Happy Families

by Janey Fraser

  He glanced across at the Perfect Parents’ Guide for Juniors in her hand. ‘How’s it going?’

  She groaned. ‘Put it this way: I was hoping for some magic answers but so far I haven’t got any.’ Then she stopped, not wanting to cast any aspersions on poor Judith, who was doing her best. ‘How’s Pamela’s course going?’

  He nodded briskly as though she’d touched a nerve. ‘Actually, I’m having to do it for her, on a temporary basis. It was meant to be for one session but somehow I seem to have ended up running the second one too. Pamela had to go to her mother’s and is staying a little longer than she’d intended. Camilla’s new au pair isn’t settling in very well. Oh, and her arthritis is playing her up too.’

  He gave her a loaded look. Interesting, mused Bobbie. Sounded as though Andy cared as little for their mutual mother-in-law as she did. Camilla was an overbearing woman always talking about herself, who’d made it clear that Bobbie wasn’t what she had expected as a daughter-in-law. Only a carbon copy of her own daughter Pamela would have done for her son!

  ‘Didn’t Rob tell you?’ added Andy.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Bobbie didn’t like to confess that her conversations with her husband were very much of the ‘Guess what Jack’s done now’ variety rather than normal stuff. ‘To be honest, I haven’t seen much of him. He’s been working really late again. So how did your session go?’

  Andy made a wry face. ‘So so. We’ve been so lucky with our girls that I’m not really sure if I’m able to give the right advice to parents like …’

  He stopped, awkwardly. Bobbie knew exactly what he was going to say. ‘To parents like me, you mean, with kids that smash vases and leave filthy marks on white carpets?’

  ‘Actually, I was thinking of someone in my class.’ Then his face cleared. ‘Hey!’ He touched her arm briefly in a show of family affection. ‘They’re just kids! I was a little rascal at your son’s age.’ Then he stopped again as an odd, unreadable expression flitted over his face. ‘Fancy a coffee before you go home?’

  Bobbie was about to decline and then stopped. Why not? Rob wasn’t going to be back for ages and Mel was a responsible babysitter. Besides, it would be nice to get to know Andy a bit better, away from Princess Pamela’s Palace. She could certainly do with some solidarity at family gatherings in the future.

  ‘I’d love a coffee, provided your daughter doesn’t mind babysitting for a bit longer.’

  ‘I’m sure she won’t.’ Andy glanced at his watch, looking pleased. Bobbie felt an odd tingle of excitement. One that grew bigger, for some reason, as he placed a hand briefly in the small of her back. ‘There’s a nice little place round the corner. At least it looks nice; I haven’t actually been inside. Shall we give it a go?’

  DON’T EVEN BOTHER …

  Phrases that won’t work on the kids

  How many times have I told you not to do that?

  Wait until your mother comes home.

  Euros don’t grow on trees.

  Give me back my iPad.

  Let me finish my sentence.

  I’ll buy you a bike if you get a good report.

  When I was your age, we listened to our parents.

  Extracted from www.toptipsforineffectualparents.com.

  Chapter 11

  VANESSA

  SUNSHINE WAS SUCH a quiet child at times, but at others, she was a real little chatterbox. So reflective listening was a bit hit and miss.

  ‘Would you like tea now?’

  ‘No thank you.’

  ‘No thank you?’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘You’re not hungry?’

  ‘No.’

  So polite! It was almost unnerving, rather like Sunshine’s habit of observing everything: staring around her; taking it all in; picking up a cushion from the sofa and examining its stitching or reaching up for a blue vase on the mantelpiece and holding it up to the light. She clearly had a good eye for colour. Brigid had been arty too.

  But at this age, her daughter had been an open book. Sunshine could chat away – and how! – but she seemed to clam up when asked questions. The important ones. ‘Why did Mummy not come with you, Sunshine?’ Vanessa prodded every now and then. Or ‘Where is she now?’

  But all she could ever get out of her granddaughter was a shake of the head in answer to the first question and a shrug for the second.

  ‘What about her passport?’ Brian asked when he rang to see how things were going.

  Of course! It would have a stamp, wouldn’t it? To say where she’d been. Heavens! This child had travelled! South America, Morocco, Istanbul and, last of all, Goa.

