More Than a Mum

by Charlene Allcott

  ‘I—’

  ‘You don’t trust me to parent our daughter with you. You have to make the decisions for everyone.’ He returned to examining his shoes. ‘I’m just the driver,’ he said finally.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, because I was, about a lot of things, but especially about making him feel stupid because he wasn’t. I was the one who thought trying to keep a secret with a teenage girl was a good idea. ‘I really am.’

  ‘I’m going to have a shower.’ He disappeared up the stairs. I pictured them both up there, the same wounded expression on their faces; disappointment reflected in their identical blue eyes. I put the peas on the radiator and left.

  I told Frank to meet me on the steps of St Mary’s church. If anyone at home asked, I could tell them I had to go back to work, but I was sure no one would. A woman walked towards me, and I knew from her frequent glances in my direction that she was wondering if I needed to be saved. She paused before starting her ascent and I accidentally caught her eye.

  ‘Hello,’ she said as she trundled over. She had tight, roller-set hair and, despite the warm weather, wore a thick woollen skirt. She looked like I wished my mother would. ‘Are you here for prayers?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘No, thank you. I’m meeting someone.’

  ‘Perhaps they’d like to come too, your friend.’

  ‘I very much doubt it.’

  ‘You’d both be very welcome,’ she said. I could tell she was warming up to her role as senior salesperson for the Lord. I felt weary and bad for wasting her time. I was beyond saving.

  ‘We’re having an affair, so I don’t know about that.’ Her mouth fell open. I didn’t blame her – I was shocked too. It was the first time I’d said it to anyone. It felt like I had popped a zit; I was disgusted with myself but oddly satisfied. She didn’t speak for several seconds.

  ‘Well,’ said the woman, before turning away and shakily climbing the steps. I twisted my body and watched her pull open the door, and when I turned back he was there. I fell into his arms. He patted my back and made shushing noises as I cried into his shirt. Even through my pain I noticed how amazing he smelled.

  ‘My car’s round the corner,’ he said after a minute or so. I let him guide me there. He opened the passenger door for me and walked away. I felt dizzy. I thought he was leaving me. You would think I’d be used to it. As a child, my mum was constantly dropping me off at neighbours’ and friends’ houses. Once I went to sleep in my own bed and woke up head to tail with a school friend. Of course, I hadn’t known that at first, and thought maybe I had died in the night and that heaven meant being wrapped in a thick, fluffy duvet. When I understood what had happened, I was angry and ashamed. I ignored Mum for a week when she came back. She always came back, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Frank returned too, with two takeaway cups in a holder. He got into the driver’s seat and handed me one. I tasted it: hot chocolate.

  ‘It’s July!’ I said, laughing for what felt like the first time in a century.

  ‘I wanted to make you smile,’ he said.

  ‘You did. You do.’

  Frank took the lid from his drink and blew on it.

  ‘Did you see that woman back there at the church? I told her we were having an affair.’

  He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think she’s going to tell anyone.’

  ‘That’s what this is though.’

  Frank put his cup into the holder without drinking. ‘I don’t like that,’ he said. ‘That’s not what’s going on here.’

  My arms began to tingle, a signal my body was gearing up for a fight. He was dismissing my reality and it felt like he was erasing me. ‘You can’t ignore something just because you don’t like it.’

  He shifted in his seat and angled his body towards mine. ‘You’re right,’ he said softly, and the sparks of anger popped and fizzled into nothing.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. A heaviness settled on my chest, the kind that I knew could only be lifted by a good cry. But I didn’t want to cry; I already felt that I had shown too much – too much sadness, too much weakness – and it was another disappointment. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Frank to see that side of me, but that I had hoped with him, it wouldn’t exist. He stroked my hair.

  ‘It’s home really,’ I said. ‘Yet another catastrophe with Ruby. I don’t know where I went wrong. I’ve tried with her; I swear I’ve done nothing but try. What more can I do?’

