by Claire Sandy
A bath, she thought. A long bath, and a good cry. The urge to call Hal, to shout ‘Gotcha!’ was strong. She resisted it, just as she resisted the urge to check her phone for texts. It was the right decision. It was for the best. She’d mishandled it spectacularly, but there you go.
The anger had surprised her. Hal’s equilibrium was hard to dent. Perhaps he wasn’t used to being ‘let go’. He’s a golden boy. But no longer her golden boy.
Outside, voices were raised. ‘Shut up, Ollie,’ Donna was saying. She stormed in, displaying her iPhone like a warrant card. ‘Can you explain this, please?’ she said, eyes sparking.
Focusing, Fern saw a Facebook page. ‘me’n’my lil darlin’ was the caption beneath a selfie of Maz and Amelie, shot by the baby’s cot. Fern’s mouth twitched; she felt like a pinned butterfly. Something gave her the feeling that Donna was about to pull off her wings.
‘Did you let this joker in? When we were out at that stupid club?’
‘Maz is so sad, Donna.’
‘Oh my days,’ howled Donna, throwing back her head. ‘Are you for real? Maz is a player. He’s worming his way in. He wants Amelie for himself.’
‘That would never happen.’ Fern tried to bring down the temperature.
‘Yeah? Well, if he can get into my own bedroom, who knows what he can do?’ Donna was shaking; Fern’s second casualty of the day.
Perhaps, if I do my best, I can infuriate Tallie as well before I turn in. ‘Donna, it was wrong and I’m sorry.’
‘Bit late for sorries!’ Donna shook off Ollie’s restraining hand.
‘What can I do but promise it won’t happen again?’
‘She’s my baby.’ Donna was crying now, her anger dissolving into tears as anger so often does. She beat her chest. ‘Mine!’
‘Actually, she’s Maz’s too.’ Fern had to say it; to stay schtum would be to do her sort-of daughter-in-law a disservice. ‘At some point you have to face that.’
‘His name’s not on the birth certificate, Fern. He has no rights.’
Fern was baffled. ‘Whose name is on it?’
‘His.’ Donna gestured at Ollie, lurking by the door, wearing the who, me? expression of men when their womenfolk fight. ‘Ollie’s the father. End of.’ She pushed past her boyfriend and disappeared.
‘That’s not fair, Oliver.’ Fern wearily peeled off her jacket. Even a bath felt like too much effort now; she needed to be in bed. ‘You can’t lie to Amelie about something so fundamental.’
‘I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s done now.’
‘Sorry, love. Not good enough.’ Fern had never demanded high exam grades or virtuoso piano playing, but she expected decency from both her kids. ‘I’m truly sorry about Maz. I was soft. I told him to go through the proper channels, but he was so moved by seeing Amelie I let him hold her.’
‘Mum, you do so much for us.’ This had the air of a prepared speech. ‘But back off, please. Let us do it our way.’ Ollie ran his fingers through his towering hair. ‘Donna makes out Maz is the big bad wolf, but he’s only a cocky sod. She feels guilty. About her fling. So she, um, what’s that word you use?’
‘Projects?’
‘Yeah. She projects so he’s the enemy.’
‘But I should back off.’ Fern felt small.
‘Yeah.’ Ollie looked as if he was putting a sickly old guinea pig to sleep. ‘Just a bit,’ he said.
Row A had been in their seats for what felt like hours. Because it was hours. Fern hadn’t realized how long it took to record half an hour of television comedy. She’d been cowed by the size of the studio, by the banks of lights overhead, by the purposeful crew members beetling about and barking into headmikes.
‘Front row?’ Tallulah had been impressed, but now their prized seats were a penance. So close to the performers, they felt duty bound not to fidget or yawn. Laughing like drains at every joke, even when they heard it for the eighth time, clapping until their hands were raw, they’d begun to wilt.
The whole clan was assembled, except for the oldest and the youngest. Nora was babysitting; today was a good day, with no eye trouble, no slurring, no knocking over vases.
At the end of the row, Penny laughed harder than anybody else. She sounded as if she had a chicken down her bra. Squeezing Adam’s hand excitedly, as if they were tweenies at a Justin Bieber concert, Penny was wringing every ounce of excitement out of the evening.
