‘You’ll be thirty soon,’ said my sister. ‘Minnie, Winnie or Nell Gwynnie. The choice is yours.’
‘Well,’ I said, as the waitress brought our chicken and chips, ‘I’ve been thinking, and, yes, you’re right. From now on I’m going to move on. Focus on my career.’
‘Can you say that again?’ My sister moved some of the chips from her plate on to Thom’s. The pub garden had become noisier.
‘Focus on my career,’ I said, louder.
‘No. That bit where you said I was right. I’m not sure you’ve said that since 1997. Thom, don’t go back on the bouncy castle yet, sweetheart. You’ll be sick.’
We sat there for a good part of the afternoon, avoiding Dad’s increasingly cross texts demanding to know what we were doing. I had never sat with my mother and sister, like normal people, grown-ups, having conversations that didn’t involve putting anything away or somebody being so annoying. We found ourselves surprisingly interested in each other’s lives and opinions, as if we had suddenly realized each of us might have roles beyond the brainy one, the chaotic one, and the one who does all the housework.
It was an odd sensation, having to view my family as human beings.
‘Mum,’ I said, shortly after Thom had finished his chicken and run off to play, and about five minutes before he would lose his lunch on the bouncy castle and put it out of action for the rest of the afternoon, ‘do you ever mind not having had a career?’
‘No. I loved being a mum. I really did. But it’s odd … Everything that’s happened over the past two years, it does make you think.’
I waited.
‘I’ve been reading about all these women – these brave souls who made such a difference in the world to the way people think and do things. And I look at what I’ve done and wonder whether, well, whether anyone would notice a jot if I wasn’t here.’
She said this quite evenly so I couldn’t tell if she was actually much more upset about it than she was prepared to let on. ‘We’d notice more than a jot, Mum,’ I said.
‘But it’s not like I’ve made an impact on much, is it? I don’t know. I’ve always been content. But it’s like I’ve spent thirty years doing one thing and now everything I read, the television, the papers, it’s like everyone’s telling me it was worth nothing.’
My sister and I stared at each other.
‘It wasn’t nothing to us, Mum.’
‘You’re sweet girls.’
‘I mean it. You …’ I thought suddenly of Tanya Houghton-Miller ‘… you made us feel safe. And loved. I liked you being there every day when we came home.’
Mum put her hand on mine. ‘I’m fine. I’m so proud of the pair of you, making your own way in the world. Really. But I just need to work out some things for myself. And it’s an interesting journey, really it is. I’m loving the reading. Mrs Deans at the library is calling in all sorts of things she thinks I might be interested in. I’m going to move on to the American New Wave feminists next. Very interesting, all their theories.’ She folded her paper napkin neatly. ‘I do wish they’d all stop arguing with each other, though. I slightly want to smack their heads together.’
‘And … are you really still not shaving your legs?’
I had gone too far. My mother’s face closed off, and she gave me the fishy eye. ‘Sometimes, it takes you a while to wake up to a true sign of oppression. I have told your father, and I’ll tell you girls, the day he goes to the salon to have his legs covered with hot wax, then have it ripped off by a ruddy twenty-one-year-old is the day I’ll start doing mine again.’
The sun eased down over Stortfold, like melting butter. I stayed much later into the evening than I had intended, said goodbye to my family, climbed into my car and drove home. I felt grounded, tethered. After the emotional turbulence of the past week, it was good to be surrounded by a bit of normality. And my sister, who never showed signs of weakness, had confessed that she thought she would remain single for ever, brushing away Mum’s insistence that she was ‘a gorgeous-looking girl’.
‘But I’m a single mother,’ she’d said. ‘And, worse, I don’t do flirting. I wouldn’t know how to flirt with someone if Louisa stood behind them holding up placards. And the only men I’ve met in two years have either been frightened off by Thom or after one thing.’
‘Oh, not –’ my mother began.
‘Free accounting advice.’
Suddenly, looking at her from the outside, I’d felt a sudden sympathy. She was right: I had been handed, against the odds, all the advantages – a home of my own, a future free of any responsibilities – and the only thing stopping me embracing them was myself. The fact that she wasn’t eaten up with bitterness over our respective lots was pretty impressive. I hugged her before I left. She was a little shocked, then momentarily suspicious, patted her upper back to check for KICK ME signs, then finally hugged me back.
