Don’t You Forget About Me(78)
‘Georgina, about your dad. He never gave up his Saturdays with you, for her. I took some comfort from that.’
This makes me feel gratified and confused and guilty and sad, all at once.
When we’ve finished the passion fruit mousse, Mum says no thanks to a coffee and I know, I already know what’s coming next. She sensibly waits until Nana Hogg is snoring in an armchair and unable to offer input.
‘Esther, thanks for the offer of staying but I think I’m going to go home.’
Esther’s brow furrows. ‘Are you sure?
I want so much to be some assistance, and not always have to defer to my capable sister, who spent so many more years of her childhood shouldering the fact of my father’s affair than I did. When I was tripping happily with him from cafés to curry houses.
‘Yes, absolutely sure. It’ll have blown over and I will tell Geoffrey his response was excessive.’
Good luck there.
‘If you’re sure,’ Esther says.
‘I am.’
‘How about we share a taxi, Mum?’ I say. Mark tactfully gets up to clear the plates and I say, more quietly: ‘Why don’t you go in, make sure everything’s alright and you’re not going to have a barney? And text me. If you want to come back out and go home with me, wait for it to cool down, you can.’
Mum nods, embarrassed, and I think that we’re doing what is called normalising. We’re talking in the language of managing an abuser. I’m not one to pine for a boyfriend to look after me, but right now it’d be so good to have someone to share this with. To have my back, and by extension, hers. To be a team, the way I know Esther and Mark are.
I call a cab and we gather our things. Mark hustled Milo off to bed early and we don’t want to wake Nana Hogg. I’d like to give her a medal though.
By the doorway, Esther catches me.
‘Thanks for this, Gog. I wish she’d stay, but …’
‘I read somewhere that leaving someone like that is a “process, not an event”. It was never likely she’d have an epiphany. Like you say, we need to stay around her and let her know she’s not alone with him.’
Esther gives me a tight hug and I linger in it, feeling small, and made of pink fluff.
When we pull up at the mansion in Fulwood, I remember Geoffrey’s principal appeal to my mother – it’s a beautiful house, a cavernous Victorian semi made from that burnt toffee-coloured Yorkshire stone. It has deep steps leading up to the stained glass front door that seems designed to lodge in childhood memories.
It is still an ogre’s prison, however. I turn to Mum, put my hand over hers. She must find this reversal excruciating. I’ve never been the greatest at accepting concern myself, after all. Luckily the driver has Magic FM on loud.
‘It’s no problem to wait. I won’t go until you text me.’
She kisses me on the cheek and pats my hand.
The front door closes behind her. The hallway light flicks on beyond.
Seconds later, my phone pings.
Night darling! X
I can tell by the speed of the response, she didn’t wait to speak to him before she told me she was alright.
What parts that is made up of pride, recklessness, fatalism or optimism, I can’t tell.
32
A bad workman blames his tools, or in my case, her material.
The ‘Worst Date’ tale instalment of the second Share Your Shame competition is tonight, and I’m angsting over my lack of them. I’ve had weeks to prepare and yet in the midst of family dramas and trying to work out where my head is with Lucas, I’ve spectacularly failed to come up with anything. Nothing quite like crashing and burning in front of friends, family and colleagues to keep a girl awake at night.
So much for my grandly telling Jo that good fodder for anecdotes is distributed democratically in life, you only needed the ability to notice them.
‘I haven’t been on any dates that are truly bad enough to qualify, that “he turned out to be wearing an electronic tagging bracelet under the tuxedo” sort of thing,’ I say to Kitty. Lucas hovers nearby, pretending not to listen.
‘Closest I can get is that when I was twenty-four, my then-boyfriend Mike took me to New York on a surprise trip. First day we go to the Empire State Building and he proposes. I said no. We still had three days of the holiday left and neither of us could afford to change the flights.’
‘Oh my God!’ Kitty says.
‘Yup. It wasn’t even an “I’m not ready” refusal either. I was so horrified, I blurted out that we were best off breaking up. We’d only been seeing each other three months! Then Japanese tourists saw the ring and got the wrong end of the stick and tried to take our picture. But even though Mike’s happily married now I don’t think he deserves me reliving that with an audience to win a column in The Star.’
‘This is getting a bit like Laurence Olivier’s “have you ever tried acting, dear boy”,’ Lucas says, as he slots a bottle back on the shelf and tells Kitty to take her break.
Even when he’s being mildly combative towards me, I get a kick out of it. I can feel myself falling again. I have to stop myself.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, just make it up? It’s a writing competition, not an interesting life competition. I’m sure they’re partly looking for that initiative.’