She’s been thinking a lot in the last year about the path she chose, and whether or not she wants to keep walking it going forward. University might just be the first change in a series of changes that are on the way.
God, she wishes Kitty were here now to chat to. She’d be typical Kitty and cut through the bullshit and get right to the heart of the matter in the quickest, realist way. She would immediately be able to tell when Laura walked through the door that something was off and she would set about trying to make things better. She wasn’t always able to fix things – God knows she would if she could – but she always managed to make them a little better. Kitty O’Hagan was just one of those people and, by God, Laura is missing her.
Doing her very best to keep her composure and not break down into floods of tears, Laura looks at the house again and at the soft yellow glow of the lights seeping through the curtains – signs that a house is alive and loved. Taking comfort from that, she allows herself to stand there for a while, until a twitch of the bedroom curtains and the confused face of a new resident jolts her into reality.
What might just be the former inhabitant of this house trying to capture a sense of home, and a hint of her mother’s caring embrace, probably looks very different to a woman looking out of her bedroom curtains.
Laura is wearing an oversized parka, the hood up to keep the rain off her face. Standing in the half light, staring at the house, she realises she probably looks more like a serial killer in hiding, or a contestant onThe Traitors, than simply an emotional mother and wife contemplating the onward trajectory of her life.
Frozen to the spot, she does not know what to do. Should shejust dart off into the night like the caped crusader? Should she wave? Would that look worse? Would it make her look more like a stalker or less like one? Shit, she thinks as she hovers, watching helplessly as the woman opens the bedroom window. If she bolts now, there’s a chance she will get away, but also a chance the police will be called to report some suspicious activity.
‘Can I help you?’ the new owner leans out of the window and shouts.
‘No! No! Sorry. I was just looking,’ Laura says, realising immediately that doesn’t exactly sound great.
‘At what exactly?’
‘Nothing… Sorry. I don’t know…’ She stumbles over words, not sure what to say and feeling embarrassed to have been caught like a damp and possibly creepy saddo outside of their house.
‘Do I need to call the police?’ the woman shouts, and Laura has visions of being carted off in the back of a PSNI Land Rover and warned about her antisocial behaviour. Aidan will never let her live that one down.
‘No! I’m leaving. I just…’ She takes a deep breath and decides that honesty is the best policy. ‘I used to live here.’ Unsure whether or not she should pull her hood down in some sort of dramatic reveal or if that would make her look like even more of a madwoman, she pauses for a moment. ‘I’m leaving now. Sorry again. No harm meant. Just a walk down memory lane.’
She doesn’t wait for a response but instead turns and starts to walk away. The woman in the window calls out to her once more asking if she is okay, but she doesn’t answer. She just wants to get away from here before she embarrasses herself even more.
The sound of her phone’s ringtone cuts through her self-flagellation. It’s probably Aidan, telling her to wise up and come on home. Or it will be Robyn looking for a lift home, or moneysent over so she can buy something to eat. Or more likely a vape. Robyn thinks Laura is stupid and doesn’t know her daughter vapes.
Whoever it is they can just keep ringing, Laura thinks. She is not in the mood to deal with either her beloved husband or her beloved daughter. Both of them, at this precise moment in time, can feck off. Or at least they can look after themselves for once. Laura is on strike. She is rising up like the feminists she learned about just today and she is not allowing herself to be taken for granted any more.
Perhaps for the first time in her life, she is going to stand up for herself.
It might be the call of the woman from the window that she hears on the breeze following her down the street, but Laura likes to think it’s Kitty cheering her on. ‘About bloody time!’ she can hear her mother say, as clearly as if she were standing right beside her.
This worm is turning.
18
THE GREAT BABY WARS
Becca
Having sent all my emails, I messaged Roy Cropper to tell him that while we appreciated his interest, he does not fall within our target demographic so unfortunately at this time the Fab Forties Club will not be accepting membership from men. Do I feel a little guilty? Absolutely. And a little scared I’ll get taken up by some sort of equality commission, but our remit is very clear – we are here for women in midlife to talk about their experiences. Plus I suspect he is really only interested in the biscuits.
Still, the interaction had me nervous enough that I wanted to get out and about for a bit to distract myself. I am still in ‘giving Conal space’ mode so I couldn’t arrive at his door. And I didn’t want my mum to see my face and immediately click that something was wrong and launch a full-scale interrogation. I’m ashamed to say I have been doing my best to avoid her for this very reason.
So the logical thing to do is to go and see Clara. I meanNiamh. And Clara will just so happen to be there. Which is always, always a bonus.
My beautiful granddaughter seems to change a little day by day. She’s still her, of course. I’ve studied her so much that I know I would be able to pick her out of a line-up of similarly adorable babies. I have memorised the exact combination of features that make her quite simply The Most Beautiful Girl In The World.
It’s the little snub nose. The petal pink of her lips, and the curve of her cheeks, the deep blue of her eyes and the exact shade of light brown of her downy hair. It’s how she looks so much like her daddy did at the same age, yet with the softer, feminine edges of her mother.
It’s the fact that in Clara I can also see Niamh – a face I have known and loved for almost forty years. So while she is new and fresh and innocent, she is a reminder of everything that really matters in this world and a combination of some of my very favourite people.
I would, without hesitation, kill for her. Which is what I’m telling Niamh right now as she tries to snatch our shared grandbaby from me.
‘You get cuddles with her all the time,’ I say. ‘Fair is fair. I need a turn.’
‘It’s not my fault she loves her granny Niamh more,’ Niamh says with a grin. She knows she is baiting me.
