The Mum Who Got Her Life Back

by Fiona Gibson

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Nadia

  We speak on the phone once I’m back home and I’ve got myself a replacement mobile. ‘I wish you’d just let me know you were in Barcelona, Jack,’ I say. ‘It’s crazy, us two rattling about in the same city and not being together.’

  ‘You weren’t in Barcelona,’ he remarks.

  ‘Yes I was.’ I frown. ‘I only stayed in Figueres one night.’

  ‘Yeah, well, anyway.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he says, rather hotly. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have come …’

  ‘Why d’you say that?’ I ask. There’s an awkwardness now that we never had before. We’re both holding back, that’s obvious; I texted him from Alfie’s phone as soon as I found out he’d been in the city, to a blunt response. As soon as I heard about Elaine, I assumed that was why. But speaking to him now, I decide that if Jack believes I was off having some rampant fling in Figueres, then bloody well let him.

  ‘You were doing your own thing,’ he says now, sounding distracted. ‘I shouldn’t have just rolled up, foisted myself on Alfie …’

  ‘He loved you being there!’ I exclaim. ‘Look, Jack – I’m grateful to you for taking care of him …’ I break off at the sound of Lori’s voice in the background. ‘You sound busy,’ I add.

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. I’m just in Lori’s room. We’re packing up her stuff …’

  ‘Is Elaine out of hospital now?’

  ‘Yeah, and she’s … um …’ He lowers his voice. ‘She’s getting help.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I say. ‘So, Lori’s moving in with you?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ He can’t talk now, that’s obvious, and so we say a stilted goodbye. So that’s that then, I decide. At this point in our lives, there’s just too much going on.

  I take a deep breath as I chop up peppers for the lasagne I promised to make tonight, just for Molly and me. ‘Please, Mum,’ she begged, ‘can we have a proper lasagne with cheese? I’m feeling penalised because of Alfie’s veganism!’

  As I make the sauce, I’m remembering how wonderful it was to feel as if something new was starting for me – the sense that life was opening up again. I read a feature in a magazine on the flight home from Barcelona, all about HENs. Happy Empty Nesters, in other words – a new generation who might have dreaded their kids leaving home, and feared that they had been slung on the scrapheap. Not today’s HENs, the article said. We are just starting, the writer was keen to assert; the world is ours for the taking. We have so many opportunities, and numerous youth-making treatments at our disposal if we want them (Kiki’s pokey fingers in my mouth? No thanks!). It’s our time to burst into life.

  But can I ‘burst’? Do I actually have the energy? Sure, I loved being with Jack, feeling that finally I was an actual woman again, and not just a collection of angles, lumps and other bits. God, it was great. But I’m with my family now, and surely they have to come first?

  ‘Mum,’ Alfie says after dinner that evening as he settles beside me on the sofa.

  ‘Yes, Alf?’ I say. It’s just the two of us tonight. As usual, Molly is out with friends.

  I hear him inhale, and I glance at him, trying not to express concern. Clearly, he wants to tell me something, but I also know that paying full attention is the quickest way to scare him away; perhaps I’m learning.

  ‘Mum,’ he says again, ‘when we were in Barcelona, and I hung out with Jack a bit, he told me what actually happened to his brother.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He nods, and although I want to ask, So what did happen? I know better than trying to probe him when he doesn’t want to talk. So I leave it there and, just like when the kids were younger and I wanted to talk about stuff, I get on with something else.

  It’s when I have gathered together my sketchbook and pens, and started to draw, that my son tells me what happened to Sandy, and to Jack, all those years ago.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Jack

  I’d assumed the possibility of the two of us having a beer together was virtually nil. But here we are, Alfie and me; he called about the charity auction and we arranged to meet. We’ve been keeping in touch sporadically via text, and I happened to mention that Seb Jeffries’ jacket had been sold. And now, apparently, the brother of one of Alfie’s uni mates is a rising star on the Scottish comedy circuit and said of course he’d donate something.

  ‘What kind of thing?’ I ask as we settle at a table in the pub.

  ‘He’s saying a mountain bike …’

  ‘A bike?’ I exclaim. ‘Is he sure about that?’

