‘Omelettes!’ She looked aghast. ‘There’s nothing else, is there? You haven’t been shopping again. Other mothers are cooking and making everything nice for their daughters doing exams and you, you don’t bother…’
‘Well…’
‘Anyway, I don’t like omelettes.’ She soundedon the verge of tears.
‘Ro, don’t tell me you’re crying over anomelette?’ I almost laughed, thinking she might join in and all would be well. But instead, she burst into sobs. ‘Rosie,’ I said, rushing to her, ‘Rosie, what’s wrong, sweetheart?’ She pushed me away. ‘It’s an omelette. Only an omelette.’
She tried to speak. ‘All the other mums are cooking proper meals,’ she said. ‘They’re all cookingthings like spaghetti bolognaise and shepherd’s pie.’
‘What?’ This was becoming a little too dramatic, I thought. Rosie wasn’t usually this emotional about food. She had always been relaxed about it, even when she became a vegetarian and, we all got over that shock, it was all pretty easy. We just upped the eggs and the tins of beans.
‘And Maeve’s mum is working through the Jamie Oliver cookbookfor her,’ she went on, increasingly agitated. ‘They hadkoftasthe other night.’
‘Koftas? I wished we lived with Maeve’s mum. Maybe she could move in with us.’ I tried to make her laugh, but she looked away, furious.
‘But we don’t, do we?’ she said, tearfully. ‘We don’t live with Maeve’s mum. We aren’t eating koftas. We’re having omelettes again because you can’t be bothered.’
‘Rosie, comeon, sweetheart. This is ridiculous. Anyway, you’re avegetarian. Koftas are made from lamb. Or chicken,’ I said, suddenly doubting myself. ‘Or whatever.’
‘That’s not the point!’ And she started to cry again.
‘Come here.’ For a moment, she stood there, not quite knowing what to do and then she walked towards me and let me put my arms around her and cried into my shoulder. I could feel the tearssoaking through my shirt. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Sorry, Mum.’ She lifted her head and wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands.
‘It’s all right,’ I said gently. ‘You don’t have anything to be sorry about. You’re under pressure, that’s all, working for your exams.’ As soon as I said the word, her faced changed, as though a great shadow passed over her, making her sink furtherinto herself. ‘Listen, I know they’re awful, but you’ll get through them, I know you will. Everything will be fine.’
‘Mum… I’m not feeling well.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I know I’m not ill, it’s not that kind of not feeling well. It’s something else. Like my heart is racing or I feel all fluttery inside like there’s nothing left of me. Like I’m just empty. Like permanently hungry but nothing makesme feel better.’
‘And do you feel like this all the time?’ It was just exam stress, I reasoned. Normal exam stress. And it would be over soon. Not long to go. Rosie unpeeled herself from me and went to sit at the kitchen table.
‘No, forget I said anything. I’m fine. Just not getting enough sleep. That’s all.’ Her feet were up on the chair, her knees tucked up against her chest, arms wrappedtightly around them. ‘It’s just that… it’s just…’ She rested her head on her knees for a moment, as though exhausted.
‘What? Tell me.’ I went and sat on the chair next to her and took her hand.
‘It wasn’t really anything,’ she said, lifting her head. Let’s just forget it. I just need some sugar. That’s all. A Mars bar or something!’ She tried to smile. ‘And a good night’s sleep. That’s whatyou always say, isn’t it? I think I’ll get an early night tonight. And, Mum?’
‘Yes?’ I knew what that panic felt like, when you believed you teetered on the brink of annihilation. But you always got through it. And Rosie would too.
‘I would love an omelette, if that’s okay.’
‘After your Mars bar or before?’
‘At the same time. Melted on top?’
