by Jenny Colgan
Given that little Jasie was at least three stone overweight, was still living at home at twenty-two and had never held a job for more than a fortnight, Posy thought that it was a bit more than biscuits he needed, but she didn’t want to mention it. She helped herself to one. It was delicious.
‘Won’t Jason mind me eating his biscuits?’ she asked mischievously.
‘He’ll do his nut,’ confided Marian. ‘We just ignore his little tantrums.’
‘Yum,’ said Posy, taking another bite. She hadn’t eaten properly in days.
‘So, darling, what’s the matter? It’s the wedding, isn’t it? Your mum doesn’t want me there.’ Marian laid a hand on Posy’s arm and stared directly into her face. ‘Darling, I totally understand. I wouldn’t step on your big day for an instant. Don’t worry about it for a tiny second. Although if you could find it in your heart to ask Jason I’d be so delighted.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’d so love him to meet a nice girl.’
Posy bit her lip. ‘Actually,’ she said, quietly, hating to say it out loud, ‘the wedding’s off.’
Marian’s eyes popped out. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ she said, ‘my darling. I’m so sorry.’
It was such a kind, maternal thing to say - something her own mother would never have dreamt of saying - that Posy thought she was going to cry again.
‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’m going to be fine.’
‘Well, of course you are,’ said Marian, putting her arm around her. ‘Doesn’t mean it’s not right difficult now, does it?’
‘No,’ said Posy. ‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘So, tell me everything,’ said Marian, in a comforting tone. ‘I was going to clean the house - it’s such a tip - but why don’t you tell me what happened instead. Sometimes it helps, you know.’
Of all the people in the world Posy might previously have considered pouring out her troubles to, Marian - the brassy, tarty, forward husband-stealer - was the very last person she’d have thought of. She’d imagined treating her with her usual polite and icy silence while trying to get her dad out for a walk.
But now she was here, in the enemy’s house, drinking her very good coffee and eating her delicious biscuits, it suddenly didn’t seem the worst idea in the world to get someone else’s perspective; someone who might even understand, too.
‘Well . . .’ she began.
Half an hour later, they both sat there in silence. Marian was twisting her hair anxiously, so that all the hard smoothing work of the GHDs appeared to be in vain. Her perfectly made-up eyes had smudged, and her fingers wrung together. Posy finished and looked around.
‘Well,’ said Marian, ‘I don’t half regret giving up the fags. Could do with one right now.’
Posy smiled sympathetically.
‘Well,’ said Marian again. Then she leant forwards.
‘Posy, darling, I know you think I nicked your dad, I know that’s what your mum always told you. And I wasn’t going to get dragged into a slanging match - especially not with your mum and all those long words she uses.’
Posy smiled weakly.
‘But, honestly, truth is, by the time I met your dad he was living on his own - hand on heart, I swear to God, and you know why? Because I was the barmaid in his new local. He used to come in every night - not to drink, just because he had nowhere else to go. Remember that flat?’
Posy did. Her father had moved into a tiny bedsit that smelled of mould and had scary loud people next door who made tons of noise. It frightened her. They used to refuse to go.
‘I could see he was still wearing his wedding ring, I wasn’t stupid. Stayed well clear. Well, I was quite stupid. Been burnt before, oh yes. Anyway, never mind about that. Quiet nights, we’d chat. He hated that bedsit, hated being apart from you. He just felt he’d been such a failure. It’s a hard thing for a man, feeling like a failure.’
‘I never feel like anything else,’ said Posy.
‘Oh, don’t talk like that,’ said Marian. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. My dad died when I was eight. Asbestosis, because the boss of his factory couldn’t be bothered to strip it out, even when they knew it was dangerous.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Posy.
‘OK,’ said Marian. ‘But everyone has their troubles, you know? It’s how you deal with them that counts.’
Posy nodded.
‘Anyway, your mother, she was tough, eh? Wouldn’t let him back in the house. Blocked access, messed him about.’
‘She said it was all he deserved,’ remembered Posy. ‘For what he’d done to us.’
‘Well, we’ll never know the truth of that,’ said Marian. ‘But the way I hear it, she’d driven him half crazy with her moods and demands and psychology and fighting.’
