by Hannah Tovey
Mark put his hand on her thigh.
‘Stop flirting and start revving,’ she said. ‘It’ll be November by the time we’re home with you at the wheel.’
I was about to drift off again when Anna mentioned my name.
‘Do you think Ivy’s OK? She’s not said much about this Scott guy … it’s unlike her.’
‘Anna, don’t meddle.’
She lowered her voice even more and turned around to check I was still asleep.
‘I’m not meddling. But she’s spending so much time with him and we barely know anything about him.’
‘She’s only been seeing him a few weeks. Leave her be, she’s happy.’
‘What if she isn’t happy? What if she’s feeling trapped and controlled?’
‘You’re steamrolling.’
‘I’m not!’
‘Darling, I love you, but stop it.’
‘If she gets kidnapped and we find her locked up in his basement, you’ll be sorry.’
I coughed, and Anna looked around to the back seat.
‘He’s from Crouch End, he lives in Pimlico with his brother, but he’s never there and I think it’s because he’s a spy. His last relationship was earlier this year, but they were more friends than partners. His parents are divorced. It sounds messy, but he’s not gone into much detail. Oh, and he was conceived in Wales. Anything else?’
‘How long have you been awake for?’
‘I’m not withholding information from you. It’s new and nice and—’
‘Ivy, you don’t have to explain yourself,’ Mark said. ‘I’d like to remind your sister of when we started dating.’
‘And, what of it?’ Anna said.
I watched her through the rear-view mirror; the vein on her forehead was in overdrive now.
‘You didn’t leave my flat for the first three days,’ Mark said. ‘And you’d practically moved in by week two.’
‘I remember that,’ I said. ‘We didn’t hear from you for two weeks. Mam went ape-shit.’
‘I can’t believe you’re making this about me.’
‘Anna—’
‘After everything that happened last year, is it not OK for me to worry about my little sister?’
‘Anna—’
‘I’m being penalised because I care.’
‘Anna?’
‘What?’
‘Stop acting like Mam.’
She sank back into the passenger seat and looked out the window.
‘You two are always ganging up on me!’
I was about to tell her that that was a direct quote from our mother, when Eleanor let out a loud, wet fart. I looked over at her, and soon enough we were all laughing. Then came the smell, and I saw that her last meal had gone all the way up her back and into her neck. The laughter stopped soon after that.
We had to stop off at two garages – one to clean the poo off Eleanor, and another for when she peed, and it leaked all over the car seat. That was my fault, apparently, because I hadn’t put the nappy on correctly. I offered to take the next change, promising to do it right this time. After patting myself on the back for finally mastering how to change a nappy, I noticed a smear of poo on my corduroy dungarees. Did I get a thank you for trying to help? No, all I got was some mutterings about what a nuisance I was. I should’ve stayed in London.
Mam came running down the driveaway as we unpacked the car.
‘Dewch i mewn!’ she said. ‘I just asked you to come in, though I think I might have used the formal expression. Never mind, it’s not like you have a clue what I’m on about.’
‘How’s Welsh going?’ Mark asked.
‘I came top of the class in this week’s test.’
‘Da iawn!’
Mam noticed Anna’s outfit and squealed, ‘Your size-twelve jeans!’
‘At last,’ Anna said. ‘Someone who appreciates this momentous occasion.’
Mam watched me struggle to get Eleanor out of the car seat.
‘What’s all that for?’ she said, pointing at an oversized tote on the ground.
‘They’re my paints.’
‘You’ve got paints here, darling.’
‘These are for Eleanor; they’re finger ones, that she can eat.’
‘I knew it,’ she said, throwing her arms in the air. ‘I’ve just had Olga come to clean and you’re going to mess everything up.’
‘They’re washable.’
‘Olga’s very busy, you know, she can’t pop round willy nilly.’
‘We’ll paint in the garden, Mam. Can you hold Eleanor now, please?’
