The Idea of You

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘I like him. I do,’ she confessed, ‘and Camille seemed very happy. I liked the way she was around him – relaxed – and it’s good for her to feel like that. When it’s reciprocated it can make you feel like a million dollars.’

  ‘Well, I hope you feel like a million dollars, because I adore you.’ He slipped down on the mattress and lay with his head on her stomach. ‘How’s your tum?’ He placed his hand on her pyjama top, which covered her stomach.

  She stroked his dark, curly hair. ‘It’s fine.’ Running her hand over his naked shoulders, peppered with the freckles of past tans, she considered how best to launch the topic that swirled in her mind, kicking up a dust storm that made it hard to see anything else clearly. Despite her reticence to discuss the issue, she knew that it would hover until she did, making sleep impossible. ‘So what do you think about Camille staying here on a more permanent basis?’ She tried to keep her tone casual, hoping it belied the frenzy of anxiety she felt.

  ‘I’m really surprised!’ He snorted. ‘She hadn’t mentioned anything to me, but I don’t think she’s serious. I wouldn’t have thought she’d choose this inner-city life over a spacious farmhouse with a pool in France, where she’s not only got all that space and sunshine but her mates and her mum too. It’s all she’s ever known.’

  Lucy nodded, thinking for the first time that a pool, a farmhouse and the pretty French countryside were no match for the buzz of inner-city London for a seventeen-year-old girl with a love of fashion and music – especially an inner-city London with the lovely Dex residing in it.

  ‘I’m not so sure, Jonah. They say the grass is always greener on the other side, and I think she might want to stay because she wants to be with Dex.’

  ‘No!’ He laughed, shifting until his head rested on his hand above his elbow. ‘Surely not? That’s just a little holiday fling. I mean, I don’t dislike the boy, he clearly has had to carve his own path and that’s admirable, but I don’t think he’s for Camille.’

  ‘Ah, but that’s just it. You don’t get to choose who’s for Camille. She does,’ she reminded him.

  ‘I can see your future! I can see it, as surely as if I had a crystal ball! You are a child! A child!’

  Lucy shook her head to rid it of the words that had sprung unbidden to the front of her mind.

  ‘I know that.’ He chuckled. ‘But I can tell you it’s not DJ Dex or whatever his name is.’

  ‘Jonah, I am not kidding. Did you see the way she looked at him? I can tell you, this is more than a fling,’ she reasoned. ‘They had chemistry and seemed very at ease with each other.’

  She pictured herself at a similar age, draped over the boy she had loved, desperate to feel his skin against her, intoxicated by his scent.

  He sat up and scooted back to his side of the bed and the support of the padded headboard. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really!’ She tutted, a little irritated that he was so oblivious.

  ‘Well, I guess if she wants to stay and it’s a course worth doing . . .’

  Jonah let his words linger, and Lucy felt a swell of something close to panic in her chest. He was clearly not opposed to the idea of having Camille in their home as a permanent fixture – far from it.

  ‘I know she’s not terribly academic. I don’t think she’s that interested in higher education, not really. Geneviève and I have had words about it before. Cam scrapes by on her grades, and so maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. We’d have to discuss it with her mum, of course, the logistics and so forth.’ He shrugged and sank down on to the pillows, clearly readying for sleep, as if the decision were pre-approved, straightforward, and merited little more than a stamp of approval and the buying of an extra pint of milk.

  ‘I think we should talk about it a bit more,’ she urged.

  ‘We can, but not now, Lucy.’ He gave a loud yawn, reaching out a flailing hand to pat her. ‘I’m too tired.’

  Lucy flicked off the bedside lamp and lay in the dark with her knuckles joined across her stomach. Her eyes lingered on the outline of the wicker hamper on top of the wardrobe, and her spirits sank. She was of the belief that having Camille as a permanent fixture under their roof would leave little room for her to pursue her dream of becoming a mum. It was almost as if one child would be enough, no matter that she had arrived in her life fully formed, as a teen. Lucy cursed the tears that gathered and trickled down her face. As Jonah snored, she had the uneasy feeling that things were changing . . . and she wasn’t sure they were changing for the better.

