by Jane Green
Olivia is sleeping on a camp bed in Jolie’s room, but Jolie’s room is only big enough for one bed, one camp bed, one nightstand and one dresser. This means that Olivia’s stuff – and teenage girls have a tremendous amount of stuff – is spilling out over everything, which is starting to drive Jolie nuts.
This is all according to Alanna, who sleeps on a blow-up bed in the playroom. She insists on sleeping over at Tim and Claire’s because she misses her father so much and wants to spend as much time with him as possible, even though the family are out of beds and the house is clearly overcrowded.
The whole thing sounds like a nightmare. Olivia, Gabby is told, desperately misses her bedroom at home, her things, but she is refusing to set foot in the house, blaming her mother for ruining her life.
Gabby tiptoes into the kitchen and makes tea. Being English, she has raised her children in the tradition of tea. Not fancy, herbal, gourmet tea, and nothing that blooms like a flower or comes in a triangular gauze tea bag, but proper builder’s tea. Strong, sweet, milky. The kind of tea that can lift you out of a depression, warm you to your bones, chase the blues right out of the door.
There is nothing as comforting as a proper cup of tea and when Olivia’s favourite mug is full to the brim with it, Gabby carries it up the stairs, with a chocolate-wrapped marshmallow. She raps lightly on the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me. Mum. Can I come in?’
There is a silence.
‘I brought you tea.’
A rustling, then the door is open, and Olivia, trying so hard to retain her expression of disdain, looks at her mother before bursting into tears.
‘It’s okay,’ croons Gabby, cradling her daughter’s head as they sit on her bed. ‘Ssssh. It’s okay.’
‘I hate it there,’ Olivia cries. ‘I hate not being at home, and sleeping on that shitty bed, and not having any of my stuff.’
‘So come home,’ Gabby says. ‘Come home right now. It’s easy.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
Olivia raises her head to look at her mother, her dark eyebrows coming together in a frown. ‘Because that would be betraying Dad.’
‘How would that betray Dad?’
‘Because that would mean I choose you, and I can’t do that to him. He’s already hurting so much, and I’m the only one looking after him. I can’t leave him too.’ Olivia’s big brown eyes are now smudged with mascara, making them look even bigger, giving her a youthfulness she had almost grown out of.
‘Oh, sweetie.’ Gabby takes her hand, noticing the chipped blue nail polish, resolving not to point it out. ‘It’s not your job to look after Dad. I know you want to, and I know you feel responsible for him, but you’re seventeen. The only person responsible for looking after Dad is Dad.’
‘And you,’ Olivia spits. ‘It should have been you.’
Gabby sighs. Olivia really isn’t a child any more, and there doesn’t seem any point in protecting her. Gabby senses that if there is to be any hope at all of rebuilding her relationship with Olivia she needs to be honest with her. However much that might hurt, and however wrong it may feel to tell your child the truth, a truth that paints you in a terrible light, it has to be done.
‘You’re right,’ she says. ‘It was my job to look after your dad, and I spent many years doing that. I would like to be doing that still but I screwed up. I was feeling old, and unattractive, and that my life was slipping away from me. A man came along, someone younger, who told me I was beautiful, who made me feel young again. I swear to you, Olivia, I never meant for anything to happen, but something did, just once, and as soon as it was over I knew I’d made a terrible mistake, and that it would never happen again. Except I’d become pregnant. And now I have ruined not only my life, but Dad’s, and yours and Alanna’s. I will never be able to apologize enough, and I will never be able to make you understand how ashamed I am. But I will have to live with my mistake for the rest of my life. As we all will, and we have to find a way to forgive and move on, because, Olivia, you are still my daughter. My firstborn. And I love you today as much as I did the day you emerged from my body. Do you understand that, Olivia? Can you understand that?’
Olivia, staring silently at the floor, reluctantly nods.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gabby had no idea how hard it is to be a single mother. She remembers looking around at women she knew, newly separated or divorced, not understanding why they kept complaining.
Now she understands. There is no Elliott to take out the trash, or deal with the bills, or phone whoever you’re supposed to phone when the sump pump isn’t working and the mud-room floor is now one large and growing puddle.
There is no Elliott to help the girls with school assignments, to break up a fight, to get up at the crack of dawn, leaving her to sleep in, because one of the girls has to be in New Haven by eight. There is no one for her to talk to about her growing concerns regarding Alanna’s unhappiness in middle school; no partner to sit by her side as they try to figure out what is wrong with their daughter, and what to do about it.
There is no one, in short, to take the flack, to ease the burden, to give Gabby a break.
In the beginning she hated the weekends when both the girls were staying with Elliott. Gabby had no idea what to do with herself during those endless days, often staying in bed for most of the time, counting the hours until she could go to Claire and Tim’s house and bring Alanna back. Once home Alanna would bring not only the house but also Gabby back to life again.
Much has changed since those early days. Both girls now live at home and the house is once more filled with their laughter and shouting and messiness and energy. And Elliott, thanks to a long-overdue pay rise, finally moved out of Claire and Tim’s house and rented a small house off Greens Farms Road, a Cape style, with three bedrooms and one bathroom.
