Once every three weeks her book club meet, having actually read the book, and then they talk for hours, laugh, discuss things and drink too much gin. There are a few fantastic cooks among them, so there are always lots of delicious nibbles, and it’s pretty much one of the few events where Mum actually drinks. She’s not a big wine drinker but she loves a little glass of sherry or a gin and tonic made by a light hand. Elma, the friend, whose house they are in tonight, has a heavy hand with the sherry. So every three weeks on a Friday I drop her to one of her friend’s houses, or help her host the evening. It’s the least I can do given how utterly amazing she is to me and Luke.
‘I’m not amazing,’ she always says, batting me away with one delicate hand. ‘I love you both, what else would I do but mind you.’
‘Oh Mum,’ I say, ‘you do so much more than mind us. You love us, you give us so much of your time, this is the least I can do.’
On thebook-club evenings, Luke spends the night with Shazz or Christie and her twins. Tonight it’s Elma’s and I know Mum, with her very weak head for the sherry, will be happy and chatty in the car coming home, the signs of someone quite unaccustomed to three glasses of sherry, chatting and laughing, enjoying being with her friends. It’s the best medicine for everything in life: sharing stories, talking of the book they had read, what they were going to read next, whether they liked the last book.
Today, I know it’s almost three months since Nate got home from hospital and I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to see Marin and cry my eyes out to her. I can’t, of course. No matter that Finn has pleaded my case with her, even though I told him not to, Marin has not appeared to tell me how much she hates me. I’d prefer that. It might make up for how much I hate myself right now.
The only joy is the fact that in a month, myself and Luke are flying to the Auvergne for the weekend withJean-Luc’s mother. He’s so excited that he tries to speak French at every meal.
I’m seeing a therapist now. The pain of everything from the Family Tree to the disastrous encounter with Nate has made me see that I can’t wither away trying to keep everyone happy while I fall apart myself.
Or, as Shazz puts it, ‘You’ve got to forgive yourself, you daft mare.’
It’s been a long week at work. Two of the doctors have retired but the practice is busier than ever because two much younger GPs have bought in.
However, today it wasn’t too manic and I managed to get a hair cancellation in the afternoon.
‘Do you think you should do something about that grey?’ Shazz had pointed out to me one day, with her customary bluntness.
‘Ah no, I’m letting it go grey because I think, you know, younger guys really fancy older grey women,’ I deadpanned.
‘Yeah, Mrs Robinson, I’m sure they do,’ she says. ‘But it’s not working on you. Before you know it, you’ll have grey pubes.’
‘Ah Shazz,’ I groan, ‘don’t go there.’
Christie had laughed. ‘She’ll be telling you to get it all shaved into a sexy topiary love heart next.’
I groaned again. ‘Forget it, girls. I’m au natural all the way and if the guy doesn’t like it, he’s toast.’
Still, Shazz was right about the grey hairs near my temples. And something the therapist said has stayed with me: ‘Luke will see how you live and think that’s the way to live. If you never take care of yourself, how can he learn how to take care of himself ?’ So I take myself to a salon in Blackrock where a lovely colourist put asemi-permanent rinse through my hair to see if I liked it.
‘It’s really your own mahogany colour,’ she says, ‘perhaps a little lighter. But as we age, our skin goes paler and so does the skin on our scalp, so it’s hard to keep up the same level of darkness, the same depth. You might want to think about getting some palerlow-lights in later.’
‘OK,’ I said, taking it all in, ‘it looks amazing.’
‘I have a great canvas to work with,’ she says, smiling.
Luke, being ten, didn’t notice. But Christie said it was gorgeous.
‘About time,’ she said, as I brought Luke and his overnight bag to hers.
‘Are you two having conferences about how bad my hair is getting?’ I said dryly, referring to her and Shazz.
‘Do I look like I have conferences with people about other people’s hair?’ said Christie with a laugh.
Her own hair was platinum blonde and cut pretty short in a sexy style. She dyed it herself.
‘I like thewash-and-go sort of method with a blast of home dye every month. I’ve never seen you get your hair dyed – ever. You look amazing, Bea, stunning.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
As I drive over to Elma’s to pick up Mum that evening, I think how nice it was to make an effort with my hair and it flickers into my head thatJean-Luc, wherever he was, might appreciate that I was no longer letting myself wither away.
There’s plenty of parking outside Elma’s, because most of the ladies have taken taxis or have been dropped off. Elma herself opens the door.
‘Oh, look at you,’ she said delightedly. ‘Did you get your hair done?’ she says.