  What a breakthrough! Vanessa had, by chance, seen a documentary on India the other month, including a short spot on Goa, which, the enthusiastic presenter had declared, was not just a favourite holiday destination but also a popular spot for ex-pats who ‘wanted to drop out’.

  That sounded like her daughter all right. But did that mean Brigid had simply handed over Sunshine to that dirty friend of hers in India and got him to bring her over to the UK? Why? And, more importantly, how could she get hold of Brigid and find out exactly what was going on?

  Maybe someone at the local council offices might help. It took her a while to reach the right person who said, no, it was the Foreign Office she needed to speak to. So she’d hung on for a while before eventually emailing them, full of hope; only to receive a standard reply informing her that her ‘query’ had been received and would be dealt with ‘within twenty working days of receipt’.

  ‘How could you do this, Brigid?’ Vanessa had asked out loud in a cross voice that wasn’t like hers at all. ‘How could you be so selfish as to leave your child like this? And why with me, when you haven’t bothered keeping in touch?’

  Meanwhile, she was torn between wonder at meeting her granddaughter and annoyance at all the hasty adjustments that now needed to be made to the life she’d so carefully built for herself since Brigid had stormed out all those years earlier.

  For a start, Sunshine woke so early! Vanessa could hear her moving around from 4 or 5 a.m. in the spare room next to hers, which she’d transformed into a child’s bedroom by buying a pretty rosebud duvet and a few other bits and pieces that a little girl might like. (She’d also brought some of Brigid’s toys out of the understairs cupboard, which had given her a bit of a funny feeling in her chest.)

  It wasn’t that she came into her room when she woke. But just hearing her sit there and chant made it impossible for Vanessa to turn over and go back to sleep.

  Sunshine seemed to chant at least twice a day: a low sing-song chant that sounded a bit like a nursery rhyme except that it was difficult to make out the words. Maybe she was a Buddhist? Vanessa had once watched a programme on different religions and been rather taken by the chanting side. Did she do it at school? Not according to Miss Davies. ‘Sunshine seems to be settling in nicely. She’s beginning to talk much more than she used to. And she’s a very good reader for her age, isn’t she?’

  Was she? Vanessa had been out of the parenting loop for so long that it was difficult to know. But she had noticed that when Sunshine wasn’t chanting or playing that dirty old flute (which never left her sight), she had her face in a book: one of a pile which Vanessa had brought down from the attic along with the old toys.

  Nor did she read with a finger underneath each word as a new reader might but sat there, cross-legged on the floor, glued to the pages, which she turned quite quickly. Her daughter seemed to have done quite a good job as a mum, considering the reading and polite manners. Rather surprising really.

  That was the other thing about being a mum all over again. You forgot how warm and excited you felt when someone praised your child. Or how easy it was to take it as a personal insult when your own flesh and blood did something wrong.

  Another thing she’d forgotten was how long it took to get a child ready, even though Sunshine was very good and stood there waiting patiently by the door in her crisp new sc
hool uniform and shiny brown lace-ups while Vanessa locked up her little maisonette and ensured she had everything she needed for work that day.

  Then as soon as she dropped off her granddaughter in the classroom, feeling distinctly old compared with all these young things rushing in and out with prams and baby slings, Vanessa would tear off to the shop. Only there would she feel normal again. Like her old self. Except that something was different; at the back of her mind was always the looming responsibility of a 3 p.m. pick up at school.

  When she did arrive at the school gates, puffing slightly, Sunshine always seemed quite happy; chatting away to the other children with that wonderful beaming smile of hers. Maybe Miss Davies was right: she was coming out of herself.

  ‘Friendly little soul, isn’t she?’ said one mum. Too friendly! Sunshine was now beginning to say hello to everyone they passed in the street. Perhaps it was what they did in Goa.

  Meanwhile, closing the shop early for the school pick-up wasn’t great for business, even though her assistant Kim had reluctantly agreed to do a couple of afternoons a week. Maybe, when this wasn’t all so new, Sunshine could join her in the shop. Perhaps by then Brigid might even have turned up to collect her child. Or maybe the Foreign Office would track her down to remind her of her maternal duties. Meanwhile, she’d just have to wait.

