It was the same story in Chemistry: ‘Bright girl, slipping in concentration.’ And in English: ‘There’s not a big problem, or we would have called you.’ With each successive meeting, Rory progressed into a strange land she’d never been in before. One in which she didn’t know her own daughter.
On the drive home, Rory tried not to attack Belle straight away. ‘Look, I know A levels are a big jump up from GCSEs. But what’s going on, Belle? The student they described didn’t even sound like you.’
Belle was slumped into her seat with her arms crossed. She stared out the car window. ‘Nothing is going on. I’m getting enough done. The teachers want blood this year. Whatever you do, they just want more.’
Deep breath. Stay calm. ‘And where have you been going when you told me you were at Fiona’s? Why have you been lying to me, Belle?’
Belle’s head snapped round. ‘I haven’t been lying! I do go to Fiona’s. Her mum doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Sometimes me and the other girls just knock for her and we go somewhere else. Her mum probably doesn’t notice me in the group. You can ask Fiona if you don’t believe me.’
Fiona was unlikely to be a reliable source. But Rory left the conversation alone for now. She needed to work out how to handle this.
When she got home, Belle went straight to her room. Rory joined Sheila and Charlie in the living room.
‘How was the glowing report? Are they sending her to Oxford yet?’ Sheila looked up from the jigsaw they were doing together.
‘Not so glowing.’ Rory sat down heavily.
Sheila paused with a jigsaw piece in her hand. ‘Shall I make you a cup of tea and we can talk about it?’
Rory shrugged. ‘I’ll have the tea.’
Sheila looked at Rory as if she was the stroppy teenager, but she spoke to Charlie. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, Charlie love. You carry on with the jigsaw.’
She nodded in the direction of the kitchen. Rory sighed and followed her out.
In the kitchen, Rory held up her hands. ‘Really, Mum. I don’t want to talk about it.’
Sheila filled the kettle. ‘I was just going to tell you that Olive’s been poorly. George is worried that it’s a lack of exercise. We tried to take her out for a walk together, but she gets out of puff very quickly and wants to go home. It’s a bit like taking a small child out. I suggested a wheelchair, but that defeats the object of her getting some exercise and, as she does get fresh air in the garden, it seems a pointlessly difficult endeavour.’
Rory wasn’t listening. She knew what her mum was doing. This had been her tactic when Rory was young. Keep prattling on until it was a mercy to shut her up by telling her what was on your mind. But Rory wasn’t ready to talk about tonight yet. ‘Uh-huh.’
Sheila wasn’t put off. She started to talk about George and how the strain of looking after Olive was beginning to take its toll on him. ‘She is very demanding. She calls for him to come and then doesn’t know what she wanted him for. Karen is really worried about him and he does look rather grey. I’ve started popping in more often. I take little treats for Olive and I’ve made lunch for the three of us a few times.’
‘People are going to start to talk, Mum.’
Sheila crossed her arms. ‘Let them. I don’t care. His daughter doesn’t seem to mind, so they can just keep their noses out.’ They stood in silence for a few moments. Then the kettle clicked and Sheila opened the cupboards to find the cups. ‘Speaking of daughters. What happened tonight?’
Rory sighed. ‘It was awful. She’s not focused in class. Homework is poor. I don’t get it, Mum. She has always been the perfect student. And now they are telling me that she’s disinterested. Lacking in motivation. She’d rather have a chat than complete her work. I don’t know what to do.’ She looked up sharply. ‘Oh my god! Do you think she’s taking drugs?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! Of course she isn’t. She is just being a teenager. She has this boyfriend now and her head is full of other things. It’s a perfectly normal stage.’
Rory slumped against the washing machine. ‘I still feel like I don’t know anything about him.’
Sheila continued with making the tea. ‘His name is Alfie. He has blonde hair. Not too long; not too short. He is really good looking and he’s had lots of girlfriends but he’s never liked anyone as much as he likes Belle. Oh, and he supports Arsenal.’
Rory had a vague recollection that Belle had started to show an interest in the football scores. ‘Why hasn’t she told me all this?’
