The Single Mums' Mansion

by Janet Hoggarth

  ‘Oh. It’s puffed up and starting to go a funny colour.’

  ‘Take her to A and E,’ Sarah said without hesitating.

  ‘Really?’ I groaned.

  ‘You could go in the morning, but if it is broken, you don’t want it to shift in the night. It’s best to go now.’

  ‘I’m on my own. Ali’s on holiday, Jacqui’s away and Sam’s on honeymoon. It’ll be hell if I drag the others with me.’

  ‘Neighbours? You’ve nice ones, haven’t you? You’ll have to carry her from the car. Can you manage? You could call an ambulance, but it seems mad for this.’

  I texted Philippa, then James, when she didn’t get back to me.

  We’re at my mums, sorry!

  James texted back. I tried Rob.

  ‘Hellooooooo, what’s the crack?’ he asked, sounding merry.

  ‘What state are you in?’

  ‘I’ve had three beers.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At home, contemplating clubbing.’

  ‘How do you feel babysitting while I go to A and E?’

  ‘Are we going on our own?’ Isla asked fearfully as soon as Rob said he would head over.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But, Mummy, what if I can’t walk very far.’

  ‘I’ll go and get you a wheelchair.’

  ‘But I’ll be on my own while you do.’ I looked at her pale face. Fuck it, I would call an ambulance and face the flack.

  ‘Chris could come?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Why not? I know he would help.’

  ‘He’s probably out.’

  ‘Ring him, Mummy. Please.’

  ‘No, Isla. I know, I’ll call a cab and see if the driver will get us the wheelchair.’ I left Isla in bed and went to settle Meg. As I was explaining to her that Rob would be in charge, I heard Isla speaking.

  ‘Yes, Mummy wanted to know if you would come to the hospital with us.’ I could hear a small tinny reply.

  ‘She thinks I’ve broken my ankle and we’re on our own here. Rob is coming but Mummy can’t carry me to A and E.’

  I jumped up and ran into her room, snatching the phone from her hands.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Amanda. It’s OK, Isla told me what’s happened. I’ll be over as soon as I’ve got a cab.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’m so sorry, Chris. I had no idea she’d rung you.’ I glared at Isla in disbelief.

  ‘I reckon I’ll be half an hour. It’s no trouble.’

  ‘Seriously, you don’t have to. I’ll get a cab to A and E when Rob gets here. I’m so embarrassed.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll come. Isla asked me to. I’ll see you in a bit.’

  ‘Is he coming?’

  I nodded. ‘Isla, why did you do that? I said I would get a cab.’

  ‘Because we need a Spare Man. I did tell you…’

  I was about to admonish her when butterflies swiftly popped from deeply hidden cocoons in my tummy. Oh no… I stole a glance in Isla’s chipped circular mirror above her bookcase. A swamp creature glared back with unwashed hair, pasty skin and a juicy custard-cream zit on her chin. The doorbell rang.

  ‘Noooo,’ I wailed, pressing a tissue over the just-squeezed volcano oozing a sticky conflation of pus and blood.

  ‘Cut yourself shaving again?’ Rob laughed as I let him in. It had started to spit outside and glutinous-looking clouds hung heavy in the sky.

  ‘Yeah, ha ha. I squeezed a toothpaste zit. Now it looks worse and Chris is going to take us to the hospital.’

  ‘Chris from the wedding party?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Oh, yes. I liked him.’

  Everyone liked Chris.

  ‘Go and make yourself look pretty then. You can’t let him know what you really look like!’

  I just about had enough time to plaster on some make-up and administer emergency dry shampoo before the doorbell rang a second time.

  ‘Hey, are you OK?’ Chris asked as he walked in the door. He smelled of rain and some gorgeous citrusy aftershave. Oh no…

  ‘Yes, I’m good. I’m so sorry we’ve ruined your night. I hope it wasn’t anything important.’

  ‘Just work drinks with Mark and the boys. Where’s Isla?’ I led him upstairs to her room where she was waiting fully dressed on the bed. ‘Can I see your ankle?’ Isla pulled her socks down so Chris could inspect. ‘Yes, it doesn’t look good. Can we drive there?’