‘Come and stay,’ I said. ‘Really. Come and stay. I’ll take you dancing at this club I know. Mum can mind Thom.’
My sister laughed, and closed the door of the car as I started it. ‘Yeah. You dancing? Like that’s going to happen.’ She was still laughing as I drove away.
Six days later I returned home after a late shift to a nightclub of my own. As I came up the stairs of my block, instead of the usual silence, I could hear the distant sound of laughter, the irregular thump of music. I hesitated for a moment outside my front door, thinking that in my exhausted state I must be mistaken, then unlocked it.
The smell of weed hit me first, so strong I almost reflexively held my breath rather than inhale. I walked slowly to the living room, opened the door and stood there, not quite able to believe at first the scene that confronted me. In the dimly lit room, Lily was lying along my sofa, her short skirt rucked up somewhere just below her bottom, a badly rolled joint midway to her mouth. Two young men were sprawled against the sofa, islands amid a sea of alcoholic detritus, empty crisps packets and polystyrene takeaway cartons. Also seated on the floor were two girls of Lily’s age; one, her hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail, looked at me with her eyebrows raised, as if to question what I was doing there. Music thumped from the sound system. The number of beer cans and overflowing ashtrays told of a long night.
‘Oh,’ Lily said, exaggeratedly. ‘Hi-i-i.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Yeah. We were out, and we sort of missed the late bus, so I thought it would be okay if we crashed here. You don’t mind, do you?’
I was so stunned I could barely speak. ‘Yes,’ I said tightly. ‘Actually, I do mind.’
‘Uh-oh.’ She began to cackle.
I dropped my bag with a thump at my feet. I gazed around me at the municipal rubbish dump that had once passed as my living room. ‘Party’s over. I’ll give you five minutes to clear up your mess, and go.’
‘Oh, God. I knew it. You’re going to be boring about it, aren’t you? Ugh. I knew it.’ She threw herself back on the sofa melodramatically. Her voice was slurred, her actions thickened with – what? Drugs? I waited. For one brief, tense moment, the two men looked steadily at me and I could see they were assessing whether to get up or simply to sit there.
‘Well,’ I said, as the waitress brought our chicken and chips, ‘I’ve been thinking, and, yes, you’re right. From now on I’m going to move on. Focus on my career.’
‘Can you say that again?’ My sister moved some of the chips from her plate on to Thom’s. The pub garden had become noisier.
‘Focus on my career,’ I said, louder.
‘No. That bit where you said I was right. I’m not sure you’ve said that since 1997. Thom, don’t go back on the bouncy castle yet, sweetheart. You’ll be sick.’
We sat there for a good part of the afternoon, avoiding Dad’s increasingly cross texts demanding to know what we were doing. I had never sat with my mother and sister, like normal people, grown-ups, having conversations that didn’t involve putting anything away or somebody being so annoying. We found ourselves surprisingly interested in each other’s lives and opinions, as if we had suddenly realized each of us might have roles beyond the brainy one, the chaotic one, and the one who does all the housework.
It was an odd sensation, having to view my family as human beings.
‘Mum,’ I said, shortly after Thom had finished his chicken and run off to play, and about five minutes before he would lose his lunch on the bouncy castle and put it out of action for the rest of the afternoon, ‘do you ever mind not having had a career?’
‘No. I loved being a mum. I really did. But it’s odd … Everything that’s happened over the past two years, it does make you think.’
I waited.
‘I’ve been reading about all these women – these brave souls who made such a difference in the world to the way people think and do things. And I look at what I’ve done and wonder whether, well, whether anyone would notice a jot if I wasn’t here.’
She said this quite evenly so I couldn’t tell if she was actually much more upset about it than she was prepared to let on. ‘We’d notice more than a jot, Mum,’ I said.
‘But it’s not like I’ve made an impact on much, is it? I don’t know. I’ve always been content. But it’s like I’ve spent thirty years doing one thing and now everything I read, the television, the papers, it’s like everyone’s telling me it was worth nothing.’
My sister and I stared at each other.
‘It wasn’t nothing to us, Mum.’
‘You’re sweet girls.’
