by Annie Lyons
‘Can you hear me, Mrs—’
‘Trott. Pamela Trott,’ I answered. I glanced up and could see Danielle and her group looking on, shaking their heads with disdain rather than sympathy. I would bring them down all right.
‘Oh, Pammy,’ cried Barry. ‘Can you hear us?’
Pamela gave a little sigh and opened her eyes. Barry and the St John Ambulance man helped her to a sitting position. ‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘It’s just these bloody hot flushes. Made me go all dizzy. Sorry, my ducks. Did I ruin it?’
We all smiled at one another. ‘Not at all,’ said Guy. ‘You were the star of the show.’
Jim turned to the audience. ‘She’s all right!’ he cried. ‘Mrs Trott is all right!’
I’m not sure how it happened but all of a sudden the audience was on its feet, whooping and cheering with delight. Pamela managed to take a bow and we stood together basking in the applause, laughing with surprise.
‘A standing ovation on our first performance,’ laughed Guy. ‘Well done, Pamela!’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NATALIE
‘Mum! Can you stop singing that song – it’s annoying!’ cried my scowling son.
‘I have to practise, grumpy-pants. We’ve got the London Finals coming up soon.’ I grinned, turning off the shower and wrapping myself in a towel. ‘Anyway, “God Only Knows” is a good song. Brian Wilson is a genius.’
‘Justin Bieber is a genius,’ he declared, folding his arms.
‘That’s not the word I would choose but everyone’s entitled to their opinion.’
Woody sloped off, returning moments later. ‘It’s eight twenty-one. We’re going to be late. Again.’
‘We’re not going to be late, Woody,’ I said, rushing into the bedroom and pulling on miscellaneous items of clothing. ‘We’re going to be right on time.’ Or possibly five minutes late.
Moments later I emerged dressed, with slightly damp hair. ‘Come on, Mum!’ called Woody from the bottom of the stairs with rolling-eyed impatience.
‘Yep, sorry. Just coming. Right, got my rucksack, got my packed lunch, got my wipes, tissues and water bottle. Got my money for the gift shop. Let’s do this!’
‘You don’t need wipes – we’re not babies and we’re not allowed to go to the gift shop. Mr Henderson said.’
‘Well, Mr Henderson is my friend so he might let me go,’ I said in a three-year-old’s voice. Woody frowned. ‘Okay, okay, it was a joke. I’ll leave my money at home.’
‘Can we please go now?’ sighed Woody, opening the front door.
‘Okay, boss,’ I quipped, following him down the path onto the street. I glanced at him as I walked along. Woody’s face was fixed in a frown of concentration, staring straight ahead, his hair a riotous mess.
Oh, Woody, please don’t ever change. Please always be exactly as you are right at this moment.
I reached out a hand to ruffle his hair. He ducked away. ‘Mum! Don’t be embarrassing.’
‘What?’ I laughed. ‘I’m your mum and I love you. Deal with it.’
He shrugged. ‘Just don’t embarrass me today by calling me by my nickname or something.’
‘What? Woody Woodpecker?’
‘Mum! Stop it!’
‘Sorry,’ I giggled as we walked on in silence. I was looking forward to today. I hadn’t been on one of Woody’s school trips for ages and we were visiting the Horniman Museum, which I loved.
I also loved my son. Dearly. In the crumbling wreckage of my marriage, he was the small but strong fireman, lifting me above it all. And he didn’t even realise it.
I elbowed him playfully. ‘You’re happy that I’m coming along, aren’t you?’
‘Ye-es,’ said Woody, fixing me with a look, ‘but stop being so needy, okay?’
‘Okay,’ I nodded. Fair point. On arrival at school, I dropped Woody in the playground before heading to reception, where the other parent helpers were gathering. Guy appeared moments later.
‘Good morning all,’ he smiled. ‘Thanks for volunteering today. I think it’s going to be a great trip. We’re just sorting out the kids and then we’ll be on our way.’ He turned to me. ‘So have you recovered after our triumph at the weekend?’
‘I actually enjoyed it far more than I thought I would. Poor Pamela, though.’