  ‘You will never know. You need to focus on what you can control.’ That was easy for him to say – he didn’t have an adversary living under his roof. I knew his son wasn’t in school yet; he was still small and malleable. You don’t realize it at the time, but parenting is easier when you can pick them up and put them down exactly where you want them. I didn’t question Frank; looking back, I think I needed him to be right, because if he was wrong maybe what we were doing was too, and I couldn’t create room for that. ‘Look, this might not be the best time to say this, but I found a place. A mate came through – I was going to tell you tomorrow. It’s small, but it’s central and it’s available, and you sound like you might need some space …’ I did cry then, tears of excitement and relief and also fear.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I had wanted Frank to be a place of escape, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to break out. He took my hot chocolate from me and grabbed both of my hands in his.

  ‘I’m going on Monday. You don’t have to think of it as leaving; think of it as gaining some time.’ I pulled my hands back.

  ‘Monday – but that’s so soon, there’s too much to do.’ My mind flitted through a list of things I had to get done – fill the freezer, regrout the bath, sort out my teenage daughter.

  ‘Take control. Do something for yourself and sort the rest out later. You have to show them that things need to change. I’ll help you deal with everything.’ It was so alluring, more than the idea of fancy trips and crazy sex, the idea that there would be someone, someone capable, that I could hand my problems to and say, ‘Hold this whilst I have a shower.’ I was so tired of trying to have it all. Having it all also meant having all the maintenance. I only wanted some of it – the good bits.

  31

  FRANK DROPPED ME off a couple of blocks from the house. Before I got out he kissed me on the mouth, a kiss full of both the best and the worst intentions. ‘You can do this,’ he said, and rather than buoying me it made me worry that I had gained yet another person to let down. The house was quiet. I found Dylan on our bed, so deep into a crossword he didn’t seem to notice me come in.

  ‘Is she OK?’ Dylan folded the corner of the page, and placed his book and pen on the bedside table.

  ‘She’s taking some time. She’s in her room.’ He didn’t ask where I had been.

  ‘Did she talk to you?’ I thought he might ask me to sit with him, but he took the pillow from my side and placed it behind his back.

  ‘A bit. This girl, apparently she’s been messaging Ruby for weeks. Nasty stuff. It’s no excuse but—’

  ‘Clearly you think it is.’

  ‘Not an excuse but—’

  ‘Dylan, we taught her better.’

  ‘Is that right? Because …’ He stopped; his mouth became a hard line.

  ‘What? What, Dylan?’

  ‘We taught her not to lie too, but you still told her it was OK to lie to me.’

  ‘It wasn’t. It isn’t. I don’t know, she was scared and I didn’t want to …’ It was my turn to stop because I couldn’t say what I knew, that I didn’t want to let him in.

  ‘I was angry about the photos but we sorted it out. I feel like you’re punishing me or something.’ I think maybe he was right. I was punishing him for not being enough to stop me from making choices that scared me; I was punishing him for not being able to save me from myself.

  ‘I know I messed up. I was trying to do the right thing.’ Dylan picked up his crossword book.

  ‘We all are, Alison.’ You could go to him, said a voice in my head. Y
ou could change things, you could stop things, you could try. But I didn’t trust that voice because I didn’t trust myself.

  ‘I’m going to talk to her,’ I said. Dylan didn’t offer any encouragement. ‘I’m going to sort this out,’ I said, and he grunted.

  I could only see the bottom half of my daughter; the rest was obscured by her wardrobe door. I could hear her rummaging around the bottom of it. Since she stopped letting me in to tidy up, it had started to resemble a jumble sale.

  ‘Ruby, can we chat?’ She crawled out and sat amongst a sea of clothes on the floor.

  ‘I can’t talk now. Have you seen my holdall?’ I picked my way towards her.

  ‘Rubes, we have to—’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ she snarled. ‘You can’t actually make me. Anyway, it hurts to talk.’ I sat in the sea with her.

