‘I’m sorry I went off so hard in Berlin,’ she said. ‘I mean, I was angry with you but I was angry with myself too, because I get it. I get the need to be seen in a certain way, by certain people, and I was so mad you didn’t tell me because clearly you were going to get hurt, and I would have made you stop.’
‘I know, and that’s why I didn’t tell you.’
‘And now, what’s happening with Nush and the shows?’
I stole another hug. ‘A lot – I think, I hope. But I’ll explain everything tomorrow. Breakfast meeting?’
‘Definitely,’ she said. ‘I’ll make up an agenda.’ Bettina watched from the pavement as I belted up and pulled away. It was exhilarating to have another item crossed off my list. I knew I had many more stops to make on the way to putting my life back together, but only one more for that night.
The road was busy; everyone was home. I had to park some distance from the house. Even though I knew the path well, I trod carefully – writing to the council about the lighting had been on my list. I only thought about my appearance when my finger was on the bell, but I talked myself out of backing off. I reasoned he had seen me looking worse – ravaged by flu, contorted with labour pains. He’d seen it all and still chosen me again and again. He took a while to come to the door, always did. I used to think this sluggishness was a tool to dodge responsibility, have me deal with the peddlers and campaigners and save his emotional energy, but clearly it was just his way. He didn’t hide his confusion; Dylan had always been happy to have his feelings available for the world to see.
‘The girls are in bed,’ he said. He didn’t seem angry. I would have been angry if I were him.
‘I know, I’ll come back. I wanted to ask you something.’ I wanted to ask so many things, but I started with this. ‘Do you think we could all go bowling tomorrow night?’
‘Yeah, Nibs,’ he replied. ‘I mean, we can try.’
44
DYLAN READJUSTED HIS watch strap. Most of those watching wouldn’t register it, but I knew it meant he was agitated. I felt the energy of the crowd shift, people closing conversations and turning in their chairs. All eyes on Dylan: something that before our own wedding he had described as his ‘personal hell’, but perhaps after what I put him through, he had reassessed that. Reading from a piece of paper, Dylan started.
‘For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Dylan, and it is an honour and privilege to be speaking to you all today. It’s also torture, which those of you who know Mickey will know is exactly why he asked me to do it.’ Everyone laughed, because it was funny but also because it was honest and open, just like him. ‘No offence, mate, but I genuinely never thought I’d see this day. It’s nothing short of a miracle that you’ve found someone who will put up with you, let alone a woman as wonderful as Diane.’ There was a collective ‘Awwww’; tears streamed down Mickey’s face. ‘I’m not going to tell any embarrassing stories about you because, frankly, there are too many to choose from, and you’ve all heard about the time he got arrested with his hand stuck in a letterbox in Derby, right?’ I had, many times, but when, after much encouragement from the audience, Dylan told it again, I enjoyed it more than I ever had. In the past, it only reminded me of being left to host Chloe’s birthday party when Dylan rushed off to save his friend. Hearing it again, I could see how loving he was, and how reliable he is, and how easy it is to believe that someone’s actions are about you.
When he had finished speaking, Dylan accepted his applause graciously and then slipped out as waiters swooped in with chocolate fondants. I watched him leave through the French doors, open to let the autumn breeze in, leaving his dessert to deflate as it cooled.
‘Are you girls OK?’ I asked. Chloe and Ruby offered chocolatey affirmations, so I left our table and traced the path I had seen him take. In the manicured gardens, I watched cigarette smoke curling out from behind an arch of white roses and followed the trail. Standing at the end was Dylan. ‘Since when have you smoked?’ I asked. He took another inhalation before putting out the rest on top of a bin.
‘Since I was about fourteen, but then I gave up … when I met you. So, I guess this is my rebellion.’ I sat on a stone bench in front of the arch and indicated for him to join me.
‘I didn’t ask you to do that,’ I said. He loosened his tie before sitting next to me.
‘I wanted to. Thanks for bringing the girls.’
‘I wouldn’t miss it. I needed to see it with my own eyes.’ Dylan tutted but when I peeked at him, he was smiling.
‘Leave him alone, it’s his wedding day.’ I traced a figure of eight in the gravel with the toe of my shoe.
‘Does it bring back memories?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Dylan touched my knee, long enough to still me but not long enough.
‘Don’t be. It was a great day. How’s your dad doing?’