Posy would have liked to deny that her mother was capable of those things. But she couldn’t.
‘I mean, Posy, he was the saddest man I’d ever met.’
‘So why didn’t you tell him to go home?’ said Posy. ‘Why didn’t you send him back to us?’
‘I tried,’ said Marian. ‘You won’t believe me, but I told him what I told all my sad male clients, and you got a lot of them in that pub. I said, “Go home, love the one you’re with and look after your kiddies.”’
‘But he couldn’t.’
‘He couldn’t. She wouldn’t hear of it.’
Posy swallowed. ‘So . . .’
Marian looked dreamy. ‘Oh, Posy, I was madly in love with him. He’s a helluva man, your dad.’
Posy looked at Marian. How old was she back then? Late thirties? It must have been her last chance, or near it. And he’d been a handsome man, her dad, she knew that much, she’d seen the photos. She must have been overcome.
Marian leant over. ‘Don’t . . . don’t think he didn’t try, Posy. He really did. Your mum made it so so difficult for him. And she told him that psychologically it was best for you and Fleur if he kept his distance.’
‘She didn’t,’ said Posy, white with anger. ‘She would never have said that.’
‘Tensions were running so high, Posy. It was a really tough time . . .’ She caught sight of Posy’s face. ‘Well, of course I don’t have to tell you that.’
‘No,’ said Posy.
‘He may find it hard to say,’ said Marian. ‘But he means well, truly. So do I.’
‘It seemed so quick,’ said Posy. ‘You, after Mum.’
‘I was thirty-seven, darling,’ said Marian. ‘I pushed like crazy for it. All my fault, I’m sorry. I should have been more sensitive.’
Posy nodded. She understood.
‘I was . . . I was desperate for a baby of my own. Especially since it didn’t look like I was going to get a look-in with you girls.’ She smiled. ‘You little mites, clinging to the banisters. I just wanted to take you home, give you some oven chips and sit you in front of the TV.’
‘We weren’t allowed TV,’ murmured Posy automatically.
‘Mmhmm,’ said Marian. ‘Or oven chips, I suppose.’
‘We lived off hummus mostly,’ said Posy.
‘Never tried it,’ said Marian.
‘Oh,’ said Posy. She sighed. It made sense.
‘Did you badger the hell out of him?’ she asked, suddenly.
‘No!’ said Marian in surprise. ‘I just said, Look, if you’re about it, get a ring on my finger and I want to get up the duff. But otherwise just leave.’
‘Like that?’ said Posy.
Marian shrugged. ‘Well, why not? What’s the point in not being straight about what you want?’
‘Because it scares men off?’ said Posy.
‘No, it scares wankers off,’ said Marian. ‘The decent ones, they know the score. Marriage, Posy. It ain’t a trick, or a con, or a trade-off of sex, or a guarantee . . . it’s an understanding that two people are going to share their lives. And that ain’t easy, so if you can’t be upfront right from the start, I don’t know how much hope there is for you . . . well, that’s what I think, anyway. And Ray and me have been together for twenty-three years, so I think the
re’s something in it.’
‘Straight-up honesty?’
‘Well, he thinks I have blonde hair,’ said Marian. ‘But apart from that, yeah.’
‘Yeah,’ said Posy. He probably knows about the hair, too, she thought, but didn’t mention it.
Suddenly there was a key in the lock. All of a sudden Marian’s confiding mood changed.
‘Ooh, my boys are home and I haven’t even got my face on!’ said Marian, jumping up and grabbing the plates and cups. ‘Or dinner or nothing!’
‘Can I help?’ said Posy. Marian looked at her doubtfully.
‘Go give your dad a cuddle,’ she said.
Posy stood up nervously, as the sound of blokes talking and removing their boots filled the house.
‘Great bloody scoring from Rooney,’ said the younger voice.
‘Bloody right,’ came her dad. ‘Top bloody buy, too. Christ, I’m starving.’
‘Mum!’ came the younger voice. ‘We’re hungry!’
‘All right, darlings!’