Seeing the actors this close was a buzz. Watching them between takes, Fern and Tallulah swapped notes on who was most like their character. The flighty teenaged girl was a dreary mope when the camera wasn’t on her, and the grumpy granddad was a sweetheart. Lincoln Speed was touched with gold dust, stealing every scene. He looked just like he did on the screen, bursting with sex appeal despite his somewhat battered face. Fern could discern some subtle scalpel work, but she turned to goo along with every other female in the studio when his eyes crinkled and he threw out some gag in his cheese-grater voice.
He’s won me over! Lincoln Speed was a true star; his charisma was so heady, it eclipsed his many and varied failings. Tonight he held the evening together, turned the air into wine, won over every doubter.
If it wasn’t for Lincoln and his leather trousers – Fern couldn’t think of anybody else who could carry them off over forty – Fern would have drifted away altogether. The lumber in the attic of her mind clamoured for attention.
A week since she’d performed the Grand Slam and pissed off three people dear to her. Hal hadn’t been in touch; not so much as a late-night drunken insult/endearment. Ollie kept his distance. Donna stood guard over Amelie as if Fern was a stalker, cold-shouldering her out of all the little tasks Fern had used to do, had loved doing.
The clumsy set piece in the pub spooled endlessly in her head. It came out wrong. She should have started by telling Hal how much he meant to her, the confidence he’d given her at a low point in her life, what an incredible person he was. None of that got said. His surly response made her forget the script.
Fern had expected Hal to be a little hurt, but philosophical. She’d expected surprise, then dismay, then, perhaps, maybe, a little resistance. She’d thought he’d fight for them, give her reasons why they should stick together.
I would have stood my ground. Fern didn’t doubt the common sense of her decision. That doesn’t stop me feeling as if I’ve lost something precious. She remembered the time she’d lost her dad’s signet ring on holiday. It’s irreplaceable, she’d sniffled; so was Hal.
The insult – ‘old woman’ – had amazed her. With hindsight, she should have known that the gentlest of people lash out when they’re upset. Hal wasn’t perfect. He was just another human with needs of his own, and she’d humiliated him.
Her failure to exit gracefully, to treat Hal with respect, was a wound that refreshed itself every day.
‘Quiet, please.’
The lighting rig blazed onto the New York apartment just feet from Fern. Lincoln Speed sprawled on a sofa, hands behind his head, and drawled his catchphrase:
‘What ya gonna do about it?’
Fern obediently whooped along with everybody else. She turned, catching Donna’s eye, and Donna stopped mid-whoop.
The glare again. If Donna’s eyes were lasers, Fern would be as full of holes as a Swiss cheese. Fern had always admired Donna’s righteous fury, smiling to herself at the way the girl kept her son in check. Being on the receiving end was different; she sympathized with Ollie now, and understood why he sometimes hid in the conservatory. I might join him there.
Allowed out for a fifteen-minute break, the audience – Fern favoured the term ‘hostages’ – milled about the foyer.
‘So,’ said Adam to Fern, bouncing on his heels as if they were vague associates meeting at a cheese and wine do.
‘So,’ said Fern. She remembered something. ‘Tallie! Come here and tell Daddy about Carey.’
Listening to his daughter spill her woes, Adam’s brows knitted.
The Botox must
have worn off, thought Fern, taking in his excruciatingly tight trousers and ankle boots so pointy they could have filleted a salmon.
‘You know the magic cure for this?’ Adam waited for Tallulah to answer.
‘Does it involve hitting?’ she said hopefully.
Sometimes Fern worried about Tallie.
‘No,’ said Adam patiently. ‘It involves talking. Instead of lying in your bed going over and over it in your mind, ask Carey why she ignores you.’
‘She’ll run away,’ said Tallulah. ‘You don’t know what it’s like, Daddy. She’ll push me. Everyone will see.’
‘Keep asking. People behave badly when they don’t know what to do with their emotions. If you tell her you forgive her, she’ll open up.’
‘I don’t know if I do forgive her.’ Tallulah’s lower lip stuck out. ‘She’s being really mean.’
‘Do you miss her? Do you want her back? Do you believe she could be a good friend to you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then talk to her, sweetie. Talking always helps.’