‘Let me change out of this shirt first. This is my “arrival” outfit. I’ll get into my lounge wear and then I’ll be all over my baby lamb.’
Mam stood there watching us unload the car; she had her hand on her hip and was exhaling loudly.
‘I thought you were going to change?’ I said.
‘Why has nobody commented on how fabulous my shirt is?’
‘It’s fabulous.’
‘It’s made from renewable energy.’
‘Circular fashion.’
‘What on earth is circular, darling?’
‘It’s what you’re wearing.’
‘Whatever it is, I look phenomenal.’
She walked back up the drive and into the house.
‘I need a drink,’ I said, looking at Mark.
‘If there isn’t a cold beer in my hand in two minutes, I’m leaving.’
When you have a child, you must travel with the entire contents of your house. Mam was picking things up and putting them in different places, a trick she liked to play to make us think she was being helpful. She kept saying how much effort she’d put into our stay. ‘Look how full the fridge is’; ‘I’ve bought this wine specially’; ‘Have you noticed the canapés I’ve made?’
‘Very impressive, Mam. They look very similar to the ones they sell in M&S.’
She was taking her plight to help the environment to a new level, so in addition to her new wardrobe of obscure Scandinavian brands that nobody had ever heard of, everything in the fridge was local, organic and sustainable.
I was getting some food out when Dad walked into the kitchen.
‘Sorry I’m late, darling,’ he said, coming towards me with open arms. ‘The golf club was packed today, took us ages to get around the course.’
‘It’s doing you good, Dad,’ I said, patting him on the stomach. ‘You look very trim.’
‘It’s this diet your mother’s forced on me.’
‘Is this the plant thing?’
‘I’m allowed to eat meat now, but only if the animals could run around and eat like kings when they were alive. We had to give up vegetarianism, Ives. Your mother’s gas was out of control.’
‘You don’t need to go into it.’
‘We had Linda and Marv over for dinner. Your mother and I spent hours making a nut roast, had some sprouts with chestnuts too—’
‘Dad, you know you can’t eat sprouts.’
‘I only had a couple. But your mother, Christ, she couldn’t stop; we tried to ignore it, but it was unbearable. We sent a bottle of wine over to apologise.’
‘Times are tough in the Gower, aren’t they?’
‘I was at the club last week. I’d made this butternut squash dish for lunch, done three ways, with some chilli and yoghurt sauce—’
‘Check you out.’
‘I had to run off the course, my bowels moved so fast, mun. Thank God we were near the clubhouse.’
‘Well, sounds like the worst is over with now.’
‘It was a trying couple of weeks. But, you’re here now, and that’s the main thing.’
I hugged him again. ‘It’s good to be home, Dad.’
26
I woke from an eleven-hour sleep to find Mam on the abcruncher, an apparatus that none of us had seen since 1993. She had Linda on speakerphone.
‘Listen, now … No, no, it’s my turn … I’ve already got the ingredients … Tony’s
been perfecting his recipe for weeks.’
She spotted me at the door. ‘Hang on, Linda. Ivy’s just walked in.’
Linda’s voice belted out of Mam’s phone. ‘Hi, Ivy! How are things, love?’
‘Good, thanks, Linda. How are you?’
‘Oh, you know, can’t complain. Your mother tells me you have a new man.’
I looked at Mam, who was putting her hands up in defence.
‘Yes, Linda. I’m seeing someone.’
‘I was saying to your mother this summer, I wish our Ivy would find someone. It’s been a heck of a while since Jamie, hasn’t it?’
‘It’s been a year and a half—’
‘And some!’ Mam interjected.
I shot her a look and she retreated to her ab-cruncher.
‘Was there anything else, Linda?’ I asked.
‘No, just take care of yourself. Lay off the booze and fags.’
‘Sure. Great talking to you, as always.’
I was about to walk out the door when Mam called me.
‘Stay here, please; we need to ask you about the tequila.’