  Since her diagnosis, five years ago, when that lump had appeared so unexpectedly in her right breast, Vanessa had learned to take one step at a time and to live life for the day. Thanks to a mixture of luck and her amazing medical team, Vanessa had been one of the fortunate ones. As a result, she’d sworn that she would enjoy every extra minute of life that she’d been given – including this bonus time with the granddaughter that she’d given up hope of meeting.

  They were already falling into a routine. After school, Sunshine would walk back home with her, hand in hand, for tea. Her favourite was haricot beans and plain pasta. She also loved raw broccoli and fruit, although she seemed to think the bananas were very funny. ‘Big,’ she laughed, stretching her hands out. ‘Very big!’

  Vanessa thought back to the tiny, tasty bananas she had had the other year in Sri Lanka when she had gone on a singles package holiday. Maybe Sunshine had a point!

  Another surprise was the television. When Vanessa turned it on for her favourite teatime quiz, Sunshine let out a little shriek, holding her hand against her eyes and pointing. ‘Look, Van Van. Look! There are people inside!’

  Vanessa laughed until she realised the child was genuinely scared and thought that the figures on the screen really were trapped inside her pink telly. Only when she switched it off did Sunshine calm down. Better leave that for a bit, Vanessa told herself, feeling rather cheated at having missed her programme.

  After dinner, she would sit down on the floor again to do her homework (her granddaughter seemed to find chairs uncomfortable) and then start to yawn just as the sun went down. What kind of a life had she been leading? Vanessa would wonder. She had a vision of a mud hut in the middle of nowhere. Yet from the travel brochures she’d got from the agency round the corner, Goa looked quite civilised with some beautiful hotels. Maybe that was just on the surface.

  Often at night, when Sunshine was asleep, Vanessa would creep into her room and kneel down by her side, watching her breathe evenly. She always had her thumb in her mouth – just as Brigid used to do – and her eyelashes were thick and dark, betraying her Irish roots. Just like all the photographs of her daughter, which were still in the sitting room. Sometimes Vanessa imagined to herself that this was Brigid and she was being given a chance to start all over again.

  ‘Doesn’t she miss her mother?’ Brian asked during one of his regular how’s-it-going? calls. They had decided, both of them, that they wouldn’t see each other for a bit until things had settled down.

  ‘She doesn’t talk about her,’ marvelled Vanessa. ‘Strange, isn’t it? She just seems to accept everything just as it is.’

  ‘Maybe she’s used to being left alone,’ suggested Brian. Vanessa didn’t like the sound of that although she privately agreed. She had a vision of Brigid leaving her granddaughter for hours at a time while she went out to work (what kind of work?) or (another horrible thought) entertained boyfriends in a room next door.

  Dr Know’s book had a short section on latchkey kids. It consisted of one word. Don’t.

  Then something happened that gave her another perspective on Sunshine’s former life. They were walking down the street, back from school towards the shop. Kim couldn’t come in today so Vanessa had had to shut it for an hour to collect Sunshine. ‘You’re going to help Granny at work today,’ she had said, phrasing it like a big treat. It was a tip she’d picked up from that parenting class, which had been quite useful actually.

  Sunshine had nodded as though she had been told this before. Vanessa could just see her daughter and granddaughter sitting by a dusty road, selling berries. Or maybe dealing behind closed doors with Sunshine acting as a lookout. She shivered. And then suddenly a car backfired right next to them and Sunshine fell to the ground, covering her head with her arms and crying. Not just a child’s cry but a terrified scream that chilled Vanessa’s blood. ‘It’s all right,’ she soothed, wrapping her arms around her. ‘It’s only a car.’

  ‘Gun, gun,’ insisted Sunshine, shaking all over. ‘They’re coming to kill us.’

  Vanessa’s mouth went dry. What kind of environment had the child been living in?

  ‘No, poppet,’ she said firmly. ‘No one’s coming to kill us. You’re safe with me. I promise.’

