by Nicola Gill
Billy was shovelling pizza into his mouth and arguing with Hannah about whether she was his guinea pig’s cousin too. Lola was looking at them both, quiet and watchful, and Laura felt a surge of guilt and protectiveness. I’m sorry, she said to Lola in her head. I will be a better auntie. I will look out for you.
‘Want one more glass of wine?’ she said to Jess.
‘I really shouldn’t …’
‘Go on, just a small one.’
‘Mummy’s drunk!’ Lola said, looking a little horrified.
‘I’m not drunk!’
‘I want wine,’ Billy said. ‘Or beer. I want beer like Daddy.’
‘You’re five,’ Hannah said.
‘Five and a quarter.’
Laura looked around, at the Kintsugi-ed dish, more beautiful now than it had ever been before, at everyone’s smiling faces around the table. One of the spotlights had blown out a while back and she hadn’t got around to buying a new bulb and, even though it had been getting on her nerves and it meant she could barely see when she was trying to cook in the evenings, she had to admit now it was casting a rather pretty glow. Like a lazy man’s candlelight.
Jess looked happier and more relaxed than Laura could remember seeing her for what felt like forever, and even though Laura knew that was mostly down to the verdejo, she hoped it was also because she was a little happier.
As soon as the pizzas had been devoured, the kids shot off back to Billy’s bedroom.
‘One more glass?’ Laura said.
‘I really shouldn’t,’ Jess said, holding out her glass to be refilled.
‘Hey,’ Laura said. ‘You know the other day, before all this blew up with Ben, you sent me that message saying you needed to talk to me about something – what was all that about?’
Jess’ face froze. ‘Oh, I can’t remember.’
That struck Laura as highly improbable but she let it go. Jess had almost certainly wanted to tell Laura off about something and now didn’t want to spoil a nice evening.
‘I really should be writing that blog post,’ Jess said.
‘Yup,’ Laura said, ‘and I should be writing next week’s horoscopes. Christ, my job is shit at the moment. Ahh, I shouldn’t say that. If you believe what you hear, Natter could be closed down any minute. That would serve me right. A real case of “be careful what you wish for”.’
Jess took a sip of her wine. ‘You’ve been fed up there for a while. Perhaps you should look for something else?’
Normally Laura would bristle at this. Would think Jess was acting just like their mum by being so quick to tell her what she was doing wrong with her life. But, whether it was down to the wine or the mood, she didn’t mind the way she normally would. ‘I did actually see a great job advertised at Inlustris. I filled in the application form and everything. But there’s no way in the world I’d get it.’
‘Isn’t it worth a try?’ Jess said.
Laura puffed out her cheeks. Put like that it sounded so simple. ‘I’m sure the closing date for applications has long gone.’
‘Where did you see the ad?’ Jess said
‘On a journalist’s group on Facebook. But it will be too late.’ She grinned. ‘Now, drink up your wine and stop bossing me about.’
‘It wouldn’t hurt to have a quick look,’ Jess said.
Laura rolled her eyes and reached for her phone. ‘Oh. The closing date is the 12th May – that’s tomorrow.’
‘See,’ Jess said.
‘I haven’t got a chance of even getting an interview,’ Laura said.
Billy came into the kitchen. ‘Why won’t you get an interval?’
Laura tousled his curls. ‘An interview, Big Ears. And never mind.’
Billy shrugged. ‘Can I have some ice cream?’
Laura said they didn’t have any and Billy sighed heavily before heading back to whatever game he and the girls were playing.
‘Did you say you’d already filled in the application form?’ Jess said the second Billy had left the room.
‘No. Yes. Maybe. I haven’t proofread it.’
Jess made a face. ‘That will take all of five minutes. Come on, where is it?’
Laura looked at her laptop, which was balanced on a teetering pile of papers on the worktop. She supposed she may as well have a look at the application form. She could barely even remember what she’d written.
The two of them sat side by side reading it. Jess finished first. ‘I’d give you the job,’ she said.
Laura laughed. ‘It’s not yours to give. Also, I think you might be biased.’
‘Why not send it?’ Jess said. ‘You’ve got everything to gain and nothing to lose.’