‘Because you’re her mum. That’s how it works. Anyway, she thinks you are anti-romance.’
Rory practically growled. ‘I am not anti-romance. I’m just pro-realism. How many girlfriends has this Alfie had, anyway?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. They are only sixteen. I’m sure none of them were very serious.’
That’s where Rory did have more information than her mother. She hadn’t been teaching for the last fifteen years without knowing how early kids got serious these days. But Belle?
‘It gets worse, Mum. She’s been telling me she’s going to Fiona’s house, but I saw Fiona’s mum this evening and she told me that she hasn’t seen Belle properly in weeks. Belle’s never lied to me before.’
Sheila put a cup of hot tea in front of Rory and then put her hands around her own. ‘Aurora. I know you’re worried. And you are right to be upset that she has lied. But you need to keep this in perspective. Belle is a sixteen-year-old girl. You must remember what that felt like? She’s a good girl. You’ve brought her up well. Leave it tonight and talk to her about this tomorrow, when you’ve both had time to sleep on it.’
Rory sipped her tea. Her mum was right. But Belle’s deceit wasn’t the only surprising information she’d received this evening, and she couldn’t talk to her mum about the other thing without revealing how it had made her feel.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rory had been flicking through Year 9 assessments and wallpaper samples for the hall when she got the call from Barb: Sheila was in hospital. Barb took an interminably long time to explain what was going on, but Rory just wanted to get off the phone, find her keys and get to Sheila as soon as she could.
Roadworks en route to the hospital did nothing to calm Rory’s nerves. As the traffic snaked slowly past the orange cones, she tapped the steering wheel and worked her way through the pre-set radio stations, which seemed to have been hijacked by loud, thumping dance music. Who would have predicted Rory would be nostalgic for the soundtrack to Beauty and the Beast?
Parents’ evening had been two days ago. Belle had stayed home for the last two nights. Rory hadn’t used the word ‘grounded’ but had told her she needed to focus on the targets her teachers had set, and Belle hadn’t argued. She knew that she was on thin ice. Rory had planned to talk to her on Friday evening, but Belle had come home from school saying she had a headache and spent the night in her bedroom. So it was Saturday morning by the time they had a conversation. This was probably a good thing. Rory had had longer to cool down and attempt a calmer approach. To start with a positive.
‘Can we sit down and have a chat?’ When Belle had emerged from her bedroom to get herself some cereal, Rory had patted the sofa next to her. They had spent many evenings on this sofa together, cuddled under a blanket. Belle would fall asleep watching a Disney DVD with her thumb in her mouth, whilst Rory tried to read a book without her noticing. That seemed an eternity ago.
Belle rubbed her eyes with the back of her wrist and yawned. Her mobile was in her hand; it was a permanent fixture these days. ‘Yeah, if you like. What do you want to talk about?’
She leaned against the arm of a chair, her legs stretching out forever, and brushed her hair away from her eyes. Against Rory’s advice, she’d decided she wanted to ‘grow out her fringe’ when she was six. There had been many months of trying to keep her hair out of her eyes with a variety of different clips. But her hair had always done what it wanted. Seems like the rest of her was now followi
ng suit.
‘We need to catch up. Can you put the mobile away for a bit?’ Rory was fighting hard to keep her tone as neutral as possible. What the hell did Belle think she wanted to talk about? World peace?
‘Sorry, I’m just waiting for a…’ Belle scanned the screen and smiled. She started to tap out a response.
For a girl who should have been waiting for the fallout from parents’ evening, Belle was remarkably laid back. Rory’s voice got a little firmer. ‘Belle, I want to talk to you. Now.’
Belle dragged her eyes in Rory’s direction. ‘I’m here, Mum; talk away. I just…’ The mobile pinged and her eyes were sucked back to the screen.
‘Belle!’ Rory snatched the phone from her daughter’s hands. She didn’t look at the message, but the fear that flashed across Belle’s face made her wonder if she should. What was on that screen? Did she need to worry about more than the lack of school work?