Posy wondered if her dad had always spoken that way. She didn’t think so. Had he had to pretend with her mother? To the point of putting on a different voice?
‘Oh, and we’ve got company,’ shouted Marian.
Ray put his head round the sitting room door, then did a double take.
‘Oh!’ he said. ‘Uhm. Err. Posy. Hello! Uh, make yourself at home. Sit down! Sit down! MARIAN! Can you make Posy a cup of coffee . . . or something else?’
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ said Posy. ‘Marian and I were just having a chat.’
Ray’s brow furrowed. ‘About what? Is it the wedding? Oh, don’t tell me Jonquil’s gone off on one about the wedding. Are we all banned?’
‘Uh, no,’ said Posy, wondering if it would ever get easier to explain. ‘Actually, there’s not going to be a wedding.’
Posy was gratified by how sad he looked. He didn’t look slightly satisfied, like her mother had, or completely unsurprised, like Leah, or totally disinterested, like Fleur, or relieved, like Gavin. He looked sad.
‘Oh, Posy, darling,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry. He seemed such a lovely chap. We were so sorry you didn’t want us at your engagement.’
‘I did!’ said Posy. ‘I was really upset when you didn’t make it . . . did Jonquil call?’
Ray looked embarrassed. ‘She said you’d rather we didn’t.’
‘Oh God. Anyway. He was . . . is a nice man,’ said Posy.
‘And it’s not something you can sort out?’
Posy shrugged. ‘I don’t think so.’ She thought of that girl’s long, tossy hair. ‘No. Definitely not.’
‘Oh, love. If there’s anything we can do - anything at all - just let me know, OK?’
Marian appeared in the doorway with a fresh pot of coffee and a large sponge cake she appeared to have magicked out of thin air. It had a slice missing. Jason followed her in, licking his fingers.
‘’Ello, Posy.’
‘Hello, Jason.’
Jason threw himself down on the sofa and switched on the television to the football highlights.
‘Jason,’ said Marian. ‘We’ve got company.’
‘It’s only her,’ grunted Jason.
‘JASON! ’
Jason tsked, and headed upstairs, where the football could soon be heard blaring out of his room.
‘He does love his football,’ said Marian fondly.
‘Dad?’ said Posy.
‘Yes?’
‘Can I ask you something?’
Ray looked a bit worried, but rallied fast. ‘Course, darling.’
‘Why did you and Mum get married?’
Marian and Ray looked at each other in disbelief.
‘What?’ said Ray.
‘You and Mum. Why did you tie the knot? I mean, you just seem so badly suited.’
Marian heaved a sigh. ‘Honestly, I know she’s your mum and all that, Posy, but she’s a right crazy daisy sometimes.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Posy,’ said Ray. ‘Me and your mother were never married.’
Posy clutched the arms of her chair.
‘What?’ she said, slowly.
‘We were never . . . your mother had kind of said something about being against marriage . . . and I thought that meant she didn’t want me to ask her, and then she got pregnant with you - I was delighted, by the way - and so it didn’t seem to be that important to her and it just never came up again.’
‘But she said . . . she said marriage was terrible and she should know, she’d been through it.’ Posy was completely, totally and utterly aghast.
Ray winced. ‘Well, not with me,’ he said. ‘That’s a joke.’
But Posy was shaking her head. ‘She said . . . she said she burnt all her wedding photos. And her dress. When you left.’
Ray raised his eyebrows. ‘Posy, I’m so . . . I mean, your mum . . . she’s always been a bit different.’
‘But she uses your name!’
‘She always thought it was a pretty name. She hates her maiden name.’
‘McGillyunddy?’
‘Bless you,’ said Marian, then put her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry. Bad joke. Bad timing.’
‘So you’re saying the reason she hates marriage is because you wouldn’t marry her? She’s a lying witch.’
‘She’s your mum,’ said Marian. ‘She loves you.’
‘I wish she wouldn’t show it by trying to completely screw everything up,’ mumbled Posy. ‘I can’t believe . . . all this psychological advice, all the sniffing and disapproval, all of this crap.’
Marian looked at her sadly.
