by Lucy Vine
Oh, she’s actually doing it.
I was only joking.
Lauren’s going to be so mad if Joely steals her elopement thunder.
My phone rings and I answer it on autopilot.
‘What’s new, pussycat?’
Dad.
‘Hey, Dad, how are you?’ I say, feeling a spike of irritation at that tired greeting. ‘You got the message, right? The wedding’s off? Don’t come to Charlie’s house – they’re pulling down the marquee right this second.’
Truthfully, that was another reason to be happy about the elopement. The idea of my parents being in the same room for a whole day, without causing some kind of awful scene, seemed incredibly unlikely. The idea of it has filled me with dread ever since we got their separate confirmed RSVPs.
‘We did indeed get the message, pussycat,’ he says cheerfully.
We? Who’s we?
He pauses and then says importantly, ‘I have some news, actually.’
‘Oh?’ I say, intrigued. He hasn’t launched immediately into some tirade about Mum, so we’re already in new territory.
He hums happily. ‘Your mum and me . . .’
Here we go.
‘We’re getting back together!’
‘WHAT?’ My shock comes out louder than I’d intended, but I can’t contain it. ‘You’re what? What do you mean? You can’t be.’
I can hear Dad’s smiling as he goes on. ‘We started talking yesterday – well, if I’m honest, Delilah, it was more arguing than talking—’
‘Shocking,’ I interrupt dryly, but he misses it.
‘We thought we should talk when we realised we were both going to Lauren’s wedding. I was angry at first that she was going, because she was being such a bitch, and I couldn’t believe the Bolts would invite her when we all know I met them first! I remember distinctly – it was a Tuesday back when you were at school. We said hello, shook hands, and it was definitely at least three or four days before your mum met them. So I should have priority status with them. Anyway, we had a bit of a fight about it. And then your mum said we should try and make an effort to be cordial for this one day only, since it was Lauren’s special party. And then we started talking properly and realised we should get back together!’
You have to be kidding. This is insane.
‘Dad, that’s ridiculous,’ I say. ‘I thought you hated each other.’
He makes a scoffing noise and says, ‘That’s all behind us now, pussycat. Your mum is the one for me. I’m moving back in this week.’
Oh, great, they’re taking it slow then.
I sigh. ‘OK, cool. Well. I guess, congratulations? And thanks for letting me know.’
‘Thanks, pussycat,’ he says happily. ‘I better go, but tell Lauren and that boy of hers congrats on the elopement.’
Just as I hang up, my phone rings again. It’s Mum this time.
‘Lilah?’ she says excitedly when I answer. ‘You’ll never guess what!’
I give it a beat. ‘You and Dad are getting back together?’ I say, unenthused.
There’s a shocked silence before she answers. ‘How did you . . . ? How could you possibly . . . ?’ She pauses and then shrieks, ‘He told you already? That bastard! He said we would take one child each – he’d ring Tom and I could tell you. I can’t believe him! I wondered why you were going straight through to voicemail. He is a lying arsehole. I can’t believe I ever thought he’d changed.’
Well, then, this didn’t last long.
I clear my throat. ‘Hold on, Mum, I’m sure he was just too excited to wait, and I bet Tom didn’t answer his phone so he—’
She cuts me off. ‘Hold on, I’m calling that piece of shit and putting him on conference call. Stay on the line.’
‘No, wait,’ I say, panicky. I really don’t need to be involved in this, but she’s already muted me.
I sigh. I can’t keep doing this.
They return a minute later and they’re already shouting at each other.
‘We had an agreement!’ Mum shouts. ‘You are a liar, just like you always were.’
Dad shouts back, ‘You’ve got it wrong, you stupid bird-brained cow. Don’t blame me for your stupidity. I said I would call my pussycat and you could try and get hold of the other one.’
‘Why would I agree to that?’ Mum shrieks. ‘We both know Tom won’t answer, that’s why you said I could do Lilah. I thought you were finally being thoughtful and putting someone else first. But you could never change, could you, you dung monkey?’
