The Importance of Being Me

by Caroline Grace-Cassidy

  And he was right. I didn’t really care. How selfish of me. I look up at the big yellow double-decker bus passing me by. “I’m sorry, David,” I say when the thunderous sound from the engine dies away. In its trail is a long rod of smoke and the smell of sulphur.

  “Look, it’s fine. I have moved on. I’m completely happy. I don’t want you to think that Susan living with us is in any way malicious, because I swear on her life it isn’t. She’s growing up. She’s changing. You want her to stay a child for ever,” he says.

  What’s the point? I think now. I can shout and scream till I’m blue in the face, but at the end of the day he’s right. I push myself off the lamp post and walk wearily towards my car.

  “I’m not back here just to talk to Susan, David. I came to tell her about an opportunity that’s come my way. I’d better tell you too. I’ve been offered a chef job in a restaurant in St Ives. Claire’s investing in it.”

  “Oh, Courtney, that’s fantastic!” He exudes happiness for me. Good for him. I have to let go.

  “If things work out, I want to stay there after the summer. You’re right: Susan has her own life right now. She can come and live with me whenever she wants, but right now, I’m doing this for me.” I unlock my car, which is parked on the roadside, and sit into the driver’s seat.

  “I’m proud of you,” he says now in an Oprah-type voice. I find it condescending, though I really don’t want to. What is wrong with me? He’s being so nice. I start the engine and the phone switches over to the hands-free. Indicating, I pull out into the busy Saturday Dawson Street traffic.

  “This couldn’t have worked out any better,” my ex-husband continues.

  “Well, it could have really, David . . . My daughter might have wanted to come with me.” I stab my foot on the brake as someone cuts in front of me on a speeding, noise-polluting motorbike.

  “She doesn’t want to leave Dublin. It’s not personal, you must see that?”

  “I think it is – I think Mar-nee’s turned her against me,” I reply.

  “Oh chillax, don’t be a numpty!”

  “It’s what I think. So I’ll talk to Susan myself, if you don’t mind, but I wanted to tell you myself. I’ll be in touch, obviously.”

  Tears pierce my eyes as I drive towards Dun Laoghaire. I know he’s right, of course. Yes, I have to let go of my old life. Susan will always remain the one true love of my life, but like I told Claire, she needs me to be a role model now. When I talk to her, I want to make it clear that I will always be there for her.

  Driving home, I recall the last sixteen years. It all. From the thrilling blue line on the pregnancy test to the overwhelming love and joy in the delivery ward to the first day of primary school. Scenarios play out in my head: the two of us cooking in the kitchen and laughing, all the way up to this present day of her standing, staring at me in her work uniform at Mar-nee’s. Then something occurs to me. It strikes me hard and I expend a long, slow breath. Not for one second in those last sixteen years of memories did I see David. He wasn’t there. Yet he had been there. I’d ignored him.

  I find his number in recently dialled and I call him again.

  “Yes, Courtney?” he answers, sounding somewhat despondent that it’s me again.

  “David, I’m so sorry. For everything. Forgive me. I really am happy that you have found love. You won’t get any more hassle from me, I promise you that. You’re a good guy, David, and an amazing father. Susan is a very lucky girl.” It feels good to say it.

  “Thank you. That’s so nice,” he says.

  “I mean it,” I say.

  “Mar-nee tells me you gave her the finger.” There is a light tone to his voice.

  “I shall apologise,” I say.

  “Oh, no need. Mar-nee thought it was hilarious! She said you two have crossed the line and she’s not afraid of you any more. You flipping the bird humanised you in her head.” He laughs.

  “Afraid of me?” I ask. Why on earth would Mar-nee be afraid of me?

  “Oh yeah, Mar-nee was terrified of you. You were always so cold and she thinks you look down on her intellectually, but she just told me anyone who gives the finger like that is a legend! She’s so funny, Mar-nee.” He laughs harder now.

  “I’m no intellectual, David, you know that!” I tell him as I turn into the driveway. “Oh!” I shout.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Oh . . . It’s Susan. She’s sitting on the wall of the house,” I say, amazed.