‘At least it was the end of the performance,’ said Guy with a smile. ‘I thought it gave us a rather dramatic finale. I think the judges liked it.’
‘Stop it! That’s so mean,’ I giggled.
‘Not at all. I’ve told her to do it for every round. It gets us sympathy points.’
I guffawed. ‘You’re terrible. I popped round to see her. She was mortified.’
‘I’ll make a big fuss of her at tonight’s rehearsal. Are you coming?’
‘Yes, provided Dan shows up.’
He nodded. ‘And everything’s okay?’
‘I’m fine. Thank you.’ And I was. To a point. My life now was hardly any different to my life of three months ago. I worked, I looked after Woody, I ate, I slept (less than I had but if I couldn’t sleep, I worked), I watched crap TV. None of these things had changed.
It was just Dan. He had changed. He had re-framed my life. It was as if my world had been in focus and now it was blurred and indistinct. I was straining my eyes to see, trying desperately to work out what the picture was now. The problem was that the picture kept changing. Every time I thought I had an idea of what was going on, it morphed into something else.
I was grateful for Woody and the choir but if I stopped to think about my life beyond that, it felt as if I was standing on an increasingly rocky surface. The only thing I could cling to at the moment was the counselling process. Dan assured me that it was working for him but I couldn’t honestly say it was helping me. I wasn’t sure if it was the process or Abigail that I had an issue with. There was something about the way that she listened without comment that I found unnerving. I wasn’t a big fan of silence at the best of times and part of me just wanted to be hugged and told how to solve this.
And despite everything that had happened, despite the rollercoaster of Dan and me over the past few months, the fact remained that I loved him and I couldn’t get past that. I might not be able to decipher what was the truth and what was a lie, or indeed the real reason for him leaving. The only thing that remained for me was the love.
‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ smiled Guy, before turning away. ‘I just need to rally the troops and then we’ll be on our way.’
I nodded. If only he knew.
The Horniman Museum is something of a hidden treasure, situated on the South Circular Road, which holds this corner of south-east London in a grubby embrace. Woody and I have spent many happy hours here, visiting the ‘stuffed animals room’, as he calls it, which contains the weird and wonderful results of many a Victorian taxidermy experiment (the badgers always held particular fascination for him), or watching the spooky moon jellyfish in the aquarium as they wafted like tiny ghosts across their neon-blue tank.
Today, Guy had arranged for the children to take part in a gamelan ensemble in the huge music room downstairs. They were buzzing as they arrived and snaked their way down to the venue. I followed my group, which contained Matilda, Woody and two other children. They were a lovely bunch – bright, full of questions and observations. I was enjoying listening to their chatter and occasionally joining in the fun. Before their session in the music room, they had time to look around the gallery, which contained the biggest collection of musical instruments in the country. Each one was catalogued too and you could sit at a desk and press buttons to hear recordings of them playing. My group were happily working their way through the aerophone, or ‘blowy, vibraty’ section according to Woody, whilst I stood back a little, reading a display about accordions. They had been merrily pressing and listening, making the occasional comment, when suddenly I overheard a snippet of chat.
‘Are your mum and dad getting a divorce then, Woody?’ asked Matil
da.
I held my breath. ‘Dunno,’ he answered.
‘Does your dad not live with you any more?’ she continued.
‘No. He was living with my nan but he’s going to get a flat. I heard him tell her.’
I froze. This was news to me.
‘So will you go and live with him?’
‘Maybe at weekends,’ Woody shrugged.
‘Can I have a go on the button now?’ asked one of the other boys in their group.
‘Yes, in a minute, Harrison. Woody and me haven’t finished,’ bossed Matilda. Like mother, like daughter.
Panic rose up inside me. I have to get out of here. I need some air. And a place without thirty school kids playing recordings of bagpipe music. I spotted Guy. ‘Is it okay if I nip to the loo?’ I asked.
He laughed. ‘Of course. I’ll keep an eye on your group.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, darting from the room. Once in the atrium, I felt the world begin to spin as thoughts flooded my mind. If Dan wasn’t being honest about his living arrangements, what else was he lying about? I have to know. I grabbed my phone, stabbing at the buttons. I held the phone to my ear. What am I going to say? How will he respond this time?
