Mummyfesto, The

by Green, Linda

  We criss-crossed the lattice of terraced streets around Mum’s home. Streets I had grown up playing in. Streets it turned out I still knew well enough to be able to direct her this way and that.

  ‘We’ve sent people to check out the parks,’ she said, when we’d drawn a blank. ‘So maybe we’ll just do a run up and down the main road next, if you think that’s a good idea?’

  I shrugged. It was pointless asking me. I had no idea where she was at all. My stomach rumbled, reminding me of the fact that I hadn’t had any lunch. Although as I didn’t think I’d be able to stomach anything right now, it would have to go unheeded. I looked at my watch. It was nearly three o’clock already. I just hoped we’d find her before nightfall. The thought of her being out all night was almost more than I could bear.

  It was the second time we went up the main street that I saw it. A tiny flash of pink the other side of the thick steel school railings.

  ‘Stop,’ I said. Jenny pulled up sharply on the kerb. I pointed to a figure slumped on the ground around the other side of the railings, by the front gate. ‘I think that’s her.’

  I flung open the passenger door.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Jenny.

  I bit my lower lip and blinked hard as I hurried across the grass as fast as I could in my heels. Rawson Junior and Infant School was where Deborah and I had gone. The building hadn’t changed much. It was just the railings which were unfamiliar. I’d often tutted as I’d driven past, hating the fact that it looked more like a secure training establishment. Paul has said it was just the way things were nowadays. That local authorities were more concerned about safety than aesthetics.

  As I rounded the corner I saw her move. It was the first time I knew for certain that she was alive. She was sitting on a low wall rocking back and forth hugging her legs.

  ‘Mum,’ I called.

  She turned around. I noticed her red puffy eyes, a solitary tear still visible amongst the wrinkles on her face.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m waiting for Deborah,’ she said. ‘It’s about time she came out, but I’ve not had sight nor sound of them. I tried gates but they’re locked. Do you think she’s all right, our Deborah?’

  I stopped in my tracks and screwed up my eyes.

  ‘Who’s Deborah?’ whispered Jenny in my ear.

  I hesitated for a second before I answered. ‘She was my sister. She was killed in a road accident just over there,’ I said, nodding back towards the main road. ‘When I was seven.’

  Jenny nodded. ‘Take as much time as you need,’ she said. She walked back towards the car. I heard her voice talking into the radio. Telling them it was all over now. For them, at least.

  I sat down on the step next to Mum, put my arms around her and pulled her to me. Just as she’d done with me all those years ago. And I rocked with her. Stroking her hair, letting my tears run into hers. Lil Webster. A tough old bird. Or at least she had been, until that day.

  We sat for a long time. Until the rocking had stilled somewhat. And I finally felt able to speak. ‘It’s the Easter holidays,’ I said. ‘None of the children are here today. That’s why the gates are locked.’

  She looked up at me, her face visibly brightening. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’m a silly old bugger, aren’t I?’

  ‘Come on,’ I said, helping her to her feet. ‘Let’s get you home.’

  The police had, of course, notified the media about Mum being missing before I found her. They’d given them her name and photo and all the details. Which meant they had to tell them she’d been found safely too. And give them some brief details about the circumstances. It didn’t take them long after that. By the time the local news came on that evening, they’d pieced it all together.

  ‘Tonight, the Secret Heartache of Lollipop Party Candidate’s Family,’ was the headline. I’d declined their offer to be interviewed. Just issued a statement saying I was relieved Mum had been found safe and well and thanking those who’d helped. And asking that we now be left in peace. They filled in the gaps themselves. They even found archive footage of the court case when the drink-driver had been sentenced to just five years for ending Deborah’s life. And the reaction to the news that he had two previous convictions for drink-driving.

  I sat and watched it in Mum’s living room with tears rolling down my cheeks. I’d never even seen it myself. It felt unreal, watching my father read out a statement, his voice cracking, barely able to conceal his anger. And my mother, standing forlornly next to him, her face deathly pale, clinging on to his arm as if she might not be able to stand without him.

