by Tracy Bloom
‘Do what?’
‘Sacrifice fun for work.’
‘Someone in this family had to earn a decent living.’
‘You can earn a decent living without turning into a…’
‘A what?’
‘Well, a bit of a twat actually.’
His eyebrows flare up until I can’t see them. The gasp is audible. I feel bad. I know the man I love is somewhere in there. He hasn’t gone. I just wish I could find him.
‘You just seemed to forget how to laugh somewhere along the way,’ I say, hoping it will cause the ‘twat’ accusation to be quickly forgotten.
‘Maybe you didn’t give me anything to laugh about,’ he spits out in fury. ‘Come on, Jenny, it’s not been good for a while, has it?’
‘Is this where you blame me? Blame me for you not being able to keep it in your pants?’
‘I’m not blaming you, I’m just admitting that it’s felt like we’ve been struggling.’
‘Of course we’ve been bloody struggling! You’re never here, Mark. Not in mind or in body. Obsessed with bloody work, obsessed with this bloody deal. You’ve no idea what’s going on right under your own nose,’ I say bitterly.
I bite my lip quickly. Tears are poised and tears would be bad right now. Tears would just confuse matters.
‘And you pass everything off as a joke,’ he spits back. ‘You take nothing seriously. You won’t talk to me seriously about anything. This deal… this deal… is huge, Jenny. Enormous, and all you can say about it is that it’s turned me into a twat. This is the biggest thing that has ever happened to me and you think I’m a twat. What do I do with that, Jenny? I want you to be proud of me, just a bit. But nothing, you couldn’t give a toss.’
My heart is beating like a train right now. I don’t know how to respond. He’s right, I do think this deal has turned him into a twat, but I married him partly because he cared about this stuff, because he was focused, because he had a plan. I admired it then and somehow I have come to despise the fact that it distracts him so, because it has consumed him. Maybe it’s not him I despise but the fact that I wasn’t good enough to distract him back. That ultimately work was more appealing than me.
‘We used to laugh,’ I sob. ‘We used to laugh all the time. I miss that Jenny and Mark, I wish I could find them again. I wish I could know them again – they were fun to be around. What happened to them, Mark? What happened to us?’
He’s still standing by the door, braced to leave, but my final words stop him in his tracks. He looks at me with sadness for the first time in his eyes.
‘I don’t know.’ He swallows hard and turns to head into the hall. I hear the rustle as he puts his coat on and the jangle of keys as he takes them out of his pocket to let himself out. I get up and rush out into the hall – I can’t let him leave like this.
‘They’ll be here at seven on Friday,’ I tell him.
‘Who will?’
‘Tim and Julie. He was really chuffed I’d rung. Said he’s looking forward to seeing you. He said he misses talking crap with you.’
He turns to look at me mid key turn.
‘I told him it was your idea,’ I say.
He sighs and momentarily closes his eyes.
‘I’ll speak to you tomorrow,’ he says.
Thirty-Six
I’m sitting there in the dark in the lounge. I’ve heard George leave his room and go to the bathroom twice – whether this is to relieve himself or perhaps destroy the evidence of another type of relief, I have no idea. However, I know my head will explode if I include that on the carousel of worries currently whirring around in it.
I hear my mobile ring and leap up to search for it in the kitchen, hoping it’s Mark. Why, I have no idea. No good could possibly come of a conversation with him just now, but still I hope it’s him. But when I discover my phone glowing from the bottom of my handbag it shows the name of the last person I want to speak to. In fact the last person I ever want to speak to. My finger hovers over the end call button but I conclude this is too risky. Who knows what evil deeds this person could get up to if armed with the excuse of ‘But you didn’t answer my call’?
I mentally prepare then press the pick-up button.
‘Hello Antony. Unlike you to call me. Has there been a bush fire on the Bahamas and the Hyatt’s been razed to the ground so your holiday with Mum has had to be cancelled?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. Then let me see. Lucas is taking his GCSEs in three years’ time and must stay home and revise so your holiday with Mum has had to be cancelled?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jenny.’