  By the time we reached the car park it was full so I tried a side road further up the hill. It was sheeting down and we had no umbrella. Isla had brought her raincoat and I wore my trusty parka, but Chris only had a light jacket.

  ‘I’m so sorry – you’re going to get soaked.’

  ‘Stop stressing. It’s just a bit of rain. You ready, Isla?’ She nodded and he carefully picked her up from the back seat and held her in his arms. My stomach flipped. We walked down the hill, rain flying in our faces, unable to speak in case we drowned from the ferocious influx of water. Chris never stopped once to rearrange his grip; he just purposefully ploughed on against the monsoon while I trailed in his wake.

  ‘That way!’ the staff ushered us towards Children’s A and E as we entered, dripping rivulets of rainwater all over the blue entrance-hall floor.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Chris exclaimed. ‘It’s like Butlin’s Holiday Camp in here!’ Every available seat was taken, not by sick children, but by whole families including grandparents, babies and children of all ages, some eating snacks, some doing colouring, one family even had a cool box and were handing out foil-wrapped packages to everyone in the vicinity. ‘Why aren’t they told to go home?’ he hissed. ‘It’s mental.’ After checking in we found a spot on the floor up against a wall and I lay my damp coat down for Isla to lie on. Chris sat on the other side by her feet. Informative signs and posters were pinned to every available space advising the waiting-room collective about correct hand washing procedure, binning tissues and when not to come to A and E.

  ‘Mummy, how long will it take?’

  ‘I have no idea. At least a few hours, I would think.’

  Isla placed her head on my lap and closed her eyes.

  ‘You going to sleep?’

  ‘The lights are too bright.’

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ I said to Chris, feeling properly awkward now the drama had abated. ‘I actually don’t know how I would have done this on my own.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Aren’t your arms killing you from carrying her all the way from the car?’

  ‘They’re OK. She’s not that heavy.’ He shook the excess water from his hair onto his lap and wiped his face with his hand.

  ‘Shall I get you some paper towels?’

  ‘Hey, we’re not here for me. I’m big enough and ugly enough to look after myself. I can dry off later.’ I wanted to lean over and kiss his cheek. Oh no…

  ‘How have you been?’ I asked diffidently. ‘It’s been ages since I last saw you.’

  ‘A month. I’m good, thanks. I went home to get the last few things two weeks ago. I think Mum was sad it’s so final, but I need to start my new life here. I like this part of London and I like living with Mark.’ It felt strange that I didn’t know what he’d been up to as we sat here sharing this mostly parental experience.

  ‘That’s good that you like it.’ Sitting on the dirty floor of A and E, while people scurried past us at head height calling out names and brandishing files, felt like the only place I wanted to be right then. I sneaked a sideways peek at him; he caught me and winked, setting fire to my face. Oh no…

  ‘Chris, are you and Mummy still friends?’ Isla asked eventually after a particularly scary episode when a toddler screamed the place down and then vomited right next to the picnicking family.

  ‘Er, yes, we’re still friends.’

  ‘Well, how come we haven’t seen you?’

  Before either of us could answer we were called to a triage room. Chris picked Isla up off the fl
oor and carried her through to the paper-covered bed. When we’d explained the accident and her ankle had been inspected we were told to sit back down and we would be called for an X-ray.

  ‘Are you OK carrying her, Dad?’ the nurse asked after a short wait. ‘We’ve run out of wheelchairs.’

  ‘Yep, no worries. Tell me where to go.’ Chris didn’t bat an eyelid and waited outside when I accompanied Isla into the X-ray suite.

  ‘They think Chris’s my dad!’ she laughed.

  ‘I know. How funny.’

  *

  ‘How did you get on?’ Rob asked when we returned home after midnight.

  ‘She’s got a fractured ankle. We need to go to Fracture Clinic on Monday to get it set.’

  ‘Oh, good job you went then. Sonny woke up crying for you, so I just gave him rice milk. I hope that was OK. He’s in your bed.’

  Rob left, abandoning dreams of cavorting in a gay club, and sensibly headed home. Chris carried Isla straight up to bed, her leg encased in a temporary plaster cast; she was asleep before we had even left the room. Downstairs in the hall he started fiddling about putting his wet shoes back on.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Going home.’