‘Nat?’
‘When were you going to tell me that you were moving into a flat?’ I demanded. He didn’t reply. In the formula of love, hesitation equals lying. ‘Well?’ I barked.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘So our son is a liar?’
‘No, I’m not saying that either. He just misunderstood.’
‘Enlighten me then.’
‘I think the conversation took place before the counselling started and we were talking about what might happen if our separation became permanent. I mean, Mum’s place is very small and as you and I have always said, you really shouldn’t live with your parents once you’re over the age of twenty. Mum gets antsy if I don’t leave the dishcloth in a certain way.’
Oh, he was good. He was trying to wriggle his way out with easy humour. Not today, Dan. Not today. ‘You’re lying.’
‘Nat, can we talk about this some other time?’
‘No, we bloody can’t!’ I shouted. ‘You don’t get to defer my feelings because it’s not effing convenient. Until you can be straight with me and my son, you don’t get to drop in any time you feel like it. In fact, I want you to stay away.’
‘Nat, don’t do this.’
‘Too late. You make your bed, you bloody lie in it.’ I ended the call, my body shaking with fury. I turned round to see Guy and a group of a dozen schoolchildren, including my son, staring at me in shock.
Brilliant. That was the award for most embarrassing mother of the year in the bag, then.
Woody was barely speaking to me by the time we got home. I phoned Ed in tears. He arrived within the hour carrying a Match of the Day Magazine and a tray of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. He folded me into his arms and let me sob.
‘Come on, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay,’ he soothed.
‘I’ve fucked it all up, Ed. Woody hates me. Dan hates me. I hate me.’
He held me at arm’s length and looked into my eyes. ‘I love you. And it’s not just because I love a drama. If I decided on a whim to go into the vagina business, you’d be top of my list.’
‘Above Angelina Jolie?’ I joked.
‘Yes,’ he replied with a whimsical nod. ‘Above Angelina.’
‘I feel a bit better now.’
‘Good,’ he said, reaching for the tray of doughnuts. ‘Now shove one of these down your gob while I go and talk to your boy.’
‘Thank you,’ I said weakly.
He returned ten minutes later. ‘Sorted,’ he told me. ‘He was embarrassed but he doesn’t hate you. I think he just needs a hug.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Hugs I can do. Maybe I shouldn’t go to choir though?’
Ed gave me a stern look. ‘You are going to choir because Woody and I have a date with Liverpool versus Fenerbahçe, and no-one comes between me and Daniel Sturridge.’
I laughed. ‘Fair enough. I’ll just go and check Woody’s okay then.’
‘Good girl,’ smiled Ed. ‘You will sort this, you know.’
I climbed the stairs and knocked on Woody’s door. ‘Yeah?’
I opened it and peered round. He was sitting on his bed, reading the magazine Ed had bought him. He looked up, his face guarded and serious.
Please smile at me. You don’t know this but at the moment, I pretty much live for your smile.
‘I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for embarrassing you.’
‘It’s okay,’ he said, staring up at me with big eyes.
It wasn’t okay but I appreciated him saying it. ‘Can I have a hug?’ I asked. He gave a small nod. I sat down on the side of his bed and wrapped my arms around him. I felt him pat my back, gentle and consoling. After a while, I pulled away. ‘Is there anything you want to ask me?’ He shook his head. ‘Are you sure?’
‘It’s fine, Mum. Honest. You go to choir.’
I stared into his eyes.
My beautiful boy. The only perfect thing in my life and the best thing I’ve ever done and here you are, telling me what you think I want to hear.
I could have dug deeper, tried to make him express some buried feeling or worry, but he’d been through enough emotional upheaval lately. We both had. All we could do was keep going. I hugged him again and kissed the top of his head. ‘See you later, lovely boy. Enjoy the football.’
‘See you later, Mum.’
‘I love you,’ I said in a voice full of hope.
‘I love you too,’ he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
That would do for now.
Doly gave me a friendly wave as I arrived at the rehearsal. I decided that she was exactly the right person to sit next to this evening. I needed a Doly-sized dose of calm.