‘Well then, I can see there is only one other reason why you would ever choose to phone your only sister.’
‘Oh yes, and what do you suppose that is?’
‘In a bid to avoid spending Christmas with your mother you have taken the extreme step of getting Mischa pregnant with triplets and so your holiday has had to be cancelled?’
‘No, Jenny!’
‘Is it Brexit then? Are you worried about leaving the country in case all the silly people vote to do something you don’t agree with whilst you are gone? Oh, I know! The Bahamas have cancelled Christmas because Christmas in a hot country is a bloody stupid idea so you’re not going. You’re staying here and coming to ours for Christmas lunch.’
‘Now you’re just being ridiculous.’
‘I know. I wasn’t serious about the last one. It’s a complete fantasy to think that you would step foot in a house with only three toilets on Christmas Day.’
‘Have you finished?’
‘I think so.’
‘I’m calling because Lucas has just had a text message from George inviting us all to some kind of party you’re having.’
‘Really?’ This is the last thing I’m expecting him to say.
‘Yes. What’s going on, Jenny?’
‘Oh well, erm…’
Which way do I fall on this one? I need to think really fast.
‘Well, I didn’t invite you because I didn’t think you’d come. You never come to family parties.’
‘Well, Lucas has told George we are free now and he wants to come. He says George has told him there will be sumo wrestling suits and a foam gun and it’s at an old people’s home where they let children drink alcohol?’
I think for a minute.
‘That about sums it up,’ I say.
There’s silence at the other end of the phone.
‘What kind of party is this, Jenny?’
‘Does it matter?’ I say. ‘It’s sort of a belated birthday party, not that you would know that, of course, because you never remember. Really it’s just an excuse to have a laugh. Celebrate being alive.’
I stop myself. Tears rise up in my throat like a tidal wave. I cough to try and dispel the urge to break down.
‘Please come,’ I manage to sputter out.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said I’d really like you to come. I’d like to see you.’
‘Is everything all right, Jenny?’
‘Of course it is. I can say that I would like to see my only brother just once in my life, can’t I?’
‘Well, it sounds like we’ve got no bloody choice anyway! Lucas has already said if we don’t let him come he’ll refuse to go to the Bahamas.’
‘Seriously? What kind of mental damage are you doing to that child if he would rather come to a party in a geriatric home than go to the Caribbean?’
‘He’s perfectly fine,’ Antony snaps back. ‘Just acting like a normal teenager.’
‘Normal teenagers don’t have Caribbean Christmases to use as emotional blackmail.’
‘How is George’s counselling going?’
Touché, I think.
‘So you’re coming then?’
‘Well, it sounds like Lucas is going to need a chaperone, given your track record with parties and alcohol.’
‘Well, good, good. By the way, it is fancy dress, you know.’
>
‘What? Jenny, when are you ever going to grow up?’
‘Never,’ I say. ‘Probably never,’ I add more quietly.
‘Do we have to?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there a theme?’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘The theme is The Muppets. Can’t wait to see you in a Kermit outfit!’
* * *
Ah well, I think after he’s rung off, at least they’ll boost the numbers and, actually, I would like to see my brother. I should see him – he might be useful in the coming months, what with handling my situation and our parents.
I think about going upstairs and getting changed ready for Karen’s arrival. I should go and put my suede skirt on – I look good in it. But I can’t be bothered. Besides, it’s just Karen. I know I haven’t slapped eyes on her in twenty years but it’s still just Karen.