That was exactly what agony aunt Laura had said to Faye from Colchester. Laura sighed. ‘You’re not going to let up about this, are you?’
Jess shook her head. ‘Nope.’
Laura laughed. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll send it. But I’m only doing it to shut you up. Oh, and because getting that dish Kintsugi-ed was such a sweet thing to do. I haven’t got a chance of getting this job though.’
Chapter Ninety-One
Laura opened the door to see Amy standing there, with Josh on her hip.
‘I don’t suppose you could do me a small favour and have Josh for a bit, could you?’ Amy said. ‘I’ve just realized I haven’t got anything to wear for that wedding I’m going to tomorrow.’
‘Oh,’ Laura said. ‘Jon’s just picked up Billy for the day.’
Amy looked at her but said nothing. Surely she wasn’t expecting Laura to spend her child-free Sunday babysitting so she could go clothes shopping?
‘It’s just I’m a bit stuck,’ Amy said. ‘I could order something online and pay for next day delivery but then what if it doesn’t fit or I don’t like it?’
Laura wasn’t quite sure what to say. ‘I’d love to help, it’s just I have plans.’ The truth was she was a little hungover after sinking two bottles of wine with Jess. She had been intending to clean the flat as quickly as possible before lying on her bed and watching back-to-back episodes of Queer Eye. A large mug of tea and a chocolate brownie were also on the agenda.
Those weren’t the sort of plans that couldn’t be changed though.
Amy was still staring at her, a sort of pleading look on her face.
Laura vacillated. Cleaning the flat could wait. The Fab Five could wait. The brownie could still be eaten.
But Laura couldn’t help thinking about the night she’d wanted to confess to Jess that she was MsRealityCheck. Her asking Amy if she could look after Billy for an hour when he was asleep. Amy not even hesitating to say no. Shutting the metaphorical door in Laura’s face. Laura had always been so sure that Amy would help her out if she ever needed her; so adamant that Jess was wrong when she said the friendship was a one-way street.
Laura looked at Josh, happily spouting gibberish as he chewed on his picture book. He really was a gorgeous little boy. She looked at Amy, whose face was full of expectation.
‘I’m sorry not to be able to help,’ Laura said.
Amy stared at her in disbelief before offering the brusquest of goodbyes and disappearing back down the stairs.
As Laura shut the door, her heart was beating very fast but for once in her life she didn’t feel even the slightest bit guilty.
Chapter Ninety-Two
As Laura was leaving grief group, Marcus fell into step next to her. She felt her palms start to sweat and told herself not to be so stupid. Marcus was not interested in some plump frump of nearly forty. And she wasn’t interested in him (even if his eyes did crinkle in a very appealing way when he smiled).
‘Well, that was a fun and relaxing way to spend an hour,’ he said to her, grinning.
She smiled. ‘Yeah, every time I go I tell myself I’m never going back.’
Despite the fact it was nearly eight in the evening, Calton Avenue was still warm and there was a strong smell of honeysuckle in the air.
‘So what do you do when you’re not talki
ng about death and coping strategies?’ Marcus said.
‘I’m a journalist.’ Sort of.
‘Oh,’ Marcus said. ‘My sister used to be a journalist. Now she works for a content company called Bridge. Do you know it? Or is that like an American asking you if you know their cousin Bill when you tell them you live in London?’
Laura smiled. ‘I do know Bridge. What do you do?’
‘I’m a doctor. I work at King’s.’
A doctor. Get a grip of yourself, Laura; you are not someone who’s impressed with stuff like that. I mean obviously doctors are useful because they save lives and other trivial stuff, but it’s not impressive in a dating context. And, anyway, there is no dating context.
‘This is me,’ Marcus said as they came up to a shabby-looking grey Golf. ‘Can I give you a lift anywhere?’
Laura shook her head. ‘I only live a short walk away.’
‘Okay,’ Marcus said, unlocking the car. ‘Well, see you next week for the misery fest.’
Laura said she’d see him next week and pushed away the thought that she would definitely go now.
