‘That would have been very nice for me.’
‘I could come to the club with you,’ I offer. ‘Whatever it’s called. After the pub one night. We haven’t spent much time together over the last few weeks. I’ve had my dad to sort out and my mum. Then there’s Joe and Nathan. I can’t leave them alone for five minutes…’
‘You can’t spend your entire time trying to run everyone else’s life, Fern,’ my friend says crisply. ‘With the exception of Nathan, we’re all grown-ups. Maybe there are times when we need to make our own decisions and our own mistakes. Just sort yourself out.’
I nearly cough up my coffee. Carl has just told me to butt out. For the first time ever. I’m nearly rigid with shock. I wonder if this means he’s in love?
Sixty-four
Ken the Landlord is giving me baleful glares and is puffing pointedly whenever he comes near me, but, as he hasn’t given me the sack, I assume he’s just posturing. Nevertheless, I’m trying to look like the model employee, and I’m polishing glasses as if my life depended on it. The pub is filling up nicely for the evening, and I’m going to be so busy that I won’t have time to think—which is fine by me. Thinking is an overrated pastime.
I smile my sweetest smile at Ken, who bares his teeth at me. I polish harder. In the middle of this stand-off, my mum slips into the King’s Head and hops onto a bar stool in front of me. ‘Hello, darlin’,’ she says.
I nearly drop a glass. It’s months—probably longer—since my mum has popped into the King’s Head. In fact, Mum doesn’t really do ‘popping’, so there must be a purpose to this.
I give her a wary kiss. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’
‘You can buy your old mum a gin and tonic,’ she says, clasping her handbag to her knees.
Dutifully, I squeeze a single measure of gin from the optic and go heavy on the tonic—I know what my mum’s like after one sherry. I hand it over and then wait to find out what this is really about. Perhaps she’s finally going to come clean about her fling with Mr Patel. It might be that she’s even coming to tell me that they’ve bought a bungalow in Eastbourne and are going to be moving in together. It doesn’t bear thinking about. But Carl’s right—they’re adults and they have to live their lives as they see fit. If Mum hasn’t hightailed it back to Dad’s bedside after all this, then maybe nothing will make her take him back now.
She sips her drink. ‘Mmm, lovely.’
I can tell that she doesn’t want it at all. Two other customers come to the bar, so I move away to serve them, keeping a watch on Mum from the corner of my eye. Viewed dispassionately from a distance, it saddens my heart to see that she’s looking older and more frail these days. It’s a subtle shift, but some of her feistiness has drained out of her. I wonder when that happened. Is her mysterious double life starting to take its toll on her? Is it the thought of going through a divorce at her time of life? It’s never easy at any age, but when you’re on the verge of drawing your pension there seems an extra poignancy to the whole proceedings.
I finish serving my customers and move back to her. ‘So?’
She sighs before she says, ‘How’s your dad?’
‘He’s fine,’ I say truthfully. ‘According to the doctors, he should be able to go home within the week.’
‘Good,’ my mum says, but she sounds shaky. She takes a glug of her gin and I can see that she struggles to swallow it. ‘Is he going back to your flat?’
I shrug. ‘I guess so.’
When she looks up at me, I can see that there’s a tear in her eye. ‘Was it really bad?’
‘About as bad as it gets,’ I tell her flatly. ‘We very nearly lost him.’
‘Old goat,’ she mutters, but there’s no venom in the words.
‘There’s no need for you to worry about him.’ Not that she has been, it would appear. ‘He’s getting great attention in the hospital. There’s a really nice, pretty young Thai nurse who’s taken a shine to him,’ I say with a barb in my tone. ‘She’s making sure he’s all right. I’m going in every day. So is Joe.’ There’s only you that’s missing from our cosy little line-up, Mum, is my subtext.
Mum looks tiny perched on her bar stool, a worried frown on her brow. This may not be the right time and it definitely isn’t the right place, but I decided to bite the bullet and address the other problem that’s tearing our family apart.
I rest my hand on Mum’s. ‘I know about Mr Patel,’ I say. ‘I sussed out what was happening ages ago.’
