Chapter Twenty-Six
Having flounced off in a huff with Joe, I did what any self-respecting wife with an overwhelming domestic burden of festive tasks would do – called my best friend to arrange an emergency meeting in the pub.
‘He just doesn’t get it!’ I said shrilly as Farah handed me a glass of what the landlady was optimistically billing as mulled wine even though it essentially looked like bin-juice.
‘He seems to think that Layla being away at university means I no longer have any domestic concerns to worry about, like we’re a childless couple in our twenties who only have to buy presents for each other and can just decide at the last minute to get Nando’s for Christmas dinner. ’
‘Oh, those were the days, weren’t they?’ Farah stretched her legs out under the table.
‘Parents who looked after themselves and didn’t need constant trips to the hospital, no kids to worry about, manageable rent and the rest of your salary could go on beer and skittles.
’ She took a sip of her mulled wine and grimaced. ‘Fuck me, that is rank!’
‘Yes, well that sort of dreamworld is the one that Joe clearly thinks we’ve returned to.
He doesn’t see that the whole extended family needing appropriately thoughtful gifts in addition to having to feed and entertain what feels like an army cadet force over a prolonged period scenario is at all stressful or migraine inducing. ’
‘And I’m assuming it’s a bit more pressurised because it’s Layla’s first Christmas back home?’
‘Exactly! He doesn’t get that either! Thinks it’s just the same as any old year!
I’m like, Joe, it’s a really big deal, your first Christmas back home – those are the kind of memories that will stick with Layla forever.
I remember every moment of coming back for Christmas after that first term of university, how lovely it was to see Mum and Dad, and my friends, and even Rich.
I want it to be like that for her. Particularly at the moment. ’
‘She still having a hard time?’
‘Yeah, it’s those bloody girls in her flat,’ I said, taking another sip of my mulled wine and wincing.
‘Marianne,’ said Farah. ‘And Lavinia. And Bunty?’
‘Betsy,’ I said. ‘Apparently one of them has been stealing Layla’s food.’
Farah’s lips pursed together like she’d have expected no less – she’s been fully briefed on my feelings regarding this particular group of girls, as you’d imagine.
‘Not anything major,’ I said. ‘Just the rest of a pizza she’d been saving.
Layla put it in the fridge and the next day when she went to have it for lunch it had gone.
And, of course, you know, these things happen.
People come back from the pub, middle of the night, they’ve got the munchies.
I get it. But then last week half a block of cheese goes missing.
Crumbs of it on the counter. And her mugs and plates are used and not washed up, just left on the side all scummy.
It’s all the usual perils of sharing a kitchen with strangers – but I think it’s starting to grind her down. ’
‘Has she spoken to them about it?’ Farah’s lips were pursed even tighter.
‘Well, whenever she has mentioned it, they just make out that she’s whinging for no reason.
They say, “Oh sorry, I was starving, didn’t realise it was yours, didn’t realise it would be such a huge problem,” – making her feel as though she’s making a fuss about nothing.
One of them, Marianne I think, said, “Oh my god Layla, it’s just cheese.
Chill out. I’ll pay you back. Just borrow some of my food next time,” and of course she never did pay her back, even though she’s loaded, because to Marianne, a couple of quid, half a block of cheese, it’s nothing – but to Layla, it’s got to last her the rest of the week. ’
‘Fuck. So annoying. Poor Layla.’ Farah was visibly squirming on her bar stool, although that may have been due to gastritis from the wine. ‘I bet you just want to stomp in there and say, “Hey, cheese-thieving bitches! Leave my daughter alone!”’
I laughed. ‘Exactly. I mean, don’t get me wrong – I don’t think she’s being bullied or that they’re making her life a nightmare – she only mentioned it in passing.
But it’s just another little fly in the ointment.
Another example of a situation where I want to be there to sort it out, have a few choice words with them all – and I can’t. ’
‘I really remember that feeling,’ said Farah. ‘How awkward it is – not wanting to be pushed around or taken advantage of but not really knowing how to stop it. It’s crap – but then I guess learning those skills is just part of…’
‘Standing on her own two feet,’ I said, nodding.
‘I know. Navigating house shares and all those social dynamics, it’s part of growing up.
That’s what Joe would say – not that he knows the details.
And it’s not like we didn’t have tricky friendship situations to deal with when she was living at home. ’
‘God yes,’ said Farah emphatically. ‘I remember all the drama when she was fourteen. We’ve got it going on now with Carli, not that she confides in me particularly.
