We Can Do It!
I bury myself into the single bed at Nina’s. My clothes are all over the floor and Rosie the Riveter stares at me from a frame, with her arm bent to show off her strength. She is telling us that we can do it.
‘Are you sure about that?’ I ask her. I reach for my phone on the floor below the bed and try calling Lace again. It goes straight to voicemail. I send her another text.
Are you ok? Worried.
Like the text this morning, only one tiny grey tick appears, meaning it’s undelivered. I’m beginning to think she has blocked me, but why would she? The moment I put my phone down, it vibrates. Oh, thank goodness, I think, assuming it’s Lace. It’s not, it’s Mum.
Call me. I know xxx
How does she know? I told Nina not to say anything.
I am going to tell Rebecca and Abi soon, but I can’t handle the phone conversations right now.
The only person who could have let Mum know is Linda, and I’m guessing that exchange wasn’t pleasant.
I hover my finger over Mum’s name. The last time we saw each other, I was kicking her out of my wedding dress fitting.
Now look at me; my tail is so far between my legs I’m tripping on it.
Here goes nothing. She picks up on the first ring.
‘Amy . . .’ she says gently.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, tearing up.
‘Don’t be silly. Where are you now?’ She sounds so worried; it’s like I’m a child who has run off and got lost in the world.
I guess I am to her. I explain that I’m at Nina’s, and joke about how much food she has fed me and how relieved I am that I don’t have to wear a wedding dress anytime soon. Mum laughs, if only sympathetically.
‘Linda was . . .’ She stops, and I know she was about to say something mean.
‘She’s upset, I understand’, I say.
‘Yes. She’s a good family woman. I admire her values,’ Mum says without a hint of sarcasm. I pull the phone away from my ear and frown at it. Did Mum just compliment Linda?
‘You’ve changed your tune.’
She breathes out. ‘We can talk properly when you’re here, but so that you know, I’ve been feeling terrible about my performance at your wedding dress fitting and realised I needed to talk things over with someone.
So, I’ve been very millennial and have found myself a shrink.
I’ve only had one session, but . . .’ She laughs nervously.
I’m shocked to the core. This is the woman who, for the past decade, has gone on and on about how sea air cures everything.
‘Well, I’m proud, Mum,’ I say.
‘Yeah, well, look, no pressure, but I’ve got your bed ready and a Waitrose order coming tomorrow, so if you want to come . . .’
‘I’ll be there Friday,’ I say without a beat. Nina hasn’t shown an ounce of annoyance that I’m here, but I know her well, and she needs her alone time.
Besides, I really want my mum.
*
Early evening, and I still haven’t come out from under the covers, but I did manage to call the Edinburgh University professor back, and now I’m going to Edinburgh on Wednesday to meet her.
So, next week I have an interview with Ealing Boys School and a trip to Edinburgh.
All of that seems far-fetched right now, considering I don’t even have the energy to wash my hair.
The front door goes. Nina is home. The next thing I hear is Beyoncé’s ‘Run the World (Girls)’ blasting from the kitchen.
She’s done something. I throw the covers off and see what’s up.
As I walk into the kitchen, a loud pop goes off, and Nina is standing there with a champagne bottle, swaying her hips to the music.
‘What’s the occasion?’ I ask as I sit down at the kitchen table.
‘A historic event occurred today at Clapham High: “Nina Pascoe gets Dr Caroline Therone fired”,’ she says as she pours two glasses.
‘How? I was just in a meeting with her,’ I say.
She gives me a glass.
‘While you were distracting her with your resignation, I was with the governors, showing them the audio files.’ She raises her glass. ‘To vengeance,’ she says.