Odd how much more relaxed I feel about catching up with my friend from two decades ago, much more so than when I’m off to see my current friends. There’s no hiding with Karen. She’s seen me warts and all. She’s seen me with my head stuck down a toilet bowl, retching at three in the morning, and with tears streaming down my face when he didn’t call. I’ve no idea who he was but I remember he didn’t call. She’s seen me fooled and dazzled by a charming man, then bewildered and distraught when he disappeared off the face of the earth. She’s seen me hurt and lost and vulnerable and ecstatic, and playful and joyful and young. She’s seen all of those things. But she has never seen the mask of fake togetherness and maturity that we tend to compose in middle age, rarely letting our guard down even to our closest friends. When do we stop doing that? When do we stop wearing our hearts and minds on our sleeves? Is it maturity that does that to us, that teaches us not to expose ourselves for who we truly are?
Fuck maturity, I think. I won’t wear the suede skirt. Karen won’t mind seeing me in my black leggings, a baggy top and scruffy nineties hair. I won’t have to explain it to her.
* * *
‘Check you out,’ she cries as she bursts through the front door some time later. ‘Bloody hell, you’re sooo skinny,’ she continues, engulfing me in a massive hug. ‘You never said you were this skinny.’
I bury my face in her neck. She smells good. Expensive. Now the mature thing to do would be to tell Karen why I’m so skinny. Put her out of her misery about why I have managed so successfully to ward off middle-age spread. Fuck maturity, I think.
‘Thanks,’ I grin shyly when we pull apart. ‘Sorry I look a bit scruffy, I didn’t dress up.’
I take in Karen’s gorgeous designer dress skilfully hiding some additional curves, and handbag to die for. She not only smells expensive, she looks expensive. I wasn’t expecting that. What I was expecting, however, was the massive open smile on the hugely recognisable face, albeit slightly more lined and under a highlighted bob coiffed to within an inch of its life. I fall forward again to hug her, tears threatening my eyes.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ I mumble.
‘You too,’ she murmurs back. ‘You too.’
* * *
Half an hour later and we’re crying in the kitchen. Tears of laughter, rendering us nearly speechless.
Karen has reminded me of the time we’d informed a group of particularly troublesome male holidaymakers who were celebrating the end of A-levels that their mums had rung to see how they were and ask if they were eating enough. We told them this during a booze cruise in front of a gaggle of twenty-something girls they were desperately trying to pull.
‘Do you remember we heard them telling one poor girl that they’d all just graduated from university? It was so obvious they hadn’t. They all had acne and they couldn’t take their drink. I’ve never seen a group vomit so much.’
‘I bet there’s a crowd out in Corfu right now doing exactly the same thing. Pretending they’re older, throwing up all the time and asking where they can buy Clearasil.’
‘Did you watch The Inbetweeners Movie in Greece?’
‘OMG, utter genius and so true!’
‘Do you remember when we told a coachload of tourists that a lump of concrete was actually a sacred statue and if you rubbed it, it would make you more virile?’
‘All because we’d got lost and couldn’t find the way to that weird temple and so we had to make up a few alternative historic monuments to hide our lack of having a clue what we were doing.’
We collapse again in laughter, clutching each other’s arms. The warm glow of rose-tinted memories has engulfed me and I absolutely love it. The fact that my husband has just walked out is temporarily banished from my mind.
‘Oh hello?’ says Karen, suddenly looking up as she wipes a tear from her eye with a tissue.
Ellie has slouched in. She barely acknowledges us with a nod, then walks over to the fridge, opens the door and stares in it.
‘This is Karen,’ I say to her back. ‘We used to work together in Greece. She’s helping me with the party.’
Ellie takes out a can of Coke, shuts the fridge door and turns round.
‘Hi,’ she says.
‘We were just reminiscing,’ Karen tells her, ‘about crazy things me and your mum used to get up to.’
Ellie doesn’t raise a smile, just her eyebrows.
Me and Karen glance at each other, sharing instantly the pain of raising teenage daughters.
‘So I guess you must be about nineteen?’ asks Karen.
Ellie looks up sharply.
‘Seventeen,’ she mutters. She’s flattered, I can tell. Oh, to be still of the age when being mistaken for being older is a compliment.
‘I love your hair,’ says Karen.
