Another Mother's Life

by Rowan Coleman

  Catherine turned to her.

  “Yes, you don’t mind me going out, do you?”

  “Isabelle Seaman’s mum started putting on eyeliner, and wearing skirts and going out for drinks …” Eloise said with a tone of foreboding that made Leila widen her eyes. “And now she’s got a boyfriend with a beard. Is that what you are doing, Mummy, looking for a boyfriend?”

  “Mummy!” Leila looked scandalized and Catherine wondered how her back-handed attempts to apply eyeliner had come to this.

  “No, I am not looking for a boyfriend. I am trying out eye-liner. It’s not the same thing, Eloise, at all. I mean look at Kirsty, she always looks nice and … bad example. The thing is a person can decide to change how they look for other reasons than to get a boyfriend, so you don’t have to worry about that at all, ever, okay? I promise.”

  “Mummy,” Eloise said in a slightly chiding tone, “you shouldn’t promise that. One day you might want to have a boyfriend, just like Isabelle Seaman’s mummy, and Daddy might want to have a proper girlfriend that he likes.”

  Catherine tried to imagine herself with some unknown, unnamed, absurdly titled “boy” friend and for some reason all she could picture was a beard. Was that really what this was about, buying a magazine and some eyeliner? Were these her first tentative steps to trying to meet someone again? She tried to imagine herself out there, like Kirsty had been for so many months, getting involved with opticians, among others, dating and dancing and flirting and chatting all because of the faint possibility that it might deliver her into the arms of a man who could make her happy. But she found it impossible to imagine. To even comprehend spending time with a man who wasn’t Jimmy—apart from that near kiss with Marc, which she was determined not to think about at all—and thinking about Jimmy with a proper girlfriend made her feel cross. She put the image out of her head and decided that she wasn’t ready for eyeliner of any shade.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Catherine said. “I think I’ll stay in tonight after all.”

  “Hooray!” Leila yelled.

  Eloise put her hand on Catherine’s shoulder and looked at her with that unnerving green-eyed stare. “I’m ever so proud of you, Mummy,” she said.

  Catherine smiled and put an arm around Eloise.

  “Are you, darling, I’m glad.” She considered leaving it at that, but the temptation to fish was just too great. “Why?”

  “Because even when grown-up things are happening to you, you remember to love us,” Eloise said. “And because you know when not to wear green eyeliner.”

  “Not coming?” Kirsty groaned, leaning against the door. “But it’s arranged. Alison is coming and this is important, it’s phase two of my plan to reunite you two. We’ve gotten over the hard bit, we’ve had an intermediate coffee. Now you need to get drunk together again and reaffirm your fledgling bond.”

  “You see, I don’t think inebriation is necessary to get to know a person,” Catherine said. “Unlike you, I haven’t based all of my relationships on the consumption of alcohol.”

  “Ouch,” Kirsty said. “And anyway, it’s not true. Not with Sam; when we went round there the other night he was stone-cold sober.”

  “Yes, he was,” Catherine replied, raising a brow. “Look, it’s been a big weekend, a massive one, seeing Alison again, drinking tequila, things finally coming to a head with Jimmy. I need time to readjust and get used to the life I have now. At the moment it doesn’t seem real.”

  “But you and Jimmy were over two years ago,” Kirsty said. “How much readjusting do you need?”

  “Yes, but back then we were over because he cheated on me and I was devastated, and now we’re over because I told him we are and now he’s devastated, which makes me feel …”

  “Devastated too?” Kirsty chanced.

  “Sad,” Catherine said, nodding.

  “Well, you are sad,” Kirsty said. “I won’t argue with that. Come on, come down to the Goat and celebrate your freedom.”

  Catherine pursed her lips. “Another time, but maybe not at the Goat.”

  “But you just said you’re over the Goat, come on,” Kirsty encouraged her. “It’s been two years, what could be more symbolic of your moving on?”

  “Eyeliner,” Catherine said. “And I’m not ready for that either.”

