More Than Just Mom

by Rebecca Smith

  ‘Just bugger off,’ I add. My spasming thigh muscles are making me tetchy.

  ‘That’s not very nice.’ There’s a creaking sound as Dylan flops onto the sofa. ‘And there was no film because the cinema had a power cut. So I think we’ll stay here and get a lesson on yoga from you guys. Or was it ring-retrieval? I can’t remember now.’

  ‘I don’t think it was either,’ contributes Scarlet. ‘Not if this book is anything to go by.’

  Oh for fuck’s sake. This cannot be happening.

  ‘Do not look at that book!’ I order, making a supreme effort to yank my legs backwards. ‘Nick! You have to move!’

  I tense my thighs and try to roll back another inch. But this turns out to be a mistake. My muscles scream their objection and instead of releasing Nick’s head, I clamp down more ferociously around his neck.

  ‘Argghhh!’ he yelps, and when I glance at his face I can see the veins on his neck standing out in angry protest. ‘Stop squeezing!’

  ‘I can’t!’ I yell back at him. ‘You need to back off!’

  ‘I can’t go back,’ he wails. ‘I’m going to have to come forward.’

  ‘This isn’t even funny now.’ Scarlet sounds utterly disgusted. ‘Have you seen this, Dylan? Our parents are sex-addicts. We might need to go into care.’

  There’s a thud as Kama Sutra: Three Hundred and Sixty-Five Positions is thrown from the hands of our daughter into the hands of our son.

  With a guttural moan, Nick pushes himself towards my head. There is a moment of sweet release as the pressure between my legs abates and I roll down onto my back. And then he lands, half sprawled across my body.

  ‘Get off!’ I howl. Nick flings himself to the side, pulling half my hair with him, trapped under his arm. ‘Argggh’

  ‘Were you attempting the Coiled Cobra?’ enquires Dylan and when I look up, his eyes are dancing with amusement. ‘Because I don’t want to be rude, but it seems to me that you guys might need a little bit more flexibility to pull that one off.’

  ‘Urgh. I’m leaving.’ Scarlet shoots us an evil glare. ‘And just so you know, I’ll be sending you the bill for any counselling that I might require in the forthcoming months and years. Although I’m sure that allowing me to become Scarlett with two ts would go a little way towards healing my pain.’

  ‘I’ll be sending you my bill for all the home-cooked dinners and sleepless nights and endless laundry and unconditional love that I’ve doled out then, shall I?’ I yell back, too exhausted to move. ‘Scarlet with one t.’

  ‘At least I haven’t subjected you to visual displays of my sexuality,’ she snaps. ‘Yet.’

  ‘We are fully clothed.’ I feel like it is important to point this out.

  She stomps out. Dylan follows her, the sound of his laughter continuing up the stairs and into his room.

  I turn my head and look at Nick. ‘It’s not that big a deal, really, is it? Sex? I should be able to write about it.’

  He stares back at me, his eyes sparkling either with humiliation or amusement; it’s impossible to tell.

  ‘I think it’s the biggest deal,’ he says. ‘But, yes. You should be able to write about it, Hannah. Just write about what you know. Write about this. It doesn’t all have to be Wyoming and perfect, you know.’

  Chapter 28

  I am staring out of the staffroom window when I see it.

  When I see her.

  My first thought is to take a step back, just in case she happens to look up and notice me. I cherish these rare moments of observing my children from a distance, seeing them as someone else might. But then my eyes flick in the direction that she is walking and I see the person that she is eagerly waving at. It is Ashley Dunsford. The fact that he is standing almost behind the recycling bins makes me instantly suspicious.

  I step back to the glass and watch as my only daughter approaches the school drug dealer. I press my hands against the window as I see Ashley put his hand in his pocket and pull out something, which he then passes to Scarlet. I do not see if she gives him anything in return as I am already sprinting towards the staffroom door, desperate to stop this transaction before Scarlet does anything else incriminating or dangerous.

  ‘Ahh, Hannah. Just the person.’