‘I doubted every relationship I ever had . . . I listened to what she was telling me.’ Posy looked up, her eyes stinging. ‘Sorry . . . I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.’
Ray’s voice was kind.
‘Darling . . . darling Posy, you’re my daughter. I know I’ve been a crap dad, I know that. I never tried hard enough. That’s why we’ve tried again with Jason . . .’
‘MUM!’ came a bellow from upstairs. ‘Where’s my tea? I want sausage and mash, but no lumpy bits in the mash this time.’
Marian beamed as if he’d said something really clever. ‘Jason’s such a stickler about his food!’ she said.
‘But I found it so hard to get through to you,’ said her dad, his eyes damp. ‘And if we could try again, Posy . . . if I could be a proper dad to you.’
Posy thought about what Almaric had said; that she’d been chasing her father. Yet here he was, all the time, just an hour away. And, it turned out, he hadn’t even been the problem.
‘That would be nice, wouldn’t it, love?’ said Marian. Posy nodded, blindly, her mind reeling.
‘And maybe,’ said Marian shyly, looking nervous. ‘When I come up West, we could go shopping together, maybe. I mean, Jason’s great and everything but he’s not much use for girly shopping.’
‘Maybe we could,’ said Posy. ‘Look. I have to go. I have a lot to think about.’
‘Of course,’ said Ray. ‘I understand. Can I run you to the station?’
‘Yes, please . . . Dad,’ said Posy.
Posy got the text on the train. It just said: I’m going to stay at Roddy’s for a bit.
Posy was so furious she didn’t even stop to think. She just caught a cab straight to her mother’s house.
Her mother often saw clients on weekends and was upstairs, with her DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door. That sign was sacrosanct. Posy pushed open the door with a loud bang.
‘What . . . Posy, what the hell—? Excuse me, Duncan.’
Jonquil rounded on her. ‘I’m sorry, Posy, I have a client right now.’
A balding, sad-looking middle-aged man sat on her couch.
‘I don’t give a fuck,’ said Posy. She turned to the man. ‘Don’t listen to a thing she tells you.’
‘Actually she doesn’t really tell me anything,’ said the man. ‘She mostly just says “Hmm” and “Tell me more”.’
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Posy ignored him.
‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you and Dad weren’t married? Why didn’t you invite him to my engagement party?’
Jonquil looked flustered and taken aback.
‘What other lies have you told me about him?’
Duncan was sitting up on the couch now, watching with interest.
‘Darling, this is not the time nor the place.’
‘No, it never bloody is. It’s never the time to tell me the truth, is it, Mum? All these years you paint yourself the bloody victim. While trying to make victims out of us.’
‘Well, Fleur seems to manage.’
‘Fleur has never had a boyfriend or a job! Because you’ve terrified the fucking life out of her! How is that managing?’
Jonquil pursed her lips.
‘And I have bollocksed up everything I’ve ever done because . . . because you told me. You told me settling down is wrong and marriage is wrong and you’ve never even been married and know nothing about it. You think just because no one wanted to marry you that no one should get married.’ Posy felt herself choking, and desperately tried to pull back on her hurt and anger.
‘That’s my fault for trying to get her a good education instead of throwing herself at men all the time,’ said Jonquil to Duncan.
‘You’re never going to change, are you, Mum? You always want to control me.’
‘Maybe you guys should try therapy,’ said Duncan helpfully.
‘My daughter would have to learn to listen,’ said Jonquil.
‘No,’ said Posy, suddenly, uncharacteristically, righteously furious. ‘You listen. I have a lovely dad and I had a lovely boyfriend and you poisoned me against them both, and I am never, ever listening to you ever again. I don’t even want to see you.’
Jonquil tried to look unconcerned, but Posy could see somehow the hint of panic in her eyes and, for once, felt powerful.
‘Goodbye. And just in case you ever get access to your family ever again in your life through Fleur or whatever . . . why don’t you learn to make them a fucking sandwich?’ Posy marched out and slammed the door with such force the entire house shook.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chris is pregnant.
Comment: Like.
Comment, Posy: Hurrah hurrah hurrah for finally some good news! Are you going to move? Where will you put it?