A Not Quite Perfect Family

by Claire Sandy

  ‘Not ever?’ Fern was alarmed; she might need the spare bed back at some point.

  ‘Good!’ Tallulah clapped. Not yet old enough to see past the end of her dainty nose, she judged everything by how it affected her. ‘You can be my big sister forever.’

  Nora leaned into Evka’s side. ‘You have a home here for as long as you want one, dear,’ she said.

  A look passed between Fern and Adam. She appreciated his empathy, even if he was now officially living elsewhere.

  Waving off Ollie and Donna, smothering their concerns about leaving Amelie with reiterations that she was in the best hands possible – ‘I’m her grandmother, after all!’ – Fern was proud of herself for being able to say that contentious word with barely a gulp.

  ‘A grandmother in my early forties,’ she said to Adam as they stood at the foot of Amelie’s white cot, another of his extravagant gifts. ‘It’s not how I saw my life panning out.’

  ‘Life has a habit of taking you by surprise.’ The sleeping baby softened their voices, made their conversation intimate. ‘Fern . . . is there anything you want to tell me?’

  ‘Like what?’ Fern closed the door softly behind them. Has he seen me with Hal? They held hands in the park these days. It felt erotic and illicit; far naughtier than the sum of its parts.

  ‘Like, are there any developments I should know about?’

  This was classic Adam. ‘Not really.’ That was true; it’s not like Hal is my boyfriend. Fern was unable to name what was going on with Hal, even though it was important to her, even though anticipating the feel of him was what got her through the days when Tallie was surly and Ollie was exhausted and Amelie was restless and Donna was drooping and, and, and . . .

  Yet there was no Valentine’s card propped up anywhere, no bouquet in a vase. Hal wasn’t Adam’s business. After all, Adam had never come entirely clean about Penny. Evka’s ongoing espionage kept Fern up to date; the happy couple had installed a Jacuzzi on their balcony and Penny had a new selection of red underwear. Fern knew all about Adam and red underwear; it had been her secret weapon when he wasn’t in the mood. One flash of red suspender and they were up the stairs before you could say ‘stereotypical bloke’.

  ‘OK. I just wondered.’ Adam looked thwarted, and part of Fern – the newly discovered evil part that could spy on him – was pleased. It was so hard to have any effect on him these days that she took what she could get. ‘Any chance of a coffee?’

  ‘That ridiculous machine you bought is still taking up half the kitchen, so yes.’ Fern couldn’t just seem to say ‘yes’; every interaction between them came with a side order of sass.

  On a stool, Adam watched her do battle with levers and buttons. There was a lot of steam and some bad words, but eventually a cappuccino was put in front of him.

  ‘You know Italians only drink cappuccino at breakfast time?’ said Fern, leaning against the worktop with a nice simple mug of tea.

  ‘I do. But I’m not and never have been remotely Italian.’ He took a sip. ‘Lovely,’ he smiled, and he was old Adam again, no posing, no best behaviour. She’d almost forgotten how much he relied on coffee. Better than sex, he used to say with a wink, before adding not sex with you, obviously. They were neutered now, as asexual in each other’s company as Tallulah’s Barbies and Kens.

  ‘Anything you want to tell me?’ There was a challenge in Fern’s eyes.

  Adam held her gaze. He seemed to be turning something over in his mind before he said, ‘No.’

  We’re quits.

  ‘I’ve written some new songs. Europe was inspiring.’ As Adam chit-chatted about the tour, he reached out to fiddle with the lid of a cardboard box, tracing the roses on it with a forefinger.

  ‘Yes. Europe is, um, very, um . . .’ Fern folded her arms around her middle to stop herself snatching away the box. If Adam opened it he’d find the letters he’d written during the Great Rift, and he’d know she pored over them. And she would die of embarrassment.

  I can’t die, she thought. I’m too busy to die and nobody else can do Tallulah’s plait the way she likes it.

  Ding dong!

  Saved by the bell, Fern said, ‘Could you get that, Adam?’ and swept the box into a drawer when he meandered out to the hall.

  ‘Happy Valentine’s Day!’

  Penny.

  In she came in her inevitable heels. All in red – Fern let out a tiny growl – Penny was clutching roses and chocolates and champagne. ‘Happy Valentine’s, Fern!’