  Miriam is blocking my exit. I quickly debate my options. I could push past her but she’d no doubt have me up on an assault charge before the end-of-break bell has rung. I could tell her the truth. Sorry, Miriam, I can’t stop now. I’ve just got to nip outside and prevent my daughter from buying illegal substances from a charming young man in Year Eleven.

  My eyes feverishly scan the room. The only other choice that I can see is to crank open the window and abseil down three floors to the ground. It’s definitely preferable to telling Miriam what’s going on by the bins.

  ‘I wanted to set a good time for your lesson observation,’ Miriam trills, like she’s inviting me over for a garden party. ‘Do you have a preference?’

  I shake my head and force a smile. ‘No preference at all, Miriam. You come and see me any time you like.’ I throw out my hands in an attempt to look casual and relaxed. ‘What you see is what you get with me. I have nothing to hide – my lessons are exactly the same whether I’m being observed or not.’

  Yes, they’re all a bit crap, whispers a voice in my head. I ignore it.

  Miriam looks at me and raises one exquisitely plucked eyebrow. ‘So you’d be happy to be observed teaching Year Nine, Class C then?’

  ‘Happy?’ I laugh, in what I imagine is a mirth-filled manner, although from the expression on Miriam’s face, it is possible that I project more manic than merry. ‘I’d be delighted for you to watch me teach Year Nine, Class C. Pop on down whenever you feel the urge. Miriam. My classroom door is always open!’

  Except when it isn’t, which is usually whenever I want to screech at the class for peace or when Vincent or Brody do their twice-weekly storm out, slamming it behind them as they go just in case we failed to get the point.

  ‘Is everything okay, Hannah?’ Miriam steps forward and glances around the room. ‘You seem slightly agitated.’

  That’s one way to put it, Miriam. I am slightly agitated that my sixteen-year-old daughter may currently be overdosing on substances unknown behind the school recycling bins. So if it’s all the same to you, I might wander down there and take a little look.

  ‘Everything is absolutely fine!’ I beam, moving towards the door. ‘Hunky-dory, in fact. Never been better. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have lessons to plan. No rest for the diligent teacher, hey, Miriam?’

  I don’t wait for her response; I start to run the instant that my feet hit the corridor. Weaving in between groups of chatting kids I speed down the stairs and throw myself through the door at the end of the hallway, erupting into the sunshine like an avenging demon. Or maybe a drug enforcement agent.

  ‘Put your hands where I can see them!’ I yell, racing across the concrete yard. ‘And nobody move.’

  Ahead of me, Scarlet and Ashley break apart and stare at me with their mouths open. Which is preferable to what their mouths were doing a second ago and which my brain is struggling to comprehend.

  ‘Spit it out, Scarlet!’ I shout, screeching to a halt in front of them. ‘Don’t swallow it. Just spit it out, right now!’

  My brain has finally caught up with my mouth and I know exactly what is happening here. Ashley Dunsford has somehow, against all the odds, managed to lure Scarlet into his underworld. I saw a television documentary on this very thing, not long ago. He’s the kingpin, the drug overlord, and as such he won’t ever get his hands dirty. Instead he’ll corrupt innocent girls like my daughter and convince them to do his drug running for him.

  I should have let Dylan deal with him when his name was first mentioned in our house.

  Scarlet’s eyes are bulging and the look of horror plastered on her face makes my blood pound in my veins.

  ‘Has he made you swallow a condom?’ I demand, grabbing her arm and pulling
her out of his reach. ‘You need to make yourself sick, darling, otherwise it could burst and the drugs will leach out into your system.’

  ‘Mrs Thompson—’ starts Ashley, but I cut him off with a fierce look.

  ‘There will be plenty of time for you to speak when the police get here,’ I tell him, but even as the words are leaving my mouth, my mind is whirring with the possible ramifications for Scarlet. Will they believe that she is an innocent victim in this whole thing? Oh god, what if they decide to make an example of her and send her to prison for twenty years? I decide here and now that I will fight to the end to free her. I’ll make placards and start a hashtag and camp outside 10 Downing Street if that’s what it takes to get my voice heard.

