‘Mum,’ I groaned.‘Leave me alone.’
She picked up a pink thong from the floor and tutted, ‘Lovely.’
‘Lev Mh Ahlne,’ I groaned into the pillow.
‘Was that “Mum, please save me from my pit of despair since I lost my job and got dumped?”’
I sat bolt upright, my bird’s-nest hair sticking up.‘I did not lose my job.My contract wasn’t renewed.’
A very pathetic technicality.
‘And have you called that chap – the CEO?The one you were pals with?’
‘His name is Niall.’ I shrank back.‘And no, I haven’t.’
‘You should.From what I hear, you practically ran the place.’
‘That’s not how it works, Mum.’
She crossed her arms.‘You know, Ravi’s storage unit at the industrial estate is free.You should look into it.It would make a marvellous gym.’
‘Mum,’ I sighed.‘You know why I can’t.’
‘Why not?’ She put her hands on her hips.‘Your father agrees you’d be marvellous.We could help if you needed it—’
‘You know I couldn’t.You know why,’ I said gently.
‘Oh.’ She waved a hand.‘You worry too much.We could find you a good accountant—’
‘Mum,’ I said, a little more sharply than I meant to.‘You know it’s not just about an accountant.’
She sat on the bed beside me, running a hand down my matted hair.
‘I know, love.I know you struggle with numbers and you always will.Your teachers told me as much.’ She said it softly, and I almost wanted to cave into her chest and let her rock me.Her lips tugged up in the corners.‘But you have people to support you.People who love you.We wouldn’t let you fail, you know that.’
A headache threatened at my temples.We’d had this discussion a handful of times.Mum and me.Dad and me.Mum, Dad and me.It always left me thrumming with anxiety, because they didn’t get it.I couldn’t run my own business.I couldn’t even do my four times table, for fuck’s sake.I couldn’t count coins without the feeling that someone was grabbing me by the throat.I certainly couldn’t be responsible for thousands of pounds, for wages, for suppliers relying on me to get it right.
I didn’t want to risk that – risk that failure, or, even worse, risk having to rely on others.No, all I needed was to rely on myself and what I could do.And that certainly wasn’t running my own business.But no matter how many times I explained this, it seemed like no one fully understood the all-encompassing shame I carried around about my disability.The looming feeling that it was silly, even trivial.
Oh, you’re scared of the oogy-boogy numbers.
There was one person who took it seriously from the start.
But I couldn’t say his name out loud.
‘Thank you, Mum,’ I said, hugging her around her middle, as I used to when I was a kid.‘But it will be fine.I promise.I’ll find a new gym.’
I pulled back, gesturing around the room.‘Besides, I haven’t got out of bed in a week and you want me to hop up and open a gym?’
Mum clicked her teeth.‘Well, I suppose it would be motivation to get up and get dressed.’
‘I don’t need my own gym.I need to apply for jobs.’
‘Not in this mess, you won’t.’ She angled her head.‘Come on.’
She wasn’t taking no for an answer.I flopped back on the bed and groaned.
Half an hour later, and some more mithering from my mum, I was clean-ish.I’d not bothered to wash my hair because who could be arsed?So I just threw it up in a bun.Meanwhile, Mum had begun cleaning the whole flat and made surprising progress.With a bin bag in hand, she cleared the pizza boxes and noodle cartons from the living room.I remembered crying as Julia Roberts stood before Hugh Grant, a wide, tragic smile on her face.