  A kiss happened; there was no way out of it. Penny’s cheek was cool. ‘I’m not really celebrating this year,’ said Fern, impressed by her visitor’s insensitivity. What with the father of my children leaving me, and all.

  ‘But it’s the most romantic day of the year,’ cooed Penny, who seemed to have ingested a book of clichés on her way over. ‘Hey, Kinky boy, the table’s booked for nine so get your skates on!’

  This seemed like news to Adam. ‘Table?’

  ‘Don’t say you’ve forgotten?’ Penny lowered the flowers and stage-whispered comically at Fern. ‘Men! What are they like?’

  Well, that one’s just like the one who used to LIVE WITH ME. ‘Off you trot,’ Fern said to Adam, knowing how the nut roast squatted in his stomach like a boulder. ‘Hope you can do justice to the set menu.’

  The side-eye Adam gave her was one of the best he’d ever done.

  ‘Waaaaaaah!’ Amelie’s theme tune erupted out of the baby monitor.

  ‘Already?’ Fern had foreseen an hour of peace before Amelie started her nightly concert. ‘Coming, sweetheart,’ she muttered, setting down her tea.

  ‘Let me,’ said Penny. She was a-jitter, excited. ‘I love babies. I’m good with them. I’m the baby whisperer.’ She had one foot on the bottom stair.

  ‘Yes, but . . .’ Fern couldn’t stop her. ‘Oh, OK. Second door on the left.’ If this was how Penny sold Kinky Mimi, no wonder Adam believed in her. It was a strange sensation, knowing your ex’s mistress was tending to your granddaughter; Fern was next door to disgruntled.

  ‘You’re very territorial about Amelie, aren’t you?’

  It wasn’t unkind the way Adam said it, but Fern heard something she couldn’t entirely like in his tone. ‘I wouldn’t call it territorial. I adore her. I look after her.’

  ‘She’s not yours, though, love.’

  He chooses this moment to call me ‘love’ for the first time in a long time. ‘What’s your point, Adam?’

  ‘Just that you have a lot to say about how Donna and Ollie should bring her up.’

  ‘That’s hardly surprising. One, I’m her grandmother, and two, I’ve done this twice over already. Donna needs support. She’s still a teenager.’

  ‘Don’t get all up in the air about it.’

  ‘Who’s getting all up in the air about it?’ said Fern, all up in the air about it. ‘Are you saying I’m interfering?’

  Adam thought for a moment. ‘Yup, Fern. Sorry but that’s exactly what I’m saying. They have to find their own way. Nature kicks in. Amelie won’t starve, will she? Maybe you should hold back a bit.’

  ‘Am I allowed to hold her? Or should I get written permission?’

  ‘You’re doing a great job. Just give the kids a bit of space, yeah?’

  ‘As much space as you give them? Should I move out and leave them to it? Adam, you sleep soundly every night up in your penthouse.’ With the baby whisperer. ‘I get up at two a.m. to soothe that child. I’m there when she ruins her clean clothes, when she has a temperature, when her poo is the colour of nothing on Earth. I don’t need a lecture from you and your credit card, thanks very much. If you did more than buy stuff I might listen to you, but for now, save it.’

  Adam held his tongue. Fern remembered this from their old arguments, the ones that had ended with making up. Adam would go quiet, not retaliate, and eventually she would crumble and apologize and he’d apologize and they’d go on as before.

  Or maybe not. Each of those spats had added one
more hairline fracture to their foundations.

  ‘Tell Pen I’m waiting in the car.’ Adam drained his cup and left.

  ‘Wah, wah, wah!’ said Amelie.

  ‘Me too, darling.’ Fern put her face in her hands. Another fail at post-split relations. I’m so bad at this. Where was the manual for dealing with a man who’d broken your heart yet still turned up for dinner?

  Plus, he’s right. Fern was so keen to make things OK, to make it up to her children, that she was overdoing it. I’ve turned into the classic overbearing mother. The trouble was, it felt so good sorting out Amelie’s everyday needs. It was something she could do with confidence, without second-guessing herself every step of the way. Curing Amelie’s wind was a breeze compared with negotiating the minefield of her emotional life.

  Pulling herself together, Fern made a date with herself to think about this later. For now, she needed to get upstairs and calm Amelie.

  The keening stopped abruptly. Fern rattled the baby monitor.

