‘Based on what you just told me, no. It’s freezing cold, let’s get somewhere warm.’
‘Freezing. This is nothing. You should have been out at 5.45 yesterday morning. That was cold. I thought my nipples were going to freeze off.’ What is wrong with my idiot mouth? Why,whywould I say the word nipple to Rory Walters? God, just gobble me up now, free me from my stupidity. I raise my eyes heavenward, just in case he’s listening and prepared to beam me up.
‘You had your nipples out in this weather?’ Rory doesn’t seem anywhere near as mortified as I am; that’s good. ‘What on earth were you… No, don’t tell me.’ He holds up his hands. ‘I don’t think I want to know.’
Non-judgemental but with firm boundaries. I wonder if he gives lessons.
‘So where are we going?’ Changing the subject is a good move. He must be rubbing off on me.
‘I thought we could have my work’s night out. That’s Christmassy, there’s really only me so you’re doing me a favour by keeping me company, and as my treat, it’s free. You could go the whole hog and have a Christmas Dinner.’
I can’t help myself, my eyebrow raises at a 45-degree angle. My body parts have always been disobedient. ‘This is your work’s night out?’
‘Uh-huh. Although if you could keep the pity from your voice that would be great.’
‘Sorry. Kinda slipped in there.’
‘Said the bishop to the actress.’
‘Oh my God, you make dad jokes.’
‘But only the best ones. Will try not to do it again.’
‘Right, come back into the 2020s.’
‘Hmm, they’ve not been great so far.’ That is certainly the truth.
‘But tonight will be, come on let’s get you to the food.’
‘I do like food.’
The food is good, the view of the bridge is outstanding but the atmosphere a little stuffy. I itch to jump on the table and do a dance of the seven veils with the heavy linen napkins, but I practise self-restraint and Rory and I chat about what a nightmare Dad is – a subject I can blather on about for hours.
‘I’ve never talked like this about a client before and it’s so unprofessional of me, especially as he is your father, but he is driving me up the wall. He doesn’t listen to anything…’ I nod archly. That’s the absolute truth. ‘He’s happy to pay for my advice but then refuses to take it, and I would love it if I could roll up my sleeves and just take the cash but it’ll impact my professional reputation too. He tweets drunk…’
‘Yeah, I’m not surprised. Drink is a real thing in my family. Drinking is fun and they despise anything they see as dull, like Shakespeare. They veer from telling me that I’m irresponsible one minute and too dull the next when I don’t join in. I gave up trying to work it out years ago. But when they drink, they’re not nice.’
‘Uh-huh, I think I’m beginning to realise that. Your father has started an online war with a reporter by threatening to punch out his “millennial snowflake arse” the next time he sees him … and have you seen the article he wrote for today’sExpress? I wrote a statement for him, accepting the blame for his behaviour and outlining the steps he was going to take to change, and then boom, I open up the article this morning and it’s unrecognisable. He has blamed everything on today’s society. No personal responsibility… Sorry. It is your dad I’m ranting about.’ Rory calms his tone.
‘Ah, trust me, you ranting about him is by far the least of my worries and you’re not saying anything that’s not true. I’m sorry you took him on, but at the same time not sorry because now we’re friends.’ I don’t pause there but speed up, so he doesn’t have time to argue that last point. He feels like a friend and as I’ve never been someone with a wide social circle, I don’t think I’d like it if he corrected me, told me or implied that I was merely an acquaintance. ‘But I haven’t seen today’s piece. After the news that broke last month I adapted my news feed so I see nothing about Dad. I was so saturated, so ashamed, I couldn’t bear another story.’
‘I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to have your family’s business beamed onto everyone’s phone, all the time.’
‘Right? People think I’m lucky and I am. But Dad does have his downsides.’
‘Yeah.’ He places his hands on mine, I can feel that he means it, that he’s trying his best to comfort me. This is good, it’s kind. It doesn’t feel like it comes with an agenda or that I need to whip my knickers down to keep his attention. Maybe I genuinely have a new friend.
‘He’s an arse, and I don’t think he’s capable of change as I genuinely don’t think he thinks he’s ever in the wrong. He’s a shocking narcissist and he can’t cope if people don’t share his viewpoint or see him as anything less than perfect. I think that’s why he lashes out at me, because I struggle to pretend I think anyone is wholly perfect. It’s Mum I feel for; Rose and I, we’re out. I used to wish she’d go too. She did once before, when we were kids, but she came back really quickly. And I can’t see her ever leaving now, although she has openly cheated a couple of times. They’re both as bad as each other, to be honest, and I think, despite how dysfunctional they are, they’re kind of co-dependent. Each needs the other and dearly loves them in their own messed-up way.’
‘She left without you?’
‘Yeah.’ He keeps his face straight but I wonder if he is thinking, what kind of mother leaves her kids? Truth is, when I was a child I thought that too but now I realise things are more complex than that. Women are their own people, not a homogenous mass of adoring motherhood. Some feel bound, restricted by their children; it doesn’t make them less of a woman, any more than it does those who choose not to have children at all. I think it’s unfair the way society condemns them just because they find their children a pressure or don’t want to be defined by motherhood.
‘I understand,’ I say. ‘Their relationship is bizarre; it veers from toxic to sort of sweet. She probably decided she couldn’t be a great mother until she got herself strong, away from him, straighter in her head. When she learnt to love herself, only then could she love her children the way she wanted to. My concern, ‘ I say, rationalising it, ‘is that rather than the fiery woman I remember from my childhood, these days she seems frozen and I wonder if she’ll ever be able to find the fire to stand up to him again.’
It’s funny how you can see all the reason, all the theory, laid out bare on the table, see why they are the way they are. You can see how much they are hurting as individuals and not want that for them but the impact still feels pretty personal and hurts badly. It’s hard at times; adult me – public me – may manage to be rational about it all but there is still a part of me, child me, that wants to scream and shout about the lack of fairness. I know it’s the way that my parents have treated me – compounded by the fact that when Rose came along she slotted in perfectly, their behaviour making her a competitor rather than a team mate – that has shaped the way I view myself. That has made it difficult – no, impossible – for me to commit, for me to be attracted to anyone that I may want to commit to. I am forever haunted with the feeling of not being good enough, of knowing I consistently fail to please, and for all my adult perspective I don’t know how to change that. I don’t know how to dig inside deep and recognise that I am okay, I’m not that bad. That there are positives in who I am. I often wonder if I ever will.
‘That’s very reasonable of you.’ Rory smiles a half smile and then changes it quickly as if he knows I do not want to be pitied, that being pitied is something I have no control over, rather like Mum leaving, and makes me feel small and by its very nature – despite the good intentions – pitiable. ‘So, tell me, how did you get consumed by this overwhelming love for Christmas?’