Guy clapped his hands together. ‘Good evening, singing friends,’ he cried. ‘Firstly, well done again for Sunday. I never doubted us for a second and a big thanks to Pamela for creating such a dramatic ending to the performance.’ Pamela giggled with embarrassment as everyone laughed. ‘But seriously, you had us worried, so we got you a little something to say we’re glad you’re okay – we couldn’t cope without your weekly bakes,’ added Guy, producing a bunch of tulips from behind his back.
‘Oh, lovey, you shouldn’t have,’ gushed Pamela, moving forwards to accept them and crushing Guy in a tight embrace, leaving a lipstick mark on his cheek as she kissed him.
‘That’s made my evening!’ He laughed, wiping his cheek. ‘And now, this is where it gets serious. The London Finals are looming so we really need to crack “God Only Knows” tonight. Let’s warm up and then go for it, okay?’
I looked around the room. There was no sign of Caroline. I glanced at my phone. No text either. This was very unlike her. I nudged Doly. ‘Where’s Caroline?’ She shrugged.
We began to sing. For some reason, we were distinctly off-key. I noticed Guy wince with alarm as we strangled ‘God Only Knows’ into submission.
‘Okay,’ said Guy, looking a little concerned. ‘It’s time to up the ante. Everyone on their feet, standing in two rows facing one another.’ We did as we were told. I found myself staring up into Jim’s broad beaming face.
‘All right, Nat?’ he grinned.
‘Depends what old Gareth Malone over there’s got planned.’
‘Okay,’ said Guy. ‘We are going to practise making eye contact.’ There was a collective groan. He held up his hands. ‘I know, I know, but if we want to take this choir from being bloody good to bloody marvellous, we need to feed off one another. So, we will use the genius of Brian Wilson to help us. We are going to look into one another’s eyes and sing alternating lines.’
I felt my mouth go dry. I was very fond of Jim but I had never held any longing to look into his eyes.
‘Let’s just try it, shall we? This side starts,’ said Guy, pointing to my row. He pressed Play on the backing track. I took a
deep breath and looked up at Jim as I sang. It was toe, buttock and fist-clenchingly embarrassing. I wanted to look anywhere but into Jim’s eyes but, as with the dancing, because we were all doing it, it became moderately less hideous as the song went on. We made a better sound too.
‘Not bad,’ said Guy when we finished. ‘And a great improvement on our nightmare first attempt. I think it will help if we can acknowledge one another when we sing. It will bring us together as a group. I’m not suggesting holding hands but I think facing inwards and making eye contact will make for a better performance. And now, let’s end this embarrassment and break for tea.’
There was a jovial cheer.
‘How was that for you?’ grinned Guy during the tea break. ‘Did you and Jim form an unbreakable bond?’
‘Of steel,’ I retorted. ‘Where’s Caroline tonight? Did you give her a heads-up on the eye-contact thing? Is she hiding at home until you give her the all-clear?’
He looked at his phone. ‘That’s weird. She hasn’t sent me a message. Do you think she’s forgotten?’
‘This is Caroline,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t do forgetting.’
‘True. I wonder if she’s okay.’
‘I’ll nip up to her house now,’ I said. ‘Save me a piece of carrot cake if I’m not back.’
‘What’s it worth?’ he grinned.
‘You won’t get punched if you do?’
He laughed. ‘Fair enough. Violence in a woman is never pretty.’
I hurried along the street. There were lights on in Caroline’s house but the curtains were drawn. I rang the doorbell. There was no movement from within. I waited a few seconds and tried again before taking a step back and staring up at the house. I couldn’t imagine that Caroline would be out. I got the feeling that Tilly’s bedtime routine was carved in stone. I spotted a figure staggering down the hall from the kitchen.
‘Who is it?’ demanded Caroline.
‘Caroline, it’s Natalie. Are you okay? We were at choir and wondered where you were.’
There was a pause. ‘Sugar,’ she said before opening the front door. I had never seen Caroline like this before and I suspect I wasn’t alone. Her hair was bedraggled, her eyes were like those of a panda and she had clearly sunk quite a few glasses of wine. ‘Come in,’ she said, hiding behind the open front door so as not to show herself to the outside world.