Mum’s eyes widen. ‘How did you find out?’
‘You’re my mother,’ I say gently. ‘I’m not stupid.’
‘I didn’t want anyone to know,’ she admits. ‘It was something just for me. Something that no one else knew about.’
‘You were a bit obvious.’ I laugh softly. ‘The make-up. The new hairdo. All your best clothes dragged out of the back of the wardrobe. It didn’t take a genius to work out what was going on.’
My mum looks taken aback.
‘I understand,’ I say as I pat her hand. ‘Mr Patel’s an attractive man. Who wouldn’t be tempted? I just wish you’d be straight with us, Mum. All these idiotic things that Dad’s been doing to try to get you back, and he still has no idea that you’ve found someone else.’
‘Someone else?’ My mother’s voice is a strangled squeak. She slugs back the remains of her gin.
‘It’s written all over your face.’
My mum nearly splutters out her drink. ‘You think I’m having an affair with Mr Patel?’
‘You might be my mum,’ I say, ‘but we are both women of the world.’ I give her a knowing wink.
My mum’s face turns a thunderous shade of black. ‘Is that all women of your generation think about? Sex. Sex. Sex.’
Now it’s my turn to be taken aback. I might think a lot about sex, but it doesn’t mean that I’m getting any.
‘There are other things in life,’ she raves on, ‘like helping out a friend. Don’t you understand the meaning of platonic friendships?’
My mother does not need to lecture me on this. ‘I happen to have been having a platonic friendship with Carl for the last seventeen years.’
‘Yes,’ my mum snaps. ‘Shame on you. That boy adores you—it’s about time you did the decent thing by him.’
That makes my jaw drop. My mum’s never commented on my relationship with Carl.
‘Where’s that fancy man you brought home now?’ Mum wags her finger at me. ‘Gone.’ She clicks her fingers. ‘Gone in a flash.’
Her words stab into my heart.
‘Carl’s been there for you for most of your life, since you were both scrawny kids.’
‘I couldn’t manage without Carl. I do love him.’ And then the truth of the matter hits me and I feel my insides crumble. ‘But not enough.’
‘And I love your dad,’ Mum snaps back. ‘But I don’t like him very much sometimes.’
We stare at each other for a moment, then I fetch Mum another gin and help myself to one. We knock them back together. ‘So what are we going to do?’
‘You’ve got to let Carl go,’ she tells me.
‘And what about you?’
Mum tries an uncertain smile. ‘I’ve been going ballroom dancing,’ she says. ‘That’s all. I didn’t want anyone to know because you’d all make fun of me. Mr Patel’s wife’s had a hip replacement and she can’t dance for six months. I’ve been partnering Tariq—Mr Patel—instead.’
I shoot her a warning glance. ‘That’s how these things start.’
‘Mrs Patel—Chandra—she comes along, too. On her crutches. She’s a lovely woman.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ I say, shamefaced.
‘I feel twenty years young when I’m tripping round that dance floor, light as a feather,’ my mum continues, a wistful look in her eye. ‘I can forget all my problems. I can forget I’ve got a grandson who’s poorly. I can forget I’ve got an unhappy son with no wife who struggles to make ends meet. I can forget that my daughter’s livin
g in a hovel with all her precious dreams unfulfilled. I can forget that I’ve got a husband who’s never given me so much as a moment’s peace throughout our marriage. Most of all, I can forget who I am. I can pretend that I’m young again without a care in the world. Don’t you think I deserve that?’
Mum’s close to tears, as am I. ‘Why didn’t you tell us all this?’
‘You’d have all laughed,’ she says with a hint of bitterness. ‘I’ve never had time to myself. Never had a hobby. The family have always come before my own needs. Well, this was just for me and for no one else. I wanted it to be my secret. I have dreams, too, Fern.’
I give her a sympathetic look. ‘It would have helped if you could have sat down and told Dad.’
‘When can you ever tell your father anything?’ my mum states—quite rightly. ‘He would have made stupid jokes about it. He would have tried everything to stop me going out by myself.’
‘He could have gone with you.’