Does it? You and I talked ourselves out of a relationship, thought Fern. It was good advice, all the same. Glad that their rickety family set-up still worked, Fern used the window of two minutes or so before Penny returned from the vending machine she was currently kicking into submission to thank Adam. ‘You’ve taken a weight off Tallie’s shoulders.’
‘She’s a resilient kid. She can handle this.’
‘I guess if she can handle a separation, she can deal with a classmate.’
‘Perhaps it’s a helpful lesson. Ironically, she might benefit from discovering early on that her parents are just fallible people who make mistakes like everybody else.’
‘Mistakes?’ Missing a layer of skin this evening, Fern was easily singed. ‘We were a mistake, were we?’ She said it lightly, but it didn’t land that way.
‘There you go again. Twisting things. It was just a turn of phrase.’
‘OK, keep your hair plugs on.’
Adam touched the back of his head. ‘You noticed?’
‘Of course I noticed.’ Fern had been fond of Adam’s small bald patch. Most mornings it had been the only part of him visible above the duvet. On Valentine’s Day she liked to draw a heart on it.
‘Penny’s idea,’ said Adam, his eyes cast down. ‘Go ahead. Laugh.’
‘Why would I laugh?’ Fern needed closeness tonight, not more acrimony.
A bell rang. Penny cantered over. ‘Back to the studio! Chop chop!’
Fern remembered the eulogy she’d recited to Evka about long relationships, and added a postscript: Once it’s over, you’ll find you can’t even chat any more without suddenly taking a detour into brambles.
Time passed. Fern wasn’t sure how much. She felt as if she’d been born in that uncomfortable studio seat and might well die there. Finally, the floor manager shouted, ‘That’s a wrap, folks!’ and led the cast in a round of applause for the audience.
‘Thank the sweet Lord baby Jesus,’ muttered Adam, massaging his calf.
A tremor of anticipation went round the room as Lincoln Speed strode to the front and said, ‘Hi London!’
‘Hi Lincoln!’ They were in the palm of his hand.
‘We have a special guest tonight, a Londoner, one of your own.’
Fern and Tallulah locked eyes, their mouths open.
‘Daddy!’ whispered Tallulah.
‘He wrote the song you hear at the top of each episode. He’s a huge part of Roomies’ success and he’s my good friend. Adam, dude, take a bow.’
Penny reacted as if this was the single most exciting thing that had happened to any homo sapiens, ever. ‘Up! Up!’ she cried, like a stage mother encouraging a tap-dancing tot.
Rising awkwardly, Adam turned and waved to the crowd, who were adoring him, just like Lincoln had told them to.
‘Lookee here,’ said Lincoln, as a techie scuttled in to hand him a guitar. ‘If only we knew somebody who could play this. Come on, Adam! Get up here, you old dog!’
The front row all turned to one another, sick with excitement, pulling faces. Adam jogged up to Lincoln and was smothered in a manly hug. Everything Lincoln did was exaggerated, as if he was ten per cent more real than everybody else.
‘Take it away, bro!’ Lincoln kissed a startled Adam. Nobody would guess they’d never met before that moment.
Sometimes stuff just seems to get you down
Feelin’ like there’s no one else around
Accompanied only by Adam’s guitar, the song was sweet, melodic, with none of the bombast of the telly version.
How long is it since I heard Adam sing? He’d sung all the time when they first moved to Homestead House. His voice was delicate, full of feeling. Around Fern people turned to one another, held hands. In her peripheral vision she saw Penny dab her eyes.
You wish you could reach out and find a friend
Who’ll be here today, tomorrow, until the bitter end
This performance was nothing like the camp excesses of Kinky Mimi. Caught up in his moment, Adam sang the song as if the words had just occurred to him. He was in his element. For the three minutes that the song lasted, Fern wasn’t his ex; she was a fan. Did I ever appreciate how much his music meant to him? She couldn’t, hand on heart, answer ‘Yes.’
Your mates are here to stay
And your life’s a holiday
With Roomies!
Wild applause broke out. Exhausted hands found the energy to clap some more.
‘That’s my daddy!’ shouted Tallie, to general ‘Aww!’s.
