Chapter 8 #2
‘Try not to worry about it,’ Ed reassured him from the passenger’s seat – Annie had driven the last stretch to give him a rest and because he was not the best at following the satnav.
‘The Clash is a very dependable touchstone. Either people will have heard of the band and there’s absolutely no denying the essential coolness of this 1980s punk iteration, or people won’t have heard of them and they’ll just think it’s interesting that a man is smashing up his guitar on the front of your T-shirt.
And it is just a T-shirt, so most people won’t notice it at all. ’
‘What will they notice then?’ Owen was pretty openly nervy by now.
‘That you’re a boy, tall, white, good hair, big friendly smile – if you give them a big friendly smile obviously. That all comes well before T-shirt.’
‘I just thought the T-shirt would be… a talking point.’
‘It might be… but you and everyone else around you are brand-new. There’s going to be a lot to talk about. I promise. You’ll do fine.’
Annie glanced over at her husband and couldn’t help thinking how sexy he was when giving out heartfelt parent advice. The satnav guided them to the modern block, five floors high, with a small car park round the back where there was mercifully a space.
It took quite some time and effort to get Owen’s guitars (plural!), his mini drum kit, his many bags and the shaggy beanbag he had insisted on bringing with him from the car and up to his new shared student flat on the second floor of the building.
The place was teeming with mums, dads, new students, bags, boxes, clutter, nerves, tense smiles, and minor meltdowns were happening at every turn.
‘What do you mean you didn’t bring my hair straighteners?’
‘Jake, I told you not to put that there!’
‘I can’t believe this flat doesn’t have an air fryer… I mean that’s like a kitchen essential.’
Owen’s flat came with a reasonably sized communal space with two sofas, a TV, a dining table and a practical looking wall of kitchen. Owen’s room was, to be honest, a bit cramped, especially when all three of them were standing in it.
‘Do you mind if I help you to unpack… just a bit?’ Annie wanted to know.
She suspected that if she didn’t do this, Owen would probably still be living out of his bags by the time they came to collect him in December.
Not that he was particularly messy, just that he might not see organising his room as a ‘priority’.
She sighed at the thought of what this flat could look like after a few weeks.
Five boys, all brand-new to looking after themselves.
Ed, sensing the tension, suggested he make a little tour of the neighbourhood while Annie and Owen unpacked.
The unpacking didn’t take long. Much, much less time than the packing which seemed to have gone on for days.
Annie filled Owen’s new, much smaller wardrobe, putting pants, socks and T-shirts into the drawers, then hanging trousers, sweatshirts and his jackets up on the rail, and finally, stashing the selection of trainers at the bottom of the space.
As she did this work, she realised how well she knew all these items. She’d washed, folded and packed them away many, many times before in his cupboard at home.
It felt odd to be storing them here in a strange wardrobe in a strange room in a strange city.
‘And, you and Ed can go, honestly. As soon as you like,’ Owen informed her breezily, as he lined his guitars up beside the window, then began to assemble his drum kit – priorities, she couldn’t help thinking, priorities. First install instruments, then get rid of parents.
‘Oh… we thought you’d want to come and have dinner with us,’ she said, trying to sound as chirpy as her son and not at all hurt. ‘You know, your last night… we’ll try and fill you up for the week ahead…’
‘Thanks, Mum, but we have made an arrangement to go out for dinner together.’
‘We?’ she wondered out loud. ‘We who?’
‘Everyone in the flat.’
‘But… how? You haven’t even met them yet.’
‘We’ve got a little chat group. They gave us contact details in advance.’
‘Oh… I see…’
‘So, we thought it would be nice to go out, get to know who we’ll be meeting in the kitchen every morning.’
‘Yeah, well, I suppose so… no, that makes sense, sounds nice,’ she corrected herself. ‘We can come back in the morning and take you to the supermarket.’
Owen looked at her with the eyebrows raised and for a dangerous moment, she wondered if he was going to say no to that too and if they were actually going to be saying their big goodbye in a moment.
But then Owen’s look softened. Maybe he realised how worried she was about leaving him here, maybe he wanted one last trip around the supermarket at his parents’ expense.
So, with a slight shrug, he agreed. ‘That’s fine…
great… come round tomorrow and we’ll get my food sorted. ’
‘Do you want to do anything in town with us tomorrow? Go for lunch? Go see some of the sights?’
Owen gave her a smile and shook his head.
‘We’ll do that next time, when you come to visit,’ he said. ‘Right now, I want to settle in, get to know my new flatmates, hang out, go exploring in town with them… if that’s OK?’
She put a big smile in place to cover up for the fact that she thought her heart might crack.
Her plans for tomorrow… the places she’d picked out to go to because Owen might like them, she tried not to think about that because it was going to overwhelm her with sadness.
Of course he was right, of course he was excited to get on with his new life.
Why on earth had she thought he’d want to hang out with them tomorrow?
Just because she had wanted to spend some last special time, focused on him, for her sake, she realised. And now, it was already too late.
‘Of course, no problem,’ she insisted cheerfully. ‘Lovely to hear you so enthusiastic. I’m so proud of you.’