  But the child refused to be consoled and by the time they got to the shop, she was still crying. There was someone waiting outside too. A customer, from the look of it, with a bulging carrier bag in one hand and a small boy in the other who was tugging and trying to get away. It was the fresh-faced woman from the parenting class, Vanessa realised. The same mum she’d seen at the supermarket when the little boy had hidden on the bread shelf.

  From the awkward expression on her face, it was clear the woman recognised her too. Vanessa could see why she looked uncomfortable. They’d all said stuff in class. Stuff that didn’t belong outside the classroom. She suspected, too, that this young mum was still embarrassed about the supermarket scene. She’d have felt the same.

  ‘I didn’t realise you worked here. JACK, DON’T DO THAT.’

  ‘Actually, I own the shop.’ Vanessa felt that glow she always experienced when customers took her for an ordinary assistant.

  ‘Really? JACK! COME AWAY FROM THE ROAD! AND YOU TOO, DAISY.’

  Vanessa hadn’t noticed the little girl skipping ahead.

  ‘Sorry, have I come at a bad time? Only when I popped in the other week, another woman who served me said you bought clothes.’ The young mum glanced down at her bag. ‘I’ve got some stuff I don’t wear any more. Perhaps you could tell me what it’s worth.’

  ‘Come on in,’ said Vanessa encouragingly, turning round for Sunshine. She’d been there a few minutes ago! Where was she? Her heart missed a beat. But then she saw her, sitting on the pavement. ‘What on earth are you doing there!’

  Her granddaughter, Vanessa saw with surprise, was hanging on to the older girl’s hand and gazing up with an adoring younger-sister look. ‘Daisy’s my friend,’ beamed Sunshine.

  ‘We sit next to each other in the orchestra,’ added the other child.

  ‘What does your daughter play?’

  ‘The flute, but she’s not my daughter,’ said Vanessa lightly. She’d thought everyone had realised that at the parenting class. ‘She’s my granddaughter. I’m … looking after her while her mother is away.’

  As she spoke, the two girls had already run ahead into the shop. ‘Hang on,’ called out Vanessa. ‘Don’t touch anything, please!’

  But they were already sitting cross-legged on the floor, as good as gold. The older girl had taken her recorder out of her bag and was showing Sunshine how to play it.

  ‘JACK, COME OUT OF THERE! I SAI
D NOW!’

  Heavens. The little boy was ducking and diving in the window display! Undressing one of the models and trying on clothes! ‘Put that hat down, Jack,’ called out his sister bossily. ‘You know what Mum said! You can’t put anything near your head until you’ve finished your lice treatment.’

  Lice?

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ The young mum was beetroot with embarrassment as she dragged her son out of the window, knocking over a mannequin in a cranberry-coloured jumper and black leather skirt. ‘And ignore Daisy. Jack’s clear. The nurse checked him yesterday.’

  Vanessa’s heart went out to her. ‘It’s all right. Honestly. My daughter’, she added in a low voice, ‘was very hard work when she was little. I know what it’s like when people stare at you. That’s why I felt sorry for you in the supermarket the other day – that was you, wasn’t it?’

  The woman nodded. ‘I’m Bobbie, by the way. I think we missed the introductions at parenting class the other night.’

  She put out her hand. ‘Vanessa.’ She turned to the small boy with the closely shaved head who was now trying to yank his sister’s recorder out of her mouth. ‘And your name, if I’m not mistaken, is Jack. Would you like a biscuit? Then your mum can show me what’s in that bag.’

  She was lucky, Vanessa told herself on the way home. Compared with that little scamp, Sunshine was really very easy to deal with, apart from the odd panic over backfiring cars and television programmes. She didn’t run off. She didn’t shout and scream when she didn’t get her own way. She didn’t …

  ‘Hey! Aren’t you Brigid’s mum?’

  Vanessa stopped as a very thin, weasel-faced youth with huge plug earrings and a clutch of silver nose rings stood in front of her, blocking her path.

  Her pulse began to beat in her throat. Wasn’t he one of the ‘bad’ crowd that her daughter had hung out with as a teenager? She hadn’t seen any of them for a long time and had presumed that they had moved away, probably to London where things were livelier. Pity he hadn’t stayed there, she thought, looking up at this man, determined to stand her ground. He didn’t seem nice. Not nice at all.