How to Make Time for Me

by Fiona Perrin

  ‘Did anyone organise any?’ asked the ops director.

  Six heads turned to look my way before they realised what they’d done. As my eyebrows went up in rage, they all looked hurriedly down at their notebooks or picked up their phones.

  ‘Seriously?’ I said.

  I might be invisible, I thought, but I was also deeply angry. Not necessarily a healthy combo.

  ‘Of course, we didn’t mean to look at you for the lunch,’ soothed Eli, leaning back in his chair, but giving the little eye-roll he always made when faced with issues of political correctness.

  ‘It’s that thing you made us go on the course about – unconscious bias – in action,’ said the finance director. ‘Because we’re pre-programmed by our upbringing to think of women in that role, we all looked at you at the mention of food.’

  The other members of the meeting tried to work out whether he was talking crap or had got them out of a hole. The ops director said, ‘Sorry, love,’ but the others all started going on about their mothers.

  ‘My mum always handed me a packed lunch when I was leaving the house,’ Eli said. ‘The wife won’t do it – she only believes in eating out. Or not eating.’ He was currently married to a glamorous younger blonde called Mariella, who despised everything about him, except for his money and his massive house in Gants Hill.

  ‘My mum would never go to bed before she’d made my sandwiches,’ said one of the regional managers. ‘And once there were microwaves, she’d make me a pie or a casserole for a treat.’

  ‘Is this meeting finished?’ I asked, getting up and gathering my stuff. ‘It’s just I need to go and ensure that my non-existent husband has a home-cooked casserole for his lunch tomorrow.’

  I slammed the door but knew it would make very little difference. They were probably all discussing why feminism had got in the way of making the world a very nice place to live in if you were a man.

  *

  While I typed a report that afternoon, I waited to hear whether Marvin had managed to speak to Ralph. Instead at about 2 p.m. there was a text from BiL.

  People keep calling me Patrick and it’s getting difficult to explain that I changed my name over the weekend.

  This was quite funny, but really there was so much else to think about. I ignored it and texted Marv instead.

  Any luck with the bastard ex?

  The screen showed that he was immediately typing back.

  Call me.

  I hurried outside the dirty swing doors to the office stairwell and pressed Marv’s name on my phone.

  ‘Can you talk?’ He sounded as if he was walking fast down a road – out of breath, car noises in the background.

  ‘Yes, what happened?’ This didn’t sound hopeful.

  ‘Well, I waited until lunchtime and, well, I lurked and then he came down the path, on his way to buy some milk or fags—’

  ‘Petra’s even managed to get him to give up smoking.’

  ‘So, I sprang out at him from behind a lamp post and he wasn’t best pleased. Says, “Oh, right, knew you’d show up,” which I think was quite rude considering how I managed to get him home quite a few times when he was legless…’

  ‘Please tell me what happened.’

  ‘So, he says that Petra says that he can’t talk to me or any of your friends as it will compromise the legal position, so I said he didn’t have to talk, he just had to listen.’ Marv paused while a siren went past at a pace. ‘So then I told him how he was completely breaking your heart, how you’d always been a perfect parent to Wilf and how he was going to destroy both of your lives.’

  I’d known that Marv’s love of drama would ensure that he didn’t mince his words. ‘Wow,’ I said, ‘thanks.’

  ‘And he listened but he just kept shrugging and then he said he knew you’d been amazing, but life moved on and his life was moving on – and that meant Cape Town with Petra and “my son”. And he was sorry for you, but you’d still have a relationship with Wilf and that blood was thicker than water.’

  ‘When did he become so heartless?’

  ‘Maybe it’s the drugs he’s on,’ Marv said. ‘I couldn’t believe it was the same guy as used to be your Ralph. It was like he’d been brainwashed.’

  ‘I know, it’s horrifying,’ I said, collapsing onto the top step of the staircase. ‘Oh, God, what am I going to do?’

  ‘Poor Cal. Poor Wilf. Anyway, I tried but, I’m sorry, I didn’t get anywhere.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so grateful, Marv, you know I am. I couldn’t ask for a better friend. But how can things get any worse?’

