by Penny Parkes
‘Very retro, darling,’ said Louise proudly. ‘Cookery club was a wonderful idea. It looks delicious.’
‘It really does,’ Anna agreed. ‘I didn’t know you were into cookery though.’
‘Girls. He’s into girls,’ Simon said with a knowing smile. ‘Although, not literally yet I hope…’
Kate snorted with laughter and Anna found herself joining in, only pulling up short at the look of abject discomfort on the poor boy’s face. Colour swept up Alex’s neck and into his hairline, the only blessing being that his acne was now camouflaged by his blushes.
Alex looked at his father imploringly. ‘Da-ad, seriously stop! We have guests.’
‘Nonsense,’ Simon said, his eyes twinkling with mischief and thoroughly enjoying winding up his somewhat serious and bookish son. ‘Anna’s not a guest at this point; she’s family.’
Anna caught her breath, touched beyond measure as Louise nodded her agreement. She pressed her hand to her chest to soothe the pounding of her heart and swallowed hard. ‘You are so lovely,’ Anna said, not to anyone in particular, more to the moment, the emotion of that simple message of acceptance simply overwhelming.
‘Never unloads the bloody dishwasher though, does she?’ Alex grumbled half-heartedly, making her smile even more.
Acceptance, good food, excellent advice and, it seemed, her very own truculent surrogate brother. ‘No, but I’m a whizz with a tea-towel.’
Alex just shook his head, but his eye roll was as close to genuine affection as a fourteen-year-old boy might ever achieve.
He carved up his pudding into five large wedges – little point in pretending they wouldn’t demolish the whole thing in one sitting – and gave Anna first pick. Virtually a serenade in sibling statements.
Anna hefted the vast blue and white striped custard jug and poured, its weight familiar and comforting by now. The ‘t’ and the ‘d’ had long since worn away and there was a chip in the rim from where Kate had flung a spoon at Easter as she’d gesticulated wildly in support of some half-arsed political debate. Little pieces of history that Anna had been a part of.
And that, in itself, was new.
She herself would never have the markers of family life that were barely noticed in this house by anyone but Anna – like the cheese platter with baby handprints on it that was simply a piece of their everyday crockery, or the serried ranks of primary school photographs, replete with wonky fringes and gappy teeth, gathering dust on the bookshelves. They were just background to the family who lived here and yet they fascinated Anna in a way that eclipsed her studies.
And just as she held tight to the memories of Marjorie’s Tupperware jug and the tart crispiness of her favourite Heinz Sandwich Spread on the last crust of bread, she was determined to hold these new memories tight as well, to weave them into the story of her life.
For around Louise’s dining table, absorbed into their Sunday routine, there was a beguiling sense of who Anna herself might like to become. The temptation to stay on and do a master’s was enormous. She could make this her life. Stay here in Oxford. Make this her home – well not ‘here’ per se, but somewhere that filled her heart the way this ramshackle home did.
A home where Classic FM burbled constantly in the background and the washing machine was never knowingly empty. With a bedroom like Kate’s perhaps, with her Scouting for Girls posters still on the walls, the Blu Tack ageing and yellowed, alongside her certificates for being basically brilliant at everything – ballet, gymnastics, spelling bees, maths challenges… Only the photos of her deplorable attempts at home-dyeing her hair for her sixteenth birthday made it clear that Kate was in fact a mortal. Fallible.
And yet, there was no entitlement with Kate; she was aware of her good fortune to the possible point of embarrassment. Her easy instinctive urge to share it with Anna made any potential envy a moot point. These special Sundays, the use of a tumble drier, even heading home as they would be later that night, with softly scented clean clothes, foil parcels of leftovers and the residual happiness and warmth of belonging that money could never buy. Kate was more of a friend than any person could ask for.
* * *
Standing at the sink drying glasses as Alex loudly stacked the dishwasher, Anna tried not to think about the hours of study awaiting her at 44 Cowley Road. The pressure of finals was ramping up and she knew that it wasn’t her memory that was likely to let her down. The nerves could easily be her undoing.
