“Because … some girl in a bikini has just asked to meet up with them …”
“Oh Mum – you are funny. For a start, she probably doesn’t wear a bikini full-time, and secondly, what’s wrong with that? It’s good that they’re making friends out there. You’re going to have to get used to this, Mum. As you’ve insisted on being his Facebook friend, you’ll see all sorts of things.”
“Yes, you’re right. It’s awful being a Mum sometimes, though. You have absolutely no control and all the angst. Anyway, who was he at the bar? You seemed to be getting on rather well?”
Holly looks surreptitiously over towards the bar and catches his eye – a sizzling smile burns back across the space. She smiles and then deliberately turns towards me. She lowers her voice and says, “Well, it turns out we went to school together – primary – but he was a few years ahead of me. He claimed to recognise me, but I think that was just a line. His name’s Jed and he’s just down for the weekend, like me. Lives in London too.” She looks bright and her eyes have a certain happiness about them.
“Are you going to meet up, in London?” I ask.
“Maybe,” she says, cagily. “We found out that we work pretty near each other.”
“You seem to have found out an awful lot of information in a short space of time,” I say, leaning over and nudging her knowingly. How lovely to be so young – life’s so easy – you see someone you like the look of, you flirt, you meet up for a drink and these days, the next step is probably, bed.
How am I ever going to meet someone now, at my age? The thought of taking my clothes off in front of someone, other than David, makes me feel sick.
“So, enough of me,” says Holly. “Let’s order lunch and I want you to tell me what you’re going to do with the rest of your life. There’s a big world out there, Mum, and now’s the time to go and find it.”
So, over roast pork and all the trimmings, I tell her what Lisa suggested, about retiring early and we go on to talk about what I’d do if I took that option. She has me travelling the world – studying yoga in India, going to Peru to see Machu Picchu, flying by helicopter across the Grand Canyon. “You could do anything, Mum … it would be amazing … like a grown-up gap year. You could just spend the lump sum … life’s too short to be sensible.”
“It does sound fantastic, Holly, but the the reality is, I’d be on my own. I haven’t travelled without your Dad for … ever. Imagine me, wandering around the world … I don’t think I’ve got the confidence and anyway, I wouldn’t want to spend the whole lump sum on …”
“But Mum, you might meet some gorgeous Indian guru or some Peruvian horseman …”
“I don’t think so, somehow … you read about the stupid older women going out to the Caribbean and meeting young Jamaicans who are just after their money … I wouldn’t want that …”
“You’re not that stupid, Mum …”
“Oh, thanks … maybe I could do some travelling, though – I’ve wanted to go and see Jane in Adelaide ever since she went out there, but there’s never been the money … or the time. At least then, I wouldn’t be completely on my own.”
“Hey, well, there you are … that’s a really good idea. If you gave up teaching, you could go out there for weeks, months even … you could escape the winter here and go out in the new year. I think that’s a brill plan, Mum. Resign now and take a long break away and come back with a renewed outlook.”
“It does sound good. Jane’s always going on at us to come out and I haven’t seen her for years.”
“Well, then, what’s stopping you?”
I look at her and we both laugh. She has such an infectious enthusiasm for life and it’s rubbing off on me. In my head, I can see a much younger version of me, floating across an Australian beach in a bikini, the waves catching the sun with glittering stars and some young bronzed life-saver dude, running towards me. He’s got a surfboard tucked under his arm and one of those ridiculous life-saver hats on his head.
“What’s stopping you?” Holly repeats, louder. Reading my mind she says, “You might meet some old Aussie guy wearing one of those hats with corks dangling from it!”
She brings me back to reality – my Aussie dude was like something out of ‘Endless Summer’, not some raddled sixty year old.
“Why don’t you email Jane and ask her if it’s possible first and then go on from there. I think you need something like this, Mum. God, I’d be so jealous …”
“Adam would have a fit – he’d accuse me of following him out there …”
“Well, Australia’s big enough to miss him, Mum … but if he wanted to meet up, you could. He won’t mind. Don’t let that put you off.”