  “Be calm with her!” His anxiety rises, and I smile.

  “It’s fine, don’t worry . . . You really need to chillax, David.” I laugh as I cut the call and kill the engine. I’m so ready for this moment.

  16

  Susan pushes herself up off the wall as I get out of the car and my phone beeps. I ignore it.

  “I don’t want to fight, Mom,” are the first words from her mouth. “I just need to know what was so important that you had to come to the salon to speak to me. I have to be back at work in half an hour. I’ve a client booked in.”

  “Let’s make a quick pot of tea then, shall we?” I suggest, and she nods as I open the door. Susan looks on the side table in the hall for post and makes her way down to the kitchen. Following her in, I fill the kettle and we stand.

  “Did you want to talk to me about something urgent, Mom?”

  “I did, love . . . I made a colossal life decision for myself. I’m going to stay on in St Ives after the summer. Claire is staying in Cornwall and investing in a restaurant, and I’ve been offered a job there. I’m going to be a chef.”

  “And leave me here?” Her eyes widen in shock.

  “Isn’t that what you want?” I say calmly.

  “Well, yeah, for now . . . but I might change my mind, Mom, and want to come back here.”

  “This house will always be your home. It’s your Dad’s house, love. I’m afraid I won’t be living here any more, though. It’s time I made a fresh start in my life too.” She wants to be a grown-up, and this is the grown-up reality of our situation.

  “I know that sounds ridiculous after all the shouting I’ve done to be taken seriously as an adult. Totally ridiculous. But I just . . . Well, I . . . This is our home, Mom.”

  “I’m guessing Daddy and Mar-nee will move back here, love. They’d be mad not to . . . So this will always be your home,” I reassure her as she sits. I take two cups out and move to the fridge for the milk for me. I remember she’s a vegan. I’m not pushing anything on her any more.

  “So you’re not going back to school,” I say as I stare into the fridge. I get the milk and await her answer. None comes, so I turn and look at her. She’s looking at me. She shakes her head.

  “No. I start work full-time in Mar-nee’s in September, Mom. I have two beautician courses I have to complete between now and then. Mar-nee is paying for them. I’m studying nights at the moment.”

  “I really wanted you to get an education, Susan.” I pour the boiling water onto the tea bags. Surprisingly, I’m very calm. I’ve played out this conversation in my head over and over again since she texted to tell me she wasn’t going back to school.

  “But I am getting an education, Mom – a life education. I’m not good in school, I don’t have the aptitude for it. I can’t keep up. I hate it . . . hated it.”

  She hits the “hated” like it’s very much in the past tense, and this seems to please her. Squeezing the tea bags, I add milk to mine and put the two cups down on the table. Grabbing a packet of double chocolate digestive biscuits from the press, I tear open the packet and then pause. “Sorry, love, I don’t have any vegan biscuits.”

  “That’s okay,” she says, and sips her black tea.

  “How come I never realised you hated school so much?” I ask her kindly.

  “I guess I didn’t want to worry you or Dad. There was always something going on between you both . . . usually a row over Mar-nee. I tried not to add to the pressure. It hasn’t been easy on me either.”

  I
nod and dunk a biccie too.

  “Mar-nee’s so sound, Mom,” she tells me now.

  “Okay, love,” I say.

  “The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Mom, and I know I am. It’s just I know where I want to be, and it’s the salon. The reason I moved in with Dad was all to do with the salon. Mar-nee teaches me things every night. They’re both so laid back and I just find my anxiety isn’t as bad.”

  “You haven’t got anxiety at fifteen,” I tell her with a laugh.

  She corrects me first. “I am sixteen,” she says. “But I do, Mom. First it was the break-up and Dad having an affair. I thought he loved me so much he’d never leave me. But he did. I detested Mar-nee until I met her. She never pushed me, she just let me and Dad be together when I visited, and when I was ready to talk, she just listened. I was so anxious over school; that’s why I Snapchatted all the time, Mom. It’s, like, what everyone does, and if you don’t, you aren’t anyone. Like, I never felt I was pretty enough, so that’s why I wore so much make-up – because I had to take at least thirty selfies a day to post! It’s different now in the salon because make-up is part of my job. It’s hard for you to understand, Mom, but the school world is all about being on your phone, and every time you criticised me for it, you didn’t understand how I was just fitting in. Like, if I wasn’t on the phone, I was an outsider. How could I go to school when I wasn’t up to date with all the latest gossip? It’s a full-time job keeping up with social media and I was desperately anxious and unhappy.”