‘What tequila?’
‘For the party?’
‘Whose party?’
‘Mine!’ Linda shouted down the phone.
‘Why are you going to be drinking tequila?’
‘We wanted a Spanish theme this year,’ Mam said, panting away as she continued with her sit-ups.
‘Tequila isn’t Spanish,’ I said. ‘It’s Mexican.’
‘It’s pretty much the same though, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, you’re right – Spain and Mexico are pretty much the same.’
‘How many bottles do you think we need for fifteen people?’ Mam asked me.
‘I don’t know, four?’
‘Four! Linda, can you hear that! Four!’
I could hear Linda chuckling.
‘Oh, Ivy, don’t make us laugh; I’ve already done my ab workout this morning!’ Mam said.
I walked out of the room and left them to it.
Anna was in the kitchen with the papers splayed out in front of her, eating a greasy-looking full English. Gramps used to get funny about calling it a ‘full English’; he’d insist we add laverbread to the plate and thus pronounce it, ‘A full Welsh’.
‘Bloody hell, what time do you call this?’ she said.
‘Hang on, I’m up every morning at six—’
‘Try four.’
‘It’s not a competition. I’ve not been able to sleep like this in ages. I don’t get to bed till late because of the lesson prep and coursework I have to do.’
‘Ivy, you’re fooling no one. You’re up all night shagging Scott.’
Dad came into the kitchen and faked a cough.
‘I was going to take the bikes out and get some fresh air,’ Anna said. ‘Fancy coming with?’
‘Where’s Eleanor going to go?’ I asked.
‘Mark’s taking her. I told you, she’s taking the bottle now. Good to see you were listening.’
‘Me not listening?’
‘Don’t look at me like that. Are you in?’
‘Yes, I’m in.’
We high-fived each other as Mam came into the kitchen, holding 1kg weights in each hand.
‘In for what?’ she asked.
‘The girls are going for a cycle,’ Dad said. ‘Fancy it, Mags?’
She was lunging around the kitchen, doing bicep curls.
‘It’s a no from me,’ she said. ‘I’ve already done thirty-two sit-ups this morning.’
She stood in the middle of the kitchen and started doing squats.
‘I can’t tell you how good this healthy living is making me feel,’ she said. ‘It’s about having a well-balanced lifestyle. Everything in moderation. You girls should try it.’
The timer went off on the cooker. ‘Oh, my wine’s ready!’ she said.
She walked over to the freezer and took a bottle out.
‘Thirty minutes in the freezer and it’s the perfect temperature,’ she said.
Anna, Dad and I stood watching her.
‘I’m so excited about Linda’s Spanish Soirée.’
‘Mexican,’ I said.
‘We’re having seafood paella – sustainable fish, of course. We were going to go veggie but, after last time, we’re staying clear of pulses. I just need to get fifteen bottles of tequila—’
‘I thought you said there were fifteen people going?’
‘Exactly.’
Dad held his head in his hands.
‘Everything in moderation, right, Mam?’ Anna said, smiling.
I went to kiss her on the cheek, as I bit my tongue and reminded myself that I was trying to be kinder. ‘Never change,’ I told her.
Anna called after me as I was walking up the stairs.
‘You know we’re only cycling to the pub, right? I want to sit on the wall and get tipsy.’
‘Sounds perfect,’ I said.
The cycle to the Anchor took longer than expected after I spotted a boy I’d had a fleeting love affair with one summer, after our first year at university. He used to go around with his dad’s Leica camera, taking pictures of us all – we thought he was a real creep. But then he came back that summer having secured an internship with famed photographer David LaChapelle, and suddenly he was the coolest boy around. He told me he had assisted on a shoot with Britney Spears and I knew I had to have him; he felt me up around the back of All Bar One in Swansea that very night. I didn’t think it best to approach him when he was with his mother and toddler, so I grabbed Anna and we hid behind the ice-cream truck until they were out of sight.
