The Not So Perfect Mother

by Kerry Fisher

  ‘Why are you laughing, Mummy?’ Harley asked.

  It was a very good question.

  34

  Clover was glowing when I saw her at school drop-off. She was waiting for me, lurking by the van, rosy-cheeked under her blue bobble hat. I waved to her, delaying the moment when I’d have to deal with her happiness. Or ruin it. I watched Bronte slouch slowly into school. It was hard to tell if she was upset about Colin leaving because she was such a misery guts in the morning anyway – definitely one of the ‘monosyllabic youths’ the prof used to rant about – but she looked paler than usual. Once I was sure she’d actually gone in, I plastered on a smile and walked over to Clover. The joy on her face filled me with dread. If I got this wrong, our friendship would be on the skids.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I searched her face for a tiny shadow of doubt, a hint that all was not well in the world. But no shadows, only brilliant sunshine. I leaned back on the van, rain dripping off my hair and listened while she filled me in on Lawrence.

  ‘He’d lost his job. He was going to tell me that evening, but then Orion smashed the window with his bike and he just blew up. Poor man, all that worry on his own. Men are funny like that, aren’t they? Defined by their careers. Preposterous really. I mean, you read about men putting on their suits and pretending to go to work, but you never think it will be your husband. Made me feel ghastly that he couldn’t talk to me.’

  All the energy that I noticed about Clover when I first met her was back, her slightly too fast way of talking, lots of swearing, hands waving about all over the place. She drew breath. ‘Sorry, I want to know about you and Colin, I’m being frightfully self-centred here.’ I shook my head and off she went again. ‘Anyway, we’ve decided that he’s going to set up a business teaching music. He’ll run it from home at first.’

  The words ‘But he’s copping off with Jen1’ were vibrating on my lips. I managed, ‘Do you know where he was living yet?’

  ‘That’s the hilarious thing. You know Lawrence has never really liked Jennifer? Leo insisted that Lawrence stayed in the cottage in the garden at their house. God knows how he persuaded Jennifer into that. According to Lawrence, she made him very welcome.’

  Yes, I bet she bloody did. Clover was still rattling on. ‘Though I must admit I feel a bit foolish that she was talking to me about Lawrence and all the time he was living at the bottom of her garden. Had a bit of an F and Blind over that. Made me look so fucking stupid. But then he got me into bed and well, I forgave him.’ She gave an embarrassed giggle. ‘Sorry, too much information. Lawrence had told Jennifer not to tell anyone where he was. Which I suppose means she’s quite trustworthy in a funny sort of way.’

  I was surprised she couldn’t hear my saliva sizzling trying to hold back the truth. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jen1’s Mitsubishi snaking out of the school drive, sandwiched between Venetia’s X5 and Frederica’s vintage MG. She pulled over a little way past us and walked back with a bag in her hand.

  ‘Maia, I’m glad I saw you. I’ve been meaning to give this back to you. Hugo’s already got the book you bought him for his birthday so I was wondering if you could take it back and exchange it for something else if you’ve still got the receipt? I’m sorry but Hugo did tell Harley he had the whole trilogy. I assume Harley didn’t know what “trilogy” meant. Something by Tolkien would be marvellous, though he’s read The Hobbit.’

  My mouth must have been open. I held out my hand for the bag. Even Clover stood in silence as Jen1 smiled, one of those smiles which made her cheeks go higher but didn’t go anywhere near her eyes. ‘Must run,’ she said, ‘I’m having my nails done in London and I need to get some petrol.’

  I watched her walk away. Clover shook her head and said, ‘She can be so fucking rude. I don’t know why she does things like that. I’m sure she’s got a good heart but she doesn’t think before she speaks.’

  That nearly sent me thundering after Jen1. I couldn’t bear Clover bumbling along, giving her the benefit of the doubt when Jen1 was doing the dirty on her. Wild images of me jumping on the bonnet of the Mitsubishi and clinging to the windscreen wipers darted through my mind. But I couldn’t drop the truth on Clover like that. At the very least she deserved to hear the bombshell in private. I looked down at my watch. ‘Damn, I forgot, I’ve got to see the solicitor this morning. I’d better go.’