‘He’d have embarrassed me. He’d have drunk too much and would have made fun of everyone. You know what he’s like, Fern.’
I do.
‘He’s never been the easiest man to live with,’ she says—something of an understatement, I have to admit. ‘I’d just had enough.’
‘But you’ve always managed before. Why did you kick him out now, after all this time?’
‘I needed time to be myself without always having to think about Derek.’
‘And now?’
Mum hangs her head. ‘And now I’d better go straight to the hospital and see how he is.’
I lean over the bar and hug my mum. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too, darlin’.’
Mum hops down from her stool. She wipes a tear from under her eye and pulls up her tiny five-foot, two-inch frame to its full height. ‘Now what did you say the name of that pretty Thai nurse was?’
‘I didn’t,’ I tell her with a smile, and she gives me one of her death-ray looks, the one that I can copy so well. ‘Will you have him back at home, Mum?’
Mum hoists her handbag over her shoulder and straightens her jacket. ‘Just let anyone try and stop me,’ she says.
Sixty-five
‘Another family crisis?’ Ken the Landlord asks.
‘Sorry, Ken,’ I say looking suitably downcast. How can I begin to explain to him that all this heartache stems from my mum’s newly developed fetish for ballroom dancing and freedom? I’m not sure that I fully understand it myself. ‘This is the end of it. Truly it is. The bar of the King’s Head will be my sole priority from now on.’
‘The day I believe that is the day I believe pigs can fly,’ Ken tells me in his best hangdog voice.
At that moment, Carl turns up and comes to my rescue. ‘Hey, guys,’ he says in his laid-back style. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Ah,’ Ken says as he wanders off. ‘Lover Boy here will sort it all out again.’
Carl waits for my explanation, so I launch into it. ‘I promised Ken that nothing would come between me and pulling pints, yet I’ve spent the last half hour trying to sort my mum out.’
He looks at me quizzically.
‘She’s off to the hospital to see Dad,’ I tell him. We both indulge in a relieved sigh. ‘I hope this is the start of them getting back together.’
‘And Mr Patel?’
‘She’s his temporary ballroom dancing partner,’ I say. ‘Nothing more.’
Carl opens his mouth.
‘Don’t.’ I hold up my hand. ‘I don’t want to think about my family for a moment longer. They give me a headache. Tell me something about you instead.’
Carl hops onto the stool that my mum has just vacated, and I pull him his usual pint of lager and put the money in the till myself. ‘Nothing to tell,’ my friend says.
‘Don’t you want to tell me about someone special?’ I cock my head on one side and try to look appealing.
Carl flushes and studies the contents of his glass.
‘Carlos, we have no secrets between us,’ I remind him. ‘You should tell me about her or I’ll have to hurt you.’
My friend looks up at me and his gorgeous hazel eyes soften. My insides flip as I feel Carl slipping away from me. ‘She’s in one of the bands at the club I told you about.’
‘Does she have a name?’
‘Shelly.’
‘Great.’ She sounds young and pretty and I think I hate her already. ‘What does she do?’
‘She works in one of the shops in Camden during the day. At night, she fronts the band.’
Ah. Another one of us million wannabes. I want to know if she went along to the Fame Game auditions, too, but am scared to ask. Instead I say, ‘Are you going to introduce her to me?’
‘No,’ Carl says. ‘You’ll scare her off.’
‘I’ll love her,’ I assure him. Or scratch her eyes out.
‘I thought you’d be…’ Carl runs out of words.
‘I’m delighted for you. Come here, you big lummox.’ I lean across the bar and hug him. ‘I’d come round there and give you a great big kiss, but Ken would lose what little is left of his hair.’
‘We wouldn’t want that,’ Carl agrees. ‘Besides, it might make me change my mind.’
‘Don’t say that. I want you to be happy,’ I tell my friend. ‘I want you to be settled. I want you to be in love.’
He gives me one of his soulful looks. ‘I’ve been in love for a long time.’
‘I mean with someone who isn’t such a fucking idiot as me.’
‘Well,’ he admits, ‘I think I’ve found her.’