  I say nothing. I just listen. Maybe this is what I’ve been doing wrong all these years. Susan looks surprised that I’m not jumping in with my twopence-worth. She tilts her head slightly and continues, but her pace is slower this time, as though she has realised I’m not going to interrupt her and she can finally say what she wants to say.

  “Like, I felt you were happy when Dad went, but I was devastated. Even the day he got into the van and he drove away and I was hysterical . . . I felt a relief from you. You were glad he was gone, but my world had fallen apart, Mom.” She’s asking me a question, really, and I have to answer it honestly.

  “I was glad the marriage was over, yes.”

  “For you, maybe. I happened to like our little family.” Her pink-glossed lips quiver.

  “I’m so sorry, darling,” I say.

  “I’m not blaming you at all, but I felt different after Dad left. I need you to understand that I changed too. You expected me to be the same little girl, but I wasn’t.”

  “I do understand, love, and I’m so sorry that I couldn’t make it work for you, I truly am. More so, I’m sorry I wasn’t as present a mother as I gave myself credit for. In reality, I didn’t talk to you at all.” A huge lump rises in my throat. She had been so unhappy and all I had done was criticise her.

  “It’s a very different world, Mom, to the one you grew up in. I don’t expect you to understand it. I barely do. But all I know is the absolute relief of not having to keep up with my classmates on social media is overwhelming. The bullying that goes on there is horrific . . . I don’t mean me personally, because I was a sheep . . . a follower . . .

  “But, like, what I think is totes mad is that you think it’s some kind of an inappropriate sexual awakening, me waxing a sixty-nine-year-old transgender woman! Well, I can tell you, Mom, you really have no idea what the world is like for teenage girls, what I’ve been exposed to without looking for it or asking for it . . . Guys in class thinking it’s okay to send me pictures of their genitalia during school! I never have the phone in my hand any more. I don’t bother checking my social media much. Now when I pick up the phone, it’s just to call and text. I can be me, and this is the happiest I have ever been. I no longer have that pressure on me to conform to the teenage world, and I love it!”

  I’m absolutely shocked. Appalled. I don’t know what to say.

  “That’s heartbreaking, Susan,” I finally manage in a deep whisper.

  “Look, it’s the world now, Mom, it’s just a world I don’t want to be a part of. I’ve been acting out a part for the last four years, but, like, I’m okay now, I promise. And, Mom, you did your best. None of this is your fault, okay?” She reaches out and touches my hand.

  I nod.

  “So what do we do now? When are you leaving?” she asks.

  “Well, I was going to suggest we turn the page. A new chapter. I love you so much and I want you to be happy, and if that means leaving school and working in Mar-nee’s, I support you all the way. And now you’ve told me how unhappy you have been, I’ll tell the school myself!”

  Her mouth drops open a little. “You will?” She’s still a child under all that make-up but I have to let her be who she is.

  “Absolutely. Will you support me too?” I say.

  “Absolutely, Mom!” She laughs and her eyes light up.

  “To answer your question, when do I go? As soon as I have everything together.”

  “I’ll miss you, though!” She opens her arms out wide and I move into them. We hold each other.

  “I’m two and a half hours away. There will always be a private bank account with flight money there for you, for whenever you want to come and visit me. And if I buy a place eventually, there will always be a room for you filled with posters of the most used proverbs in the whole wide world.”

  “How exciting for you, Mom,” she says, and she checks her watch.

  “It is. It’s important to be happy with who you are, right?” I say.

  “Right.” She smiles at me. “I’m sorry, but I’ve a client booked in for a microdermabrasion now, Mom. It’s my first, so Mar-nee’s sitting in the treatment room with me. I’ve been training on the machine on Tabitha a bit, but Mar-nee wants to make sure I’m properly confident to do the treatment on my own. I have to go.” She stands up and smooths down her pink uniform.