  ‘Oh.’ Crushing disappointment overwhelmed me from the tip of my head down to my soggy toes.

  ‘That’s OK, isn’t it? You don’t need me for anything else, do you?’

  ‘No, no, of course not. I just thought you might want a cup of tea…’

  ‘I’d love a cup of tea, but it’s very late.’

  ‘Come on, stay for a bit. At least let me make you a drink.’ I walked into the kitchen, making a beeline for the kettle, hoping he would follow me. He rested his bum against the opposite work surface, crossing his arms, silently watching me as I filled it from the tap, splashing myself all up my T-shirt because of my tremulous hands. I flicked the switch and opened the cupboard directly above, rifling inside for cups and teabags.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said so quietly it was almost drowned out by the kettle’s energetic bubbling. I turned round to face him.

  ‘But you don’t really know me.’

  ‘That’s the thing, I feel like I do know you. I know you like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. I know that you don’t like it when I kiss your neck because it tickles. I know that you love dancing as much as I hate it. I know that you’re kind and are a good mum. I know that you thought you’d die when Sam left, but you carried on anyway. I know that hangover sex cures your morning-after headache. I think your favourite word is fuck, but don’t quote me. I know that you hope reusing plastic bags and washing them out will save the planet. Oh, and Friends is the only TV show you watch.’

  ‘You gleaned all that from a few months’ dating?’

  ‘I’m observant and I listen. You do say fuck all the time, though.’

  ‘Did you also know I am a complete nightmare and terrified of commitment?’

  ‘Then how come you made Isla break her ankle so you could lure me over here?’

  ‘I would never do that!’

  ‘I know. I’m messing with you. She broke it on purpose because she could tell you were secretly missing me.’

  I play-punched him in the arm. ‘Would you have ever got in touch if Isla hadn’t rung you?’

  ‘You’ll never know.’

  ‘But—’

  He leaned forward and pulled me to him, planting a tender kiss on my lips. I drew away and looked him in the eye.

  ‘Chris, what if I fuck this up again? I don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘I’m willing to take the risk.’ And he solemnly punched his heart with his fist. ‘Are you?’

  Before I could say anything, Mel’s sage advice echoed in the back of my mind, making me smile: Love is a choice, so choose wisely.

  Epilogue

  ‘How on earth did you fit all this in that room?’ I asked incredulously as the hallway gradually stacked up with various boxes, suitcases, an entire clothes rail, a dismantled cot and assorted bulky Ikea baskets rammed full of toys, shoes, belts and numerous scarves.

  ‘That’s not all of it. I still have the stuff from under the bed and my duvet and pillows. There’s all the towels, plus my hat stand.’

  ‘When did all this stuff multiply and have babies?’

  ‘I sneaked it in under the cover of darkness when you weren’t looking.’

  ‘What time is the man with the van coming?’ Ursula asked, dumping a black bag on top of the suitcases. ‘You seriously need to have a clear out when you get to your new flat.’

  ‘The man’s here!’ Neve cried excitedly through the front door as she ran from her lookout post in the front garden where Isla and Meg were guarding the pushchair and Grace’s tricycle.

  The sun blessed us with its presence that day, shining down on Ali as she prepared to strike out on her own, just her and Grace in a new home. It was the week before Halloween and talk was already turning to thoughts about Christmas, a couple of months away.

  ‘You’ll come for Christmas Eve, won’t you?’ Ali had already established. Jacqui was going to be in Australia visiting her sister, and Anne, Ali’s mum, was moving over permanently to live round the corner from Ali’s new flat. The sale of Anne’s house in Spain had fortuitously gifted Ali the deposit she needed, allowing her to rent a place in Penge, not too far from me.

  ‘It’s going to be weird not living with you,’ she’d said that day in September when she’d told me she was moving out. ‘It’s time, though. I really don’t want to go, but I want to be in the real world, have my own space to meet someone. Mum needs me to help her adjust, too. She couldn’t afford to buy round here, but I think us living near each other will soften the blow. Grace needs her own room, too. She’s growing up and we’re getting in the way. We need to get out of your hair.’

