Just The Way You Are(2)

‘Well, actually, Mum, I have.’ To avoid me backing out as soon as I saw her, I’d messaged Mark to say that a family emergency had come up, and I would be half an hour late, but I was definitely coming.

‘What?’ Mum’s face crumpled in confusion. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘A friend from work invited me to go for a drink with him later on. I’ll stay and eat with you first, then head off.’ Not entirely true, and my lie would require eating two meals in one evening, but that was the least of my worries.

‘You’re going to leave me. On my own. After I’ve done all this for you?’ The smile was gone, her face mottled with crimson.

‘No, I said I’m going to eat with you, and then pop out afterwards. If you’d checked first, I’d have told you I had plans.’

‘If I’d checked first?’ She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. ‘It never crossed my mind that you’d not tell me if you had a date. I didn’t even know you were interested in anyone.’

‘It was a last-minute arrangement.’ I was frustrated by the quiver in my voice. If I’d told her I had plans, she’d only have had more time to invent a reason for me to cancel them. Two years ago, she developed agonising toothache on the day I was supposed to be going away for the weekend with Steph. By the time I’d taken her to the emergency dentist and found out that it was nothing that couldn’t have waited until Monday, we’d missed our flight to Amsterdam.

‘Well, I organised this days ago. You’ll have to tell him you’re busy.’

‘No. I’m sorry, but I’m not cancelling a date on Valentine’s Day to spend yet another evening with my mum. Let’s just enjoy our dinner, and then I’m going out. It’s not that big a deal.’

The tears came then, as she collapsed into a chair, shaking her head as if completely baffled.

‘No, it’s fine. Of course. I’m just disappointed. I’d picked out a film, and had cocktails for later. Of course you must choose this friend from work over your silly mum. Don’t worry about the food – you go off and enjoy your night without me. I’ll be fine.’

She rubbed her chest a few times, face scrunched up to let me know the ‘pains’ were back, as predicted. I felt a prickle of guilt that I’d upset her, but the stab of anger that she was trying to manipulate me was, for the first time, stronger.

‘Okay, that’s really kind of you, Mum. We can save all this for tomorrow, and enjoy a really lovely evening together then.’

Her head jerked up, unable to hide the shock that I’d agreed.

‘Right.’ Watery eyes darted from the table to me, and then the door. ‘If you wouldn’t mind taking everything back into the kitchen, only – ooooh – my chest isn’t feeling very good.’ She took a deep breath, blowing it out as if trying to ease the agony.

‘No problem.’

I ignored her rapidly increasing huffs and groans as I raced in and out of the kitchen and tidied all the food into the fridge. ‘All sorted. We can leave the table set up ready for tomorrow. Here.’ I handed her a glass of water and an aspirin. ‘Why don’t you get settled on the sofa and have a rest? That usually helps your chest feel better.’

I’m not sure which of us was more surprised when I slipped into my shoes, grabbed my bag and walked out. My mistake was pausing, ears pricked, one hand on the open front door.

‘AH! OOOH!’ Mum’s cries easily carried down the hallway. ‘Olivia, have you left yet? Only… my chest… I need… please don’t…’

I closed my eyes. There was a moment’s silence while she waited for me to rush back inside. When I held my ground, she called louder. ‘No, it’s fine. You go and have a nice time. I’m just… calling… 999… If you wouldn’t mind texting Aunty Linda… I’m scared to go to hospital on my own… ouch… OOOOH!’

Yes, I was ninety-five per cent sure it was an act. Yes, I’d heard it all before and worse. But I still couldn’t walk out leaving Mum waiting for an ambulance alone.

Once I heard her speaking to the emergency operator, I stepped back inside and closed the door. Even as I fetched a blanket, as I texted Mark with the same pathetic apology I’d used so many times before, I made a life-changing decision:

This was the last time my mother was going to control my life.

The last time.

I was done.





2





The following day, I finished work at three. Having arrived back in Sherwood half an hour later (Sherwood the Nottingham suburb, not to be confused with the forest), I got off the bus and headed straight to the shop.

Mum’s older sister, Aunty Linda, ran the Buttonhole craft shop and haberdashery, situated in prime position in amongst Sherwood’s artisan bakeries and gin bars. Aunty Linda’s shrewd business mind and talent for evolving one step ahead of the times had allowed the Buttonhole to not only survive, but thrive for over three decades. Mum also worked there, but when her ‘pains’ flared up a few years ago, she’d cut down her hours along with her enthusiasm, demoting herself from sought-after craftswoman to lacklustre shop assistant. She wasn’t in today, hence me visiting.

I entered the Victorian-style doorway to find one of their hugely popular workshops in full swing. Several women were seated around two large tables, heads bent over balls of wool, needles clacking in time to their animated conversations. Linda stood up as soon as she saw me, automatically pausing to compliment someone’s handiwork before striding over to where I hovered by the counter.