  Over the next two weeks, events moved at pace, leaving Lucy feeling like she was being swept along by the current.

  ‘I’ve got my interview today,’ Camille reminded them, as she applied mascara at the kitchen table, holding the small magnified mirror in her palm.

  ‘You’ll do great.’ Jonah nodded, as he gulped his coffee and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair. ‘Time has beaten me this morning. See you both later. Lucy, have a good day, and Cam, let me know how it goes.’ He blew kisses from his palm and swept from the room.

  Lucy shook her head. ‘This house is complete chaos every morning. It drives me nuts! Don’t get me wrong, I love our life – I love being in this house with Jonah – but I don’t understand how there’s only the two of us and yet nearly every morning ends in this supreme rush to get out of the door. It mystifies me!’ she babbled, as she wiped down the crumb-laden surface with a cloth.

  ‘Three of us.’ Camille held her mascara wand still and stared at her through thickened lashes.

  ‘Yes, of course, three of us!’ She tried to laugh off her faux pas, silently cursing herself for having let her guard down and made this Freudian slip.

  Camille’s expression changed as she stood up from the table. Lucy couldn’t tell if it was one of hurt or resentment. ‘I get it, Lucy. You love your life, just the two of you. Well, don’t worry. If I do get my college place I’m sure there will be somewhere I can go and stay. Dex knows a lot of people,’ she huffed.

  ‘What? No! That’s not what I’m saying at all!’ she called after Camille, who raced out of the room and up the stairs.

  As the days marched on, Lucy found it a struggle simply to stay afloat and breathe, let alone find the voice to speak up. The atmosphere between her and Camille returned to its pre-birthday awkwardness, revealing the short snap of closeness to be a false dawn, and this she found truly disheartening.

  It was hard for her, having to bob on the changing tide of Camille’s fancy. Trying to please her, Lucy went out of her way, offering to drive her to work when summer showers threatened, buying her favourite foods, and circling snippets in magazines of any fashion item or article that she thought might be of interest before leaving them propped open on her bedside table. Camille never mentioned them or thanked her for them, so Lucy stopped doing it.

  The girl’s alienation of her was subtle. It might take the form of something as small as only clearing her and her dad’s plates from the table, leaving Lucy to take her own and head in Camille’s wake towards the dishwasher, while Jonah praised the girl for helping out. Some acts were bigger, more obvious and therefore more hurtful, like discussing fond memories of trips and events that were pre-Lucy, meaning she could only smile and gawp like an outsider, hoping for scattered crumbs of inclusion. Camille also had a knack of only informing Jonah of her plans, meaning Lucy had to constantly enquire as to why she wasn’t home for supper or was home late from work. It made her feel like an outsider, on the periphery of the circle and therefore not worthy of sharing information with. It made her feel temporary, and that unnerved her.

  ‘I wish Camille would tell me what she’s up to.’ She tried subtly to raise the issue with Jonah while unpacking groceries into the fridge and cupboard.

  ‘She’s a teenager, love. That’s what they do. Her head is in the clouds.’ He laughed at this stereotypical behaviour, refusing to entertain the idea that it was in any way calculated. Lucy was aware that to suggest anything to the cont
rary would make her seem oversensitive and possibly lead to a row, something she was keen to avoid. She chose instead not to mention the fact that he hadn’t once properly questioned what it might be like for her to have Camille as a permanent fixture in their home, and this seemed to go hand in hand with his lack of urgency when it came to having a baby of their own.

  ‘I know, but sometimes . . .’ She hesitated.

  ‘Sometimes what?’ he pushed.

  Lucy paused with an avocado in each hand. ‘Sometimes I wish I didn’t feel quite so excluded.’

  Jonah chortled. ‘Don’t be silly! When are you ever excluded?’ He narrowed his eyes.

  She opened the fridge and spoke from behind the open door. ‘When you two talk about trips and events before I arrived, funny things that have happened, stuff like that.’ She hated how juvenile she sounded.

