Don’t You Forget About Me(64)

‘She made the wrong choices in life, they made her unhappy. Unhappy people take it out on others.’ That I knew all this came as a surprise to me. Lucas had a way of making me surprise myself.

‘If I made choices that made me unhappy, I’d un-make those choices,’ Lucas said. ‘Not take it out on anyone else.’

I agreed, and we beamed at each in other in the certainty and simplicity of this conviction.

After the fourth missed call from Esther, I get a terse ‘Why are you avoiding me, I haven’t done anything?’ text, and I relent, and ring her on the way to work the next morning.

‘Hi.’

‘At last!’

‘I’m walking to the pub so I’ll have to go in a minute.’

‘That’s handy.’

‘Esther, if you’re going to start on me, seriously, don’t bother. I’m never speaking to that arsehole again.’

‘By which you mean Geoff?’

‘By which I mean Geoff.’

‘What’s that noise?’

‘It’s someone’s terrier, and a bus.’

I find a quieter route, as Esther says: ‘I forget you don’t have a car.’

‘You sound like Geoff!’

‘Look, I don’t blame you for being annoyed, I would be too. But however badly done, the intentions were good …’

‘If we’re going to play the intentions-were-good game to let him off the hook, so were mine. I intended a choux bun, instead I got told that I’m a clueless tart who’s ruined her life.’

‘Don’t have a go at me, I’m trying to play peacemaker.’

‘If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor!’

‘Oh my GOD have you been on Twitter too much again?’

Esther laughs and I grudgingly grin into my iPhone handset. I’d thought I was going to be spluttering indignantly at her, but having slept on this helps.

I am bruised and sore but as the fog of battle clears, I don’t want to treat Esther as a punch bag and their proxy, I want her on my side. We won’t see it exactly the same way, but maybe that’s a good thing.

I can’t bring myself to speak to my mother though. I don’t want her explanations yet. I’m not ready to accept them.

‘You know what upset me the most?’ I say. ‘He had the fucking nerve to tell me that I’m a worry to Mum. In what world does he have the right to say things like that? I didn’t say, yes well, it worries us our mum married a controlling old creep.’

‘Yeah, I’ve told Mum it was really stupid to have Geoffrey be the messenger. I get the impression that wasn’t the plan at first and then he took over.’

‘Hah, well I never!’

‘I think his offer of the job gave him the whip hand.’

‘Ugh, can you imagine how awful it would be if I took that? Lording it over me, telling me off … he wants power over me like he has over Mum.’

‘Yes. I’ve told Mum, it’d be a recipe for disaster.’

I know a hefty dollop of me is in Esther’s Recipe For Disaster, so say nothing.

‘Can I ask you to consider something that you won’t have considered?’ Esther says. ‘Mum needs us.’

‘I know that.’

‘I mean, she really needs us, Gog. I think it’s a potentially abusive if not actually abusive relationship and if she’s ever going to find it in her to stand up to him, she can’t do that while she’s feuding with her daughters over him.’

‘You don’t think he …?’

‘Hits her? God, no. Or I’d be staging an intervention. But there are other types of abuse.’

‘What are you saying I should do differently?’

‘Keep Geoffrey sweet enough and things creaking along. There are bigger things at stake. He is who he is but he’s our stepfather and we can’t do anything about that. We can support Mum, and help her towards realising he doesn’t get to push her around, simply because the credit cards are in his name.’

I’ve arrived at work now and check my trendily throwback-slash-plastic cheap Casio watch, under the grubby cuff of pink fluff.

‘I dunno. I know you’re smart about these things, Est, but I don’t think me pretending not to loathe him is going to make much difference.’

‘Not true. He’s very susceptible to flattery. And you can be very dazzling when you try, even when it’s insincere.’

I guffaw. ‘Geoff’s got a better opinion of me than this! He doesn’t think I can fake charm at all.’

‘Look, I’m a head person and you’re a heart person and I love you for being a heart person a lot of the time, but I’m asking you to be more head on this.’

‘You’re asking me to give Geoffrey head?’

‘GEORGINA! Urrrrgh.’

‘Why can’t he treat himself to a nice big coronary? We’ll just have to serve him lots of extra brandy butter at Christmas and encourage him to buy a midlife crisis Harley.’

‘Midlife suggests Geoffrey is going to live to 134.’

‘God, please no. Embalmed in his own spite.’

‘In the meantime, will you answer your phone to Mum? She’s giving me loads of grief.’