We finish our main course and then share a sticky toffee pudding and ice cream. There’s something really nice about one pudding and two spoons; David and I used to share puddings all the time.
When it’s time to go, I give Holly the cash and she goes up to the bar to pay. I notice a lot of chat again, with Jed, and I see them both get out their phones. The modern way of swopping numbers – no paper required any more – just a quick call. He bends down and kisses Holly’s cheek; I stand up and walk towards them. She introduces me and I’m slightly mesmerised by his stunning, piercing blue eyes which twinkle at me. I can see that Holly’s cheeks have a pink blush and I’m pretty sure it’s not the alcohol having that effect.
“I’ll be in touch,” he says, as we walk towards the exit.
“Okay,” she says, holding the door open for me, her eyes looking back to him.
When the door closes and we’re walking home, I take her arm and say, “Jed’s rather nice. What’s he do for a living?” A typical mother comment, but it does tend to show you a little bit about the person.
“He’s a barrister.”
“Wow. Impressive.”
“He’s certainly got the gift of the gab … funny to think last time I saw him he was probably a scruffy little boy, with dirty knees. I certainly didn’t recognise him.”
“Do you want him to get in touch?”
“Yea, I do …” she says, laughing, “ … lovely eyes.”
“Yes, I noticed,” I say. “Rather a catch … is he single? He seems too eligible to be …”
“Well, he said he’s just split up from his girlfriend. She’s gone to work in America and they thought they’d be able to maintain the long-distance thing, but she’s already found someone else. He seemed pretty cut up about it.”
“I’m sure you could cheer him up,” I laugh.
When we get home, Gaz is pleased to see us, but somehow manages to come over put out, at not being taken to the pub. “Sorry, Gaz. I know it was mean, but you were filthy,” I say to him, and he waddles off to get on his chair, with a resigned look. We settle down to cups of tea and the Sunday papers and talk about the latest news.
Soon, it’s time for Holly to catch her train. I’m always sad when she goes, but this time it seems particularly bad. I know the house will feel devoid of life when I get home; the smell of her lovely perfume will linger around the sitting room.
When we arrive at the station, we sit in the car for a few minutes, as we’re a little early. “So, we’ve sorted you out, Mum. You’re going to hand in your letter announcing early retirement, you’re going to email Jane and … you’re going to come up and stay with me for a few days and we’re going to go to a show – right?”
“Okay, I promise I’ll think about it …”
“No, Mum. Don’t think about it – just do it. Promise?”
“I promise. Now off you go, it’s five minutes till it comes and it says it’s on time.”
As she gets out of the car, a look of depression comes over Gaz and I know exactly how he’s feeling. I get out too and come round to her side. We throw our arms around each other and hug hard. We both have tears in our eyes when we separate, but both of us try to ignore them.
“You’ll be all right, Mum. I’ll text you when I get home,” she says and she begins to walk a
way. Just before she enters the little bridge, she turns and waves and I blow her a kiss.
She emerges on the platform and we wave again. The train approaches the station and she disappears from view.
I get back into the car and sit, feeling sick with sadness. I stay and watch the train leave the station – I put my hand on Gaz’s head and say, “Well, it’s just you and me again, old chap. What would I do without you?”
Chapter Six
The Saturday before, when Adam left, was a day I’d like to forget. David leaving me, had left me feeling old, useless, unattractive and … need I go on? The only thing I had left that I was proud of, was being a mother. I felt I’d done a pretty good job – the kids had turned out okay and we had a great relationship. They talked to me, confided in me even, and I loved every day I spent with them.
It was inevitable, of course it was, that Adam would leave, but somehow it happened so quickly. One minute he was studying for his ‘A’ levels and the next, he’d taken them, booked his flight and was gone.