‘So, Anna, any plans falling into place for next year? Kate seems to have the next five years of her life mapped out already, but she always was an exhausting child. The other girls were playing shop and Kate was wafting around the house in a gown and hood lecturing her teddy bears.’ Louise laughed, the nostalgia softening her face. It apparently hadn’t occurred to her that the very presence of not one but two sets of academic robes in the house may have been a contributory factor.
‘I’m considering staying on for a master’s actually,’ Anna said shyly.
‘That’s fabulous news. We need more bright young women lining our halls.’ She paused. ‘Just make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons, that’s all.’
She filled the kettle and lifted down a box of After Eights, holding them out to Anna to tackle the cellophane, Louise’s frustration with packaging a family joke.
‘What would be the wrong reasons?’ Anna asked, intrigued, as she slid a perfect square of dark chocolate from its sleeve.
Louise leaned back against the kitchen counter and thought for a moment. ‘Well, learning for the sake of learning isn’t ideal. Expensive too.’ She gave Anna a gentle smile, a hint of sympathy colouring her words. ‘Sometimes it’s just a way to procrastinate about making the real decisions. The big decisions about what you want to do with the rest of your life.’
Anna looked downwards. ‘There are good reasons too.’
‘Oh, darling, I’m sure there are. I just thought – well…’ She reached over and plucked an After Eight from the box, chewing slowly and deliberately, buying time. ‘Well, you may not have anyone to talk this through with. A little bit of advice from someone old and crumbly?’ With her neat tailored trousers and soft orange jumper bringing out the tones in her silvered hair, Louise was anything but old and crumbly. But she was kind and, apparently, insightful.
‘What do you want to do with your life, Anna? What’s your burning passion?’
Anna blinked away the immediate and confusing image of Max Howard from her mind’s eye. The answer was surprisingly simple. ‘I want to write,’ she said.
‘Books? Articles? Are we talking author, journalist or scholar?’ Louise said, nodding. None of the sceptical derision that Anna was always braced for. After all, didn’t every second English undergrad want the same thing? Weren’t they all secretly pining for a creative life?
‘Author?’ Anna replied, and Louise smiled.
‘Then you’ll need to lose the question mark, darling girl. From what I’ve seen, it’s often the case that perseverance and belief can carry one further than natural talent alone in that business. But tell me, why do you need a master’s degree to write? Is it because you need the skills, or the approbation? Validation of your talent? You don’t need a certificate to tell you that your opinions are worthy of attention and consideration?’
Anna frowned, genuinely considering the question. It was a talent of Louise’s to get straight to the heart of the matter.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, two After Eights and some hurried soul-searching later.
Louise smiled. ‘Then maybe that’s what you need to consider before you make any commitment. And you know…’ She reached for another chocolate, deep in thought. ‘I’m sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you wanted to move in here for a bit? If it’s having the space to write that’s an issue…’
‘That’s very kind,’ Anna said, ’but I couldn’t possibly.’ The refusal was instinctive, yet the offer so enticing. ‘The master’s would be a good reason to stay in Oxford. Otherwi
se I should maybe broaden my horizons a little, you know? Work out what I want, and where I want to be?’
Louise nodded. ‘That makes sense, but the offer is always open, Anna. Whenever you need us.’ She picked up the tray of tea and walked through to the sitting room, leaving Anna munching After Eights on autopilot as she considered Louise’s words of wisdom.
Learning for learning’s sake.
That one had hit home.
It was telling that Anna always talked of ‘a master’s’, yet never dwelt upon which specialty attracted her. In that moment it occurred to her that it was almost immaterial.
Chapter 42
Oxford, 2010
Back at 44 Cowley Road, Anna couldn’t motivate herself to study. And, despite the vast Sunday lunch she’d consumed, she was disproportionately ravenous. Beating an egg into a few spoonfuls of butter and sugar in a mug, she chucked in some cocoa powder and flour and shoved it into the microwave.
Cake. Well, cake or toast. The only answer to emotional hunger.