  ‘Clever girl!’ Penny was cooing. ‘That’s it. Back to sleep, poppet.’

  Fern gave Penny her due; Amelie, who could howl for hours, was appeased. Fern, slightly ashamed of her ill will, decided to thank her warmly when she came down.

  ‘Can I tell you a secret, Amelie?’

  Fern, intrigued, held the baby monitor to her ear. She could just about make out Penny’s words.

  ‘Your grandfather’s a wonderful man. A special man. You’re a lucky little girl to be surrounded by all this love.’

  Fern blinked hard.

  ‘Your grandmother will always put you first. I see in her face how she adores you. And your grandfather will protect you. Did you know he cried when he told me you’d been born? He’s your biggest fan.’

  Fern wiped her eyes. Adam was all those things. I’d forgotten. Or maybe she’d blotted it out; it was harder to lose a fine man than a silly little shit in stack heels.

  ‘He’s going through hard times, your granddad. His wildest dreams are coming through but at a terrible cost, Amelie. I promise I’ll help him. Because I love him. I’ve never known anybody like him. When he walks into a room I don’t see anyone else. I hope one day you love somebody like that, Amelie.’

  Fern switched off the monitor. ‘Adam’s in the car,’ she said when Penny reappeared. ‘Thanks. For getting the baby back to sleep.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Penny was all bustle again, pulling on gloves, snatching up the flowers.

  ‘Have a nice time.’

  Penny stared at her, one foot out of the door. She seemed to be weighing up Fern’s meaning. ‘Thanks,’ she smiled, eventually.

  Later, with Evka out doing things Fern would rather not know about to a man she’d met at the Tower of London, and Tallulah and Nora both safely in bed, Fern swiped through the latest pictures of Amelie on her mobile.

  The most photographed human on earth – unless you counted every other new baby – Amelie looked, Fern had to admit, more or less the same in every shot. Even so, Fern could pore over each snap, enjoying the gentle burnish of Amelie’s skin, the curled waxy fingers, the exuberant hair that escaped from her knitted hats.

  The hats were gifts from Nora, who was knitting like one possessed. Jackets, bootees, hats all sprang to life on her blurred needles, all of them in the cheapest acrylic wool, all of them fluorescent pink. Donna thanked her and used them all, quite a sacrifice for a girl who used to spend all her Saturday job money in French Connection.

  Choosing an image of Amelie in Ollie’s arms, Fern attached it to a text, and started to type.

  Hi Mum!

  She was stuck. She erased the two words.

  Hello Mum.

  Bit formal. She went back to ‘Hi Mum!’ and then thought hard.

  Here’s your first great granddaughter! It’s about time I sent you a pic, isn’t it? She’s healthy and happy and the light of our lives.

  Kisses? Or not?

  Such hesitation with her own mother. It was a poor state of affairs. Although only in her sixties, and by no means old old, Fern’s mum wouldn’t be around for ever. There were a thousand good reasons to get in touch, but if Fern didn’t reach out, she couldn’t be rebuffed; she wasn’t sure how she’d cope if her mother didn’t reply. Or, worse still, replied in a way that hurt. Even now, it singed Fern’s feelings to hear her mother putting Dave first in a way she never had with Fern’s dad.

  Impatient with herself, Fern added a row of x’s and sent the message. The period drama she’d taped did little to distract her from her thoughts as she glanced continually at the small screen of her phone.

  A tiny burp from the baby monitor made her smile. Amelie had slept soundly since Penny left, only an occasional mew escaping her cherub lips.

  Ping! A text arrived.

  What a pretty baby. x

  Just one line.

  Fern thought of Tallulah, asleep upstairs in her cosy room. She couldn’t imagine a future where she and her daughter relinquished the unique mother/daughter understanding. They would always have it to call on; always have a safe place they could go which shut out the rest of the world while they really talked.

  It was time to call on that bond. Fern stole into Tallulah’s room and sat on the wrought-iron bed. ‘Tallie?’ She stroked the dark, damp hair back from the girl’s forehead and smiled as her daughter swam up towards her from a dream.

  ‘Mummy?’ Tallulah was drowsy, puzzled.