‘He’s fine. As fine as he can be.’ Eddie went to a residential facility a few weeks after I moved in with him. He had become so scared and confused; I could see how much he had to battle each day. I was terrified of telling him, of him thinking I had let him down, but he seemed relieved when I gave him the brochure, reassured he wouldn’t be a burden. His savings and the sale of his flat would pay the expenses, and I chipped in for extras. I wanted him to have the best, and for the first time I could afford it.
Nush’s father met with me a week after the show. He was extremely impressed with the success of the event, and by success he meant that Nush had turned up at all. He helped her set up an entertainment company, ‘Rebel Arts’. Nush recruited me as COO and I invited Bettina to come with me. She describes herself as my right- and left-hand woman, and that’s pretty accurate. Henry freelances for us sometimes, when he’s not touring with his neo-soul punk band, and very, very occasionally Nush shows up to the office in Angel. Although I didn’t ask, Annie let me know she wasn’t ready to leave Pepperpot – she didn’t feel she had ‘made her mark’ – and, whilst Carter wasn’t pleased by my departure, he wished me luck and I think he meant it. In the business, everyone comes to me with their questions, but it doesn’t feel overwhelming because I’ve learned that no one has the answers; it’s about helping people to find their own.
I rented a place equidistant from Bettina’s flat and Dylan and the girls. Chloe and Ruby come to stay every weekend. In a sad way we seemed able to arrange our lives more easily – I could focus on setting up the business in the week, and Dylan scheduled back-to-back lessons all weekend. I struggled not seeing the girls every day, but the loss amplified my appreciation – I think everyone should be given the opportunity to miss the people they care about. And I miss Dylan, I miss him the way you miss a belonging left on public transport – an urgent grip of panic, a flurry of self-flagellation, but underneath it the hope that you can make it right. Bowling became a bi-weekly trip and for two hours, we are a unit; it’s astonishing how much I revel in it and all the things I’d failed to cherish for so long. When things fell apart, I wasn’t sure what I felt about Dylan, but I knew immediately that I wanted what I thought I never had – a family. I had believed the lie that good things don’t come easily, and Dylan came so readily I couldn’t trust it. Once the company had been established and the hurt from Frank had dulled and I examined Dylan from the distance of my silent flat, I could see only what was good about him. Every now and then, I’ll drink too much and send a message asking if he wants to talk, and he will message back that he isn’t quite ready.
‘We’ll go soon,’ I said. ‘Let me say goodbye, in case I don’t get to speak to you.’ He stood and held his arms open, and when I wrapped mine around his waist, it felt like home. He patted my shoulder and pulled away.
‘When you back from New York?’
‘Ten days.’
‘Want me to drop the girls off?’
‘No, I’ll come and get them.’
‘Thanks.’ It seemed like he was going to say more, but then he started back to the hall. I want
ed to call him back but stood and watched him go. If there was more to say, there was time, and I was willing to wait.
Acknowledgements
Thank you all at Transworld, especially Francesca and Sally for being such wonderful mothers to my book.
Thanks to the writers and readers, especially Nels, Naz, Ben, Rebecca, Geraldine, Emma and Katie for our water-cooler chats.
Big thanks to my family and chosen family, especially Martin for keeping me fed, Gemma for speed-reading and Adele for 24/7 tech support.
Martha Ross dreams of being a singer but – for now – she’s working in a call centre. She’s also separating from her husband and moving back in with her parents as a single mum, toddler in tow.
Life might have thrown her a few lemons … but Martha’s going to make a gin and tonic. It’s not too late to become the woman she’s always wanted to be.
Soon she realizes that in order to find lasting love and fulfilment, she needs to find herself first. But her attempts at reinvention – from writing a definitive wish list of everything she wants in a new man, to half-marathons and meditation retreats – tend to go awry in the most surprising of ways.
‘One of the freshest, funniest, most exciting new voices I’ve read for a long time’
JANE FALLON
‘Fresh and funny and REAL … Martha really spoke to me. She will steal everyone’s heart!’
VERONICA HENRY
‘Beautifully written and emotionally intelligent. I rooted for Martha from the start.’
DAILY MAIL
THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
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First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Corgi Books
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Charlene Allcott 2020
Cover design and illustration Emily Courdelle
Charlene Allcott has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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ISBN 9781473560321
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More Than a Mum Page 31