  Alfie laughs. ‘It’s probably held together with bits of tape and string – but yeah. He sounded pretty sure.’

  ‘Well, I’m really grateful for that,’ I tell him. ‘Did your dad ever hear what happened to Seb Jeffries’ jacket?’

  Alfie shakes his head and laughs. ‘Nope, I thought it was best that he didn’t. Not that he’d be bothered really. But it’d be a bit embarrassing if Seb found out …’

  ‘Yeah.’ We have another beer, and then I suggest we have food and, thankfully, despite it being a rather old-school pub, there are plenty of vegan choices on the menu.

  As Alfie tucks into his veggie burger I catch him eyeing my macaroni cheese. ‘D’you miss cheese?’ I ask, then catch myself. ‘I bet everyone asks that,’ I add.

  He grins. ‘I do actually, but don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘I won’t.’ A conspiratorial look passes between us and we fall into silence as we eat.

  It’s only when we’re leaving that I sense that Alfie didn’t just want to meet up about the charity auction today. There was no need; he could have just texted or called. We step out into the warm evening, and we’re about to part company when he stops and looks at me.

  ‘Thanks, Jack.’

  ‘Oh, it was only a burger,’ I say.

  ‘No,’ he says quickly, ‘I mean spending that time with me in Barcelona. For, you know … not judging me.’

  I frown. ‘Why on earth would I judge you?’

  ‘Well, for being a jerk, for saying that stuff in front of your parents …’

  ‘You weren’t to know about Sandy. How could you have?’

  Alfie shrugs. ‘I told Mum. About your brother’s accident, I mean. I hope you don’t mind.’

  I open my mouth to say no, I don’t mind – although I do a little. Now I wish I’d had the chance to tell her myself. I shouldn’t have kept it from her, I realise that now. I should have explained why Mum was so distraught that day. If we’d talked it through, perhaps Nadia and I would still be together now. Instead, I had a stupid row with her on the phone.

  And I’m meant to be a full-grown adult?

  ‘I said you’d always felt responsible,’ Alfie adds, ‘and that you blamed yourself for what happened. Mum couldn’t believe it, she said she wished she’d known—’

  ‘Alfie,’ I cut in quickly, ‘d’you mind if we don’t talk about this now?’

  ‘Oh. Of course.’ He pauses. ‘I think you should call Mum, though.’

  I frown. It’s a warm evening, late in June, and the bars are starting to fill up. ‘D’you think she’d like me to?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t know. Probably. Why not just phone anyway?’

  I consider this for a moment. I seem to be taking relationship advice from the unlikeliest sources these days – but I’m not sure I trust Alfie’s judgement. ‘Just say hi to her from me,’ I say.

  Alfie nods. ‘I will. I’ll tell her tonight. And also, um …’ He clears his throat. ‘I’m going back to university, Jack.’

  I stare at him. ‘Really? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he says, raking at his hair with a hand. ‘When I told you that stuff in Barcelona, about Camilla and the photos, all that, even the tattoo …’ He pauses. ‘It didn’t seem quite such a big deal after that. After getting it all out there, I mean.’

  The gist of what he’s telling me sinks in. ‘So, y
ou hadn’t told anyone before then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not even your friends?’

  He shakes his head. ‘So, thanks for listening to me.’ He grins now. ‘You’re not weird after all …’

  ‘You thought I was weird?’ I exclaim.

  ‘A bit.’ He grins and nods. ‘But actually … you’re all right.’

  I can’t help smiling at that. ‘So are you, Alfie. You really are all right.’

  We stand there, a little awkwardly now with the evening sun on our faces. ‘Well, I’m off home then,’ he says briskly. ‘I’d better go and tell Mum.’

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Iain

  I prop open the cookbook against my spice rack. Maybe it’s wrong to describe it as a cookbook because it’s way more than that. There are tips on healthy stuff, how to stay well, how to live until a very old age – which I fully intend to do, like Una upstairs, who’s eighty-three. And there’s nothing in the book about examining your poos. Maybe Jack made that up because he wanted to put me off trying these recipes and force his soup idea onto me?