  There was a pause and then Marv told me precisely how they were going to get worse: ‘I’m so sorry, Cal, but Ralph says he’s going to tell Wilf today.’

  Oh, no, oh, no. I looked at the time on my phone. ‘Marv, I’ve got to go, if I am going to get back in time.’

  All I knew was I needed to be there for Wilf.

  10

  I tried both Ralph’s and Wilf’s phones frenetically as the train edged up the line. Wilf’s rang and rang, but he’d never been that keen on answering a call. I texted him.

  Call me before you go to your dad’s

  But the chances were he wouldn’t have looked at that either, just have jumped on his bike and started cycling round there. Ralph’s phone continued to be switched off.

  I willed the train to go faster. At the station, I remembered to look both ways as I came to the zebra crossing, ran across it and straight to the taxi rank, jumping into the first minicab and giving Petra’s address. As the car sped off on its five-minute journey, I tried to stop the sick feeling of doom that was coming from my stomach and, instead, rang Wilf’s phone again and again with no luck.

  As the cab pulled round the corner into the cul-de-sac, the sickness became unbearable. Thrown casually against a lamp post and lazily locked, was Wilf’s bike. I was too late. Too late. Too late for what, though? To sugar coat a message that he was going to hear at some point anyway?

  Worse, though. As the cab drew to the kerb, it pulled up behind a shiny Mini, with the unmistakable number plate: PE T5A. They must have planned that she would come home from work and help break the news to Wilf. I raged anew, thrust five pounds at the driver and told him to keep the change, got out of the car and stopped myself from running up the path because I knew that I had to be calm for Wilf.

  Calm for Wilf. Calm for Wilf. But I felt anything but calm.

  *

  As I rang the doorbell I tried to peer through the window into the beige sitting room. It was ranged as if it were a posh doctor’s surgery and Wilf were a new patient and, sure enough, I could see the outlines of Petra and Ralph, sitting side by side as they had with me, with the floppy-haired shadow of Wilf on the sofa opposite. From the movement of her head, it looked as if Petra was talking.

  She jumped at the sound of the bell and Ralph and Wilf did too. It was Ralph who got to his feet, though, and moved towards the door. I saw him through the glass, clearly shaking his head as he saw that the unexpected visitor was me.

  ‘Oh, no, Cal,’ I could hear him groan, then, also clearly staying civilised for Wilf, he pulled the door open.

  I glared at him, giving him the sort of look of laser-focused derision I used to use when he finally came round on the sofa after one of his binges. Then I mouthed the words ‘lying bastard’ before saying out loud, ‘I thought I’d drop in and see how it was going with Wilf,’ in as cheery a tone as I could manage.

  ‘Callie!’ Wilf was obviously surprised but delighted it was me at the door. I came into the sitting room ahead of Ralph and he stood up and moved towards me, then, remembering that Petra was also in the room, instinctively stopped short of giving me a hug. His school tie hung loosely round his neck, his trousers were down round his skinny hips and his shirt showed splodges of lunch. He was filthy, he was probably hungry as it was after school and he was always hungry, and I wanted to gather him into my arms and refuse to let anyone take him anywhere.

  Petra sai
d, ‘Calypso, how nice to see you, again,’ in a bogus voice that was particularly high-pitched. ‘Please, sit down. We were just saying to Wilf how amazing Cape Town is and how much he’ll enjoy all the sports that are available in the area.’

  I bit my lips. Yeah, Wilf played a bit of football, but his big passion was music. Didn’t his bloody stepmother know anything?

  Wilf looked at me, his gentle face a mix of disbelief and dismay, but his eyes pleaded with me to provide some reassurance.

  Ralph said into the silence, ‘And a whole heap of great bands come from Cape Town too.’

  ‘Yeah?’ mumbled Wilf, swivelling to look at him. ‘I mean like who…?’

  ‘Generation Great, for one,’ Ralph said confidently. He’d obviously looked this up in order to impress his son. ‘And there’s a good EDM scene.’

  ‘But what about my band here? With Jowan and stuff?’

  ‘Hey, there’s going to be loads of holidays, back here.’ Ralph had a slightly desperate tone. ‘It’s a really beautiful environment on the coast too.’

  ‘But I can’t stay?’ He looked round at me, begging.