  “What in God’s name are you talking about?” Kirsty asked, peering at her. “Did you eat the worm in the tequila bottle? Because you don’t seem like someone who’s just found her best friend and ditched her deadweight husband at all.”

  “Just go out and have a nice time with Alison and cheer her up,” Catherine said. “I just want to stay at home tonight and readjust. That’s what I want. I’m doing what I want.”

  “God, you’re selfish,” Kirsty said. “I was hoping to sneak off with Sam after half an hour or so, now I’ll have to keep an eye on her all night.”

  “Ah, well,” Catherine said with a cheery smile as she closed the door on Kirsty. “That’s what friends are for!”

  Twenty-eight

  So Marc was okay with you going out on the town after you finally split?” Kirsty asked Alison as she led her into the music bar at the Goat; it was a small space and packed to the rafters with the Monday night crowd who always turned up for the live music. “He didn’t expect you to observe a period of mourning like Catherine seems to think she has to?”

  “He wasn’t there,” Alison said, having to speak up as the band struck up. “He didn’t come back from the office before I left. I thought about phoning him but then I thought what if he’s flat hunting or talking to a solicitor or knocking off his secretary. And somehow it doesn’t seem right for me to ask him to come home so that I can go out. I couldn’t leave Dominic in charge after his recent escapades. I think he needs someone to be in charge of him. So I asked the neighbor instead. She lent me her au pair, German girl. Very no-nonsense.”

  “How generous,” Kirsty said loudly, as she waved a ten-pound note at the barman and grinned at him. “I hope one day I’ll be rich enough to lend other human beings to people.”

  “You know what I mean,” Alison said. “Anyway, I don’t think I’m going to be rich enough to be borrowing them from people for very long. A three-bedroom house and some kind of job is what my future holds.” She smiled and took a gin and tonic from Kirsty. They made their way through the crowd to the back of the room, where they could get a good view of the whole room.

  “So tell me,” Alison said, leaning close to Kirsty so that she could hear her. “I haven’t been on the dating scene in fifteen years. What do you do these days?” Kirsty laughed.

  “I see you don’t have to go through a period of readjustment, like some people.” She grinned.

  “The last fifteen years of my life have been about readjusting,” Alison said. “And probably the next fifteen will be too, but now I want to have some fun.”

  “Well, first you scan the room, look for someone you fancy,” Kirsty instructed her, “and then you catch his eye, make sure he knows you are checking him out, and then you go over there and flirt.”

  “You make it sound like falling off a log,” Alison said skeptically.

  “It’s usually a lot easier if you are so drunk that if you were standing on a log you would fall off it,” Kirsty replied. “To be fair, a lot of people think that when a girl gets to a certain age she should start to be a little more reserved and a little less naked. But I say fuck ’em. Now, see anything you like?”

  Alison trawled the busy room until through a gap in the crowd she glimpsed the back of a man’s head, long hair pulled back into a ponytail, a battered leather jacket on the back of his chair. He looked exactly like Jimmy Ashley from behind. He was the only person in the room who wasn’t facing the small stage.

  “Okay,” she said, target identified. “What next?”

  “Make eye contact,” Kirsty said, looking in the opposite direction for her boyfriend.

  “He’s got his back to me,” Alison said. Kirsty looked at h
er.

  “You’ve decided you fancy someone from the back of his head?” she asked. “You’re not fussy, are you?”

  “I’m only practicing,” Alison said.

  “Okay, well go over to where he is standing and make eye contact,” Kirsty ordered her.

  “You mean just go over and stand in front of him and stare at him until he looks at me?” Alison asked her. “He’ll think I’m nuts.”

  “You asked me how to meet men, not how to become a secret agent,” Kirsty said. “Go on.”

  Alison looked at the back of the man’s head. This seemed like a very odd place to come for a quiet drink.

  “What if he’s a serial killer?” she said.

  “Perfect, then he won’t be too needy,” Kirsty said, her face lighting up as Sam walked in the door. “Now, off you go. I’m not buying you another drink until you report back. Think of it as rehabilitation.”