  I followed Clover out of the drive. She turned right for SD2, I turned left for scumbaggy SD1. As I drove past the BP garage, I saw Jen1 filling up. The indicator on the van kept pace with my thumping heart. I drew up and strolled over.

  She put on her St Francis-talking-to-the-animals face. ‘Maia. Hello.’

  ‘How long have you been having an affair with Lawrence?’ I stared straight at her, waiting for her to flinch.

  ‘Lawrence?’ She didn’t look away but she did look puzzled which hacked me off. She’d been acting the part for so long, she wasn’t going to be tricked out of it easily.

  ‘Yes, Lawrence, you know, Clover’s husband, the one she’s desperate to get back with? The one who stood up there on Friday night singing love songs to fuck with her head while he’s screwing you.’

  She shook her head. ‘What? What? I’m not having an affair with Lawrence.’

  ‘You fucking liar. There you are, pretending to be a listening ear. I saw you on your camera thing. All snuggled up in his arms.’

  ‘You’re mad, Maia. You’ve no idea what you’re on about. Lawrence is just a friend, a really good friend, to me and to Leo.’ She had her scrawny little arms on her scrawny little hips. With her lips curled back she looked like an angry chihuahua.

  ‘I heard you. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Lawrence”.’ I was jabbing my finger in her face. I was turning into Colin but at that moment, I didn’t care.

  ‘If you wave that finger at me one more time, I’ll twist it off. Now go away and let me finish buying my petrol in peace. No wonder Harley thinks he can solve everything with his fists with a mother like you.’

  ‘Leave Harley out of it. Leave him out of it or you really will be sorry.’ For some reason, I hadn’t prepared myself for her fighting back. I’d assumed she’d beg me not to say anything. ‘You’ve got nothing, nothing to be snobby about. If you hadn’t married Leo, you’d still be hawking ham sandwiches round Canary Wharf so you can piss off pretending that you are any better than me.’ Shock marbled her face. She hadn’t expected me to know that. Everyone knew where I came from, whereas Jen1 had dedicated her life to covering it up.

  ‘Stay away from Lawrence or I will tell Clover and Leo exactly what you have been up to,’ I said. The rain was starting to come down more heavily now, but I wasn’t about to head for cover.

  Jen1 seemed to gather herself. ‘I haven’t been up to anything. Lawrence was made redundant because the department he was running closed down. He was so furious when they gave him notice that Leo thought he was going to do something stupid, so he invited him to stay in our cottage.’ ‘So why couldn’t Clover know that? Instead of you creeping around, pretending you didn’t know anything about it?’ I asked.

  ‘I had to promise not to tell. He was in such a bad way. He’s been seeing a therapist every day to sort his head out. Clover’s family have never thought he was good enough for her. He can’t face going back into the financial industry but he couldn’t bear them to think he was a sponger.’

  Jen1 and Lawrence had obviously practised their stories together. They weren’t going to fool me like they’d fooled Clover. ‘That’s bollocks. Complete bollocks. I saw you. I heard you together.’

  Jen1 pulled the petrol pump out and started to fill the car. She was shouting at me over her shoulder, looking like she had just chewed on a bad Brazil nut. ‘Aren’t you the clever one? Sort your facts out, Maia, before you go round accusing people of things they haven’t done. Leo was going to lose his job as well, but because Lawrence recommended him to the person merging the departments, Leo’s got a promotion. So that was why I was tha
nking him. We’ve been having sleepless nights. I thought we’d have to sell the ski lodge and maybe our house here as well.’

  ‘Not the ski lodge. How would you survive without a pad in St Moritz?’ My anger wasn’t about to make a U-turn. It was like a runaway racehorse, still jumping fences though the rider was off. Panic was making me really bitchy. I didn’t want to believe her. But although she was the biggest fake I knew with her French manicured nails, hair extensions and organic baking shite, my conviction was faltering. I still couldn’t find my back pedal, much less my brake. ‘You thank all the men by throwing yourself into their arms?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand, Maia. It’s a middle-class thing. We like to hug and kiss. Working-class people don’t go in for it much.’

