment spreads across her features.
‘You do have a beautiful smile,’ I interrupt, admiring her happy expression.
After the slightest hesitation, Benni says, ‘Thank you. I appreciate you noticing.’
‘Good girl . . . but continue. I’m intrigued.’
‘Sometimes we simply need to explain ourselves for others to be OK with our choices.’
‘But what if they’re hurt by our choices?’
‘Explain why you’re doing it, why it’s important, and it’ll ease their pain in the long run.’
‘Does it?’