  Alison watched the look on Kirsty’s face as her boyfriend crossed the room and kissed her. She wondered if she would ever feel that way about someone again, or if anyone would ever feel that way about her. Well, every journey started with a single step, even if in this case it was in all likelihood a very ill-advised one. Alison took a breath and began to make her way through the crowd toward the back of the man’s head.

  “If I get all this way and he turns out to be a woman …” she thought to herself as she approached him, getting past the thickest part of the crowd and emerging in the near-empty seating area that was strewn with jackets and coats and where only one person was sitting. Not quite sure how to position herself in order to make eye contact with him (or change her mind and hurriedly make her exit), Alison walked over to the jukebox. She took a deep breath and turned around, hoping that the man looked a little bit like Jimmy Ashley.

  Which was why she had mixed feelings when she found out he actually was Jimmy Ashley.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” Alison said just as the band took a break and the room filled with cheering and applause. Jimmy did not look up from his beer.

  Taking another steadying breath, Alison went and sat opposite him. After a second or two he looked up.

  “Oh, hi,” he said miserably. “Great band, right? Really good, really … young.”

  “Why are you here?” Alison asked him. “Catherine said you’d gone to London.”

  “I did, got there last night, there was no session work, but a mate tipped me off about something else and I went to an audition this morning.” Jimmy sighed. “I got the job.”

  “Jimmy, that’s fantastic,” Alison said, reaching out impulsively and covering his hand with her own.

  “It’s with this Gothic rock band my mate knows,” Jimmy said desolately. “Their guitarist accidentally cut off his thumb during a fake satanic ritual; they picked it up and managed to sew it back on but he’ll be out for weeks and they’ve got a tour coming up. The stuff they play is pretty basic, so I picked it up quick. They said with some black eyeliner and hair dye I’d be perfect. Oh yeah, and I’ve got to straighten my hair too, because apparently the minions of hell don’t have a natural curl.”

  “Wow, that is exciting,” Alison said, struggling to keep up her enthusiasm when his misery was like a huge gaping chasm that sucked all the joy from the room. “What are they called?”

  “Skull Incursion,” Jimmy said dolefully. “Shit name.”

  “I’ve heard of them!” Alison said excitedly. “Dom likes them … they’re awful.”

  “I know,” Jimmy said. “But it’s not forever. Just while they’re touring and this guy’s thumb graft takes. But it’s good money and eight weeks’ work while they’re on tour.”

  “On tour,” Alison said. “With a band, that’s cool, right?”

  “In Croatia,” Jimmy added. “Skull Incursion are big in Croatia.”

  “Oh,” Alison said, desperately wishing she had ordered another drink before she came over here. “I hear it’s lovely out there in the spring.”

  “It probably is, but Skull Incursion doesn’t play in direct sunlight, it contravenes vampire health-and-safety-in-the-workplace regulations. Anyway, the flight leaves at five o’clock in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow?” Alison looked at her watch. “Then why are you here?”

  “I came to say good-bye to Cat and the girls,” Jimmy said. “Couldn’t just go without saying good-bye to them.”

  Alison looked at her watch.

  “Okay, so then why are you in the pub?”

  “I thought I’d revisit the scene of my downfall first,” Jimmy said. “The place where I fucked up so badly that one day I’d be taking a nocturnal tour with a bunch of faux vampires. I had a couple of pints and now … now I don’t think I can see her. She’ll just be all beautiful and amazing and not in love with me, and when I tell her I’m going away for eight weeks she’ll be really supportive and pleased for me and I don’t want her to be. I want her to fling her arms around me and say, Don’t go, Jim, don’t go because I love you and I can’t live without you no matter how much you get paid for dyeing your hair black and wearing a pair of fangs.”

  Alison couldn’t help but smile at him. He was even sexy when he was being all miserable over another woman.

  “Jimmy, just go and see her,” she told him. “If you don’t you’ll regret it.”

  “There’s hours yet. Buy me a drink first,” Jimmy said, looking at her directly for the first time, which made Alison sit back a little in her chair.

  “Okay, then,” she said slowly as Jimmy watched her. “I will. Back in a minute.”