  Petra started to speak. ‘It’s a great opportunity to broaden your horizons alongside your biological parent…’ but she must have realised that she wasn’t being listened to as her voice tapered off. It was as if she had learned a bunch of points to win the debate, noted them down in bullet-point format and then recited them at the poor kid.

  ‘You’ll always have a home with me,’ I said, my eyes filling with tears. I moved towards him and he came towards me and, for a brief moment, he let me hug him. Petra caught my eye and her face flushed with competitive spirit. I stared defiantly back at her as Wilf pushed me away from him.

  ‘You’re not sending me away, then? Is it because I’m messy? Or eat too much?’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ I tucked a strand of his floppy hair behind his ear. ‘I’d never send you away.’

  ‘But I want you to come with us very much,’ said Ralph.

  ‘We want you to come with us,’ reproved Petra. I wondered again how much she really wanted Wilf; how much she was doing this because Ralph had refused to leave without his son; how much of it was her own personal sense of one-upmanship. Parenting is not a competition, I wanted to hiss, but said nothing.

  ‘I think we’ll have a great time,’ Ralph finished lamely.

  Wilf looked bereft but didn’t say anything. I could feel his primal urge not to upset his dad after the last few years. He was trying to find out if he had a choice, but he was also desperate not to hurt anyone’s feelings.

  ‘It’s going to be fantastic,’ Ralph continued with more than a hint of his old optimistic charm. ‘We’ll be able to be outdoors a lot; I won’t be at work for a while until I get a permit, so you and I can hang out and I can really help with your schooling…’

  ‘Where will I go?’ Wilf said.

  ‘We’ve conducted a thorough audit of secondary school options for you, Wilf, but in the end we thought we’d let you make the choice of where to pursue your education. There are some fantastic options…’ Petra waffled on. Wilf didn’t look at her and he didn’t look convinced.

  ‘And there’s one school not far away from where we’ll live, with the most amazing sound-engineering programme,’ Ralph leapt in. ‘It’s a course that’s famous across the continent.’

  A flicker of interest crossed Wilf’s face, but then he looked pleadingly at me. ‘Cal, what do you think?’

  I bit the bottom of my lip; I’d vowed to always look after him and that meant telling him the truth. ‘I don’t want you to go. I’ll miss you so much.’ Ralph grimaced, and Petra put her hands on her hips.

  ‘So, I could stay with you?’ Petra glared at me as if daring me to give him this possibility; Ralph looked at me pleadingly.

  I struggled hard for a second but then I said, ‘Of course you could. But the law says…’ Petra looked triumphant. She thinks she’s won. She probably has. ‘The law says that you should live with your dad, Wilf. And… he and Petra want you to go with them.’ My voice was bleak – I was trying hard to balance my need for him with the fact that I had to help him.

  ‘But if I said—’ Wilf started but Ralph leapt in, leaning forward and banging his son hard on the back of his skinny ribcage.

  ‘It’s going to be cool as,’ he enthused. ‘You and me hanging out, all the time in the world, and, now I’m better, I want to make up for being a bit of a shit dad a couple of years back and—’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Wilf muttered. When anyone brought up Ralph’s breakdown, Wilf always acted as if it were a small thing that happened; he rarely talked about it and batted it off if anyone else did.

  ‘Mate, we’ll go surfing…’ Ralph was selling it to him. ‘And rock climbing. You want to go look up the school I was thinking about?’

  Wilf shrugged and looked beaten. ‘OK.’

  Petra didn’t bother not to gloat. ‘I’ll see you at home later, then, Wilf?’ I said mock cheerfully. The word home now sounded temporary and inappropriate.

  ‘Do One and Two know yet?’ Wilf asked me.

  ‘Umm, no, they don’t,’ I said.

  ‘We had to tell you first,’ Ralph said.

  ‘They’re going to be…’ Wilf went on and then stopped.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and talk to them about it now, shall I?’

  ‘You’d better,’ Petra said in a tone that really said, ‘Get the fuck out of my house.’

  *

  Daisy and Lily were both in their bedrooms at home, both with earbuds in, Daisy staring at her phone, Lily at a textbook. I walked up to Lily’s bed before she heard me approach; as she looked at me, I saw the unmistakable signs that she’d been crying – her eyes were red and bruised, her cheeks hollow. How much more pain was I about to inflict on her?