  The same mother who was asleep upstairs now, the day’s exertions having proved too much for her. But who, for all I knew, had waited outside the school gates for Deborah on other days. And had returned home never quite understanding why she didn’t come out.

  21

  ANNA

  I suppose I should have anticipated it. Bad luck comes in threes and all that. Or simply realised that I was next in line. Having taken potshots at the other two, it was only to be expected that they’d reload and come back for me. I suppose I’d naïvely believed that there would be a period of grace after Jackie. I wasn’t to know that at the very time the rest of us were sharing in her heartache, wringing our hands over how much she and her mother had suffered, the parasites were already lining up their next target. And it was me.

  The ammunition had actually been provided by Will, albeit unwittingly. One of his so-called friends had tagged him on a photo on Facebook. Unfortunately the photo showed him sitting in the park with a joint in one hand and a can of Special Brew in the other. Short of a having a heroin needle stuck in his leg, it couldn’t really have been much worse.

  I was alerted to this fact by a phone call from a reporter from the Sun on Sunday. Clearly they’d just ‘come across it’ on Facebook. It wasn’t part of a systemic campaign to sabotage the Lollipop Party’s attempts to get elected. No, no. She even made it sound as if she were doing me a favour by alerting me to my son’s misdemeanours. As if the Sun were now the arbiter of moral standards and simply whispering some gentle advice in my ear rather than maliciously trying to get some dirt on my teenage children without any regard for the impact that would have on them.

  ‘We wanted to give you the opportunity to make a comment,’ the reporter said. ‘We could turn the story around and do a first-person piece from you on the pitfalls of being a parent, if you like. Something along the lines of how even middle-class professional people’s children can go off the rails. It might sound better coming from you like that.’

  I wasn’t stupid. I was well aware they would twist whatever I said to suit their needs. I said I’d get back to them when I’d had a chance to see the photograph and talk to my family. She said she would email it through to me so I could look at it.

  I stared at the photo on my screen. Struggling to reconcile the youth in the picture with the son I knew to be so much more than that. Unfortunately, within twenty-four hours that was how the rest of the country would know him. Because whether I liked it or not they were going to print the photo. And there was nothing I could do about it.

  To be honest, I didn’t know what I could say. The photo pretty much said it all. I couldn’t deny it was my son. I couldn’t deny that he’d done those things. And if I tried to say he wasn’t like that normally, that I’d no idea what had been going on, people would simply conclude that I would say that, wouldn’t I? Because I was his mother.

  I phoned Sam. ‘Hi. Is it OK for me to pop round in five minutes. I need to ask your advice.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course. Is everything OK?’

  ‘No, not really. I’ll explain when I see you.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Sam, her voice full of concern. ‘Come right over.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s convenient with Oscar and everything?’

  ‘Yeah, Rob’s here. The doctor’s already been this morning. It’s fine. Honestly.’

>   ‘Thanks. I’ll see you in a bit.’

  I packed my laptop away and poked my head around the door of the study. David was stuffing envelopes with Liberal Democrat leaflets. He stopped as soon as he saw me. Tried to cover them up with some papers. Under normal circumstances I’d probably have had a big scene with him about why exactly he was not only not supporting my campaign but now actively campaigning against me. It wasn’t normal circumstances, though. I had far more important things on my mind.

  ‘Are you OK to hold the fort for half an hour? I need to pop to Sam’s.’

  ‘Yeah. Sure,’ he said, seemingly perplexed by the fact I hadn’t said anything about the leaflets.

  ‘Esme’s doing some colouring at the table. If Will or Charlotte do emerge from their rooms, they can get their own breakfasts.’