  ‘Your mum could have stayed here for a bit.’

  ‘Don’t be mad! You’d have killed both of us after a week. This is the start of a new chapter. And it’s the start of something for you, too. It’s about time you got your house back so that you can think about your future and write your next book.’

  ‘I need to get used to living on my own again before I think about anything else.’ I needed time to decompress from all the fun we’d had, all the laughter, tears and madness.

  After an hour of steady toing and froing, the attic room had been pared back to its original empty shell. Along with a few of Grace’s pencil scribbles adorning the walls, and dust marks lining the blank space above the chest of drawers where all Ali’s books and Vogues had been stashed; the indents in the carpet pile were the only remaining evidence that the room had been stuffed to bursting with another person’s life. Ali and I stood side by side gazing out of the windows across the hodgepodge of rooftops and chimney pots that tumbled Lego-like towards the London cityscape beyond, its sharp jagged edges piercing the crisp blue autumn sky, the early stages of the Shard rising up from between the handful of soon-to-be-dwarfed skyscrapers.

  ‘You saved my life,’ she said quietly. ‘I would have died of a broken heart, or committed murder.’

  ‘Me, too. You saved me as well. All three of us saved each other.’

  ‘I’m going to miss this view.’

  I rested my head on her shoulder. ‘You can come back and see it any time you like. Keep your key. I’ll never forget your dad working so hard to make this your cosy little nest. He did such a great job. That seems like a lifetime ago.’

  ‘Mands, we’ll see you at the flat?’ Jacqui called half an hour later from the front garden, still sporting yoga gear after teaching her new Saturday morning class in her living room-cum-yoga studio. Grace clung to Neve’s hand, looking a bit lost without Ali. ‘You got the champagne?’

  ‘On ice. We’ll be up in half an hour. I’ve just got to decorate the cake.’

  Grace started to cry. Neve picked her up and I walked over to see if I could help.

  ‘What’s up, Gracey?’

  ‘Want to stay home. D
on’t want to go.’ Fat tears rolled off her sizeable cheeks and splodged onto her red sweatshirt, leaving dark blobs.

  ‘You’re going to your new home with Mummy. Neve’s going to help you unpack, then we’re all coming up in a bit. I’ve made cake.’

  ‘Want stay here. This is home.’

  ‘Oh, Grace, you’ll like it, I promise.’ I hugged her and Neve carried her to Jacqui’s car, parked out on the road. Ali and Ursula were already unpacking at the flat. I crunched over the path and back into the house where Chris was sitting on the bottom stair, the newly laid hard-wearing biscuit-coloured carpet now running up through the heart of house instead of the vile river of poo, paid for from my first wage cheque.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Yes. But I think they’re going to find it hard living on their own. Grace has only ever known us. She thinks Isla, Meg and Sonny are her siblings. She’ll miss them.’

  ‘Kids adapt and Ali will get used to it. Come here.’ I sat on his lap and he kissed the back of my head. ‘Let’s go out for dinner with the kids tonight, my treat.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘I know. I want to.’

  I turned and kissed him on the mouth.

  ‘Ewww, Mummy, gross!’ Sonny had crept up on us from the kitchen.

  ‘Chris said he would play football with us,’ Joe said hopefully, hovering by the doorway, holding a ball eagerly in his hands.

  ‘You better go then,’ I said to them, standing up. ‘You’ve got half an hour until we leave.’

  ‘We better make the most of it. Come on, boys.’

  As I added the finishing touches to the chocolate welcome-to-your-new-home cake, Isla and Meg fighting over the icing bowl beside me, I peered through the open glass doors at Chris playing on the grass with Sonny and Joe. Chris was shielding his eyes against the low sun as he posed ready for action in a makeshift goal cobbled together from a cracked terracotta flowerpot and a green plastic watering can. The acer tree had begun its annual changing of the guard from green to red, heralding the garden’s steady decline into hibernation.

  ‘Goal!’ Sonny shouted triumphantly, grinning from ear to ear and high-fiving Joe. Chris collected the ball from the patio where it had rolled, and caught me staring. He winked and bounced the ball, turning to jog back to his spot.