Watching the little green LED digits count down, she felt as though her time here in Oxford was slipping away from her too. Her time with Kate, in this house. Her time as a student, real life on hold for those few precious years while she worked out what she really, truly wanted.
‘Oh, cake. I’m starving,’ Kate said, walking into the kitchen behind her. ‘Why do we get the munchies so badly on a Sunday night?’ she asked, unfolding the foil packaging from her mum and whittling away at the donated risotto. ‘I’ve eaten enough for a family of four today but I still feel—’
‘Hollow?’ Anna said, just as Kate finished her sentence with ‘Snackish.’
An awkward pause as they both took a moment, wondering whether to address Anna’s accidental revelation.
‘You okay?’ Kate asked. ‘I mean, I know my mum was ladling out her legendary life advice again, but she’s not your mum. You don’t have to follow it.’
‘But maybe I should. What if she’s right?’ Anna said, opening the microwave door and smiling at the perfect dome of chocolate in her mug. A modern miracle for the munchies. She wandered into the sitting room and wrapped herself in a blanket, going full hermit.
‘Look, my little Pea Pod. I can’t lie to you; the woman is a savante. Uncanny, annoying, but often so on the money it drives me to distraction. So what did she say to get you all swirly?’
Anna dug her spoon into the melted fudgey chocolate cake and sighed. ‘That there was no point staying on for a master’s just for the sake of it.’
‘Ah,’ Kate said and sat back on the sofa beside her, the opened foil parcel balanced on her knees as she carved off large forkfuls, the risotto standing no chance of survival for tomorrow night’s supper. ‘She did that number on me too. But, you know, I told her my plan and how I needed the research creds to do it justice. That I wouldn’t just be doing a master’s but a PhD too, all being well.’
Anna blinked. ‘What did she say?’
‘She just nodded and accepted it,’ Kate said, frowning as she tried to recall the conversation exactly. ‘Made some comment about earning my way through and not relying on the Bank of Mum and Dad and then made me unload the dishwasher.’
Anna shovelled a huge spoonful of cake into her mouth to buy her some thinking time. ‘Whereas when we were talking about it, I couldn’t give a single reason why a master’s was a good idea, other than that I wanted to stay here in Oxford. With you. With our life.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m happy here.’
‘Mostly,’ Kate replied. ‘Not a good time for rose-coloured glasses.’
They ate in silence for a moment, their futures stretching out ahead of them, beyond the pressure of their finals, beyond graduation, into what?
‘You don’t have to leave Oxford if you don’t want to study anymore. You could get a job here? But in all honesty, I don’t see the downside in buying a little more time to work out what you really want from life. And you’d be even more employable with a few more letters after your name.’
They both knew that wasn’t necessarily true in the current job market, but a delusion was more effective when shared. They both also knew that Anna’s dedication to studying and research didn’t hold a candle to Kate’s instinctive passion and drive.
‘She would know though, right? I mean, she’s spent her entire career in academia. She would recognise a flake if she met one.’
‘You are not a flake!’ Kate protested. ‘Flakey, sometimes, sure. But who isn’t?’
Anna shrugged. ‘I’m thinking that I should take a little time and go travelling or something. Widen my horizons. Genuinely start writing, rather than talking about writing, you know?’
‘You’d actually go travelling without me?’ Kate said, looking hurt.
Anna fixed her with a stare. ‘Come with me then. And don’t say you will, because we both know you won’t – you’re hardly going to leave Duncan, or your studies, or your family. Your whole life is here.’
‘Shit – you’re not talking about a holiday are you? You’re talking about picking up and fucking off. Like – gone.’
‘It had occurred to me, yeah. I mean, three years is the longest I’ve ever been in one place, you know that. And it’s the only place I’ve lived independently. Maybe there’s somewhere out there that suits me better. Maybe I need meadows or beaches, or a dog of my own.’
‘Or maybe you don’t and you’re giving up on a wonderful life here that you know is real and possible, for the dream or the promise of something that might not even exist,’ Kate said, leaning forward and waving her hands in frustration.