At the Anchor, I found a spot on the edge of the wall, overlooking the bay. The owner of the pub and Mam’s good friend, Liz, came out to see us.
‘This reminds me of the good old days,’ she said. ‘You two sneaking out of the house, cycling over here for cheeky pints of cider.’
‘You probably shouldn’t have been giving cider to children,’ I said.
‘Yes, good point; don’t tell your mother.’
‘I think she already knows.’
Anna took a sip of her drink and coughed.
‘Christ, Liz. How much gin did you put in this?’
‘I don’t know, love. I lose count these days.’
Liz walked back inside, and Anna toasted to an afternoon of freedom.
‘I really needed this,’ she said.
‘It doesn’t bode well that we’ve only been home for twenty-four hours, and we’re already looking for escape routes.’
We sat in silence, listening to the waves crash against the rocks below. Liz came out to give us a blanket, another round of drinks, and offer some snacks, but otherwise it was just the two of us, as I’d hoped.
‘I miss this,’ Anna said.
‘I know. Coming here always makes me think of Gramps.’
‘Last time we were here—’
‘The funeral. I remember hitting Mark after Jamie texted me.’
‘You were a nightmare.’
‘Be kind.’
‘You were. I can say what I want on the wall.’
‘What – because you’re pissed every time you’re on it and you can’t control what comes out of your mouth.’
She smiled at me.
‘I was the worst version of myself back then,’ I said.
‘And now?’
‘I’m doing all right. What do you think?’
‘Out of ten, I’d say you’re a six and a half.’
‘I’ll take that. What about you?’
‘If I didn’t miss work, I’d be a nine. No – an eight. I’m really bored of getting up seven times a night.’
‘Do you miss it?’
‘Work? Yes, but I don’t have the brain capacity to think about it now.’
‘When do you go back? Will you go back?’
‘God, yes. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a mother, but that’s just the problem, right now it’s like all I am is Eleanor’s mother. I�
��m not Anna, the successful lawyer who bulldozes through court rooms.’
‘I still think you’re a bulldozer.’
‘It can’t go back to how it was – me taking work home every night.’
‘You’ve got time to figure that out, set yourself some boundaries.’
Anna looked at me deeply. ‘When I said earlier that I missed this, I meant us – me and you – hanging out together.’
‘Me too.’
‘I’m sorry I’ve not been there for you these past few months.’
‘It’s not that you haven’t been there for me … ’ I paused, trying to find the right words. ‘I never used to worry about saying the wrong thing around you, but now all I seem to do is upset you.’
‘You don’t upset me.’
‘It seems like I do. You snap at me – a lot.’
Anna looked out to the sea.
‘Mark said the same thing to me last week,’ she said.
‘Do you agree with us?’
‘You have no idea what it’s like. Even Mark has no idea what it’s like. It’s not your fault; I had no idea what it was going to be like either.’
‘You used to open up to me about stuff whereas now I just seem to irritate you. I miss our long chats and our walks together and making fun of Mam with you.’
‘We still do that.’
‘Not really. I knew things would change when you had a baby, but I didn’t think they’d change between us.’
She finished off the last of her gin.
‘It’s really hard being a milk machine, and a bad one at that.’
‘You’re an amazing mother, Anna.’
‘I was so one-track-minded about having a baby, and obviously Eleanor is our entire world but, Christ, it’s hard. They tell you that breastfeeding is the most natural thing in the world, but they don’t tell you that it’s fucking excruciating. I don’t know why I persisted when I should’ve held my hands up and said “enough”. Why do I need to set myself these standards all the time?’
‘You’ve always been a perfectionist; it’s who you are.’
‘Now I feel guilty because she’s not on my boob as much, but she’s happy, and I have some freedom back, so I should be happy too. It’s this never-ending cycle of guilt and anxiety and worry that I’m not doing enough.’
A tear rolled down her cheek. I moved closer to her and put my arm around her.