‘They’re so young. It seems such a lot to handle, doesn’t it? I can’t believe I haven’t even met her yet.’ We’re sitting in the back garden together, making the most of the late afternoon sun.
‘I know, love. And who knows how they’ll manage? We’ll just have to wait and see.’ It seems trite but it’s the best I can come up with. I’ve given up trying to discuss the situation with Frank, because what is there to say, really?
‘So, um …’ Bella hesitates. ‘How long d’you think Granddad’ll be staying here?’ She loves him, but over the past few days she’s been party to the hefty dinners, the mocking of quiz show contestants and the banging on the bathroom door. On her first night home, she had the audacity to have a bath. Four minutes, she managed, before Dad was rapping loudly, needing the loo.
‘I’m not sure,’ I tell her. ‘We’re just sort of seeing how it goes. It’s fine, Bel. Honestly.’
‘But he seems all better now, Mum.’
‘He does, yes.’ She’s right, I think – but I’m no doctor. It’s only when she’s about to leave that I sense that things aren’t one hundred per cent rosy in Bella’s world. We’ve taken the local train to Glasgow together, as we usually do, with a plan to have lunch in the city before I see her off onto her London train. It’s not that Frank doesn’t want to see her off too. But he understands that we need a little time together.
However this time, towards the end of our lunch, she goes quiet. ‘Is everything okay, love?’ I ask.
She nods, fiddling with her spoon that’s resting in the residue of melted ice cream.
‘Bella, are you sure?’
She looks up at me, my daughter who seems to breeze her way through life. ‘It’s just a few little things with the house,’ she says quickly.
‘What kind of things?’ I ask, alarmed. I’ve been to her terraced house in Bethnal Green. It’s a bit battered around the edges but homely enough, with a tiny garden. But it transpires that one of her housemates has moved her boyfriend in, ‘and he’s playing his guitar on the stairs atall hours because he says it has the best acoustics and I can’t sleep, Mum. I can’t sleep!’ And on top of that a new girl has moved in, a colossally messy party girl who leaves the sink piled with dishes and uses Bella’s crockery that she bought herself, leaving food-encrusted plates in her bedroom. ‘Honestly, Mum. She’s worse than Eddie!’ And if that wasn’t enough – and this is what’s really bothering her – Bella didn’t get the promotion she was hoping for. She has always set incredibly high standards for herself.
‘Oh, love, you’ve not been there long,’ I say, resting my hand over hers. ‘And you’re only twenty-one.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
I swallow. ‘Just that you’ve achieved so much already, building a life in London, all by yourself without any help from us—’
‘It just feels like such hard work sometimes,’ she blurts out, eyes filling with tears. She fiddles with her long dark hair, tucking it behind her ears.
It is, I want to tell her. Just living can feel like carrying a boulder sometimes. But of course I don’t say this. ‘You know, you don’t have to go back to London today,’ I say, squeezing her hand. ‘You could stay a bit longer, have a bit of a break—’
‘But I’ve got my train ticket and work tomorrow—’
‘Yes, I know.’
She sniffs and rubs at an eye. ‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘Bel, you’ve nothing to apologise for, sweetheart. But I wish you’d said something. There’s so little time now. Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?’
‘There’s been no chance!’ Her sharpness startles me, and immediately she seems to check herself. ‘Sorry. I don’tmean to be horrible, and this is going to sound awful. But it’s so hard to talk properly at home with Granddad there …’
Now I’m starting to understand. Kilmory Cottage wasn’t the same for her this time – and isn’t that what we want from home, even when we’re all grown up? For it remain the same forever? It wasn’t just her granddad jeering at the blaring TV, and somehow making our house feel rather small again. I suspect it’s been more the way her dad and I are together, and she’s picked up on that.
‘Well, I’m glad you’ve told me,’ I say gently. ‘So, can we help at all? You have to tell me if we can. D’you want to move? If it’s money you need, you only have to say—’
‘I’d never ask you and Dad for rent money,’ she says firmly. We fall silent for a moment.
‘Honey,’ I say eventually, ‘you do know, if London’s not for you—’
‘I’ll be all right, Mum.’ The waitress comes over and I pay the bill and we wander towards Central Station. The thought of saying goodbye to her is crushing my heart.
We stop on the concourse and check the departures. ‘I just want to say you can come back home any time,’ I start. ‘To live, I mean, if you’d like that. To have some home comforts for a while.’
She nods mutely, lips pressed tightly together. We hug then, and she seems to brighten. ‘Oh, Mum. Of course I can’t come back to Sandybanks. That would be like going backwards, wouldn’t it? I’m just feeling a bit emotional, that’s all.’ Then we see that her train has arrived at the platform, and I’m rushing to buy her a bottle of water and a sandwich for later, even though water and sandwichesare readily available on the train. And we’re hugging again tightly before she leaves, promising me that everything will work out, of course it will.
It’s a little blip, that’s all.
*