Ken the Landlord looms over us. ‘Now that you’ve found love, perhaps you’d like to wander to the stage and sing some bloody songs about it.’
We both take the hint. Carl downs his pint while I take off my apron and then I follow my friend to the stage. It’s extraordinary how quickly we’ve slipped back into our routine. I have a moment of panic as I wonder whether Carl will desert me for Shelly and be her pianist and ace guitarist instead of mine.
‘Ken’s right,’ I murmur to him. ‘We should sing some songs about love, it might bring us both good luck.’
We take up our places and I’d like to say a hush falls over the bar, but it doesn’t. There is, however, a slight hiatus in the conversation as we launch into a set of standards that has the audience tapping their feet in time to the music. Being on the Fame Game has, bizarrely, given me a new confidence in myself. I throw back my head and enjoy becoming absorbed in the songs. Carl goes up a gear and the audience is rocking. Ken gives us a nod to carry on, so we trawl out some more favourites about love being the answer to everything. I don’t think we’ve ever done such a great set here. Some of the punters start to dance, and lifted by the mood we increase the tempo. Before long the joint is absolutely jumping. Ken is delighted because beer sales are increasing rapidly along with the thirst of the dancers.
We’re having a wild time. I strut about the stage like the rock goddess I should be. Carl is in a frenzy. Never have I heard him play so well. If this is what being loved has done for him, then bring it on, I say. I toss back my hair and give free rein to my voice. I’m loving it. So are the crowd, who cheer for more. We hurl ourselves, full pelt into our final song. For a minute I forget everything—where I am, who I am. I am a superstar on the stage at Wembley Stadium playing to her adoring fans. I even forget about Evan David, until I look up and see that his agent, Rupert Dawson, is standing as still as a stone at the back of the pub.
Sixty-six
After the set, I fly off the stage lifted on the wings of tumultuous applause. But before I can get back to the sanctuary of the bar, Rupert Dawson crosses the room and is in front of me.
‘Fern,’ he says, staying me with a hand on my arm. ‘Nice to see you.’
I can’t deal with any pleasantries. ‘What are you doing here?’
Rupert, it seems, is slightly thrown by my hostility. ‘Evan asked me to come and listen to you sing.’
My face clearly sets into a scowl, because he says hurriedly, ‘I like what I hear.’
‘Good. I’m pleased.’ And then I go to push past him because I really don’t know what else to say.
‘He wants to help you, Fern,’ Rupert says.
‘I don’t need his help. Thanks all the same.’
‘Evan said I’m to give you whatever you need for your nephew.’
‘Nathan?’ That does stop me in my tracks. ‘What’s he got to do with anything?’
‘Evan wants to pay for his medical expenses—to get him well again. Money’s no object. You can have anything. Anything at all.’
I snort with derision. ‘My God, does he think he can pay me off by using my nephew? Does the man have no integrity?’
Rupert looks shocked. Perhaps he is used to settling Evan’s accounts much more easily than this. Maybe he thinks I’m so desperate for money that I’d sell my story to one of the red-top tabloids that specialise in salacious stories and this is his way of buying my silence. What I wouldn’t give for this sort of offer normally—I thought I’d do anything to get the money to help Nathan, but I won’t take Evan David’s pay-off.
‘That’s not what it’s like, Fern, I can assure you. Evan only has your best interests at heart.’
I laugh out loud. It’s a horrible and hollow sound. ‘Oh, I’m sure he does.’
‘He really does care about you.’
Oh, yes. He cares enough to let you do his dirty work, I think.
‘He feels terrible about what happened.’
‘He told you?’
Rupert nods. ‘I’m his agent. His friend. I know what it would mean to him if you’d let him help you.’
‘Well, tell him from me that I don’t need his help. He owes me nothing—he can walk away with a clear conscience. I can manage on my own. I don’t want Evan David and I certainly don’t want his money.’
‘Fern,’ Rupert implores. ‘Think about this.’
‘If he’s worried about me talking to the newspapers,’ I continue, ‘then I won’t do that, either.’
Welcome to the Real World Page 27