  ‘Fine. No problem.’ He smiled at me. A guilty, awkward smile. I knew I should tell him about the photo, but I didn’t want to say anything before I had spoken to Sam. I knew already what his reaction would be. Which was maybe why I wanted to tell someone more supportive first.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, when Sam opened the door. ‘Sorry about this. Are you sure it’s OK?’

  ‘Yes. Stop apologising and come in and tell me what’s going on.’

  I followed her into the kitchen, put my laptop down on the table and opened it up. ‘I’ve had a call,’ I said. ‘From The Sun on Sunday. They got this picture from Facebook. They’re going to use it tomorrow.’ I turned the screen around to show her.

  She looked, then dropped her head down to her chest. It was a moment or two before she said anything. ‘Oh Anna. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘I feel responsible. This whole bloody thing was my idea.’

  ‘You weren’t to know it would end up like this. Besides, it’s not your fault that my son’s been up to no good.’

  ‘I just can’t believe it,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Not so soon after Jackie.’

  ‘How is she?’ I asked. ‘I’ve left a couple of messages and texted her.’

  ‘She stayed the night at her mum’s. I spoke to her very briefly this morning. She sounded pretty cut up by the whole thing.’

  ‘You knew, didn’t you?’ I said.

  Sam nodded. ‘I knew her sister had been killed in a road accident. I didn’t know all the details. She finds it really hard to talk about it. She’d hardly told anyone else.’

  ‘And now the whole bloody world knows,’ I said. I looked back at the screen. Tomorrow, the whole world would know about Will, as well.

  ‘What do you want to do about it?’ asked Sam.

  I shrugged. ‘What can I do? I can’t deny it. I don’t know if I’m supposed to apologise or try to explain it away, or what.’

  ‘I think,’ said Sam. ‘That you ought to say that your son is not standing in this election. That he’s sixteen years old. He’s made a mistake. Clearly one he’s going to pay a heavy price for. And he should be allowed to make his mistakes in private, the way other teenagers do.’

  ‘The thing is, it doesn’t really matter what I say, does it? They’re clearly going to castigate me, and I have to say I don’t blame them. I’ve set myself up for this, haven’t I? I’m an adolescent counsellor and nutritionist, for Christ’s sake. A mummyblogger who writes on parenting issues. Not to mention a parliamentary candidate who’s standing on a family-friendly ticket. It’s an absolute joke.’

  Sam gave me a hug. ‘You’ve never claimed your children were perfect,’ she said. ‘And you’ve never claimed to be a perfect parent. There’s no such thing, anyway. I read it on your blog once.’

  I managed a smile. Albeit a thin one.

  ‘That may be so, but they’re still going to have a field day with this.

  ‘What does David say?’

  I looked down at my hands. ‘I haven’t told him yet.’

  Sam nodded slowly. The sort of nod that suggested she thought I should have.

  ‘I just wanted to speak to you first,’ I explained. ‘And I needed to get out of the house to try to get my head straight.’

  ‘I take it Will doesn’t know either, then.’

  ‘He wasn’t even up when I left.’

  Sam walked over to the kitchen window and gazed out for a moment or two before turning back to face me. ‘Look, why don’t I email you a draft response? Have a look when you get home and see what you think. Obviously, it’s up to you what you say. You need to feel comfortable with it. I accept it’s only damage limitation, but I do think you need to stress that a sixteen-year-old lad who hasn’t got anything to do with this is not fair game.’

  I nodded. I heard a bout of coughing from upstairs.

  ‘How is he?’ I asked.

  ‘Still no better. The doctor said we’re doing everything right. It’s just a matter of waiting and hoping he turns the corner.’

  I noticed the dark circles under her eyes and realised that if you scraped back her current concerned expression there’d be a far more worried one underneath.

  ‘Poor thing. Give him a hug from me. We’re happy to have Zach any time, you know. If it helps, I mean. Just give me a shout.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Anyway. I’d better go back. I guess I’ve got to face it sometime.’

  ‘You’re a brilliant mum,’ she said, giving me another hug. ‘Just you remember that.’