  I thought of Colin, of the blokes down the Working Men’s Club, of the young lads round our way. They never greeted anyone with that silly cheek-kissing thing. A nod and an ‘all right?’ maybe, hands in pockets. Any woman who gave them a big hug without a very good reason would be considered ‘up for it’. I wasn’t going to let that go. ‘You’re right. How would I know what the middle classes do? But then again, how would you?’

  That’s when I copped it. A great zinging slap across my face that rearranged my brain cells. I rubbed my face. ‘See? You’re just a working-class brawler at heart. The Duchess from Dagenham. Or should I call you the Posh Pajero after your car? You know “pajero” means “wanker” in Spanish, don’t you?’ I was aware of a few startled faces peering over the tops of cars. I glared at a bloke craning over his BMW. He quickly looked away.

  Jen1 was beside herself. She shoved the petrol pump back into its holder and started pushing me backwards. ‘Working class’ seemed to ignite her like a blowtorch. ‘Fuck off. Just fuck off. Go on, sling it. You little cow. God knows how you ever managed to get your kids into Stirling Hall, you common little tart.’

  ‘Same as you, Jenny. They don’t care about breeding, only money.’ That pushing reminded me of Colin, thinking he could treat me any way he wanted. I daren’t push her back, because the fury in my body was not just about Jen1, it was about Colin, Sandy, Mr Peters. I could probably have pushed a juggernaut out of the way. I’d be no good to the kids behind bars for manslaughter. I reached for the bucket of water provided to wash the windscreen and slopped the whole lot over her, delighting in the sloshing noise and the satisfying slap as it splatted to the ground, washing off a bit of make-up and a lot of smugness as it went.

  Through the glass front of the garage I could see the cashier squawking her head round, trying to get a better look at the two grown women, one in a very wet Prada coat and soggy Uggs, one in Asda jeans, parka and wellies, screaming at each other across the forecourt. Fear, shock, death wish – I don’t know what it was but for the second time in twenty- four hours I started to kill myself laughing.

  I had to go. Mr Harrison was waiting. At least I didn’t have to go in and pay for petrol.

  35

  I paused outside the solicitor’s office to look at myself in the rear-view mirror. Anger was still pumping round my body, tinged with panic that I might have got the wrong end of the stick. My left cheek had a clear four-finger outline. My hair was hanging down in wet, wavy strings. I was already ten minutes late so there was no time for a last-ditch effort to make myself more presentable.

  The receptionist smiled as though I was dressed in a twinset and pearls, glanced down at her appointment book and pointed towards the stairs. ‘He’s expecting you, just go straight in.’

  Walking up with dread in my heart took me back to the day Harley had given Hugo a thumping and we’d sat in front of Mr Peters waiting to hear our fate. That seemed so long ago, I felt as though I’d lived a whole extra life since then. I hesitated on the top step, then strode towards Mr Harrison’s office. He could look down on me as much as he wanted for messing up the Stirling Hall chance. I bet he wasn’t going home worrying about whether the leccy would be cut off or someone would turn up to make off with the microwave. My fighting thoughts became a feeble knock on the door.

  ‘Come in.’

  Mr Harrison stood up, offered to take my parka and pulled out a chair for me. I bumbled some apology about arriving late and dripping wet. He waved it away politely and lifted a big box file onto the desk.

  ‘So, Ms Etxeleku, how have things been?’

  Clover was right. I did have a pathetic respect for people in authority. I choked back the honest answer of ‘My partner has gone off with the slapper next door. I’ve shown my kids the good life and am now going to plunge them back into the bad life. We’ve got no heating and I’m up to my eyes in debt. I’ve just thrown a bucket of muddy water over someone who is so far up her arse she can’t see daylight, and the man I think I love, although I’m not sure I know what love is, is in love with someone else.’

  Instead I said, ‘I’m not going to be able to keep the children at Stirling Hall. I can’t afford all the extras, the uniform, the books.’ The defeat in my words rushed out like bleach down a drain.

  He steepled his fingers. I hated men who did that. It was always men. He wasn’t sneering at me, though. In fact, he looked quite concerned. ‘I have had some communication from Stirling Hall. I understand the children are to leave at the end of next term, the summer term?’