  ‘It does look sore. You should really ice it.’ She shook her head. She wanted us to see her pain. ‘Dad says this girl has been messaging you.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Saying nasty things.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I inched closer to her.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like calling me a sket.’ Ruby tried to say this dismissively but her voice cracked on the last syllable.

  ‘What does that mean? It doesn’t sound all that bad.’

  ‘Like a slag,’ she said. ‘Like a ho.’ She swallowed audibly.

  ‘Because of Dom?’ Ruby was on her knees; she pushed her chin forward and her shoulders back.

  ‘What?’ she asked. She sounded low and mean.

  ‘Did something happen with Dom?’ I pressed. ‘I won’t be angry but I’m worried about you.’ She punched the wardrobe door; I reeled back, fearful the next blow would be for me.

  ‘So basically, you’re calling me a slag.’

  ‘No, don’t be silly—’

  ‘I’m not silly. I’m not stupid. You think I don’t know anything but I do. I know what you think of me. I know you wish you never had me.’ She picked up a sequin-covered trainer and lobbed it at the wall.

  ‘Ruby, Ruby, don’t be … Ruby, no. Why would you think that?’ I tried to hold her but she batted me away and returned to the wardrobe.

  ‘I’m going to Nan’s,’ she informed me from its depths.

  ‘No, you can’t go. We need to talk about this.’ Ruby straightened up.

  ‘I don’t want to talk!’ she screamed towards the ceiling. Then she held her cheek with both hands and began to sob.

  I heard Dylan’s rushed footsteps and then his sharp intake of breath. His ‘What’s going on?’ felt accusatory. I could see it might look like I had hit her and that denying it would only make it worse.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he said again, and what I thought was, I’m losing everything.

  ‘We’re fine,’ I said. ‘She’s upset.’

  ‘Ruby?’ he asked, as though inclined not to believe me.

  ‘I want to stay at Nan’s,’ she whimpered.

  ‘That’s probably a good idea,’ Dylan said. I moved to Ruby’s bed so I could see the both of them.

  ‘It’s ridiculous, Dylan. She can’t leave—’

  ‘Dad, she thinks you’re stupid too.’

  I threw up my hands. ‘Nobody’s stupid. I don’t like that word.’

  Ruby scowled at me. ‘Just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean it’s not true.’

  ‘Get your stuff,’ said Dylan. ‘I’ll run you round.’ I stood up.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘No you won’t, because I’m going.’ Neither of them intervened as I packed a bag. When I emerged from the bedroom, Dylan was in the hallway.

  ‘It will be better tomorrow,’ he said, and kissed my cheek as if thanking me for removing myself.

  ‘Can you get away tonight?’ I asked, reaching for his comfort for the second time that day. A few minutes later, Frank sent me the name of a central London hotel where he had booked a room under ‘Meecham’.

  Once again, I was alone in a suite waiting for Frank, but this time there was no uncertainty. I knew he would come and I knew he would help to make things right. He didn’t arrive until after ten, full of warmth and apologies. I realized it didn’t matter if someone let you down; it was how they responded to the failing that counted.

  ‘What’s going on with you?’ he asked, after making us both a drink and sitting with me on the king-size bed. ‘You’ve got needy,’ he added, giving me a playful nudge.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. I felt mournful; I had allowed us to become infected.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ he said as he stroked my neck. ‘I kind of like it. It’s good to feel needed.’ I knew he was right and understood why things at home felt so wrong. They didn’t need me – they needed their laundry and their dinner and the bills paid and the plans made, but they didn’t need me. Those tasks could be performed by anyone.

  ‘I think I do need to get out,’ I told him. ‘I think I want to stay with you at the apartment for a while.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be permanent,’ he said. ‘But this situation needs some distance.’ I thought about us being able to spend whole days together, collaborate on trivial tasks such as unloading the dishwasher.

  ‘My mum and dad, well, my stepdad, split up and I never felt like I lost him.’ When they first separated, Eddie still came for dinner every evening; often he cooked it too. ‘But to not see the girls every day … Ruby went on a school trip to France but she wanted to come home early. Aside from that …’

  ‘We always think about loss; we should focus on how much there is to gain.’ I pulled Frank down on the bed and curled my back against his front. I could feel his breath warm on my scalp.

