Bad Mothers United (8 page)
Read Bad Mothers United Online
Authors: Kate Long
Body: honestly, not great. I put on a stone in weight after Charlotte first went to York, then another last year after Mum died. I’m not fat-fat, but I’m not myself. This shape
isn’t me. I hold my arms out and the loose skin underneath goes wibble wibble, makes me look like a flying squirrel. Perhaps by the time I reach forty I’ll be able to take off and soar
away into the sunset.
My legs are quite good, except no one ever gets to see them. Well, Steve does, but I mean no one who counts. There’s a funny thread vein popped up above my knee, could have done without
that. It doesn’t seem to have put him off, mind.
It is amazing what the years do, how they strip your power. When I was a teenager I could climb on a lad’s lap, wriggle a bit and straight away feel a lump rise up in his trousers. That
was all I had to do to turn him on. If I plonked myself on someone’s knee these days, they’d probably just moan I was too heavy.
Sometimes, in the long evenings after Will’s gone to bed, I watch these TV programmes where young girls fret over their appearance, confiding how they’re desperate for bigger breasts
or liposuction or nose jobs, and they’re crying, a lot of them, over how disgusted they feel at their own bodies. Radiant, beautiful, glossy and firm these girls are, but they just
can’t see it. And I find myself shouting at the screen,
Don’t start already, love.
Believe me, this is your high point!
I stand here now in front of this wardrobe mirror in my bra, tights and knickers, jiggling my revolting bingo wings, and I wonder, Why
do
we women hate ourselves so much? Who was it
implanted this soundtrack in my head? Not Mum, she always used to say I looked nice whatever state I was in. And Steve was never one to pick holes. In fact, he laughs when I whinge about my figure.
He says women are daft to worry so much. He says boobs are the most brilliant things ever invented, and I could wear an old sack and a pair of wellies and he’d still want to go to bed with
me.
As though that’s supposed to cheer me up.
Maybe it’s something he plans on asking me to do.
I really must stop these birthday inventories. They’re much too disturbing.
As we climbed up the stairs to Mrs Gale’s flat, I wondered what state she’d be in. Part of me hoped to catch her out, that we’d find her sprawled and raving
with an empty bottle clasped to her chest. Then I could say it out loud:
Your mum’s a drunk, Daniel. She’s a useless lush, see the state of her. And this is the woman who’s
had the nerve to judge me over my life choices.
But mostly I was hoping she’d be all right because then we could be in and out and on our way to Bank Top. I couldn’t stand for there to be any more delay. I had to be with my
son.
Rita must have been playing at top volume because when the door opened I was nearly blasted off my feet.
‘Oops, sorry,’ Mrs Gale mouthed over the din. She did this silly half-run across the room to turn off the stereo, then stood by the window with her thumbs in her jeans pockets,
smiling at us. At Daniel, anyway. ‘I almost didn’t hear you knock. I was away with my music.’
‘No shit, Sherlock,’ I said under my breath. Dan shot me a warning frown.
‘Did you see I’d got you some more milk, darling? You were running low.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘And I emptied your bin.’
‘Great.’
‘Fancy sharing a pizza tonight? You can choose the topping. We can go mad and have garlic bread, what do you say?’
That’s another annoying thing about Mrs G: she’s developed this girlish manner, completely inappropriate for a woman her age. Since she split with Dr G she’s gone really thin
and she’s grown her hair past shoulder-length and taken to wearing scarlet lipstick. Because she’s long-limbed she can almost get away with it, but it’s the body language that
irritates me. Playful shrugging of the shoulders, flirty winks. It’s how you’d behave towards a boyfriend, not a son. With me she’s simply dead-eyed and flat.
‘Sounds good, Mum. Everything else OK?’
‘Fine.’ Brows well up, bright showgirl grin. No bottles of plonk hidden away behind
my
curtains, thank you.
She had made the place smart, I’d give her that. According to Daniel, Dr G let her take all the furniture, whatever she wanted. I bet he reckoned it was worth it to get her out.
‘OK,’ said Daniel, adjusting his glasses. ‘Just wanted to check in. So, we’ll be off. Charlotte’s itching to give her mum her birthday present.’
‘And tonight’s a date,’ said Mrs Gale, coming forward to embrace her son. As I would have expected, there was no acknowledgement of my presence or concerns. I might not have
even been in the room. Then: ‘Oh, while I remember, someone called Amelia came round.’
Daniel’s face was turned away from me so I didn’t see his reaction. ‘Oh?’
‘To ask if you’d help with the concert. She said you’d spoken about it and you’d had some ideas.’
‘Right.’
‘She says she has plans for you.’
‘OK. Like I said, we’d better get moving.’
‘She’s going to come and find you next week, in the lab.’
There was this crackling charge going between us all
. Got you there
,
madam
, Mrs Gale flashed at me.
You don’t know who Amelia is, do you?
Well, I’m not giving you the satisfaction of asking, you old witch
, I vibed back.
Get me out of here
, went Daniel.