‘I mean it. You …’ I thought suddenly of Tanya Houghton-Miller ‘… you made us feel safe. And loved. I liked you being there every day when we came home.’
Mum put her hand on mine. ‘I’m fine. I’m so proud of the pair of you, making your own way in the world. Really. But I just need to work out some things for myself. And it’s an interesting journey, really it is. I’m loving the reading. Mrs Deans at the library is calling in all sorts of things she thinks I might be interested in. I’m going to move on to the American New Wave feminists next. Very interesting, all their theories.’ She folded her paper napkin neatly. ‘I do wish they’d all stop arguing with each other, though. I slightly want to smack their heads together.’
‘And … are you really still not shaving your legs?’
I had gone too far. My mother’s face closed off, and she gave me the fishy eye. ‘Sometimes, it takes you a while to wake up to a true sign of oppression. I have told your father, and I’ll tell you girls, the day he goes to the salon to have his legs covered with hot wax, then have it ripped off by a ruddy twenty-one-year-old is the day I’ll start doing mine again.’
The sun eased down over Stortfold, like melting butter. I stayed much later into the evening than I had intended, said goodbye to my family, climbed into my car and drove home. I felt grounded, tethered. After the emotional turbulence of the past week, it was good to be surrounded by a bit of normality. And my sister, who never showed signs of weakness, had confessed that she thought she would remain single for ever, brushing away Mum’s insistence that she was ‘a gorgeous-looking girl’.
‘But I’m a single mother,’ she’d said. ‘And, worse, I don’t do flirting. I wouldn’t know how to flirt with someone if Louisa stood behind them holding up placards. And the only men I’ve met in two years have either been frightened off by Thom or after one thing.’
‘Oh, not –’ my mother began.
‘Free accounting advice.’
Suddenly, looking at her from the outside, I’d felt a sudden sympathy. She was right: I had been handed, against the odds, all the advantages – a home of my own, a future free of any responsibilities – and the only thing stopping me embracing them was myself. The fact that she wasn’t eaten up with bitterness over our respective lots was pretty impressive. I hugged her before I left. She was a little shocked, then momentarily suspicious, patted her upper back to check for KICK ME signs, then finally hugged me back.
‘Come and stay,’ I said. ‘Really. Come and stay. I’ll take you dancing at this club I know. Mum can mind Thom.’
My sister laughed, and closed the door of the car as I started it. ‘Yeah. You dancing? Like that’s going to happen.’ She was still laughing as I drove away.
Six days later I returned home after a late shift to a nightclub of my own. As I came up the stairs of my block, instead of the usual silence, I could hear the distant sound of laughter, the irregular thump of music. I hesitated for a moment outside my front door, thinking that in my exhausted state I must be mistaken, then unlocked it.
The smell of weed hit me first, so strong I almost reflexively held my breath rather than inhale. I walked slowly to the living room, opened the door and stood there, not quite able to believe at first the scene that confronted me. In the dimly lit room, Lily was lying along my sofa, her short skirt rucked up somewhere just below her bottom, a badly rolled joint midway to her mouth. Two young men were sprawled against the sofa, islands amid a sea of alcoholic detritus, empty crisps packets and polystyrene takeaway cartons. Also seated on the floor were two girls of Lily’s age; one, her hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail, looked at me with her eyebrows raised, as if to question what I was doing there. Music thumped from the sound system. The number of beer cans and overflowing ashtrays told of a long night.
‘Oh,’ Lily said, exaggeratedly. ‘Hi-i-i.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Yeah. We were out, and we sort of missed the late bus, so I thought it would be okay if we crashed here. You don’t mind, do you?’
I was so stunned I could barely speak. ‘Yes,’ I said tightly. ‘Actually, I do mind.’
‘Uh-oh.’ She began to cackle.
I dropped my bag with a thump at my feet. I gazed around me at the municipal rubbish dump that had once passed as my living room. ‘Party’s over. I’ll give you five minutes to clear up your mess, and go.’
‘Oh, God. I knew it. You’re going to be boring about it, aren’t you? Ugh. I knew it.’ She threw herself back on the sofa melodramatically. Her voice was slurred, her actions thickened with – what? Drugs? I waited. For one brief, tense moment, the two men looked steadily at me and I could see they were assessing whether to get up or simply to sit there.
