‘It’s not giving up my life,’ I groan, trying to resist the teenager-ness that sets back in when I’m under this roof and being needled. ‘He’s a nice man.’
‘I know he is. That part is not in doubt. But you two now have to get married and entwine your lives for years. Do you understand what that means?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ It comes out a little too haughty.
‘You think? Shouldn’t it be a little more than you think? Baby Jesus, save us. And if you think I can’t lecture you because I divorced your dad when you were a pup, you’ve got another thing coming. I know more than anyone what can happen when you make a bad choice.’
I try not to sigh, but school my breathing. ‘I know, Mum. That was so hard for you. But I need you to trust me that I’mgoing into this with someone I care about, who I trust. And I actually think the fact we don’t love each other is a good thing. Fewer feelings to get hurt.’
She snorts. ‘Don’t say that too loudly around Jas. I think she’s taken with the man. You’ll encourage the girl.’
I look out the window to see her teaching him a dance move that takes him a few goes to get right. Jas is in her element, bossing him around, like every other woman in our family. ‘A true Doherty there,’ I murmur.
I think for a moment that the heat of the argument has dulled, but I’m wrong.
‘What I’m hurt about,’ Mum says, and my throat catches as she sayshurt, ‘is that you didn’t ever present this as something for us to talk about. You went and applied without talking to me. You decided it might be a good idea. You decided that we needed the money, and let’s be real, you were too chicken shit to talk to me about it because you felt guilty.’
‘I didn’t feel guilty,’ I lie.
‘No, you did. You felt guilty that you didn’t ask in the first place, and you feel like it’s some kind of moral duty to protect me from thinking about the hard things in life.’
God. I hate that she’s right. ‘I just want things to be easy for you. You’ve got so much on your plate—’
‘Aye, but I thought we were a team?’ It’s so much worse now I can see the tears in her eyes. ‘You’ve had to step up far earlier than I’d ever have asked for, and you have done it – most of the time – with grace. I’m so thankful for you.’
She takes my hand, and I realise that I’m shaking.
‘If you’d brought this to me as an idea, we could have hashed it out. But you didn’t tell me until it was a done deal. You took that choice from me, Dolly,’ she says quietly.
Fuck. I did. I really did. How did I not notice this whole time that that was what she was obviously upset about? Mum’sautonomy has been so decimated since she got sick, and I was just another in a long list of people who stomped all over her, making decisions for her.
‘I love you, and there will come a time when you will have to make decisions for me about a lot of things,’ she continues, her voice calm and steady. ‘But now is not the time. And I don’t think going on a reality show qualifies as power of attorney.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’m sorry I hurt you.’
‘The hurt will pass, but I need you to understand that this has got to be my choice too. I’ve got to be part of the team. You can’t be thinking you’re the hero taking it all on – that just takes something else from me. It was bad enough when you gave up the kitchens for me.’
I sigh. ‘We both know that the endo would have stopped me from being there sooner or later.’
‘Another reason you shouldn’t be taking all this on. Have you heard from your doctor about surgery yet?’
‘Not yet.’ I’ve been on the waiting list for over a year for a laparoscopy that will slice away all the endometriosis lesions in my body. And that’s after years of gynaecologists who knew less than fuck all and told me just to get pregnant, or that passing-out levels of pain were normal. Then more years of trying different birth controls with doctors who kind of got it. I’ve spent so much of my twenties being curled around a toilet, just like the other night.
‘Hmm,’ Mum murmurs. She knows what a state the desperately underfunded NHS is in better than many. ‘It is probably best you left the kitchens or you’d have punched one of the male chefs out for being a chauvinist pig,’ she says with a laugh.
‘Yeah, I would have. I miss it, you know? But when I get to make a new recipe for socials, it feels a little like that. I’m hoping that maybe the network will be interested in a food show I’ll pitch to them.’
She gives me a knowing look. ‘And I imagine you’ve got that pitch all prepared and ready to go for them?’
‘Naturally.’
‘That’s my girl.’ It’s a relief to hear her call me that. ‘Look, thank you for hearing my piece.’
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t listening hard enough this whole time. I thought you just didn’t approve of the career and I got in my head about it, pushed you away until it felt more done.’
‘You waggling your lovely little bum on television was never what I imagined, I’ll admit,’ she says with a laugh that I share. ‘But you were never the girl I imagined. You’ve always been so much more than that.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