‘Come on,’ he said, taking my arm and steering me to the door. ‘I’ll see you tonight, Mum. I’ll give you a ring when I’m setting off.’
‘I thought she seemed a really lovely girl,’ I heard Mrs Gale say as we closed the door on her.
In the end I solved the frizzy hair problem by just tying it back and actually, it looked better. Will played on my bed with his
Methods of Transport
jigsaw while I
did my make-up, took my time and went for the full works rather than the usual rush job. Then I slipped on my new dress, actually a cast-off from Leo’s girlfriend, but Alexon so I
wasn’t going to say no.
‘What do you think?’ I asked my grandson. ‘Do I look nice today?’
‘Plane’s crashed,’ he said, flinging a jigsaw piece against the headboard.
Pringle slunk past the doorway carrying something in his mouth.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, what have you caught?’ I shouted after him.
‘God’s sake,’ said Will.
This is why I didn’t want a cat again: it’s the associated slaughter. Pauline from school once put her bare foot in her slipper and found half a shrew laid across the insole. And I
remember years ago, when I was a little girl and we had Chalkie, coming down one morning and finding this rabbit unzipped on our back lawn, innards strewn right across the grass. Headless baby
birds on the doorstep, we had, mutilated frogs. Mum used to fetch a shovel and newspaper and put them to rest while I hyperventilated in my bedroom.
I dreaded what I was going to find this time. I’d assumed Pringle was too old to catch anything, but maybe he’d stumbled across something as sick and elderly as himself. I thought,
Let it at least be dead. I really couldn’t cope with tiny heaving flanks.
When I came out of the bedroom, the first thing I clocked was a trail of horrible skin-coloured flakes coming up the stairs and along the landing. ‘Pringle!’ I yelled sternly. As if
he’d turn right round and come trotting up to me. I don’t think he even recognises his name. The only time Pringle shifts is when he hears the rattle of cat biscuits.
I checked in Will’s room, then in Charlotte’s. Couldn’t see anything at first glance, but I could make out a hawking, huffing noise coming from under the bed. When I dropped to
my hands and knees, Pringle was hunkered down between two cardboard boxes, bolting what looked like a child’s limb.
‘Drop!’ I commanded. He carried on chewing.
‘Naughty cat,’ said Will helpfully.
I laid myself flat on the floor and stretched my arm out as far as it would go. Pringle edged away, out of reach. ‘Grandma needs a stick or something,’ I said, half to myself.
I sat up and scanned the room, but without luck. Charlotte didn’t appear to keep a stock of cat-poking devices handy. In a temper I snatched at the long Indian scarf trimmed with stiff
tassels and bells that she keeps draped over the headboard, dragged it onto the carpet alongside me, then flattened myself once more and attempted to flick the cat with the tasselled end. The first
flick went nowhere near but the second clipped him on the nose. He stopped eating. I flicked again and his paw came out automatically and grabbed for the scarf. ‘It’s not a game,’
I told him, tugging crossly. Pringle’s eyes narrowed.
Oh ho, Mrs Cooper, I think you’ll find it is
. I gave another jerk. Quick as lightning he fastened both sets of claws into
the fabric and rolled onto his side.
‘Right, my lad, I’ve got you now.’ I began to reel him in like a fish on a line. Like a fish he threshed about, twisting and writhing and gnawing at the little Indian bells
– what would Charlotte say when she saw the state of her scarf – till I’d drawn him from under the bedframe. Then, the second he was out, he let go of the material and made a dash
for the door.
‘Cat’s fast,’ said Will.
‘When he wants to be.’
With the cat out of the way, I shoved the bed over a few inches and got back down on the floor. I patted about, straining my arm and shoulder muscles and trying not to breathe in the dust of
ages. Or to panic, or imagine all the nasties Pringle might have dredged up. Mum would have just rolled up her sleeves and got stuck in without a second thought.
Suddenly I made contact. My hand brushed something soft, squashy and cold, oddly crumbly. I took a deep breath, closed my fingers and drew the thing out, dreading what I was going to see.
Will leaned forward, blocking my light. ‘Sossy roll, Grandma.’
‘Good grief, so it is.’
I heaved myself upright. Clumps of pastry came away in a shower. It was one of those giant sausage rolls, half the length of Pringle’s body. He must have had to drag it up the stairs; I
had an idea what state the kitchen and lounge would be in. I thought about Sylv urging catty-euthanasia, about Steve sawing a damn great square out of the bottom panel of our back door. Next time
Pringle showed his pointy face I was going to grab him by the scruff, phone that damn niece and get her to take him back. Except I didn’t have her number. Hell.
Will was prodding hopefully at the sausage roll. I snatched it away. ‘Eugh, dirty. This is going in the bin. Then we’ll wash our hands.’
‘Have a Kit Kat?’
‘After Grandma’s cleared up, all right?’ I looked at the mangled sausage roll.
The doorbell rang.