I’m not sure they even remember I’m here, and I consider just hanging up and letting them go at it. But curiosity gets the better of me.
‘HEY,’ I shout over them, and they are momentarily quiet. ‘Are you not getting back together after all then?’ I say, and there’s a deafening silence.
Dad speaks next, at a lower volume this time. ‘Why on earth would you say that, Delilah? Of course we are. We love each other. We’ve always loved each other.’
Mum joins in, and she sounds happy. ‘We really do, Lilah. Oh darling, we’re just sorting through our issues now, and then we’ll live in harmony together for the rest of our lives.’
I let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. ‘You will not,’ I say, and I realise I’m about to give them some shit. I’m ready for it, it’s time.
‘I’m delighted you’re back together,’ I say, not feeling particularly delighted at all. ‘I’m very happy for you, but please don’t delude yourselves that this will stop the arguing. You’ll be as bad as ever, torturing each other.’
‘Why would we want to stop the arguing?’ says Mum, and she sounds genuinely confused. ‘That’s the best part of us, Lilah. It means we still care and feel passionate about each other.’
Dad agrees noisily. ‘You obviously don’t understand how relationships work, Delilah. Maybe you’re too young, you haven’t seen enough people in relationships get older and become indifferent. That’s the killer, that dreadful indifference, as couples drift apart. So many of our friends who’ve been married a long time barely speak to each other at all. They just sit there in separate chairs, wallowing in their boredom. Sleeping in their separate beds, in their separate rooms, barely communicating, barely even looking at each other. They don’t see each other as humans at all after a while. It’s not that there’s hate – at least that would be an emotion – there’s just total disinterest. They have nothing to say and no interest in each other. And yet they stay together. That’s so sad, don’t you think?’
I think about it for a second. ‘I’m not sure your way of doing things is better,’ I say cautiously.
They both stay silent for another moment and then Dad says quietly, ‘But it makes us happy, Delilah. It works for us.’
I nod. OK. To be honest, I know all of this really. They like their drama, they thrive off it. The shouting makes them happy. It makes them miserable, and that makes them happy.
But I don’t have to be at the centre of it anymore.
‘OK, Mum, OK, Dad,’ I say, feeling a speech building. ‘I am genuinely pleased you’re back together and I wish you many serene years of screaming at each other. But here’s the thing: you have to stop putting me in the middle. It’s so unfair. I’m your daughter and I love you both. I can’t keep listening to you two bash each other night and day. Do it to each other, by all means, if it’s what works for you, but I’m not here for that. It hurts me, do you understand that? It makes me sad and anxious, and I can’t have that in my life. I can’t let you do that to me anymore. I’m in a happy place right now, and you will not ruin that for me. Why do you think Tom doesn’t take your calls? He doesn’t want to deal with this – with you two being awful about each other.’ I breathe out slowly, and continue. ‘Look, I want you both to know that I understand, and I know it’s hard. I know you’re human beings, and we’re all flawed. But I also need you t
o be my parents, at least a little bit. So, please, no more calling or texting to complain to me. Save it for your therapist.’
The silence is a little shocked. They’re not used to me speaking up for myself. Honestly, I’m not used to it either. I’ve never told my parents off before. I’ve never said any of this. I’ve spent years quietly listening to them being selfish, putting up with it like some idiot. But I’m done with that now. A new Lilah is in town.
‘OK, pussycat,’ Dad says in a low voice. ‘We hear you. I’m sorry. I hadn’t really thought about how our problems would affect you. I didn’t think, I’m sorry.’
‘I’m much sorrier than he is!’ Mum interrupts, and then stops herself. ‘No, sorry, ignore that. We love you very much, Lilah, and you’re right, it’s incredibly unfair what we’ve been doing to you. But everything’s going to be wonderful between us now anyway, so we won’t need to moan to you anymore.’ She laughs. She knows that’s not true. ‘Either way, I promise we’ll stick to normal parent chat from here on out. Life, work, the weather. Do you forgive us?’