The plan to go to Australia in his gap year had slowly evolved during the sixth form and I blame my best friend, Laura. She and I went to school together and had been friends all through university, marriage, children and jobs. She’s got two boys, Rocco and Jake and they’re similar in age to my two. We spent a lot of holidays together and inevitably, Jake and Adam became great friends. Rocco’s a bit older than Holly and they got on well but had, in recent years, gone on different paths and didn’t see each other that much – but Jake and Adam were inseparable – when they weren’t together physically, they were chatting on FaceTime, playing computer games in cyber space and texting each other. They were so similar that Laura and I used to laugh that we’d both used the same sperm donor for IVF, which of course wasn’t true, but it was as if they were cut from the same cloth.
Laura and John live in Cornwall – they’d met at uni, like us, and had spent summers down on the beaches of North Cornwall, working and surfing. They never really came back up – they loved it too much down there. John got a teaching job, which suited him down to the ground – he’d surf before school – and Laura worked in shops and painted, in her spare time. Over the years, her seascapes became popular and in the end, she was able to paint full-time and they took over a little gallery where she sold hers and other people’s paintings.
David and I had wonderful holidays down there, with them. At first, they didn’t have room for us to stay and we’d hire a cottage or a caravan just up the road, so we’d be near them. They eventually bought an old, rundown farmhouse just outside Newquay, which they did up slowly, even converting some of the outbuildings to holiday homes. The cottages were posh, compared to the somewhat ramshackle state of their own home; they bought in some much needed revenue. So, we would hire one of their cottages and it meant that we could all be together. David and John got on well – they had their love of teaching in common and although David wasn’t a surfing fanatic like John, he’d go out with him every day and the two of them would chat on their boards, while waiting for the ‘big one’. It was lucky that the two men liked each other – just because Laura and I were best friends, it wouldn’t automatically follow that the men would be.
Jake followed in his father’s footsteps. He was in the sea at every conceivable opportunity and he often got into trouble at school for bunking off to go surfing. He entered competitions and got a reputation – he was good. All he wanted to do was surf and it was with great difficulty that Laura and John managed to persuade him to stay on and do his ‘A’ levels. He worked in cafés to fund his passion and the moment he was seventeen, he took and passed his driving test and used all his savings on an ancient VW camper van. This gave him the freedom to pursue the best surf – if it wasn’t ‘up’ at Watergate, he and his mates would tour the coastline looking for alternatives – Constantine, Boobies, you name it, they went there.
Adam worshipped Jake – he was everything he wanted to be and over the course of several long summer holidays, Adam acquired Jake’s expertise in surfing. The summer Jake got his camper van, I didn’t see Adam at all. They lived in it together, refusing to join us in the cottage.
Laura was the one who suggested they took a year off in Australia. “It’ll give them a year of freedom and, hopefully, they’ll get surfing out of their system. It’ll be an adventure for them – my brother’s out there and we’ve got other relatives they could stay with. It’ll do them good.”
“Don’t you think they ought to fund it themselves, though? You’re not just going to give Jake the money for it, are you?” I wanted Adam to learn the value of money and so did David. We didn’t believe in handing our children things on a plate.
“No, of course not. I’m going to say that he’s got to save half the air fare and when he’s out there, he’s got to work for at least half the time. Do you approve?”
“Yes, that’s okay – but do your relatives really want two teenage boys turning up? I can’t imagine them being particularly tidy guests …”
“Yea, they’ll love it – Aussies are very hospitable. They’ve got huge houses. My brother’s got a caravan park in Byron Bay – the boys could probably work for him and have their own van. I’ll find out if it’s possible and then discuss it with Jake.”
So that’s how it came about. The boys, to give them their due, raised the money for more than half the fare and Laura said they’d have no trouble finding temporary work out there – one of John’s cousins owned a string of cafés around Sydney and would be able to sort them out as waiters there. The thought of Adam waiting made me laugh; at home, he left everything on the table, never dreamed of taking it over to the sink or putting it in the dishwasher. He didn’t know what a drying up cloth was for, and hoovers were just noisy things used by parents. It was probably my fault for not making him do domestic things … this gap year would certainly make him grow up.
