“If that’s true, why are you frowning?”
“Because you look nice, but you don’t look like you! I’ve never seen you wear anything black in the whole of my existence!”
“I’ve become a goth in later life,” I reply. “I’ve always wanted to do it, I was just waiting until you and Dan left. Now I only wear black and purple. It’s the new me.”
She surveys me and shakes her head.
“No, sorry – no self-respecting goth would have curly blonde hair. Epic fail, Mum. New dress?”
“I borrowed it from Cally.”
Cally is my brother-in-law Archie’s new partner, and she is also a more curvaceous lady. That’s our word, and we’re sticking to it. She’s a bit taller than me, but the black wrap dress looksgood enough. My boobs are on show, though, which I’m not really used to.
“Do you want me to do your make-up?” Sophie asks. Truthfully, I’ve already done it – I’m wearing more slap today than I have for the last few decades. By which I mean some tinted moisturiser and a lick of mascara.
“Yes please,” I say, delighted to have the opportunity to do something fun with my girl. She starts by wiping off everything I already have on and applying approximately eighteen layers of different creams and primers. It makes me feel like an old cupboard; I’m slightly concerned she might sand me down as well.
We chat as she works, and I pick up snippets about her new world that I will treasure. It’s very odd, this stage – for the whole of her life I’ve known her friends, dealt with her emotions, witnessed her triumphs. Mopped up the tears after her heartbreaks. Now, quite suddenly, she is here – in a place that I only have a peripheral knowledge of. It’s all good, it’s all right – but it does feel strange, this distance from her everyday reality. Everything she tells me – about new pals, about her course, about the college bar – is trivial, but I log it all to help me build a better picture of Sophie-land.
She stands back when she’s done and admires her handiwork. She pins my hair up, sprays it with something that smells of chemicals, and nods.
“All done. You look gorgeous.”
“For an old lady?”
“No, Mum – just gorgeous. Shall we go?”
We’ve arranged to meet Marcy and her family at a popular restaurant nearby. It didn’t exist when I lived in London, which isn’t a surprise as a lot of restaurants come and go very quickly. As we walk through the bustling streets together, I realise that I am enjoying the atmosphere. The sun is still out, and groupsof drinkers are making the most of it, spilling out onto the pavements. Delivery people whizz past us on bikes, and the familiar big red double decker buses crawl along the roads.
It’s easy to forget the rest of the world when you live in Starshine Cove, and honestly I’ve never felt any real desire to leave it. My own time in London wasn’t especially healthy, even if it was exciting – but a little visit like this is enjoyable.
“Where did you live?” she asks as we stroll. “When you were in London. You never talk about that part of your life.”
“I lived in Kensington.”
“Ooh, posh! What was that like?”
I ponder how much to tell her. I am a very different woman than I was back then, but she is technically an adult, and I don’t suppose there’s any harm.
“I never really spent much time there,” I say. “I was really busy, working mad hours in the restaurant, and when I wasn’t working I was usually doing something stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Like going clubbing, drinking too much, and living my whole life like it was a competition. It was fun, but I burned out – I was exhausted by it all. None of it made me happy.”
I see her slight look of surprise at this information, and know she is piecing things together in her mind.
“And that’s why you ran away? Dad loved telling us he found you in a ditch. He always found it very amusing.”
“It was amusing. It was also the best thing that ever happened to me, because I met your father, found Starshine, and had you guys. It was a more than fair swap.”
She smiles as we pause outside the restaurant – a fancy Italian place – and responds: “Well, I’m glad you did. You became a Michelin-starred mum.”
This is such a lovely thing to hear that I am momentarily taken aback. Before we make our way inside, I give her a big juicy hug.
I have a weird relationship with restaurants, which I suspect is true of anyone who has worked in the business. I find it impossible to just relax and enjoy the experience as a customer. I remember Simon taking me to a fish place in Lyme Regis not long after we became a couple, and me spending the whole night commenting on the service, the food, the glimpses I got of the busy kitchens each time the doors swung open.
I wasn’t an especially nice boss, I know. It’s a high-pressure environment, and there’s a reason Gordon Ramsay swears so much. It was my whole life, which made me less than empathetic with some of my staff – people who were sometimes also dealing with families and kids and the normal complications that I was unhindered by. I hope I’d be very different now – my priorities certainly are.
