‘Is it your dad, love?’
Mandy eyed her like she was crazy. ‘Mum, Dad isn’t with us anymore. Are you okay? Have you been forgetting things?’
Netta realised they were on completely different wavelengths. ‘I’m fine, pet, and I know he isn’t with us. Today was his anniversary. I left you a few messages to ask if you were coming along to the cemetery.’
Mandy sniffed loudly and then groaned. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mum. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own problems that I completely forgot.’
Netta was glad they’d cleared that up before Mandy got on the phone to the nearest memory clinic to claim her mother was getting confused.
‘It’s a work thing that’s got you upset, then?’
Mandy shook her head. ‘Not really. It’s… it’s just a personal thing.’
Mandy’s mouth clamped shut again, and from her closed-off body language, Netta could see that she wasn’t about to open up and spill her thoughts.
‘Mandy, you know you can tell me anything.’
Once again, Netta wasn’t missing the irony. Dozens of people called her to chat, to tell her their problems, and yet the person she should be closest to refused to share something that was clearly upsetting her.
‘I know, Mum, but I just don’t think you’ll understand.’
‘Maybe not, but I’ll try,’ Netta promised. She’d always told her kids that there was nothing they could do or say that would make her love them less. Now both of them were in their thirties and that still held true. But maybe her daughter had forgotten that.
‘I thought I’d met someone that I wanted to be with, but it didn’t work out,’ Mandy blurted, making two elderly gents at the next table stop speaking, clear their throats and, if Netta wasn’t mistaken, ask for their bill. Apparently, they were not looking to have emotional drama on the lunch menu.
Netta squeezed her daughter’s arm. ‘Oh, Mandy, I’m sorry, love. I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.’
‘I wasn’t. It was my partner in my company. We realised we had feelings for each other…’
This time it was genuine confusion that clouded Netta’s thoughts. ‘But I thought Penelope was your partner?’
It was only then that Netta saw that Mandy was waiting for the shoe to drop, and when it did, it was a sling-back stiletto…
‘Oh. It was Penelope?’
‘It was Penelope. Are you shocked?’
Netta took a moment to wonder if she was. There had been several men in her daughter’s life over the years, but the relationships had always been short term, because, Netta thought, Mandy’s true love was her career. In the old days, she’d have been called a workaholic, but now, working day and night in her events company, she’d just be accused of having a poor work/life balance. Netta didn’t agree with that. If her daughter’s passion was her work, then it was up to her how much time she devoted to it, as long as she was happy. But as for the relationship…
‘Not shocked. Surprised. But only because you never mentioned there being anything romantic between you. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Is there any chance that you might be able to give it another try?’
Mandy shook her head. ‘No. I fell in love, but she didn’t. She went back to her husband. They were separated when our relationship became something more – it wasn’t some tawdry affair – but she decided that she wanted their family back together. I get it. Maybe that’s the worst part. I actually do get it.’
‘Sometimes understanding something doesn’t make it feel any better, though. But, you know, talking about it usually does. I wish you’d told me what you were going through.’
‘Mum, you were happily married for nearly forty years. I don’t remember you ever shedding a tear, unless it was at a sad movie, and I don’t remember a single argument between you and Dad. He might have been the most selfish man I ever met and I don’t need Freud to tell me that might have been a contributory factor to my decision to avoid marriage to a man at all costs – but you stayed and you made it work. I didn’t think you’d understand or be able to empathise with what I was going through.’
Her tone was almost accusatory and her words took Netta’s breath away. Mandy had no idea that Netta worked on the Family Listening Line. The only versions of Netta that her daughter had experienced was a mum who’d loved her children, while living a fairly repressed, non-existent life as the wife of an intolerant, old-fashioned dinosaur of a man. It took her a moment to even think how she could respond to Mandy’s words, but before she did, her daughter jumped right back in.
‘You told me once how you and Dad met… Tell me, Mum, what happened to that carefree woman you were before he came along? The one who loved nothing more than to go out with her pals, the one who was first to sing, first to get up on the dance floor? I’ll tell you. You loved Dad so much you gave her up for him. It was enough for you to just be his wife. How could you possibly understand what it would feel like to have your heart broken? To be sad? To want something you can’t have? To live a life without someone you adore? I love you, Mum, but you can’t possibly relate to that.’
It struck Netta that she hadn’t had anything more than a surface conversation with her daughter in years, and now here they were, in a café, getting about as real and deep as any discussion they’d ever had. And something in Netta snapped. Just broke in two. Maybe it was the significance of the day. Or the honesty of the conversation with the lady at the cemetery. But Netta had had enough. If the reason that her bond with her daughter had broken was that Mandy had some false… what was it the young ones called it these days? Yep, that was it. Some falsenarrativeabout Netta’s life, then maybe it was time that she heard the truth. It couldn’t make things any worse than having a heated discussion in the middle of a café with a daughter who’d barely spoken to her for two years.
‘But I did live without someone.’ Netta could hear her own voice. Calm. Quiet. But she had a feeling she was about to give the two old blokes at the next table another reason to flee. ‘I lived without me. Let me tell you something, Mandy – that woman who met your dad was the person I’ve always been on the inside.’
A flash of a memory from forty years ago flooded Netta’s mind. She’d been in a pub, just a couple of miles away from where she sat now and, on Thursday nights, there was always a singalong. Now it would be called an open mic. Or maybe even karaoke. But back then it was just a guy and a guitar, and as long as you could sing a song he knew, you got to serenade the room.
Netta had been there with her sister, just as they were every week, and she’d taken to the stage and belted out ‘Goldfinger’ with all the Shirley Bassey sass and throttle that she could muster. That’s who Netta Menzies was before the good-looking big guy sitting at a table came over to speak to her and, six months later, made her Netta McGonigle.