  ‘Are you OK?’ I sat down on her bed and she pulled the earbuds from her ears.

  ‘Yeah, just doing some chemistry catch-up,’ she said. I took a moment to hate the government for its commitment to making GCSEs harder, all over again.

  ‘You need to get a bit of balance with this revision,’ I said. ‘You mustn’t get into such a state. You can only do your best.’

  ‘You always say that, but what if my best isn’t good enough?’

  ‘Oh, shush,’ I said, putting my arms round her. ‘Now, can you come downstairs for a minute? I need to talk to you and your sister.’

  *

  Daisy joined us at the table; both their faces were serious and worried.

  ‘Right, so…’ I hesitated, then pushed on. I was the grown-up here. I had to reassure them and make a shit situation seem better than it was. ‘Ralph and Petra are moving to South Africa—’

  ‘Oh, is that it?’ Daisy was clearly relieved. ‘I thought you were going to tell us you had cancer.’

  This floored me. ‘God, no.’ I shuddered and reached out to both of them. ‘I’m absolutely fine.’

  ‘Thank fuck, Ma,’ Daisy said. I ignored the swearing.

  ‘Yeah.’ Lily’s face cleared. ‘I mean, we’ll miss Ralph and everything, but, you know, he hasn’t lived here for a year and a half, so it’s not like we saw him every day.’

  The true consequences of Ralph moving didn’t occur to them. ‘But, you see,’ I said very gently, ‘they want to take Wilf with them.’

  Lily’s face went white; Daisy’s purple with rage. Their reactions were unique to them but so expected. ‘Fuck that,’ shouted Daisy.

  ‘Oh, no, oh, no.’ Tears came into Lily’s big round eyes. They flooded into mine too. ‘How can Ralph do this to us?’

  ‘I mean, he knows that Wilf lives with us!’ Daisy cried. ‘What a bastard. Complete bastard.’

  ‘Wilf will be so lonely without us,’ Lily whispered. ‘Just think of him alone, in another country.’

  I wanted to bend over with the pain as they said out loud the things I’d been thinking for the last couple of days. They’d always mothered him as well as b
een his older sisters. They did it in their different ways: Daisy saw it as her job to educate her younger ‘bro’ in the ways of the world: I’m pretty sure he’d had his first sex conversation with her.

  Lily just cared and comforted. An image flashed into my head: a day out a few years back, in the still-holding-it-together bit of my relationship with Ralph, when all of them were just about tall enough to meet some of the height requirements for rides at Thorpe Park. The girls had topknots for hair to help them reach that ruler; Wilf had a pointy anorak, but on one particular ride that wasn’t enough, and he couldn’t go on. The girls pulled Ralph with them; I tried to comfort Wilf, who was really upset about not being able to scare the living daylights out of himself. Eventually, I took him to an ice-cream kiosk to bribe him with sugar into looking as if the world hadn’t ended. But as I turned to pay, Wilf stuck his head through the railings next to the kiosk – and there was no way it was coming out.

  Eventually, after a lot of chaos and general screaming by Wilf, me and half the other parents in the park, he was sawn out by a very patient maintenance man. And it was Lily who pulled him straight into her arms when he was finally free and who cuddled him in the back of the car all the way round the M25, while I sat in the front, furious with myself for not keeping a better eye on him. That was in the days when they weren’t too cool to show obvious emotions to each other, of course; and the days when having a kid’s head stuck in railings was my only problem.

  ‘I mean, we won’t let him go. We just won’t,’ Daisy raged on. ‘He won’t want to go, and we won’t let him.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ I said. ‘I’ve spent the last few days checking out the law and, unfortunately, they can take him. He’s fourteen. He’d have to say point blank that he didn’t want to go and—’

  ‘But isn’t that what he is saying?’ demanded Daisy.

  ‘It’d be difficult for him, though, to say that to Ralph,’ whispered Lily. Her face was stricken. I wanted to hold her tight, force red blood cells round her veins, until the colour flooded back into her cheeks. ‘It’s his dad.’