But that’s not my Adam. The man on stage, sexily thin and styled to perfection, was a new Adam, possibly an improved one. Certainly a happier one. Fern wanted to weep. Not to cry, not to blub, but to lie down and weep until this realization lost its poison.
The audience stood and shook itself, like Boudi getting up from a long snooze by the fire. As Fern switched her phone back on to check on Nora, a text bounced onto the screen.
‘Guys,’ said Adam, eyes bright, giving into their hugs and congratulations. ‘Lincoln’s asked us all to the after-party!’
‘Yay!’ Donna was wired.
‘What ya gonna do about it!’ hollered Ollie, who only pretended to be unimpressed by celebrity.
‘I can’t.’ Fern tucked her phone away. ‘See you at home, kids. Adam, can you—’
‘You don’t have to ask me to drop my own children home.’ Obviously Adam was still smarting from their snappy exchange.
Darting away before anybody could protest, Fern pushed through the crowds and went out into the darkness, obeying the text.
At night the park was different. The trees stood about like muggers, and each rustle in the bushes made Fern jump. With her way lit only by the moon, she had trouble keeping to the path. Her heels kept encountering squishy grass, unbalancing her.
‘Hal?’ she called. The park was their place, the only possible venue for . . . what is this we’re doing? Fern wasn’t sure. She’d merely answered his summons. The thought of touching him again was exciting. But I mustn’t backtrack. She repeated that to herself as she saw a dark figure rise at the bandstand. It was either Hal or a serial killer; either way, she sped up to meet him.
‘Hi.’ It wasn’t a serial killer. Hal’s hands were in his pockets, his mouth a thin line. He sat back down on a bench placed awkwardly in the middle of the bandstand, an ornate Edwardian structure now peeling and covered with graffiti.
‘Lori is a slag,’ read Fern, taking a seat beside him. ‘Nice to know.’
Hal didn’t laugh. ‘I need to apologize.’
‘You don’t,’ began Fern, but Hal shushed her.
‘Let me say it. You’re not a selfish bitch. And you’re not old. You’re you, you’re just you, not old, not young, just Fern. I was way out of order.’
This wasn’t joyous or light; Fern’s excitement crawled into a corner and died. ‘Are you here to fight for us?’ she asked.
‘No.’<
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‘OK.’ Fern nodded. Relieved, in a way, that life wasn’t giving her the option to backtrack, she was also disappointed. Romantic ideals are immune to logic.
‘You were right, Fern. There’s no future for us, and we’re both people who like a future. The ingredients are there. I fancy you. I like you. I like you a lot,’ he said, as if dancing around that other L-word. ‘I’ll always remember you, Fern.’
‘Me too. You, I mean. It goes without saying I’ll remember myself.’ Shut up. Fern tended to over-talk at moments like these. She imagined herself as a wrinkled old dear in Tallulah’s spare room, reliving her glory days when she was Hal’s Older Woman.
‘The thing I most want to do at this moment is kiss you.’
‘You won’t, though, will you?’
‘No.’ Hal clasped his hands together and looked down at them.
It would have been wonderful if Hal had fought for her. If he’d beat his chest like a silverback gorilla and taken her there and then in the bandstand. But that was fantasy, and this was real life. When there’s much at stake, common sense trumps romance. Yet another unpalatable factoid women pick up by their forties. ‘Thank you, Hal. For waking me up. And for letting me go.’ Fern thought of his hands on her, and her eyes fluttered shut. ‘You made me feel whole and female at a time when I felt out of step and finished.’
Hal stood up suddenly. ‘This is horrible. I’m going, Fern.’
He did just that. Fern stayed on the bench, idly looking up into the rafters of the bandstand. With her head in that position, the tears rolled right back into her eyes, as if they’d never been shed. She wanted to shout that she’d miss him; she wanted to know if he would miss her. She didn’t allow herself either indulgence.
An uninvited thought muscled in.
Donna and Ollie don’t always have their date night on Thursdays.
Tearing through the dark, Fern punched redial over and over, only to hear her own voice say maddeningly, ‘Hi! You’re through to Fern and Adam.’ She imagined Nora, collapsed, lifeless. She imagined Amelie in a passenger seat, being driven God knows where.