  “Two Jack Daniel’s and Coke, please,” Alison shouted across the bar as the band began their second set. Kirsty appeared at her side and clapped her on the back.

  “I must say I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it,” she said admiringly in Alison’s ear as she picked up a drink. “Thanks for this, I don’t normally drink whiskey, but …”

  “Ah, that’s not for you,” Alison said. “It’s for the man I picked up who is not a man but Jimmy Ashley. He’s here in Farmington incognito and he needs someone to talk to before he goes round to see Cathy.”

  Kirsty narrowed her eyes.

  “Are you going to offer him sex again?” she asked her.

  “No, I am not,” Alison stated firmly. “Even if I do really fancy him and I’m fairly sure he’d go for it because he’s depressed and confused and a bit drunk. But I do have some standards and taking advantage of a vulnerable man is not one of them. Besides, I ruled him out when Cathy and I called a truce. I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

  “Hmm,” Kirsty said, scrutinizing Alison for a moment. “Well, if it wasn’t for the fact that my gorgeous and incredibly well-hung boyfriend wants to take me home, I’d come with you, but as it is, I’d much rather be snogging him than listening to Jimmy go on about how rubbish he is. Will you be okay if we shoot off?”

  Alison looked over at where Jimmy was sitting.

  “Yes,” she said firmly.

  “Are you sure?” Kirsty asked her. “You could come with us now, we’ll walk you home.”

  “No, you go,” Alison said. “I can handle him. I can do this for Catherine. After all, I’m a grown-up now.”

  Catherine looked at the TV screen and sipped her wine. Sometimes she wished that Jimmy had a mobile phone like the rest of the planet. Then at least she could call him and find out how he was doing. Ask him if he’d found a place to stay, got anyone to give him some food, that sort of thing.

  Then she kicked herself hard.

  He was a grown man, he could cope in the world on his own without her worrying about him. In fact, the very last thing he’d want would be her worrying about him. The trouble was over the last nine years she’d gotten into the habit of caring about him. It would be a hard habit to get out of. It unsettled her that he hadn’t phoned to say good night to the girls, something he always did when he was away. It was probably nothing to worry about, either he was working in some studio and
couldn’t get out in time to find a pay phone or … well, there was always the possibility that he was dead in an alleyway somewhere, because there were very few things that would keep him from saying good night to his daughters, and death was one of them. Catherine was determined not to worry about that, however. She was determined not to think about Jimmy, period. The only trouble was the more she thought about ways to not think about him the more she thought about him. Turning her brain off was much harder than she’d thought it should be.

  Eloise had been right, even if she hadn’t known it. Going out today, buying eyeliner and magazines of all things, Catherine supposed she was trying to transform herself into the kind of woman that might attract a very tall man who likes redheads. She had been trying to find her feet again and part of that balancing act was feeling good about herself, feeling sexy and even sexual. For two years she’d shut that part of herself away as she concentrated on healing herself and keeping her children happy. It had gotten almost to the point where she didn’t think she cared anymore if she never had sex again. Then Marc walked back into her life and nearly kissed her and that part of her hadn’t slowly roused so much as rudely awoken. Eyeliner was Catherine’s body’s way of saying she was ready for a man in her life again.

  She and Jimmy had taken a long time to get to know each other’s bodies, they had taken it very slowly, inch by inch over several weeks before they finally went to bed, and then, even though it was still awkward and embarrassing, it didn’t matter because they were already so close, and so bonded. With him Catherine hadn’t felt self-conscious about her long, white body and boyish figure. With him she’d felt womanly, she’d felt beautiful. It had hurt her so badly when she discovered that she was not enough for Jimmy. It had hurt her even though she had no right to feel that way. How long could she have realistically expected him to go on running on empty in their marriage? Why had she felt it was okay for her to allow him to live that way? The anguish of finding him with another woman had ripped her to shreds, even if she knew that she had been just as responsible as Jimmy for driving him into Donna Clarke’s arms. Jimmy had done what he wanted with Donna Clarke, but Catherine had made him want it.