She walked down the wide, leafy street feeling extremely odd. Marcus was way out of her league (she had this sudden memory of being sixteen and confessing to her mum that she had a crush on Harry Fowler, and Evie looking appalled and saying that Harry could have anyone), and, anyway, Laura wasn’t interested in dating. She’d only just broken up with Jon and she didn’t even know if that was a permanent thing.
She crossed Dulwich Village and headed down Turney Road, passing endless red-brick Victorian houses with neatly tended front gardens. Houses that the (many) local estate agents would describe as ‘beautifully presented’.
Marcus hadn’t been at grief group when Laura had first arrived there this evening and she’d swallowed a feeling of disappointment. Jenni started the session by doing what she called a bit of ‘housekeeping’. They were looking for volunteer grief counsellors, she said, full training would be given. Laura briefly considered putting her name on the list for more information – she had, after all, been interested in becoming a therapist all those years ago and she did have plenty of first-hand experience of bereavement – but then she remembered her mother telling her how ‘rubbish’ she’d be and how ‘over-emotional’ she got. Jenni moved on to talking about an ‘entirely optional’ social evening in a few weeks’ time, at which point Marcus arrived, apologizing profusely for being late. Anyone who might be interested should give her their mobile number, Jenni had continued, once Marcus was seated. She would start a grief group night out WhatsApp group (an idea Laura found beyond depressing).
Save for the occasional jogger or elderly couple walking their elderly dog, the streets were quiet and Laura surprised herself with the realization that it was pleasing to her that she lived in an area that was so peaceful and yet so accessible to the centre of town (a short hop on the number-three bus). The thought surprised Laura because it was so very Dulwich in its nature. Perhaps she was developing Stockholm Syndrome?
Her mind flashed back to the look of compassion on Marcus’ face as Ann talked about how she’d always loved walking because it was a time to really be alone with her thoughts, but, now that her thoughts were so painful, she never went for a walk anymore.
Laura passed the sports ground, where the distant cheering suggested someone had just scored a goal.
Marcus had been really kind to Mary too, offering to go over and fix her kitchen cupboard after she started crying saying the door was hanging off and that was something her husband would normally have seen to. Marcus said he loved doing DIY, almost making it seem as if Mary would be doing him a favour rather than the other way round.
Laura shook her head. She had to stop thinking like this. Marcus was a kind guy but so what? He wasn’t interested in her and she wasn’t interested in him.
She turned left on to Croxted Road and told herself she would not give Marcus another thought.
Chapter Ninety-Three
Laura’s resolution to not give Marcus another thought was made a whole lot easier by Billy, who – in that way that five-year-olds have – demanded every single scrap of her attention from the second she walked in the front door.
‘Mummy, Mummy!’ he said urgently. ‘You have to see my picture I painted at school – it’s of an alien spaceship and there is blood all over its wings! Also, you have to see Buzz because Daddy bought him a new toy and it’s like this tube and Buzz loves it! Also, also, look …’ He opened his mouth and wobbled his front tooth dramatically. ‘It’s nearly out!’
Laura and Jon both laughed. ‘Sounds like you’ve got a lot to do,’ he said.
‘So it seems,’ Laura said. ‘Thanks for getting him bathed and in his pyjamas though.’
‘No worries. We did his reading too.’
‘You did?’ Laura said, trying to keep the shock out of her voice.
When Jon left, Laura cooed over both the painting and the guinea pig toy and listened to a long, involved story about a game they had played at school in which Billy and Caitlyn were the vowel sounds (Caitlyn, Laura thought to herself, scrutinizing Billy’s face to see if the interaction had been a happy one). ‘Right, Mister,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’
‘Awww!’ Billy said. ‘Can I have a story? A proper one with you reading and not me? Because I already did my reading with Daddy.’
Laura said he could and she settled herself on Billy’s bed while he chose a book.
‘Miss Newman is picking people to act in our play,’ Billy said with his back to her.
‘Are you going to try to get a part?’ Laura said.
Billy shook his head. ‘I won’t get one.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Laura asked but before Billy could answer she could hear her own voice the other night telling Jess that she wasn’t going to apply for the job at Inlustris because there was no way she would get it. Billy had overheard her saying it (children are always listening – except, of course, when you actually want them to be).