  ‘We shouldn’t have to censor our conversation, especially when our shared memories are so few and far between.’ His voice was clipped.

  ‘And I’m not asking you to, of course not! I’m not that person, Jonah, but I would like to be involved. It’s not like I am ever asked my opinion, or she ever shares with me. It’s as if she directs everything at you so that I feel excluded.’

  ‘That’s not the case, Lucy. I think you might need to lighten up a bit.’ He stared at her. ‘Camille did mention to me she thought you might prefer it if she didn’t stay with us if she gets into college. It was something you said.’

  Lucy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘I said something a while ago, inadvertently, about it being just the two of us. I can’t even remember the details, but it was nothing, and certainly no reason for her to be punishing me or trying to escalate a harmless phrase into anything more. I remember she stormed off and has been ratty with me ever since.’ She tutted.

  ‘Harmless to you perhaps.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Jonah!’

  And just like that, the kindling was lit for the row she had been trying desperately to avoid. Lucy slammed the fridge door and swept from the room to hide in the bath, trying to vent some of her simmering anger through the medium of foot stomping, which she did all the way up the stairs.

  Tansy had listened over lunch, and now she looked directly at Lucy, stirring her coffee repeatedly.

  ‘Could he be right? Do you need to lighten up? Are you oversensitive?’ She twisted her mouth, letting Lucy know that it was a tough subject to broach. Lucy was glad of Tansy’s impartiality, despite their friendship.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ She shrugged and broke the lemon and poppyseed muffin into three, slowly placing an overlarge chunk into her mouth.

  ‘Teenagers are notoriously difficult, finding their feet and all that.’

  ‘I know this, Tansy,’ she fired, popping stray crumbs back into her mouth with her finger. ‘And that’s Jonah’s excuse, and I don’t mind normal teenage behaviour – I expected it, in fact – but this feels like something more to me.’

  ‘Yes, but the fact that you have been plonked in this situation without any build-up means that you might be taking it a little too personally. Possibly overanalysing things.’ Tansy sipped her coffee, grimaced, placed it back in its saucer and reached for another tiny packet of sweetener.

  ‘What do you mean? I had plenty of build-up. We knew she was coming and Jonah told me all about her. I welcomed her with open arms. Literally! Or I tried to, I should say,’ she explained, remembering how she had stood in the kitchen with her hug rebuffed.

  ‘That’s not what I mean exactly.’ Tansy sipped again from the cup before explaining further. ‘When you have kids you watch them grow, love them, guide them and have days when you could happily abandon them, but every day is your training ground and every month, every year merges into the next, and it happens fast.’ Tansy paused, stirring her coffee, while Lucy’s thoughts raged.

  I am running out of time! I am running out of time!

  ‘Here’s the thing, Lucy. You need to think of it like a new job. The first day is terrifying: you don’t even know where the bathroom is let alone the name of the IT guy or how to actually do what you are being paid for, but you pick it up bit by bit until all the things that used to bother you become second nature, you relax into it and everything you learn prepares you for the next stage. Arriving at teenagehood is just another phase for a mum who’s been there since the starter pistol was fired, and not only do you have this arsenal of weapons and experience to call upon, but you know your subject inside out. I only know how to handle Michael because I know what makes him tick and how to motivate him, but it’s not easy. You, my friend, have gone straight into seventeen years of service, expectations of you are high, but you are really on your first day, you don’t know where the bathroom is or the name of the IT guy.’

  Lucy got it. This she already knew; she was a late starter in the race. She looked down.

  ‘But I’ve tried really hard with her. I spent an age getting her room ready, I welcomed Dex into the house—’

  ‘Yes, and that’s good, but trust me, that’s the easy stuff,’ Tansy interrupted her.

  ‘It is?’ Lucy swallowed her mouthful of muffin and picked up another large piece. ‘It doesn’t feel like the easy stuff,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Yes, of course it is! If painting a room and making lover boy cups of tea were all it took then all parents all over the world would find the whole thing plain sailing, and yet they don’t. You need to think of teenagers as little turtles. They have hard shells that make it seem like they can rebuff most things, but the truth is they are soft on the inside and completely clueless and that hard exterior is just a clever disguise. And the trick is trying to figure out how to get inside their little shells to see the real them, to know what they really need, without cracking them open.’