I giggle, relieved and feeling empowered. ‘Of course I do. But while we’re here, Dad, please can you stop answering the phone that way? It’s really annoying. That Pussycat song is so patronising. And can you just call me Lilah? Because you do know that Delilah song is about a woman cheating and then getting murdered with a knife, right? You’ve actually heard the song, haven’t you? It’s such a weird choice to name your only daughter.’
Mum laughs heartily and Dad harrumphs.
‘I told him that too!’ she says happily. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him, Lilah, I was out of my tree on labour drugs.’
Dad sighs. ‘You two just don’t appreciate the genius of Tom Jones. It’s got many layers, that song. But fine, OK, I’ll stop.’
I breathe out, smiling down the phone. ‘Thank you. Thank you both for listening. I want you to know I am here for you if you need to talk about anything. I just don’t want to hear any of that mean stuff anymore.’
‘You got it,’ Mum promises, but she sounds distracted. ‘Hey, Harry, what are you doing right now? Do you want to come over? You should see what I’m wearing . . .’
Nope.
‘Right,’ I interrupt, mortified. ‘I also don’t need to be here for this, thank you very much. I’ll catch you two later. Enjoy your reunion. Love you both.’
‘We don’t need therapy, though,’ Dad mutters as I hang up.
Across the room, Joely is grinning at me. ‘Bloody hell, well done, Lilah,’ she says. ‘Now text your chicken shit little brother. Give him a good telling off for abandoning you with your folks all the time and ignoring your messages.’
Ooh, good idea. I like this, I’m on such a roll.
‘Dear Tom,’ I type, reading it out loud for Joely, who is pouring herself more fizz before topping me up too. ‘You are my brother and I love you dearly, but it’s time to stop being a chicken shit. It’s time to stop hiding from real life. We are both grown-ups and real life is happening over here. You have to share some of the responsibility for our annoying parents (who – shocker – are getting back together, by the way. Did you know?).’ I stop to take a sip from my drink, feeling the fizz flood through my sinuses. It always makes me burp through my nose.
‘Tom,’ I continue, ‘I need you. I need my little brother. I want us to be close, and we can’t be close unless you decide to answer my messages or even pick up your phone occasionally when I ring. I only hear from you when you need money and that’s not enough for me. What do you think? Please text me back.’
Sent. Done.
Ooh, it feels good telling people off. People who really deserve it. Even if it is only in digital form.
I feel like I’ve had a to-do list hanging over me for ages – years, maybe – and I’m finally ticking things off. My parents needed to hear some home truths, and so did my brother. Now, if he still doesn’t make any effort and if my parents are still selfish arseholes, at least I know I asked. I tried.
I really feel like a different person in recent months. Like I’ve been unleashed. I think it all started with Mr Canid and arguing with him. He’s really opened up a can of wormy kick-ass. I know I’m mixing my metaphors there, but that’s fine.
We’re still fighting, by the way. I’m still having lots of arguments with Mr Canid – I can’t get used to calling him Oliver – but it’s much more like fun bickering lately. The hate is definitely gone. Oh, except when he says I still don’t know how to say his name right. But even then, I’m mostly just pretending to be annoyed.
We’ve been working together on the Fuddy-Duddies United Youth Project, and we just heard it’s got proper government funding! We’re going to be launching events around the country to bring communities together. We’re going to help vulnerable young people spend time with lonely older people. It’s about connecting those who need connecting, and I feel so excited and passionate about it.
As for the situation with Will . . . I still don’t know. We’ve met up a few times since his shock appearance at the airport. We’re talking a lot and I do still love him, but – and I don’t know if I really want to admit this out loud, even to myself – I think maybe I don’t want to get back together. I think it’s that cliché thing people say: I love him but I’m not in love with him.
