They were, she reminded herself, busy people with busy lives; there was no need to feel so embarrassed. ‘We’re going to have it tonight, all three of us, eating together. That’s the plan. I’m looking forward to it!’
Marguerite looked nonplussed and opened the fridge to no doubt admire her handiwork, as she removed the milk for the coffee she liked to make the moment she arrived.
‘What would you think, Marguerite, if a couple had a baby and gave the new baby the same name as their dog?’
The woman stopped to think about this before facing them both. ‘I’d think they were either the dumbest people on the planet or the laziest. Or maybe the funniest if the dog and baby were both called Rover or Rex or K9.’
‘Ben.’ She gave the context. ‘They’ve named their son Ben, and the dog is called Ben.’
‘Idiots!’ Marguerite shook her head. ‘Absolute idiots.’
Ashleigh hoped she was talking about Ben’s parents and the great name debacle, and not her and Archie, who had to make a plan just to sit down together and eat a bloody lasagne.
Remy
Remy did her best at these events to look like a young and hip mum who took life in her stride. It certainly felt like the kind of place where that was required. She’d carefully selected her fitted Fair Isle tank top that she wore over a white shirt, her Uggs, obviously, and her good jeans. An outfit that she hoped saidcool mum who can sing along to The Streets, a mum who is up on the latest trends, a mum old enough to have wisdom and yet young enough to rock these boots.
The arts college where so many clever kids went to study painting, textiles, fashion, sculpture, and ceramics, was another world. Sophie’s world. Just to be among it gave her a thrill! As ever, to be in a place of higher learning, any college, made her think about the prospectuses she had hoarded under her mattress, quietly plotting and imagining a different kind of life, before the universe had kicked her in the face and busted her shoulder and she had understood the value of staying close to home, of keeping the world at bay.
Oi!There it was, the gunshot.
She reached for Midge’s hand.
As she made her way into the foyer with her mum also by her side, she remembered the open day, nearly three years ago, when she had been in awe of the displays right here, the paintings on the wall, the sculptures in the studios.
‘I can’t believe someonemadethis! A youngster – it’s incredible! Wow, Soph! Have you seen this?’ She had pointed to a stunning frock on a mannequin. ‘A student designed and created this dress – I can’t believe it! Look at it. So beautiful!’
Her daughter had pulled her to one side in the corridor and flicked her blunt, long, pink fringe from her face. ‘Mum, I love that you’re enthusiastic for me to take up a place here’ – there had been much discussion about how some of her friends’ parents were against their children following a less than academic path – ‘but for God’s sake, stop being so ... impressed!’
Remy had nodded, hadn’t realised she was being overly keen, but crucially aware that she was embarrassing Sophie in the process. All she wanted was for her daughter to grab every opportunity and to know that they supported her, no matter what. It was a freedom she and Ashleigh could only have dreamed of, a life without academic pressure, hence why they had kept this secret for so long, understanding that for her mum and dad it was St. Jude’s or bust.
Sardinia or Southend . . .
‘Sorry!’ she’d mouthed, and mimed zipping up her lips and throwing away the key.
The truth being shewasimpressed, massively so! It was awe-inspiring to see the creations and artistic outputs of these young creatives, who were still mere babies in her book. She couldn’t wait to see what the future held for them all. None more so than her very own baby Sophie, who at nineteen was the confident, non-conformist, kind, strong, brilliant woman she had always known she would be. Remy knew she had been similar, until that damn night that had changed everything.
With Sophie’s ever-changing look, subtle wit and her incredible style, Remy knew her first-born little dove would set the world on fire! Harper was different, more considered, more concerned with what others thought and without the defiant spark that made Sophie question everything. Remy hoped Harper had had a better day at school. With Sophie, it was as if she understood, even as a baby, that she couldn’t rely on Jamie, and therefore shehadto rely on herself. Neither of them could have guessed that eventuallyMidge would come into their lives and help build a solid dock on which they could all rest, come rain or shine.
‘I’m a bit nervous!’
Remy smiled at Ruthie.
‘Don’t be. She’s been working on the show for months, and you know what a perfectionist she is.’
‘I’ve never been to a fashion show before.’ Her mum beamed and adjusted the navy silk scarf at her neck. ‘Hope we get good seats. I promised your dad I’d try and take a photo. I’ve got a disposable camera.’ She rummaged in her bag for the thing and held it up. ‘You’ll have to show me how it works, Midge. Last time I used one was when we went to that open garden in Bath. It was only when we got the film developed that I realised I’d had the camera the wrong way round. We got twenty-four pictures of my left eye!’
‘Don’t think you’re allowed to take photos, Ruthie,’ Midge laughed, ‘but you can see the pieces up close afterwards and you can photograph them then, just not during the show.’
Remy stared at her man, who had shaved and put on his cologne. It seemed he too was overly aware of making the right impression. Her dad had very kindly agreed to babysit for Harper and Bertie, who would no doubt have him playing a board game at which they could cheat while they all ate more Maltesers than was good for them.
‘What do I do if they won’t go to sleep?’ he’d asked as she left.
‘Tell them all about concrete, Dad. That can send anyone to sleep.’
‘Cheeky mare!’ He’d winked.
‘Let’s sit down, shall we?’ She knew her pulse would only settle when they were in situ. Her heart sank a little, as they entered the large hall, to see that most of the seats seemed to be taken, and the excited burble of conversation that hung in a pungent cloud overthe crowd suggested they’d been here for some time. The invite had said seven o’clock, and here they were at seven o’clock. These keeners must have been queuing around the block! Not that there was a darn thing she could do about it now. Getting everyone in from school, home from work, fed and watered and dropped and collected, had been a chore in itself. She heard Graham’s nasal tone in her mind:By the skin of your teeth, Remy Hughes ...