  I nodded. Although I didn’t really believe it inside.

  Will still hadn’t emerged from his bedroom when I got home. Esme was entertaining Charlotte in the kitchen with what appeared to be a re-enactment of The Sound of Music.

  ‘Morning, love,’ I said. ‘Where’s your father?’

  ‘Working. In the study. He left me in charge.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, wondering how long exactly he’d actually spent with either of them. ‘How about you do me a favour and take Esme down to the park so she can get rid of some of that excess energy?’

  Charlotte looked at me, a slight frown on her forehead, as Esme squealed in delight.

  ‘I don’t have any choice in the matter, do I?’ ‘No,’ I said, rubbing her shoulder, ‘but I am very grateful.’

  ‘Is something up?’ Charlotte whispered in my ear, as she waited for Esme to get her shoes on.

  ‘Just need to have a chat about something with your brother. After I’ve had a chat about the same thing with your father.’

  ‘So Will’s screwed up,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘I’ll fill you in later,’ I said. She shrugged and opened the door for Esme. I waited until they were halfway down the street before I picked up my laptop and ventured into the study. David had put the election leaflets out of sight, perhaps hoping I’d somehow forgotten all about them in the intervening period.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ I said, shutting the door behind me. I saw him straighten slightly, bracing himself for the inevitable onslaught. ‘It’s about Will.’ He stopped short, the defence he had obviously prepared put on hold.

  ‘Oh,’ he managed to sound both relieved and concerned at the same time.

  ‘I thought I’d better show you this.’ I put the laptop down on his desk and brought up the photo.

  David stared at it a long time before he said anything. ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked finally.

  ‘I was sent it by one of the Sunday newspapers. They’d got it off Facebook. They’re going to publish it tomorrow.’

  David looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. ‘Fucking hell, Anna. Where is this all going to end?’ I’d thought he’d be mad at Will, but he wasn’t. He was mad at me.

  ‘I didn’t do this.’

  ‘You brought it on us by standing. I told you they’d all be out to get you, but you didn’t listen.’

  ‘This photo was posted months ago. It’s not as if the campaign has turned Will to drink and drugs. He was obviously managing quite well on his own.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t be in the bloody papers if you hadn’t stood, would it
? We’d probably never even have known about it.’

  ‘Well, we do know about it now. The question is, what do we do about it?’

  ‘You pull out of the bloody election, that’s what.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘That’s the only way this whole thing will end. You bow out in disgrace and we hope that within a couple of months we can all get back to normal.’

  ‘I meant what do we do about Will?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. You’re the adolescent-behaviour expert.’

  ‘There’s no need to be like that.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me you’re surprised? What did you think he was up to in the park? Playing Ring-o-Ring of Roses?’

  I stared at him and shook my head. Any tiny shred of hope I’d had of getting some support from him, of having some sense that he took equal responsibility for Will’s behaviour, had now disappeared in a puff of facetiousness.

  ‘I’ll talk to him then, shall I?’ I said, staring up at the ceiling.

  ‘I’m not sure what good that’s going to do.’

  ‘Well I can’t not talk to him, can I?’

  ‘We could ground him. Stop his pocket money.’

  ‘He’s sixteen years old, David. He’ll probably have a summer job in a few weeks.’

  ‘Then I’ll leave it with you. I’m sure you know best.’

  We stood there looking at each other. I wondered whether he was thinking what I was thinking. Somehow I doubted it though.

  ‘So you don’t mind what I say to the press?’

  ‘I told you what to say. You tell them you’re pulling out.’

  ‘And if I don’t want to?’

  He gathered some things from his desk and stuffed them into his rucksack. The election leaflets were among them. ‘Then you’d better think very carefully about what’s more important to you: your family or this bloody campaign.’

  He pushed past me to the door. A few seconds later I heard the front door slam shut behind him.

  I walked out into the hallway, shaking my head.

  ‘What’s up with him?’ Will called from the landing.