  “Sure, love.” I stand.

  “Mom . . . Granny Alice . . . Why did she never like me?” Her eyes hit the floor.

  “She did! Of course she did, Susan!” I’m shocked she would even ask.

  “She didn’t. She adored you, but she never paid me any attention. She was always so focused on you, and she hated me being with you.” She stares at me now, tears prickling her eyes.

  “Oh no, please don’t think that. She was old, sweetie, and her dementia was incredibly bad . . . She could only remember certain things, and I’m guessing most of the time she didn’t connect you to me. Does that make any sense?”

  Another major failing on my part. I should have explained to Susan properly that in 1998 Alice first started becoming forgetful. It took years for the disease to fully debilitate her and she did become obsessed with me but, selfishly, I liked it. Alice always made me feel like I was the most important person in the room. She adored me.

  “I understand . . . I guess I was a bit jealous, that’s all. I wished she had loved me too.” A lone tear escapes.

  “I promise you, when you were born Alice worshipped you. I’ll have a dig around, I’m sure I must have pictures of her taking care of you. She adored you,” I say.

  “I’m so sorry she died, Mom,” is all she says.

  “That’s okay, darling. She was ready to go,” I tell her truthfully.

  “Wait a second. I thought Claire was just taking a long holiday with you. But if she’s going to stay in Cornwall, is Martin going to move over there too?” She rinses her cup and leaves it to drip dry.

  “No . . . Susan, Martin is . . . How do I put this? Martin is—”

  “Gay?” She raises her perfectly shaped eyebrow at me.

  “Well, bisexual, yes.” I’m so not comfortable telling her this.

  “It’s okay, Mom, I get it. I always thought that he wasn’t straight . . . Poor Claire, though, she is so lovely.”

  “She’ll be all right . . . We both will,” I say.

  I walk her to the door and then I see the yellow Mazda parked across the road.

  “I will call you tonight, Mom, if that suits you
?” Susan reaches up and kisses me and hugs me warmly. I feel positively elated.

  “Suits me wonderfully, darling. Any time that suits you. I’m in all night.” I keep walking to the end of the driveway, the gravel crunching under us.

  “Okay. Bye, Mom,” Susan says, but I keep walking and I take a firm grip of my daughter’s hand. Crossing the road, I knock on the window of the yellow Mazda and Mar-nee looks at me. Slowly, she rolls the window down.

  “Sorry I gave you the finger. I feel mortified,” I tell her.

  She turns off the radio and looks at me.

  “It’s okay, I get it,” she says, sitting up straight.

  “My marriage break-up wasn’t your fault, Mar-nee. I was jealous that Susan wanted to spend more time with you than me. I imagine that’s not too hard to understand?”

  “No.” She shakes her greyish-purple hair.

  “I was also jealous that you were so outgoing, so flamboyant and independent.” Who am I? This feels fantastic.

  “I felt silly and overdressed and not very intelligent around you,” she gives back.

  Susan makes a low, guttural noise. I gesture for her to get into the Mazda and I sink to my hunkers and talk to Mar-nee Maguire face to face.

  “I’ve told David and Susan, and now I want to tell you. I’m leaving. I’m moving to Cornwall. I’m going to sink or swim.” I have lowered my voice, as our faces are inches apart.

  “I’ve no doubt you’ll swim, Courtney,” she tells me as Susan sits beside her and clicks her seatbelt on. “I know this has been really hard on you. All I ever wanted was for the four of us to sit down and talk it out. Susan is a born beautician. Even if we had all insisted she finished school, she’d have gone into the business. She’s brilliant at it.”

  “That’s good to hear,” I say.

  “You’re her mother, not me. I wasn’t blessed with children, I’m afraid . . . I’m her friend. I love her, she’s a great young woman, and I worship David. Courtney, he’s the best thing that has ever happened to me. I thought I’d be single for ever. No one really understood me, but he does. He’s a miracle to me.” Mar-nee is clutching the steering wheel and I can see her knuckles are white.