  ‘Mum. What are you doing?’ Scarlet finally speaks, which means that she must have swallowed the drugs. I reach for my phone, only to remember that it’s in my bag, which is still in the staffroom. We need to call an ambulance, but while we’re waiting it is probably best if I stick my fingers down her throat and make her vomit.

  ‘Just stay calm,’ I tell her. ‘It’s all going to be okay. But you do need to tell me what he put in the condom.’

  Scarlet shrugs out of my grip and glares at me. ‘Will you stop being so bloody weird for one second?’ she hisses, casting a glance at Ashley. ‘You’re totally embarrassing me.’

  But the time for embarrassment is long gone. I am no longer a woman who will feel anything as pointless as humiliation or shame ever again, not now that I have known a fear like this.

  ‘You’d better give me the money,’ I tell her, holding out my hand. ‘It’s more evidence for the police when they get here.’

  I shoot another harsh look at Ashley when I say this, but he just stares back at me, looking bemused.

  Scarlet drags me a few paces away and tightens her grip around my arm.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about but there isn’t any money and there aren’t any drugs and there sure as hell isn’t any condom. So either you are deliberately trying to embarrass me, which, by the way, makes you the world’s worst mother, or you’re having a nervous breakdown.’

  She puts her hands on her hips and glowers at me. ‘So which is it?’

  I falter for a second, but then remember what I saw.

  ‘He gave you something,’ I remind her. ‘I was watching you from the window and I saw him hand you a package. Which means that you were either buying his drugs or you’re his mule. And honestly, Scarlet, I don’t know which one makes you more stupid.’

  ‘It wasn’t drugs.’ She shakes her head in disbelief. ‘And you shouldn’t go round spying on people.’

  ‘Well it’s a good job that I did,’ I say. ‘Otherwise you could be out here in a drug-induced stupor and then where would you be?’

  ‘At least I wouldn’t be standing here letting you ruin my life,’ she mutters.

  I feel myself falling over the edge of sanity and make a heroic effort to cling on by my fingernails.

  ‘He had his mouth on your mouth, Scarlet!’ I snap. ‘I saw you. You cannot deny that.’

  She closes her eyes briefly and when she opens them again, her expression is weary. ‘It’s called kissing, Mother. Ashley and I were kissing.’

  Oh. Right then. I flash my mind back and run the image again. Yes, I suppose it could be construed that way. Possibly.

  ‘So he wasn’t making you swallow drug-filled condoms?’ I ask, just to be sure.

  Scarlet’s replying whimper is reassuring.

  ‘So what did he hand to you?’ I ask. I have to see this through now, it’s what any good parent would do.

  ‘It was a poem,’ she whispers.

  I barely manage to contain my snort. A poem? None of these kids do proper writing anymore. If Ashley Dunsford wants to communicate with my daughter it will be via text or Instagram or Snapchat. He will certainly not be using the handwritten word.

  ‘Show her, Scarlet.’ He has moved up behind us and is looking at her shyly. ‘It’s okay. I know the spelling is bad and everything but I don’t mind.’

  Scarlet gives him a beatific smile before handing me a piece of paper. I open it and scan my eyes down the page.

  It’s a love poem. It is messy and confused and Ashley Dunsford wasn’t kidding when he said that he couldn’t spell. But it is honest and raw and funny.

  And I feel like a complete and utter cow.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I hand the poem back to Scarlet and look first at her and then at him. ‘I leapt to conclusions and I was very rude to both of you. I really am sorry that I accused you of being a drug dealer, Ashley.’

  He has the good grace to blush a bit when I say this. His eyes flick towards Scarlet, who flashes him a quick grin before pulling me towards the still-open door leading back into school.

  ‘I didn’t know that you liked him,’ I tell her, once we’re out of earshot. ‘And I really wasn’t trying to humiliate you.’

  ‘I know.’ She pauses and looks over at me. ‘I suppose it’s kind of understandable after what I told you about him. You know, the weed and all that. But you don’t need to worry, Mum. I can make my own choices about what I want to do, and I don’t want to do drugs. And it’s not as if he’s a massive stoner or anything. Scientifically speaking, it’s no different to you having a glass of wine every night.’