Basically, I feel like I want more from a relationship. More excitement. More arguments. More passion. I’ve realised that I was kind of . . . settling with Will. And he deserves more than that. Everyone around me was getting serious and making big life commitments and I thought I had to as well. Like, it was the right time when he came along, so he must be the right guy. But much as I like him as a person, I think, more and more, that we weren’t quite right for each other. Plus, he wants to get married, and screw that.
It seems stupid because, really, I have everything I need with Will. He’s good and kind, and we have our lovely life together. My friends and family all like him. I like him so much! I know he would make me happy and we would have a nice life together.
It’s not as easy as knowing one path would be the right path, because life is more complicated than that. Every path is right and every path is wrong. I’d probably be happy enough with Will. I feel sure we’d be fine. But maybe it wouldn’t be that much fun . . . I don’t know, I can’t know, because life doesn’t work like that. No one can know what will happen.
So, for now, I’m not making any decisions. I’m being a really awful person and keeping him dangling a tiny bit. And I don’t even feel bad about it! I feel great.
The thing is, I’ve spent so much of my life worrying about other people. Worrying whether they liked me, worrying how I looked and worrying what everyone thought of my decisions. I worried about being lonely, I worried about not being included, I worried about social media. I scrolled through Instagram, convinced everyone else had it all figured out. Convinced I was getting my life wrong. I was afraid to say no and thought I had to put everyone else first. Even when people treated me badly or continued to behave selfishly, I let them. I encouraged it, even, because I thought it made me a good person to let them treat me that way. I thought being a nice person was the only important thing to be.
I mean, it definitely is important, and I still want to be a nice person wherever I can. Obviously I want to make the world a better place in my own small way – maybe with Fuddy-Duddies United! – but I think I can do that without worrying and caring so much. It doesn’t require giving over my whole self to other people.
I think this world has a way of making us distance ourselves from our own lives. We present this image online of who we want to be, rather than who we really are. It makes us feel like we should strive to be everything to everyone, and we forget what’s actually real.
I want to keep some of myself back from now on. Keep some of me just for me. And I’m trying to embrace being a bit more difficult for a while, like F
ranny says. It doesn’t come naturally, but I’ve got a lot of people around me – cough, Franny, Lauren, Joely, cough – to offer up some selfish inspiration.
Plus, I’m finally learning how to say no! I’ve already turned down three wedding invites for next year! And I’m not even panicking about it. The thing about FOMO and all that sad stuff is that it’s a bit of a vicious circle. The more you do things you don’t really want to do, the more left out you feel and the lonelier you get.
But that’s silly and unnecessary, because I have so much in my life. I don’t want to be like that, and I don’t have to be. Saying a hearty no whenever you need to is a big part of that and things are going to be better now because of it.
After all, look at everything I’ve helped happen in the last few months: Lauren and Charlie are off having the actual wedding of their dreams; Fuddy-Duddies United are moving into their new headquarters, and it’s bloody fantastic. Ethel, Molly, Annabel – they’re all doing brilliantly. We got together to check out the new building last week and it was so much fun. They’re all so excited about the field (park) that surrounds it too, I can’t even tell you. The final touches will take a little bit longer, but we’ve been temporarily hosting our meetings around Franny’s house. She doesn’t like it and keeps screaming at people to get off her rug, but she’s also happier than I’ve ever seen her, dancing in all the attention her blue hair and newfound Kardashian knowledge brings. I asked her the other day if she minds that people are always looking at her and talking about her. She told me that it doesn’t bother her in the least, but mostly everyone’s just concentrating on their own lives and their own issues. People – even the kindest, most thoughtful people – are really only thinking about their own problems.
I’ve been thinking about those words ever since. It strikes me as somehow quite wise. I’ve spent too much time worrying about how people see me, but even that was my own problem I was worrying about. And I needn’t have, because most of us only really see ourselves. It’s like that thing when you have a spot on your chin, and it’s all you can think about. You walk around with your head down, not making eye contact with people because you’re convinced you look so terrible. And then you ask Joely and she confirms she hadn’t even noticed it until just then. But then she insists on taking a close-up picture of it on her phone and sending it to Lauren.