If this was Steve with some daft-bollocks present, he wasn’t coming in, I couldn’t be doing with him right now. It might be one of Mum’s old friends, Ivy or Maud, popped round
with a box of Quality Street for me.
Eh, your carpet’s a state, love. Do you want me to run t’Dustbuster over it for you?
Or perhaps it was the owner of the sausage roll
who’d followed the trail of crumbs to claim back his property. Obviously he’d be welcome to that.
I peeked out of the bedroom window and saw a familiar balding head, big round paunch, denim jacket, steel toe-capped boots.
‘Postman?’ said Will.
‘No, not the postman. Someone else. We don’t have to answer the door.’
At that moment, the balding head tilted and a pair of pale blue eyes met mine. A chubby hand waved.
Sometimes the hardest part of childcare is the not-swearing.
‘So who is Amelia?’
I’d managed to last till we were on the motorway.
Daniel took his left hand off the steering wheel for a moment to straighten his glasses. ‘You know my mother’s just stirring.’
‘I do, yeah. Who is Amelia?’
‘A girl.’
‘And there was me thinking she was a big hairy bloke.’
‘She’s a student. Sometimes she works in my lab.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing. That’s it. She’s organising a charity event,
Twenty-First Century Rocks
, and she’s trying to round up as many helpers as she can. She’s very
enthusiastic. Goes on at you till you capitulate.’
‘Have you capitulated?’
He laughed, and I thought I heard a slight awkwardness there. ‘I’ve said I’ll help sell tickets and do marketing, but I’m not taking part in any performance. I’m
not the on-stage type.’
‘Unless they wanted a short lecture on microtubules, or whatever it was.’
‘Now there’s an idea.
Microtubules the Musical
. Do you think the world’s ready for sing-along-a-biochemistry?’
‘You may be ahead of your time.’
I hugged the bag containing Mum’s jacket and thought about being with Will. His face at the window as we drew up, maybe. My scramble to get out of the car, running up the front path,
leaning on the bell. His small solid body slamming into mine. He knew who his mum was.
‘Another twenty minutes and you’ll be there,’ said Daniel.
‘I know.’
‘How’s things at the house? How’s Gemma doing? Has Roz got over herself yet?’
‘Oh, that.’ I had to drag my mind back to student-world. ‘Well, sort of.’
When I’d first told Roz about Gemma being gay, she’d seemed OK about it. Startled, yes, like I’d been, but I thought that was just because the news had come out of the blue.
She too had wanted to know if there was a girlfriend on the scene, and if Gemma would be bringing her round. I said, ‘I’ve no idea. Why don’t you ask her?’ Roz had
dissolved into a fit of giggles and put her hands over her face. ‘I couldn’t. I couldn’t!’ Then she said, ‘Imagine them on the sofa together.’ More giggles.
She had been drinking.
Then a few days later I’d walked in on her and Gemma having a Talk. Gemma was making toast and Roz had been standing by the sink looking sympathetic. ‘I was saying,’ Roz
blurted out when she saw me, ‘how it doesn’t matter, the gay thing. If you want to, you know, date girls instead of boys, that’s your choice. It doesn’t matter to either
of us. It’s fine.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Gemma.
‘Because at the end of the day, we’re your
friends
.’ And without any warning, Roz had launched herself at Gemma and given her a huge dramatic hug, Gemma mouthing,
Get her off me
. I was about to act when the toast popped up and broke the moment. Roz loosened her hold and I went, ‘Is that your phone?’ which sent her scuttling off. Ten
seconds after that, Walshy flounced into the kitchen, smirking.
‘I want you to know, Gemma,’ he said in a silly high voice, ‘that if you choose to put peanut butter on your bread instead of jam, that’s fine. Not everyone likes jam,
and it’s a free country. We’re all mates here. We’re cool with it. You go right ahead.’ She’d thrown her toast at him, and he’d picked it off the floor and
eaten it.
So the answer to Daniel’s question was, I didn’t really know. The house felt unsettled, but that was as much down to Walsh as anything. Walshy floating free, unattended.
‘It’s kind of hard to know how Gemma’s coping because we never see her.’
‘She only lives in the room under yours,’ said Daniel.
‘I know, but she’s really self-contained. She’s always been that way. Plus she goes out a lot, and when she’s in she sometimes puts this sign on the door and then
we’re not supposed to disturb her. I’d like to speak to her about things, though. I don’t want her thinking I’m as crap as Roz.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’
‘Martin says the atmosphere’ll settle down in a few weeks. He says even the most surprising things stop being surprising in the end.’
Daniel pursed his lips. ‘Oh,
Martin
says.’
‘Bugger off.’
‘Does
Martin
say if there are any mints in the glove box?’
I opened the drop-down door and fished him out an Altoid. ‘Hoping for a snog later on?’
‘Could be.’
Lorries roared past. The windscreen began to spot with rain. Fifteen minutes till I was with my son.
‘Is she nice-looking, this Amelia?’
‘Hideous. Foul. A face only a mother could love.’
‘That’s all right, then,’ I said.