  ‘We need to talk.’ Extracting Tallulah from the covers and folding her up on her knee felt like old times. Tallulah swooned into her mother, her head tucked beneath Fern’s chin. ‘Nora’s right, isn’t she? You’d never shoplift.’ Fern felt the child tense. ‘And even if you did, you wouldn’t take yukky old liquorice laces.’

  Tallulah began to cry, and Fern let her.

  To: adamcarlile@gmail.com

  From: fernsbeautyroom@gmail.com

  22.17

  Re: Tallie

  Hi Adam

  I know you’re out at dinner so I’m sending this instead of calling while it’s fresh in my mind.

  I had a long talk with Tallie tonight. As you know, she hasn’t been the same since the shoplifting/suspension incident. The whole story came out with lots of tears. She’s been protecting somebody all along.

  So, it goes like this.

  There’s a girl in Tallie’s class called Carey. Nobody likes her. She’s rude, a bully, knows all the worst words, smokes. Our basic nightmare. I’ve heard about her from other mums. But Tallie noticed that Carey likes animals and, in her words, ‘nobody’s all bad if they like animals.’ She made an effort to be friendly. At first Carey was ‘mean’ but after a while she softened and soon they were seeking out cats to stroke together and daydreaming about how many dogs they’d own when they grew up. Tallie’s friends all thought she was crazy, but Tallie felt she’d found a soulmate.

  Carey opened up about her home life. Grim, grim, grim. Borderline abuse I’d say – lots of drinking and slapping about. No wonder the girl misbehaves. One day Tallie noticed a change in Carey. She was snappy and quiet. Presumably, something terrible had happened at home, but Tallie was upset and thought Carey didn’t like her any more. Trying to make friends again, she offered to buy Carey some sweets – you know how generous she is – and they went to the newsagents together.

  That’s when it happened. Carey reached out for a whole box of liquorice laces, and scarpered. The owner noticed the empty space and raised the roof. Tallie said ‘It was me.’ The school was called and, well, we know what happened next.

  Tallie took the blame because the headmistress had made it clear to Carey that she’d used up her last chance. If she broke the rules again, she was out. Tallie knew what would happen at home if Carey was expelled.

  It gets worse.

  Carey hasn’t spoken to Tallie since. She doesn’t even look her in the eye, which upsets Tallie terribly. And now her old friends make jokes about Tallie being a thief and a ‘crim’. She was crying by the time she go
t to this part and as you can imagine so was I!

  We should have trusted her, shouldn’t we? Nora kept niggling at the subject, saying there was more to it. She was right. We might never have got to the bottom of it if Auntie hadn’t nagged me.

  How can we help Tallie through this? What do we do next?

  Goodnight. Let’s talk about this tomorrow.

  Fern

  ‘But I don’t need a Valentine’s card.’ The phone close to her ear as she chopped fruit for Donna, mixed pancakes for Ollie, and stirred brown sugar into yoghurt for Tallulah, Fern felt as if Hal was there with her in the kitchen. The sky was still dark; Fern was always the first up.

  Hal’s voice warm in her ear, he said, ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

  ‘Interesting. How, exactly?’ Fern bit her lip as she put the kettle on. She turned and Nora was suddenly there, like a genie. ‘Oh God!’ Fern reared back.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Nora, pointedly.

  ‘Look, I’ll ring you back.’ Fern ended the call. ‘Auntie. You’re up early.’

  Nora belted her dressing gown even tighter, as if to protect herself from vice. ‘That was him, I assume. Your bit on the side.’

  ‘It was a friend,’ said Fern, laying out a cup and saucer for Nora.

  ‘You were giggling like a schoolgirl.’ Nora sat down, almost missing the chair. The clumsiness was getting worse. ‘A fine example to set your daughter.’

  ‘Talking of Tallulah . . .’ Fern pushed her aunt’s sniping aside. This was a time for gratitude. ‘You were right. About the shoplifting.’

  ‘Of course I was right.’ Nora managed to be offended by the compliment.

  Fern told the tale. ‘So, you see,’ she ended, ‘I should have probed more at the time. I took my eye off the ball. With your help, I’ll put that right, and help poor Tallie deal with the fallout of what was a kind impulse.’

  ‘Your children run riot,’ said Nora, face set like a snooty bulldog. ‘One’s a schoolboy father, the other’s mixed up with a bad crowd.’

  ‘Tallulah was trying to help her friend. Nobody’s just bad, Auntie. The child has problems at home.’