Billy pulled Hamsters of Havana off the shelf.
Laura was thinking about how frustrated Billy had got the other day when she’d tried to teach him how to tie his shoelaces, how he’d kicked off his trainers and told her that everyone else could already tie their laces. And Laura had heard herself in the words because she too was always comparing herself to others – from her sister, to her colleagues, to people on social media – and finding herself lacking.
Billy climbed up onto the bed next to her and handed her the book. She kissed the top of his slightly damp head and breathed in the smell of baby shampoo.
Laura started to read the story but her mind wasn’t on the small, smartly dressed rodents with a talent for solving crime because she was thinking of Billy trotting out one of her classics the other morning when he told her he ‘looked a sight, as usual’. At the time she’d laughed, but now it didn’t seem quite so funny.
All her life Laura had thought her mum was her harshest critic but actually it was someone even closer to home. Which is not to say her mother hadn’t been a worthy contender for the title – credit where credit’s due, the woman could make Laura feel four inches tall with one well-aimed ‘tsk’ – but Laura’s inner voice was even meaner.
‘He’s so clever, isn’t he, Mummy?’ Billy said as the hamster brought the villains to justice.
Laura smiled and said he was. After her own upbringing, she had been determined that her child would never feel that they weren’t good enough. So she made sure she gave Billy lots of praise and held back from criticizing him. She thought she was doing everything possible to make her little boy confident.
But she’d forgotten that children copy what they see.
Chapter Ninety-Four
Laura really hoped no one from work walked past and saw her and Greta. They were on a little patch of green hidden away behind the Southbank, having a ceremony to say goodbye to Laura’s inner critic.
They were sitting cross-le
gged doing a small meditation while all around them workers picnicked and spoke loudly into their mobile phones. She never … what a cow … really … you’re shitting me.
Laura had no idea how she’d let herself get talked into this. To say it wasn’t really her cup of tea was something of an understatement. Despite having been very much a festival chick back in the day, her previous attempts to meditate had been something of a disaster, with either her thoughts refusing to be silenced and shouting over each other, or Laura falling fast asleep and waking up with a jolt to find a string of drool hanging from her mouth.
‘Inner critic who we have named Evan,’ Greta intoned. ‘We are here today to let you go …’
Laura tried not to giggle as she opened one eye to the mortifying realization that a man sitting a few feet away had paused with his egg salad sandwich a few inches from his mouth and was openly staring at them.
Also, what had Laura been thinking calling the inner critic Evan? (Greta had insisted it had to have a name.) Evan though – it was just a lazily masculine take on Evie.
Laura’s back was screaming in protest. Unlike Greta, who’d settled herself on the hard and scrubby grass as if it was a pillowy sofa, Laura was not used to sitting cross-legged.
‘We know you believe the words you say are about tough love,’ Greta said (Greta didn’t do horrible, even when she was silencing inner critics). ‘But they are causing Laura pain …’
Laura tried not to be distracted by the sound of a dog having a luxuriant wee against a tree a few feet away from her. Why, oh why, had she decided to start talking to Greta in the kitchen? It was the morning after Laura had heard Billy speaking Evan-style (she was embracing the Evan thing now. Frankly, she was already cross-legged and meditating in broad daylight right in the middle of central London, so it was very much time to go with it). Laura had made some silly comment about how she had absolutely no idea why she’d been asked to be a mentor at the Women in Journalism event, and then checked herself saying that she mustn’t talk like that, and she was trying to stop being her own worst critic all the time. And, of course, Greta had leapt on that, putting down her vegan no-yo and granola, a fierce light in her pale green eyes. ‘That is so wonderful to hear, Laura. I have done a lot of work to silence my inner critic and it is so healing. I even have a little ceremony I did to bid farewell to my inner critic. Would you like me to do one with you?’ Laura was desperate to say no, to slink back to her desk and tell Greta to leave her chakras alone, thank you, but of course she said yes, because she hadn’t seen Greta this happy since the work canteen had stopped offering single use plastic cutlery.