Anna scraped the last of the mug cake away and swallowed hard. Kate’s words hit home in a way that made her uncomfortable, simply for being quite so transparent.
‘Pea Pod? Anna? Look at me – is this about something else? Is it money? Because I know there are grants and things…’ She frowned. ‘Or is it Max?’
Anna shook her head. ‘Neither. Truly. I mean, it does seem a slightly expensive boondoggle, yes. And it’s not exactly easy with you dating my ex’s brother. But I wouldn’t change that for anything because you and Duncan are just so perfect together. Truly. I just…’
‘Finish the sentence, Pod.’
‘I just don’t know who I want to be.’
‘You mean what you want to be?’ Kate clarified, her forehead wrinkled as she desperately tried to understand.
Anna shook her head and breathed out slowly. ‘Nope.’
* * *
‘Anna? An-na?’
A smattering of tiny pebbles clattered against her bedroom window later that night. Well technically the next morning, as Anna stared blearily at her alarm clock. 3.28.
Too early, or too late. Either way – ‘Fuck OFF,’ she mumbled crossly into her pillow.
‘Anna!’
She stumbled from her bed, struggling into a jumper against the chill bite of the early hours and yanking up the sash window that overlooked the street.
‘Let me in.’
‘Max, would you seriously just fuck off,’ Anna hissed down at him. The very last person she wanted to see, and yet still her heart lurched like the traitor that it was.
‘But I need to see you.’ His face looked up at her, tousled, sun-kissed hair tipped back. His clothes rumpled and his arms held wide. ‘I need you.’
‘Got another paper due? Need something to plagiarise?’ Anna’s anger with Max was never far from the surface.
‘Mate! Go home and sleep it off!’ came the shout from their next-door neighbour.
‘Let me in? Anna? Please?’ Max looked so forlorn, so far from his usual polished self that she found herself softening, just for a moment. The little devil on her shoulder insisting that maybe he had changed. Maybe, maybe, he’d even come here to apologise?
‘Fool me once, shame on you,’ Anna murmured to herself, as she often did when it came to the thorny issue of Max Howard. How much heartache could she have saved herself if only she’d had the courage of her convictions? If
she hadn’t fallen for his charm over and over again? If she hadn’t been so fucking needy…
‘Fuck off, Max!’ she said firmly and slid the window closed, turning her back to his remonstrations.
Sitting on the end of her bed, she wondered how different her final year might have been if she had been a little more settled within herself. She’d been so different here at Oxford, her confidence growing, her sense of self evolving and solidifying, and with it – finally – some confidence in her own worth.
And yet there was Max: her first – urgh, it pained her to admit – proper love.
Her first experience of the blinkers and justifications one can find to excuse appalling behaviour.
Her first insight, actually, into her mother’s life and the string of excuses that kept that marriage together against all better instincts. No wonder it had broken her in the end. What might Anna’s life have been like if her dysfunctional parents had loved each other a little less? She was reminded yet again of that uncomfortable truism: the children of lovers are orphans. Well, that seemed pretty spot on from where Anna was sitting and she was determined to break this toxic cycle with Max once and for all.
He’d lied to her.
He’d stolen from her.
And one notable Friday night last November he’d persuaded her into bed, passionately, convincingly, lovingly even… Then left her all over again two weeks later with a sour taste in her mouth and a positive pregnancy test.
Taking the lion’s share of her self-esteem and her dissertation plans with him.
She put her hands over her ears to drown out his voice now.
She had nothing more to give to the Max Howards of this world. God, she’d rather be alone than in a relationship that broke her down into the very smallest pieces of herself. She’d rather be anywhere that didn’t remind her of her own mistakes.
Because wasn’t that at the heart of all her uncertainty now?
She’d spent the last decade firm and confident in the belief that she would be better at this, better at being an adult than her parents had been. How hard could it be to do the right thing, earn a wage, pay the bills and still be true to your own convictions? She saw people doing it every day. Grown-ups, making grown-up choices.