Girls are always falling out with best friends and making new best friends who then ditch them and go off with the original best friend, or some such ridiculousness.
I can barely keep up. We didn’t have any of that with Noah. ’
‘But the thing is, when they’re home and they’re having those kinds of issues you can at least offer advice – even if they ignore it.
Even if they’re going through one of those phases where they hate your guts and think you’ve never been through it yourself, you can still note that they’re upset and try and do little things to cheer them up.
’ I sighed. ‘To be honest, it’s not really about her flatmates or the cheese thieves, or the fact that she hasn’t found anyone to live with in her second year yet. I just miss her. That’s all.’
Farah pulled her stool closer to mine and put an arm around my shoulders.
‘Sometimes,’ I said, hiccupping back a little sob.
‘Sometimes I just log into the tracking app on my phone and watch the little icon of Layla moving around her halls or between university buildings. I like to imagine I’m there with her, walking down to the sports ground for football, or going to the student union or lectures.
You know how I used to be really snooty about parents who tracked their kids on their phones, going on about how it was an infringement on their privacy and that it encouraged too much dependence on tech.
Now, I couldn’t give a toss about how these apps are using the data.
I just watch that little icon moving around and I feel better. ’
‘I do it too,’ said Farah, after she’d let me have a little tearful moment.
‘Although that’s mainly because it was a tracking app that alerted me to the fact that Mike was shagging his secretary – sneaking off to that spa hotel when he was supposed to be at a sales conference in Croydon.
I’m all over the surveillance now. I think Neil’s expecting me to get him a Go-Pro for Christmas just so I can chart his every move with live action video. ’
‘Or you could just get him his own personal drone?’
‘Maybe one day we’ll all have our own personal drones,’ said Farah bleakly. ‘We’ll probably send them out to meet other drones and do everything we used to do while we just sit at home without any human interaction, stewing in our own algorithm of anxiety.’
‘Oh, speaking of tech stealing everyone’s jobs,’ I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. ‘I had an email from ProChem last week.’
‘The pharma company?’
‘Yeah, the ones who fired me.’ I scrolled through my phone to find their website.
‘Seems they might have underestimated how much they need a human copywriter after all. Look at this ad for stoma bags.’ I showed Farah the screen where a smiling woman with four thumbs was standing beside a beach with the legend, Evoplast won’t let you down in bold type beneath her. ‘See the copy just below the headline?’
Farah began to read aloud. ‘Evoplast stoma bags are lifechanging bags. They will shine a light in the darkness of your soul and change your life for the better in countless ways. Evoplast bags best and superior quality. Client testimonials. And like sunshine on a rainy day improve your life in many ways and I cannot verify technical data, sincere apologies. Available in large and neutral skin. The beach is open for swimming. Picture of confident swimmer. Ha! Fucking brilliant!’ She scrolled further down the screen.
‘It goes on for ages. I love the fact that they’ve even left the prompts in!
I mean, I really thought most AI was supposed to be better than this now? ’
‘I know. The fact it’s so shit is reassuring in a way. They must be using a really cheap package – maybe one of those free ones.’
She handed me the phone. ‘So, they’re offering you your job back?’
‘Not really. They don’t want a copywriter; they want someone to proofread the AI’s copy and amend as necessary.’
‘Is that not the same thing? I mean, if you were editing this advert, you’d have to entirely rewrite it.’ Farah was back to the pursed lips.
‘It’s fewer hours and even more poorly paid than previously, but basically, yes.’
‘Have you told them to fuck off?’
I pulled the universal face of wishing I could do exactly that.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m considering it. Taking the job as opposed to telling them to fuck off.
I miss editing, even editing stuff about stoma bags.
And we need the money, part-time library income not being quite the huge cash-cow I’d hoped. ’
‘You’re still enjoying it though, the library work?’
‘Oh, definitely. Yes, the pay’s the only shit thing about it. The job itself, I love. I’m going to increase my hours after Christmas, do a few more Saturdays. With Layla not here it means I’ve got free weekends and Joe’s usually up at the golf course, so it makes sense.’
‘And you don’t want to take up golf? You and Joe could be one of those couples, golfing holidays in the Algarve, matching Pringle jumpers, that sort of thing.’
I laughed. ‘God, can you imagine? No, although that reminds me, I still haven’t filled you in on the horror show of Steve and Carol’s party.’
Farah stood and inclined her head towards the bar. ‘I’ll get another round in. Sounds like we’ll need it.’