He came back to Gabby’s house a couple of times to pick up his things and some furniture he needed. The bed from the guest room, the sofa from the family room, a couple of tables. It wasn’t much, yet the house feels strangely empty. The only consolation is that, for the moment at least, Elliott is no longer talking about putting the house on the market, and Gabby is grateful for that. But, nevertheless, since the furniture went she has not been able to go into the family room, with its two beanbags and coffee table and the large space where the sofa once was.
The house feels emptiest, of course, when the girls are with their father. But Gabby now counts off the days until the girls go to Elliott’s. No fighting. No getting up long before her body’s natural wake-up time. No meals to worry about, no chauffeuring back and forth to friends’ houses or sports events.
She has come to treasure the weekends she is on her own. She now welcomes the peace, the solitude, the quiet. She welcomes padding down to the kitchen in the morning, at whatever time she wakes up, making herself coffee and sitting in the easy chair by the window, with the papers, or a book.
She has started painting again. She sits on a stool because her poor legs and feet are swollen and she cannot handle standing for the long hours necessary for the work she is doing. She has no models, but has files of pictures of pregnant women, and is painting a vast canvas of burgeoning bellies, glowing faces.
The heartache and discord that marked the beginning of this pregnancy have given way to a beauteous glow, a constant marvelling at the miracle of life, an appreciation of what a blessing it is to be lucky enough to have a child at her age.
Even if it isn’t Elliott’s child.
Gabby feels nothing but relief to have reached this stage in her pregnancy. The minute she saw the tiny black and white body on the sonographer’s screen, that very first time, her bonding began. But then for a long time afterwards, once she realized Elliott was not prepared to accept the baby, once she knew she’d destroyed their life together, she was so scared she wouldn’t feel connected to this child again, so scared she wouldn’t feel maternal. For many terrible we
eks she felt she didn’t want the child that had changed her life so irreparably.
She did all the right things: the scans, the genetic counselling, but reluctantly; she didn’t want a baby this way, and wished desperately that she could turn back the clock.
But now she takes her pre-natal vitamins eagerly, turns up to her doctor’s appointments, does the blood work, gives the urine samples. She smiles when strangers stop her and ask her when she’s due, congratulate her, tell her, with great conviction, that they can tell it is a girl. Or a boy. And they have never been wrong.
When the alarm on her iPhone goes off at three p.m., Gabby is fast asleep. In fact she sleeps away most of the days of this pregnancy. But she is determined to be fully awake when Alanna comes home. She is convinced that Alanna’s veering off into unknown territory is because of her own lack of presence. She is certain that part of the reason Alanna’s unhappiness in middle school is continuing into her second year is that Gabby has not been there for her, being too caught up first with her infatuation with Matt and now with her separation.
Poor Alanna. Her new friends continue to come, and go; none of them lasts. Each week there is another ‘new best friend’, another girl with long, straightened hair – straightened! At the age of twelve! – wearing designer clothes, giving nonchalant shrugs and making no eye contact. Gabby didn’t approve of the last crowd of popular girls, the ones at elementary school, but they were, at least, known to her, and she knew their mothers. When Alanna overheard one girl saying, ‘You wouldn’t believe the shit I had to put up with when I was best friends with Alanna,’ Gabby knew she could phone the mother and that the mother would hear.
These new girls have mothers as terrifyingly blasé and disconnected as the girls themselves. Alanna needs her mother more than ever. So Gabby forces herself out of bed, blinking until she starts to swim back into consciousness, then goes downstairs to heat up scones she had made earlier. Alanna’s favourite.
The back door slams, followed by the sound of footsteps going upstairs.
‘Alanna? I have scones!’ Gabby shouts up the stairs, sighing at the lack of response. Then the phone starts to ring.
‘This is Lisa Cooperville, Principal of Springs Middle School.’
Gabby freezes, forcing her voice to sound normal. ‘Yes?’ She can’t hide her hesitancy, even with the politeness that follows. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine, and I’m sorry to call with this news, but there has been an incident at school involving your daughter Alanna, and we would like you to come in as soon as possible.’
‘What kind of incident?’
‘Alanna has been involved in a bullying incident. As you know, we have a zero-tolerance policy, and we need to gather all the parents involved to let you know the procedures for the next step.’
Oh God. That explains so much. Alanna has been bullied. Sweet, loving Alanna has been a target for those vicious bitches. No wonder she has been so quiet of late; no wonder she is withdrawn.
‘I had no idea,’ Gabby whispers. ‘My poor baby. Do you know what happened? She hasn’t said anything but she’s been so quiet. It never occurred to me she was being bullied.’
There is an awkward silence.
‘Your daughter is the protagonist, Mrs Cartwright. She tackled Josh Gordon to the ground, with the help of three of the other girls, then Alanna cut off his hair. She is the bully. I know this may not be easy for you to hear, but there were numerous witnesses, and the boy, Josh, is extremely upset.’
Gabby gasps, but has no words. There is nothing she can say; her mind is a jumble of thoughts and feelings – denial, defensiveness, acceptance – all mixed up together.