  Scientifically speaking, I am forty-three years old and not sixteen. Scientifically speaking, I have made my mistakes and I have some idea about the consequences of my actions.

  If I tell her now that she can’t see him then I’ll lose her confidence. She won’t talk to me and she won’t let me in. And she still needs me, no matter how grown-up she thinks she is. No matter how many times I manage to mess it up.

  ‘Do we need to have a conversation about keeping safe?’ I ask as we start up the stairs. ‘Because, Scarlet, it’s easy to get carried away, and you’re a beautiful girl and sometimes boys look at beautiful girls and they forget everything that their mothers have told them, and so you need to be responsible and—’

  But my words are drowned out by her howl of anguish.

  ‘Mum! Haven’t you caused enough damage for one day?’ She drags me into the corner of the stairwell and looks around to check that we’re alone. ‘First I’m doing drugs and now I’m having sex? Are you for real?’

  Yes, I am. These things are real. I am absolutely for real.

  ‘I am going to say this once and only once, Mother. And then I am going to pretend that none of this ever happened. I am not doing drugs. I am not having sex. And if you are so desperate to parent somebody then I’d take a look in Dylan’s direction.’

  And then she’s off, taking the remaining stairs two at a time. I rush to catch her, calling out just as she disappears through the doors on the third floor.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Is Dylan taking drugs?’

  ‘Try again, Mum!’ she yells back. ‘Second time lucky!’

  Her laughter floats back down to where I lean against the wall, too frazzled to work out whether she’s telling the truth or not; too nervous to work out whether I really need to know.

  Chapter 29

  I am so close to the end of this book that I can almost taste it. The moment that I came home from school on Wednesday I told the kids that they were on survival training and that if they wanted food, shelter or comfort then they were going to have to provide it for themselves until their father got home. Then I shut myself away in my bedroom and wrote as if the hounds of hell were snapping at my heels. Irritating, puglike hounds with Miriam’s face superimposed onto their heads.

  I only have the closing scene to write. The story is told – for now. Much to my surprise, though, Bella Rose and Daxx don’t seem to want to leave, and the more I write, the more ideas I have for what might happen next.

  I am not just a writer; not anymore. I am an epic storyteller, bringing forth a tale of sex and love and woe and sex and torment and romance and, above all else, sex.

  Bella Rose is a full
y formed, kick-ass character, and this is her story. And I feel like I’ve written something different. There are no pathetic heroines in my book – Bella Rose is a strong, free-spirited woman who has her own weird quirks and fantasies, and if Daxx doesn’t know what to do about that then he knows where he can shove his opinion. Not that Daxx should have an issue with Bella Rose’s predilections and desires, being the well-rounded, enlightened, twenty-first-century man that he is. This is what I really love about writing, actually. The power. The ability to create personalities and bring forth new lives with only a few taps of the keyboard. When I am sitting at my laptop, dictating actions and deciding outcomes for these characters, I feel like a mighty deity.

  It’s intoxicating.

  And now, the final climax is here, and Daxx has absolutely no idea about what is about to go down. Bella Rose has been revealing more and more of herself. Up to this point, he knows that she’s feisty but he still doesn’t know the lengths that she is prepared to go to in the name of erotica. Because Bella Rose has been keeping a secret, and I’m about to show Daxx who the queen is around here.

  And nobody should mess with an alpha female.

  Flexing my fingers, I limber up. Then I start to write.

  ‘Oh, Daxx!’ Bella Rose’s voice floated softly through the barn. ‘Where are you, my sexy hunk of a man?’

  Daxx emerged from the hayloft, his bare chest glistening with sweat. He had obviously been working hard, because it was a typical Wyoming April day with temperatures of 55 °F (which is the same as 12.77 °C) and that hardly necessitates the need to go shirtless.

  ‘I am here,’ he intoned. Daxx was a man of few words. He preferred to let his rippling muscles and fabulous physique do the talking for him, unless of course the conversation was about one of his favourite topics, which included world cruelty, animal poverty and cuticle care.