  ‘The girls know something’s wrong, or they can feel it if they don’t. I care for him, I really do, but I’m not sure how much I like him.’ I felt a bit bad saying it aloud but also unburdened.

  ‘When the respect has gone, everything else follows.’ That was it: I didn’t respect Dylan and he’d had long enough to earn it.

  ‘He’s a nice guy,’ I said. I think I wanted Frank to push, to tell me to make the decision I had already made.

  ‘If nice is enough, stay,’ said Frank. ‘If you want more …’

  ‘I do,’ I told him. ‘I want more of everything – more time, more money, more …’ You, was what I was thinking. I wanted all of him, I no longer wanted to share.

  ‘I’m ready to move on. If you know you are too, say the word.’

  ‘The word,’ I whispered. Frank put his arm around my waist, and even though it felt heavy and a bit restrictive, I let myself go to sleep.

  In the morning, he was up before me and when I woke, he was in a chair reading The Times. ‘I have to go,’ he said, ‘but I thought we could have breakfast.’ His hair was still wet from the shower. He passed me a tray of pastries and fruit.

  ‘I must have been really asleep,’ I said. He sat on top of the covers next to me and took a large bite of an almond croissant.

  ‘Can I have coffee?’ I asked, batting my lashes. He went to get me a cup.

  ‘So, this is what it will be like, you’ll be having me do your bidding,’ he said as he handed it to me. It had been so long since I’d felt that kind of pleasure, I wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling.

  ‘So, you’re definitely going?’ I asked, in case it had been a dream.

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘And you’re around next week?’

  ‘Nothing whatsoever in the diary.’

  ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m doing.’

  ‘You do.’ We kissed. ‘Will you be late for work?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll tell them I had a meeting,’ I said.

  ‘See – you’ve got everything worked out.’ He smiled and fed me a strawberry. ‘I was just reading a piece about bees. Did you know it’s only the females that can sting?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ I said, and I loved that I didn’t, that he always had something to
teach me.

  ‘I was thinking I’d include something about them in one of my talks.’ He put his hands behind his head. ‘Something about how we see it as an attack, when really it’s defence. It’s protective; it’s instinctual.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ I said, although every word he spoke did.

  ‘You could help me write it, next week. After … when you have time. I’d really appreciate your help.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t need my help.’ He made me feel shy; unlike with Dylan, where I could be sure of what he needed, I didn’t yet see myself as valuable to Frank.

  ‘I want it though,’ he said. ‘You’re helping me now, just by being here and looking so beautiful.’ I kissed him again.

  ‘Do you have to go?’ I asked.

  ‘I could maybe spare a bit of time,’ he said. It pains me to recall how we were because I’m not sure I’ll feel that way again – you can’t spend a lifetime communicating in clichés. But in that moment I thought maybe we could; I convinced myself that we’d stop the everyday from creeping in. Love was a firewall protecting me from boredom and doubt, but also keeping logic at bay.

  32

  ‘WHAT ARE YOU wearing?’ I asked her. Mum looked down, like she needed to check. She had on white jeans and a sunshine-yellow vest. ‘I thought you said we were going to work out?’

  ‘Work it. It’s a day rave.’ Mum had called me the previous evening, insisting we needed some bonding time. I found myself eager for her company; perhaps as a means to escape the frigid atmosphere at home, but also because her perpetual chaos, maddening as it was, made me feel more balanced. She told me to meet her outside the working men’s club. I’d protested and tried to pitch lattes and cake for our morning of connection. She made a gagging sound.

  ‘Jesus. Why can’t you crochet or play bridge like normal mothers?’

  ‘You said you wanted to spend time with me. This is how I spend my time. Anyway, does anyone actually know how to play bridge?’

  ‘Plenty of people do. People your age.’