The day they left, Laura and I had arranged to meet at Heathrow. Their flight was at 3.30 pm – we met in departures at 11.30 am, so we had plenty of time to have coffee all together, before the boys went through.
I had tried to get David and Adam together before he left, but Adam refused outright saying he ‘no way wanted to be anywhere near that wanker’ and when I rang David’s phone, suggesting he came over unannounced to say goodbye, he just said, ‘I think it’s best if I leave him to it. Tell him I’m pleased he’s going and to have a brilliant time. Give him my love.’
What can you do? You can’t force people to be sensible. Didn’t David realise he wouldn’t see his son for a whole year? Didn’t he care? I told Adam what his father said and I was sure I saw a hint of sadness pass over his eyes, at the realisation that his father wasn't interested enough to come and say goodbye, but he just said, “What does he care? He’s got another family now.”
So, it fell to me to take him to the airport. I’m sure in the past, we would have gone together and made a day of it, but it was just me and him and although Adam was beyond excited to be going, I could sense his nervousness. It was a big deal – this was the first time he’d been properly away from home and he was flying to the other side of the world.
I caught sight of Laura – she was waiting where we’d arranged, by the check-in desk. She waved madly through the crowds and I could see Jake with a huge rucksack on his back, beside her. They were so alike those two – they both had distinctive light auburn hair, green eyes and were now about the same height. Laura was dressed in her usual, slightly hippy, way: long floral skirt with a lacy white shirt over the top; dangly earrings and beaded bracelets. Jake, in his faded jeans, with his ear studs and lip ring, his hair long and sun streaked, his face brown – looked every inch the surf dude, down to his flip flops (or ‘thongs’ as he must now call them in Oz).
We all hugged – I love the way kids nowadays are so much better at this than we used to be. All Adam’s friends hug each other – boys, girls – it doesn’t matter who. The boys threw their arms round each other, with a
lot of back slapping and Hey Dude and compared the size of their backpacks. Adam had had quite a lot of difficulty even getting his on his back – we were hoping it wasn’t going to be too heavy for the flight.
“So … the big day’s arrived,” smiled Laura. “How are you feeling, Adam?”
“Yea … awesome,” he said, sliding the rucksack off his shoulders. “Man … that’s heavy.” It fell in a heap on the floor, next to Jake’s. Both of them were dressed identically and looked so young. They were mere boys … surely they were far too young to be setting out on their own? My stomach lurched at the thought that soon they’d walk away and I wouldn’t see Adam for a year. Tears sprung to my eyes and I had to look away and surreptitiously wipe them away. Maybe it was a mother’s intuition – Laura put her arm round me and whispered in my ear, “It’s hard, isn’t it?” The boys were thankfully laughing at something on Jake’s phone. She linked arms with me and said, “Come on, let’s go and get rid of their bags and then go to Costa and get a bucket of coffee.”
Any nerves that Adam had felt in the car, seemed to disappear in the company of his friend – they were writing status updates on their phones, as they joined the queue and discussing which films they were going to watch on the plane. We shuffled along with them; when they reached the head of the queue and their rucksacks disappeared behind the flaps, the reality really began to hit me.
Laura and I sent them over to a free table in the café and for the last time, I bought my son a coffee and a huge piece of chocolate cake. I bought myself a skinny latte, which was rather pointless, as I couldn’t resist a large flapjack. “Still half-heartedly dieting, I see,” said Laura, grinning. “Why don’t you just give in to middle-aged spread, like me?”
“You never seem to change shape at all. I’ve only got to look at a piece of chocolate, to put on weight.”
“Who cares?” said Adam. “Just be happy with who you are, Mum. Eat what you like, life’s too short.”
Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect Page 5