  Anyway, Una said she thought it was a good idea, when I told her my plan. Luckily, I had Nadia’s phone number stored in my contacts from when we all looked for Pancake together. It was important to keep in touch that day, in case anyone had a sighting. So I called her, and I told her all about the denim jacket, and how reasonable Jack had been, considering.

  I also told Nadia that he hasn’t been his normal self since he’s been back from his trip. Like something – or someone – is missing. I think she understood what I meant, and she seemed to still care about him. I didn’t want to be too obvious, though. Jack always says, when you want to sell something you don’t bash them over the head with the idea. You don’t wave the thing in their face and shout, because that way, they’ll feel pressurised and run away.

  It’s much better, he always says, to try to make it seem appealing – in a subtle way – and leave the customer to make up their own mind. And that’s how I wanted Nadia to feel: non-pressurised. So I’ve made all this food, and bought wine from the shop down the road. I wasn’t sure what to get; it’s pretty confusing, choosing wine, as I don’t normally drink it unless I’m out. Una often offers me something, but that’s generally sherry. Anyway, in the end I went for red.

  ‘Just what I need,’ Jack says when he arrives and I hand him a glass. He peers at it, and I can see now that there’s sediment at the bottom of it.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, frowning.

  ‘Oh, I’m not worried about that. We’ve all got to die sometime, haven’t we?’ He laughs and takes a sip.

  ‘I’ll show you what I’m making,’ I say, leading him through to the kitchen where I’ve set everything out.

  There’s a soup – I hope he approves of that! ‘It’s lentil and spinach, with raisins in,’ I explain. ‘Very healthy.’

  ‘It looks great,’ he says with a nod. ‘Unusual, but I can’t wait to try it.’

  ‘And for the main course there’s a bake in the oven …’

  ‘A bake?’ He raises a brow.

  ‘Yeah – that’s what it’s called. With beans, brown rice, leeks, herbs and spices.’

  ‘Right. Sounds delicious …’ I see his gaze flick to the three wine glasses I’ve set out on the worktop, each filled with canned mandarin segments. ‘And they’re …’

  ‘They’re our dessert,’ I say, and it’s clear now how impressed he is. ‘So – three courses! D’you think you can manage all that?’

  ‘Uh, yeah, I’m sure I can …’

  I pause and look at him, because now his expression has changed and he looks, I don’t know, quite emotional.

  I frown. ‘I’m sorry the pudding isn’t a recipe from the book. I’d planned to do something proper but I’d kind of … run out of steam by then. It’s pretty tiring, isn’t it, all this cooking?’

  ‘It really is!’ He pulls a wide smile.

  ‘But I thought fruit would be fine. It’s healthy, isn’t it?’

  Jack nods, his mouth pressed tightly shut. It looks as if he wants to say something, but can’t.

  ‘Is it … all right, d’you think?’

  He looks at me, my boss Jack, who’s so much more than that. He’s my friend – more than Una, even. He’s always listened to me when no one really does, and never treats me as if I’m stupid. He’s right up there with Pancake for me. I never thought I’d be as fond of an actual human as I am of my dog.

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ he says finally. ‘Honestly, Iain, I’m so impressed you’ve done all this by yourself. I can’t believe you’ve gone to all this trouble for me.’

  ‘Well, I just thought, after all you’ve done …’

  He nods, and points to the desserts. ‘Is the spare one for Una?’

  ‘Er, no. Not exactly.’

  ‘Right.’ He gives me a confused look, but doesn’t press it further. I clear my throat and take him through to the living room where there’s a table I found in the street and thought might be useful.

  ‘Nice piece of furniture,’ he remarks, stroking its top.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, smiling, ‘but look.’ And I show him that the table top actually opens, and there’s a sewing machine hidden inside.

  ‘Wow,’ he marvels.

  ‘I know! A secret sewing machine. D’you like it?’

  He chuckles. ‘I do. I like secrets. I think everyone does.’

  God, I hope so, I think, feeling my nerves getting the better of me now, because what if he’s annoyed at what I’ve done?

  My buzzer sounds. ‘Someone’s at the door,’ I say unnecessarily, rushing to answer it. And as soon as I open it, I can see why Jack hasn’t been the same lately, because she really is just the right girlfriend for him. So why did he just let her go?

