SURREY, ENGLAND
Mum doesn’t greet me when she opens the door. To be fair, she couldn’t get to me if she wanted to. I’m besieged by floofs whacking each other with their excited tails and trying to out-bark one another. Mum silently takes one of my oversized cases and leaves it at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Kitchen,’ she throws over her shoulder.
The dogs and I follow after her, my feet so reluctant it’s like my shoes are filled with water. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous to step foot in my own kitchen, not even when I got a B for A Level art. We haven’t spoken in three weeks – the longest we’ve ever gone. Quitting my job was probably a good thing in this instance otherwise who knows how long we’d have avoided each other. The thought makes my heart hurt.
Mum’s a stubborn mule when she wants to be, so I’m not expecting miracles. That icy welcome reaffirms that she didn’t spend every minute of our time apart stewing over how mean she was. At least she let me in, I suppose.
Yes, I lied and I regret it, and I’m really sorry I hurt her, but I’m not going to apologise for anything else. I meant what I said about her, Dad, Jack, the lot. We need to come to some sort oftruce. It felt so possible on the flight from Monaco. But now? With her deadpan expression and Bananarama top that reads ‘SHUT UP, KIM’? God knows.
On the table are a bottle of limoncello and two shot glasses. Is she expecting company? It’s barely noon. I’m not judging but… I’m also judging.
‘Sit.’ She motions to the chair opposite hers.
‘Do we only use one-word sentences now?’ I ask, stripping out of my coat and scarf.
She waits until I’m seated before speaking again. ‘I’ve only ever tried to protect you. I’m not saying I’ve always done it perfectly, but I’ve never acted with purposefully selfish intentions. I’m not apologising for that, but I admit I could’ve gone about it a different way and consulted you more.’ She fills up her shot glass and knocks it back.
Woah. So shehasbeen stewing. That’s the closest to an apology I’ve ever heard from her.
I fill my glass up and hold it while I say, ‘I should’ve told you about Dad. And Jack. It wasn’t deliberate. Actually that’s not true. I was afraid of your reaction. I know lying’s worse, and I won’t keep anything like that from you again.’ It was the right answer because she gives a resolute little nod, and I shot the limoncello. The liquid burns all the way down my oesophagus and I suppress a gag.
It’s Mum’s turn. ‘If you want to be with a racing driver, you know the downsides well enough. I should’ve had more faith in you. You’re a grown woman, for Pete’s sake. Jack’s not your dad, and you’re not me. You’ll never wear the rose-tinted glasses I wore.’
I take the bottle from her and top my glass up. ‘I quit my job.’ That doesn’t drag much surprise out of her – my grandparents must’ve shared the news. ‘It hasn’t been great since thebeginning. They wanted aLegally Blondefoil for Brian with no opinions or input. I was little more than a diversity tick box.’
Thinking about last weekend churns my stomach. I’ve flip-flopped about it over the last few days but, overall, it had to be done. That doesn’t make me feel less like an unemployed failure again, but we move.
Mum looks eager to ask more but that goes against the rules. I didn’t make up this game.
She fills her third shot. ‘The night he left me, he said, “I’m going to do the right thing and be that boy’s dad”. Those words went round and round in my head. I could’ve stabbed him.’ She traces patterns on the worn wooden tabletop. ‘Instead, a week later, do you remember we had that bonfire at Nanny and Grandad’s? I said it was for American Independence Day, and that we had to watch it from inside the house because Nanny has allergies.’ I nod cautiously. ‘We burned all his things.’ A terrifying glint flickers in her eyes that makes me glad I’m her child so she’d never do anything like that to me (I don’t think). ‘His clothes, his presents, his documents. I think his passport was in there too.’
‘You lied to me! I thought we were celebrating other cultures.’
She tuts. ‘Like America counts as a culture.’
As she drinks up, I slowly start to giggle. ‘You’re evil.’
She wipes her the sides of her mouth. ‘I felt evil. I thought it’d be cathartic, but it wasn’t. The garden had a weird smell for ages, and I learned silver doesn’t burn because his stupid Silverstone and Monaco trophies came out good as new. They’re not so sturdy against a hammer, though.’
‘I know he hurt you.’ I lay my hand on hers. ‘You have every right to hate him.’
‘I hate myself too, if it’s any consolation. He wanted to be in your life and send money and have you over for the summerholidays, but I forbade him. Fatherhood isn’t a menu where you can pick the bits you want. You’re in or out. Looking back… it was immature of me, and it wasn’t what was best for you, and I’m sorry.’
I give her a tired smile. She’s acting like this is news. ‘You did what you thought was best at the time, but I appreciate your apology.’
She flicks her hair over her shoulder. ‘You’d better because I only hand them out once a decade.’
We both laugh. She’s so bloody obstinate.
‘You have every right to reconnect with him,’ she goes on. ‘And I think… I should try hating him a little less. I’m not a victim. And I read an article inCosmoabout how grudges give you frown lines.’
‘The only person you’re hurting is you,’ I remind her, parroting what she always says to me.
‘Touché. I still do things to spite him, you know.’
I glare at her. ‘You think?’