  Lucy stared at her friend. ‘You are quite good at this parenting thing. Your boys are very lucky.’

  ‘Not really. This advice is easy to give, but when it comes to your own, most mums are quite neurotic.’

  She ran her hand over her forehead. ‘I had no idea it was going to be this hard. I want to sit her down and tell her that I am not trying to take away her dad and that I want to be her friend.’

  ‘Well then, why don’t you?’ Tansy boomed. ‘You should do exactly that. Follow that instinct.’

  ‘Urgh. It’s not that easy. I wish it were. It’s like when there’s a boy at school who you are crazy about. You can have a million conversations with him in the mirror or in your head and in those situations it’s a doddle and you rehearse it until you are confident. But then when you are faced with him in the corridor you fall to pieces.’ She placed the muffin in her mouth.

  ‘Actually, this is not like that at all. You are the grown-up and you have a responsibility for Camille’s welfare. You need to make the move, have the chat, find the confidence, because she might be seventeen and technically one year away from adulthood, but she’s still only a little girl who is probably feeling a bit lost.’

  ‘She doesn’t seem that way,’ she mumbled through her muffin.

  ‘Trust me: if she is acting out and deliberately excluding you, it’s because she feels either afraid or threatened or both.’ Tansy nodded assertively.

  ‘I guess so.’ This certainly made sense. ‘So how do I get Jonah to see it from my perspective and get him to help me, so we present a unified front?’

  Tansy laughed loudly and patted the table, before reaching across and stealing the last of the muffin from her friend’s plate and shoving it in her mouth. ‘Oh, honey, teenage girls, not a problem, quadratic equations or brain surgery, easy peasy, but asking me how to get a besotted dad who can only see the good in his baby girl on board? That’s a whole other thing and one that I am definitely not skilled in.’

  Camille lay on the sofa, flicking through the glossy brochure that she had picked up from City of Westminster College.

  ‘Hey, Cam,’ Lucy offered perkily as she kicked off her shoes and shed her suit jacket before placing
it on the arm of the comfy chair by the fireplace. ‘How did it go at the college? Is that your prospectus?’ She sat down on the sofa next to Camille without giving her a chance to budge up.

  Camille nodded.

  ‘Have you decided on a course yet?’

  ‘This one.’ She pointed at an open page and handed Lucy the brochure. Lucy marvelled at the photographs of a bright, original catwalk fashion show.

  ‘Would you get to design something like this?’ she asked with genuine amazement. The garments were structured, beautiful and originally quirky, draped on to models whose faces were emblazoned with flag motifs and who sported wild, mermaid-coloured, backcombed hair.

  ‘Yes.’ Camille’s smile was genuine. ‘That’s the end-of-year show. They sell tickets and everything.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be something? Maybe your mum and Jean-Luc could come over?’

  Camille retrieved the booklet and placed it on her lap. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Have you spoken to her about your plans? I expect she’ll want to talk to your dad.’

  ‘You’re not the first, you know.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Lucy had lost the thread, wondering what she might have misunderstood.

  ‘You’re not the first girlfriend he’s had living here or introduced me to. There’s been loads.’

  Lucy sat back on the sofa, feeling as if the wind had been knocked from her lungs. She was so uncomfortable that she wished she were anywhere else. Was this repayment for making Camille feel unwelcome with a single offhand comment? Surely not. Fighting her instinct to run up the stairs and lock herself in the bathroom for a hot bath and a glass of wine, she instead drew on Tansy’s words of advice.

  ‘Do you know, Camille, if I didn’t know you better I’d think that you are trying to be hurtful, to say something to upset me. But then I tell myself that I’m being stupid, I must have made a mistake, because you are not that kind of person, and if you were I would be the last person you’d be mean to, as all I have ever done is go out of my way to be your friend, trying to get to know you, introducing you to my family and making Dex welcome in our home.’