‘When shall I come in?’ Her voice is a whisper.
‘We would like you and your husband to come in tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. Alanna and the three other girls are on suspension until we decide how to progress, so she will be at home tomorrow. I will make sure her teachers send you the work so she doesn’t miss out.’
Gabby and Elliott sit outside the principal’s office, Gabby occasionally letting out a deep sigh, Elliott pretending to be engrossed in vital emails on his iPhone.
‘Why do you think she did it?’ Gabby asks again. ‘Do you really think there hasn’t been some kind of mistake?’
‘She said there were witnesses.’ Elliott keeps his voice low, aware of the hustle and bustle of people passing them in the corridor, all looking at them curiously, doubtless already having heard the story, wanting to see the terrible creatures that spawned the girl that committed the terrible act. ‘I have no idea why she did it. She was with you last night. What did she say?’
‘I already told you. She screamed at me, telling me I didn’t understand anything and that she hates me. She refused to even talk about it. I still have no idea.’
The door to the principal’s office opens, and Gabby and Elliott look up at the same time to see the parents of one of Alanna’s new ‘friends’, both grave-faced. Gabby has met the mother once – she was frosty and disinclined to make small talk – and their unwanted link today brings them no closer together. The mother deliberately avoids looking at them, although Gabby knows there is also a distinct possibility that the mother, who didn’t openly acknowledge her when they did meet, has no idea who she is.
The principal walks them to the end of the corridor, nodding an acknowledgement at Gabby and Elliott but not officially greeting them until the other parents have gone.
Another couple come to sit on the bench opposite Gabby and Elliott, with their son. Gabby has not met Josh Gordon, but this must, surely, be him, with his new buzz cut. She knows of him, though, for the last time Alanna had these girls over, they spent the time prank-calling a boy called Josh, a boy she overheard them describing disdainfully as ‘so gay’.
Gabby is mortified, remembering that. Would her daughter, whom she has raised to be accepting of all, truly do this to a child just because he is slight and effeminate, unlike the other boys?
She is grateful she does not know the family, that they don’t know her. The principal ushers them in, without mentioning their names, and Gabby attempts to ignore the couple’s searching looks as it dawns on them who they might be.
‘This is enormously distressing to all concerned, as you can imagine,’ Mrs Cooperville says. ‘Josh has been the target of some mean behaviour already this year. He is a sensitive and sweet child, but those are not qualities that necessarily serve you well in middle school. Your daughter, and others, physically pinned him down while Alanna cut off his hair. We gather it was a dare, and I understand some of the unique pressures involved in middle school, particularly for girls who are struggling to fit in, but on no level is this behaviour acceptable. I have spoken to the Board of Education, and we believe that after a period of suspension Alanna must be transferred to one of the other middle schools, Highvale.’ Her face suddenly softens. ‘I know Alanna,’ she says. ‘And I don’t believe she’s a bad kid. Unfortunately she’s got in with a crowd here that is … challenging. I don’t believe she would ever have entertained doing anything like this had she not felt pressure. I understand from two of the girls involved that they threatened to turn the entire grade against her if she didn’t do it.’
‘So why are you punishing her?’ Gabby blurts out. ‘She was being bullied herself.’
‘I appreciate that, but they are all culpable. Each one is being punished. You have to understand that while Alanna may have felt she had no other option when she picked up those scissors, in fact she did have a choice. And it’s terrible for everyone that she made the wrong one. But she has to take the consequences for making that wrong choice.’
‘But it’s not right that our daughter was bullied into doing something she clearly didn’t want to do, and is now being forced to change schools. What’s happening to the other girls? Are they being punished in the same way?’
Gabby has never been more grateful that Elliott is by her side. She has been feeling increasingly worn d
own by the single-parent role but at least, for this, Elliott has been able to step up and be the co-parent with her, to ease some of the burden.
She is bordering on hysteria, but Elliott seems calm. She knows it is not the case, for his jaw is clenched, the muscle in his cheek twitching, but the way he appears in control of his feelings has always had the effect of calming her down.
The other girls are having the same punishment, they are told, and will also have to change schools, though they will not be attending the same one as Alanna. No distinction is being made. This shouldn’t help, even though it does.
But what are they supposed to do with Alanna?
‘How dare you!’ The built-up stress flies out in a rage when they get home. Elliott stands in the doorway as Gabby screams for Alanna to come down from her room. ‘What the hell were you thinking? What kind of monster did I raise for you to be able to do that? How dare you? Who do you think you are?’
‘Gabby. Stop.’ Elliott lays a hand on her arm, jolting her out of her fury slightly.
‘You’re going to apologize,’ she spits. ‘I’m disgusted. You’re going to apologize to him, and to his parents. How could you? How could any child of mine do this?’ Gabby is so appalled she is breaking into sobs as she shouts.
Alanna is already crying. ‘Sophie said I could be part of the Populars if I did it,’ she howls. ‘If I didn’t she said she’d make everyone in seventh grade hate me. I didn’t want to do it. I knew it was mean, but I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want everyone else to hate me.’ Her voice turns into a wail as she collapses on the stairs, and Gabby instantly switches from fury to remorse.