When Rory placed the mobile face down on the table, Belle’s fear turned to relief and then to anger. ‘I am not one of your kids from school, you know! You can’t just confiscate my stuff for no reason!’ She made a grab for the mobile, but Rory’s hand was on top of hers before she could lift it from the table. Rory might not have had to deal with this behaviour from her daughter before, but she dealt with stroppy teenagers on a daily basis. Belle would need to get up pretty early in the morning to beat her.
Rory looked into her daughter’s flashing eyes. ‘Just leave it there for five minutes.’
Belle pushed herself further back onto the armchair and crossed her arms. She stared at the mobile as if she could move it telekinetically in her direction.
Where to begin? It had never been difficult for Rory to talk to her daughter before. In fact, it had been quite difficult to stop Belle from chattering endlessly about anything that came into her head. Sheila had joked that there must be a hole in the back of Belle’s head and, when the wind blew, it make her tongue waggle. But that was Belle the little girl. The tall, beautiful creature in front of Rory now was almost a woman. It wasn’t a case of banning Coco Pops for a week if she didn’t do what Rory wanted.
Rory took her hand from the mobile and laid it on Belle’s arm. ‘I love you, you know.’
Belle looked up with surprise. Then suspicion. ‘I love you too, Mum. Of course, I do.’
Rory took a deep breath. ‘You are the most precious thing I have, Belle. I want you to know that.’
‘I do know that.’ Belle shuffled in her seat. ‘Is there something bad you’re going to tell me? You haven’t got a disease, have you?’
Rory shook her head. ‘Thankfully not. This is about you. About your boyfriend.’
Belle stopped shuffling and flushed. ‘I don’t need to talk about that, Mum. You already did the birds and the bees thing.’
Rory had told Belle the facts of life early on. Sheila had tutted that it was too early. But Belle had asked, and Rory hadn’t been about to make up some story involving storks and cherubs. She’d explained about mummy eggs and daddy seeds and Belle had accepted the whole thing without any trauma.
But there was a vast difference between a scientific explanation of procreation and the idea of her own daughter having sex with a real-life boy. A boy Rory hadn’t even met. Maybe she should start with that.
‘I was wondering when I might get a chance to meet this young man of yours.’ Young man? Why the hell had she said that? She really was turning into her mother. ‘I mean, meet Alfie.’
Belle actually groaned. ‘What is this, Mum? The eighteen hundreds? We’re not getting married or anything. It’s not serious. I’m just… seeing him. If I ask him to come and meet my mum, he’ll think I’m a complete weirdo.’
Rory was quite relieved to hear it wasn’t serious, but they still needed to talk. ‘Okay, well maybe it’s too soon to bring him home, but I wanted to talk to you before it gets serious.’
Belle rolled her eyes and slumped back even further into the sofa. ‘I’m not stupid. I’m sixteen, not six!’
Rory knew that. She really knew it. And to think she had complained that six was a difficult age. She wished she hadn’t started this. But she had, and now she needed to keep going. ‘At some point you might want to… to take things to the next… I mean, not necessarily with him, but at some point you might…’ For the love of God. She’d taught Sex Education before. Why was it so difficult to say the damn word?
‘Sex.’ Belle practically pouted. ‘You want to talk to me about sex.’
Now it was Rory’s turn to squirm. It was so different talking to Belle than it would be talking to a whole class.
‘Yes. I want to talk to you about sex. But not about doing it, exactly.’ She took a deep breath and tried again. ‘Belle, you are so precious to me.’
The mobile pinged. Twice in quick succession. The boy was keen, you had to give him that. Belle glanced at it longingly. Rory needed to hurry before she lost her attention.
‘The thing is. Having... sex... it changes things. There is nothing wrong with a healthy sexual relationship’ – she was beginning to sound like the school nurse on sex-ed day – ‘but there is an emotional side that you might not be ready for. I just want you to know that you can talk to me, Belle. Any time. About anything.’
Belle raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you talk to your mum about having sex?’
Dammit. This girl was clever. ‘Well, no, but, you know, times were different then. You and I are closer than that. We’ve always talked about important stuff in the past.’
