‘No, I picked her up on my way home.’ He started buttering his toast.
‘Who was she with?’
‘Mum! What’s with the interrogation?’ Ollie said, half-joking. ‘Ask Lexie about her night.’
Was Ollie defending you in some way? I think back – should I have asked you? But on that occasion, I decided not to. You were a teenager, not a child any more.
Life was swiftly moving on, time suddenly gathering pace. Ollie was preparing to go to uni; by the time autumn came around, he’d be moving away.
You were growing up, both of you. I was no longer privy to where you went, your thoughts, your friendships; my maternal instincts gradually tempered as your independence grew. It was the way change happened – slowly, almost imperceptibly. And I made no excuses. But when it came to what was going on in your life, I should have seen it.
But as mothers, was what we did ever enough? There was always more. Better. There was the guilt and regret we tortured ourselves with. Not once did I stop and tell myself, you’re doing OK. You weren’t perfect, I’d give you that. But as an imperfect being, you were doing your best.
‘Do you ever worry about Mia?’ I asked Lucy on Monday morning. A little older than Ollie, Mia was in her second year at uni.
‘God. I never stop,’ Lucy said. ‘When it comes to letting go, I have a massive problem. But I’m working on it.’ She paused. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason, really.’ I pause. ‘I know all mothers worry. Though I worry less about Ollie.’
‘Because he’s a boy?’ Lucy says.
‘Partly. But mainly because he seems so grounded. Also, I don’t worry about him looking after himself. If he sees trouble, he steers away from it.’ I frowned. It was how things seemed, but I didn’t know for sure. ‘At least, I think he does.’
Lucy looked at me. ‘And you’re worried Lexie doesn’t?’
I shrugged. ‘I suppose I am. She’s so driven, Luce. She has no tolerance for anyone who doesn’t care about the things that matter to her. Yes, if I’m honest, it does worry me.’
‘Why don’t you talk to her?’ Lucy suggested.
‘I will. Meanwhile…’ I started to show Lucy the seeds I planned to plant for next year’s weddings. ‘I thought I’d ask Mary if she’d mind if we put up a small polytunnel. It would give everything a head start.’
‘This is fantastic,’ she said. ‘We also need to think about autumn weddings. Red and orange flowers, strands of old man’s beard, golden leaves…’ she said dreamily.
‘I’m on it.’ Summer was abundant with all kinds of flowers. But I loved the changing seasons; the cascading leaves and russet shades of autumn, even the stark simplicity of winter that had its own quiet beauty, before the beginning of another spring.
With your A levels coming up, you were spending less time at the animal shelter – a tentative agreement we’d reached that you were reluctantly going along with. But one evening, when you came back from college, you seemed preoccupied.
‘Is everything OK?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ You frowned. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
I tried not to show my exasperation; to see it as the classic teenaged response it was – a nudge to butt out and mind my own business. ‘I thought there might be something on your mind.’
For a moment, you didn’t speak. ‘It’s nothing, really,’ you said under your breath.
But the fact you hadn’t denied it meant there was something. ‘What is it?’
Turning to look at me, you sighed. ‘It’s one of the girls in my maths class. She’s spreading all these rumours about me. I know she’s just being a bitch. But everyone thinks she’s so cool. I’m really sick of it.’ Your eyes glistened with tears.
I wanted to defend you from this girl, my inner mother-protector rising to the fore. ‘What’s she been saying?’
‘That I’m a freak.’ Your voice was flat. ‘That I go and watch animals being killed. I explained what the vigils were about, but then she said I was stupid. That the only reason there are animals is because people eat them.’
‘She’s ignorant,’ I said furiously. ‘You’re not stupid, Lexie. Don’t let her get to you.’
‘She already has. I know most people don’t agree with what I believe in. I’m used to that. But she doesn’t need to be such a bitch about it.’ You wiped away a tear. ‘I thought sixth form would be better. But I hate it, Mum. So much… I can’t wait to leave that place.’
Alarm bells were going off. ‘Who is this girl?’ I said.