  Nadia smiles as I beckon her in. ‘Hello, Iain. Hope I’m not late …’

  ‘Hello, Nadia,’ I say, overcome by shyness now, and aware of Jack behind me. ‘No, you’re right on time.’

  ‘Nadia?’ Jack sort of laughs, and so does she, and they step towards each other and hug. I stand back a bit, not quite sure what to do with myself, because they’re still holding each other as if they never want to be apart. They go through to the living room, and sit on the sofa I found round the back of an old warehouse, and managed to drag home all by myself.

  And that’s when I decide to call Pancake, because I think we’ll just go for a little walk now, around the block. The thing in the oven shouldn’t burn, I don’t think. I consider telling them we’re going out, as I clip on Pancake’s lead in the hallway, but then decide not to. They seemed so happy to see each other, I bet they won’t even notice anyway.

  That’s fine, because that’s what I wanted really: the two of them back together again. And now I’m out in the street, I have something else to do. I suppose I should have told Jack as he’s the boss, and he should get to do all the important things. But this time, I’ve decided to keep it to myself.

  I found those horrible old trousers of Jean Cuthbertson’s under the sink in the back room of our shop. They’d actually been chopped up into four pieces – two from each leg. Someone must have thought they’d do as an old cleaning rag. I mean, no one was going to buy them.

  Round the corner from my block now, I pull out the slip of paper from my pocket, with Jean’s phone number on it, and I make the call on my mobile. A sharp voice answers. ‘Hello, Jean?’ I start, glad I’m making the call standing up. Una once told me it makes you sound more important.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Jean mutters.

  ‘It’s Iain. Remember Iain from the charity shop? We’ve spoken a few times.’ I don’t like using the phone normally, but this is going well.

  ‘Yes, I remember you,’ she says.

  There’s a pause as I turn into the patch of waste ground where we started our search for Pancake. He’s pulling on his lead now, sniffing at clumps of grass. I can tell Jean is waiting for me to say something, and I can’t help smiling at that
. I knew what she said about me in the shop – Mags took great delight in telling me – but I don’t want to keep her waiting too long.

  ‘Well, I’m ringing with good news,’ I say, feeling the smile spreading across my face now. ‘I’m very happy to tell you I found your ring.’

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  September

  Nadia

  It feels funny driving with Alfie in the back, and Jack beside me. Not awkward exactly – just different and new. The three of us are on our way to Aberdeen, and Alfie seems unusually perky, like a child on his way to a sleepover. I guess that’s not too far from the truth. Being thrown together with friends and a load of rubbish food, with no parent on hand, suggesting that they really should start thinking about getting some sleep now or they’ll be shattered tomorrow … a student flat-share is a sort of extended sleepover with the addition of booze and cigarettes.

  I don’t blame my son for being delighted at finally getting out from under my feet – especially as, for a short while there, it looked as if we might be trapped together permanently. He has that gleeful giddiness about him, as if he has narrowly averted disaster: like the time I forced him to come shopping with me, and a bird chose to splat its business on my head, and not his.

  Jez and Ned won’t mock him for bringing his ‘footed pyjamas’ from home. I suspect they will barely notice if a chopping board smashes, if the bathroom floor is strewn with loo roll or the sink heaped with dirty dishes to be done ‘later’ (that is, if they fail to self-clean). My son is more than ready to live his own independent life and, naturally, I am delighted that he made the decision to return to uni.

  Molly headed back to Edinburgh a week ago, and admittedly, I am looking forward to reverting to the space and peace of a teen-free flat. I loved the time Jack and I had together – those early months of it just being us. Perhaps I didn’t fully appreciate how special it was, and how lucky we were to have found each other. Naturally, Jack came back to my place after that lovely evening when Iain had gone to such trouble over the soup with raisins in, the mysterious ‘bake’ and the tinned mandarin segments served in wine glasses. I’ve always loved the way Jack is with Lori, and he’s kind of similar with Iain; just caring in his own, easy-going way. He’s not even aware of it. He’s a good person, and I can’t believe we almost blew it over something that could have been fixed if we’d talked.