Belle stood up, leaned over and hugged Rory. It was a nice gesture, but it made Rory feel about a hundred and five. ‘Oh, Mum, we are close. I will talk to you, if… if I’m planning anything. I’m not at that stage yet, honestly. Can I please have my mobile back?’
Maybe Rory didn’t need to push the point. This was Belle. Her sensible daughter. Rory shouldn’t have paid any attention to her mother. If Belle wanted to talk to her, she would. And anyway, it wasn’t a serious relationship, so she could just relax. What a relief.
That was, until she picked up the mobile to give it back to Belle and saw the picture Alfie had sent her. He had taken a full-length photograph of himself in the mirror wearing a large smile. And nothing else.
* * *
And now she had to worry about her mother too. It took Rory about ten minutes to find a parking space at the hospital. Ambulances were coming and going and people in various states of distress were walking into A&E. That smell of bleach and antiseptic. She hated this place. Too much sadness. Now, where was her mum?
Sheila was sitting in the waiting room with her ankle bandaged. Something about the way she sat, with both hands on her handbag, made her look vulnerable. ‘I told Barb not to bother you. I could have got a taxi home. Olive is still poorly and I was going to take the Reader’s Digest in there tonight and read her the funny letters.’
Rory was so relieved to see that she was okay. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, but she didn’t know if they were for Sheila or herself. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mum. Of course I would want to be here to take you home. Come on. Let’s get out of this place and you can tell me what you’ve been doing to yourself.’
She also had a few things she wanted to get off her own chest. But Rory would need to make sure Sheila was sitting down again when she told her what was going on with Belle. Otherwise she might end up spraining her other ankle.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rory wanted to take her mum back home with her, but Sheila had insisted on going back to her own flat. Rory made her a cup of tea. Water, with a hint of tea bag and the merest suggestion of milk. Just the way Sheila liked it.
‘Lovely. Thank you. They made me a cup of tea at the hospital but it was like sludge. Couldn’t drink it.’ She took a sip. ‘It’s good to be home and out of that place. The nurses were all lovely but I couldn’t bear it.’ She squeezed Rory’s hand. ‘Thanks for coming, love. I know you hate it, too.’
Rory’s throat constricted. ‘My heart st
opped when Barb called to tell me you were at the hospital.’
‘I knew it would. That’s why I told her not to call you.’ Sheila patted the hand she was still holding. ‘It’s just your silly old mother having an old lady fall. Turns out Flo was right about people dropping their wet smalls in the laundry room. Can you imagine how embarrassing it was telling that young male nurse that I’d slipped over a pair of wet Y-fronts?’ She smiled, but her bottom lip trembled a little.
It was that vulnerability which made Rory’s eyes fill.
Sheila held out her arms. ‘Oh, come here, you silly thing.’
Rory lay her head on her mum’s chest and let her hold her close. Imperial Leather and humbugs. That was a far more comforting smell than the disinfectant in the hospital. It was a while since they’d done this. A long while.
‘I thought…’ Rory’s voice cracked. She didn’t trust herself to continue.
‘I can imagine what you thought. You’re not getting rid of me for a long while, my girl. So you can put that right out of your head.’ Sheila stroked Rory’s hair. Then kissed the top of her head and pushed her back into a sitting position. ‘This isn’t like you. The tears. What’s going on?’
Rory wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘I took your advice and spoke to Belle.’ She shot a look at her mother which warned her against being smug. ‘It didn’t go so well.’
Rory gave a short summary of their conversation and then explained about the photograph. Sheila’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head.
‘Well.’ She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Well.’
‘I know.’ Rory nodded. ‘I made her show me their whole conversation. She is absolutely livid with me.’ Livid didn’t come close. Belle had threatened to call Childline. ‘Most of their conversation was pretty standard teenage rubbish but the last couple of texts were pretty flirty and suggestive.’ Rory’s heart had sunk lower and lower as she’d read them. How dare some boy talk to her beautiful, perfect daughter like that?
Happily Never After_A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Page 16