I am in awe. How does she know exactly the right things to say to my daughter?
‘Thanks,’ she says, giving her tresses a little shake. ‘I really want to dye it but Mum won’t let me,’ she adds.
‘Of course she won’t,’ cries Karen, throwing her hands in the air. ‘She’s jealous as hell of that hair you’ve got. Why would she let you change it?’
‘Jealous?’
‘Of course she is. Compared to that way-too-colourful cacophony she’s currently sporting there’s no way she’s going to let you do that to yours.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Why is your hair like that, by the way?’ she adds, turning to me.
‘I fancied a Ginger Spice look,’ I reply.
‘Oh, I see,’ she says, screwing her face up.
Admittedly it’s not at its best. I haven’t washed it in days but I didn’t think it looked that bad.
‘Your mother doesn’t want you to end up like her, that’s why she won’t let you dye it,’ Karen tells Ellie. ‘It’s why we stop our daughters doing most things, you know. Stop them screwing up like we have.’
‘Right,’ nods Ellie as though this actually makes sense to her. ‘I’m going to take this upstairs,’ she says, indicating the can. ‘Bye,’ she tells Karen.
‘She hates me at the moment,’ I blurt out as soon as the door is shut.
‘No, she doesn’t,’ replies Karen.
‘She does. Her best friend won’t speak to her because I told her what an evil bitch she is. She’s demanding an apology before she will have anything to do with Ellie again. I’m being blackmailed by a seventeen-year-old!’
‘Wow,’ says Karen, ‘what a cow!’
‘She’s vile, utterly vile. She’s one of those cool girls who thinks having fun and being silly is beneath them. She’s mean, really mean, Karen.’
Karen puts a hand on my arm. ‘I meant you,’ she says.
I laugh. We both laugh.
‘I want her to grow up with a friend like you,’ I splutter. ‘And then have the intelligence to hold onto them.’
I think the sad tears are about to wash away the happy ones.
‘She’ll find her true friends,’ says Karen. ‘They’re not always where you expect them to be. You just have to let her get on with it.’
‘And she’s got a boyfriend she won�
��t tell me about,’ I sniff.
‘She will,’ says Karen. ‘When she’s ready.’
‘I just… I just want her to be happy,’ I say.
‘You can’t do that for her,’ answers Karen. ‘It’s what I’ve learnt with Sienna, that you just have to step away and let them make their own mistakes. We did, didn’t we?’
‘Didn’t we just!’ I reply. Big fat massive enormous mistakes it feels like. Or maybe that’s only with the hindsight of a death sentence hanging over you.
‘But do you know what I think the most important thing to do with raising daughters is?’ states Karen, leaning towards me. ‘Listen to this, because it’s golden advice, really it is. You will not hear a better piece of advice than I’m about to give you.’
‘Right,’ I say, all ears. I need all the advice I can get at the moment.
‘Have fun with them. Have a laugh. Be stupid. Teach them that. Teach them to be silly and stupid and ridiculous so they don’t fall down the utterly hideous trap of taking life too seriously. That’s my advice.’
‘Genius,’ I mutter.
Thirty-Seven
I hadn’t meant to come here. I don’t know why I’m here. All I know is that just driving into the entrance of the hospital has made me want to run away to the nearest rock and crawl under it. I park in the car park furthest away from the cancer clinic, trying to tell myself that I’m visiting for another reason entirely unconnected to the dreaded C-word.
Maybe it was the conversation I’ve just had with my mother that’s propelled me here. It had dawned on me as I dragged myself into bed the night before that if Antony were coming up to my party then I would have no choice but to invite my mother along too. There would be war if my brother was in the county and she wasn’t involved. So this morning I’d dragged myself to see her and shared with her the amazing news that I was having a party.
‘What do you want to have a party for?’ she’d asked.
‘I just felt like it,’ I shrugged. I was beyond trying to explain it to her. She wouldn’t understand, however I put it, even if I came out with the truth.