  ‘I had to give a term’s notice, and I knew the fees would have to be paid next term anyway, whether they went or not. I didn’t want to waste Professor Stainton’s money, I mean, she’d put her trust in me, like.’ I pulled a face. I gave a mental nod to the prof. Yes, yes, I knew, ‘like’ was for friends. I hardly ever said that any more. ‘So they’ll go for next term, I’ll just have to manage. I don’t know how, actually. Then they are going back to Morlands, the school they were at before.’

  ‘Is it purely a financial consideration? I mean, all things being equal, are you happy with the school?’ he asked.

  ‘I love the school. The children have really started to settle in and improve so much.’ I looked away. ‘It’s been quite exciting to watch.’ I could hear my voice starting to catch. Mr Harrison smiled. ‘The professor’s library has not yet been distributed. Do you think there would be anything useful there to help you get through the next few months?’ My heart quickened. The prof had loads of classics, Austen, Dickens, Oscar Wilde, Virginia Woolf. I used to pull them out every couple of months or so to dust the shelves thoroughly. It took me ages because I couldn’t resist reading a few pages before I put them back. I’d kill to own them but I couldn’t pretend they were for the children. Bronte had loved the prof’s collection of Lewis Carroll poems. An image of the prof sitting in her armchair, reading Bronte Jabberwocky came to mind. Harley used to beg her to read The Hunting of the Snark. Maybe it was her facial expressions, her voices, her hand movements that had given him his love of drama.

  ‘You can’t just give her books to me. What about, I don’t know, her relatives? Don’t they want them? Surely she must have left them to someone?’ I tried to remember her mentioning anyone apart from her son, Dominic, who died in a car crash in Australia.

  ‘As it happens, Professor Stainton appointed me executor of the will, so I can assure you it doesn’t present a problem. Would it be convenient for you to accompany me to her house now? Then perhaps you could choose some books that might be useful to you.’

  ‘I loved her books but I don’t want to take anything that belongs to someone else, don’t want any comeback later, a big fuss because the cleaner made off with her first editions,’ I said.

  ‘I promise there hasn’t been a stampede to claim the professor’s library. Shall we go?’

  I followed Mr Harrison in the van. The prof’s house wasn’t on any of my usual routes so I hadn’t been past it since she died four months earlier. The gates to her long driveway were already open. The daffodils were out, lovely golden clusters all over the garden. Tulips – the prof loved tulips – nodded away in tubs by the front door. Perhaps the powers that be had kept the gardener on until
the house was sold. Mr Harrison pulled his Jag into what I considered to be my spot, a little clearing by the weeping willow, where the prof’s pet poodle, Iago, had been buried a few years earlier.

  Mr Harrison produced a bunch of keys, fiddling away to find the right ones.

  I held my hand out. ‘Would you like me to do it? I can tell by looking which ones fit the locks.’

  He handed them over. I had to remind myself that the prof wouldn’t be sitting in the drawing room with her Chambers Crossword Dictionary beside her. As the front door clicked open, dust danced in the daylight that filtered through the Edwardian bay windows. The house had missed me at least. I’d expected it to feel hollow and damp but in fact, it felt warm and comfortable. The boiler was obviously working better than mine. I waited for Mr Harrison to take me through to the library. He hesitated in the hallway, looking from one door to the other. ‘This way,’ I said, nodding to the first oak door.

  I stood in the doorway while the memories crowded in. The prof shouting the answers to University Challenge. Cursing her knotted arthritic fingers as she taught Bronte how to knit one, purl one. Showing Harley pictures of her father posing in his goggles at the Brooklands racetrack in the 1920s. My heart lurched as I spotted her little silver-rimmed glasses on the side table, sitting on top of The Times. I wondered who had cancelled the papers. Mr Harrison coughed behind me. ‘Feel free to enter and have a look at the books. See if there are any you’d like. I need to get something from the professor’s study, so I’ll leave you to it.’

  I walked over to the built-in bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling on two sides of the room. I pulled out Great Expectations. It felt solid and smooth in my hand. I held it to my face. I loved the old smell, slightly fusty, of all those words put together so cleverly. The prof had always encouraged me to borrow books but I never did. I couldn’t bear the thought that Colin would leave a coffee ring on one. I used the local library instead. I ran my hand along the bookshelf until I found my favourite book of poems with a shiny silver cover. Not for the first time, I read the inscription inside.