Chapter 14
That night, I have a dream. I am in the woods.
It’s after sunset, in autumn. The leaves are gently riding the breeze, softly falling down on me.
I watch them as they descend towards me, suddenly realising that they are not leaves after all, but musical notes jumping off an invisible staff as if they had a life of their own, like little birds flocking around me.
Semibreves, minims, crotchets, quavers, semiquavers, all swirling around my head. I am aware that I have lost track of my mother, who had been walking by my side until only a moment before. I whirl around, frantically, in sheer panic, but she is nowhere to be found.
‘Mum?’ I call out. ‘Where are you? Stop playing games, Mum. It’s not funny, you know!’
But she doesn’t answer. If anything, the forest has become unnaturally quiet. Sounds that were present only a while ago, like the fall of our footsteps under the crunchy autumnal leaves, or the bird calls, have all been hushed, suffocated, like under a heavy, soundproof duvet.
‘Mum? Where have you gone, Mum? Come back! Everything is sooo hard! Why can’t you just come back?’
And I’m suddenly lying on the ground, unable to move my limbs and get up. Leaves, no longer notes, are collecting around my face and any minute now I will be covered by their endless fall. I am going to be buried and no one will ever be able to find me, assuming anyone realised or cared.
‘Mum!’ I call in one final, desperate attempt as the last of the leaves cover my nose and mouth. ‘I forgive you, but come back! Mum? Mum! Mummyyyy…!’
‘I’m here, sweetheart, it’s only a dream, you’re okay…’
A dream? I’m okay? I open my eyes, afraid. But if I’m opening my eyes, I’m alive, right?
‘I think you might have had another bad dream. You really should use that machine they gave you, but we can talk to the doctors again tomorrow if you’d like. Try to sleep now, love.’
There is no way I’m going to get back to sleep after that whammy of a nightmare.
‘Shall I sing to you?’ she asks.
‘You want to sing to me?’ I echo stupidly.
‘Yes, like I used to sing to you when you were a little girl.’ And before I can say No, thank you, she is sitting on my bed, singing me a lullaby that I barely remember. It was one that she had written for me a long time ago.
Her voice hasn’t changed in the least, nor the position she’s sitting in, hovering over me, her cool and soothing hands on my forehead. And that’s when, out of the blue, I burst into tears and cover my face with the blanket so she can’t touch me anymore.
*
That evening the din of the diners is really getting on my nerves, so I sneak out as Mother is holding court with our table as usual. I’m not in the mood to gossip about everyone’s salacious sex lives right now.
I pull out my mobile and see I have a missed call from Simon, so I dial his number. A fizzy sound followed by a rattle ensues.
‘Simon?’ I call over the interference. ‘It’s me…’
‘Olivia,’ he says, somewhat frazzled. ‘Thank God.’
‘What’s wrong?’ I gasp. ‘Is it the kids?’
‘Yeah,’ he says, and my mind begins to race with images of hospitals and morgues. ‘They want spaghetti bolognese but we can’t remember which sauce brand you buy.’
Oh, FFS! ‘I don’t buy it, Simon. I make it.’
Silence.
‘But I don’t know how to do that,’ he says accusingly as if I’d refused to teach him for years.
‘Then buy any sodding brand you like,’ I say, not quite as snappy as I’m actually feeling, what with the scare he’s just given me, but still.
‘Hey, what’s the matter with you?’ he snaps back.
‘Nothing,’ I say. You only bring out the worst in me, is all.
He huffs. ‘How’s your mum doing, then?’
‘Splendidly,’ I answer. I’m the one with all the issues, apparently. But I say nothing. The less Simon knows about me the less he’ll have to nag me about. ‘She’s getting vitamins for her bones but she’s actually quite tickety boo for her age.’
‘Good, good.’
And because he’s not talking or asking me anything else about how I’m doing, we go through the usual spiel, pretending it’s a normal conversation.
‘How are the kids?’
‘Fine.’
‘How’s school?’
‘You should ask them, they never tell me, Olivia.’
‘I mean, are they doing their homework? Going to their afternoon activities?’
‘Olivia, you know I don’t know these things. I’m usually at work.’
‘How’s my dad?’
‘You should know, you speak to him every day. Ask him.’
All this until I decide that, bar any emergencies, we really don’t need to continue this agony of a conversation.
Thank God I can call Markus for truthful updates.
As a matter of fact, he’s more reliable than my own husband and he doesn’t rattle my cage.
So all in all, there’s really no reason to keep up the charade of calling Simon every few days, when all he does is give me a hard time.
‘Right, then,’ I say.
‘Right, then,’ he echoes. ‘Talk if there’s a problem?’
So he really doesn’t want to talk, despite the fact that we have two kids in common. What does that tell us about our marriage? ‘Yes,’ I reply, trying to hide the relief in my voice as we ring off.
Goodness me, when had this happened to us?
I mean, I knew it had been happening over the past five hundred years or so, but when had it started?
And why didn’t we do anything to correct the course of this off-kilter relationship?
I mean, is it only me, or do other women experience this spouse-to-roommate syndrome too?
Because that’s what Simon and I have become. And he’s not the fun kind of roommate, either. You know, the one that makes you laugh? There is literally nothing left for us to talk about outside the kids and the bills (both of which I sort out myself).
And while I’m thinking about it, my phone rings again.
‘Hey, you…’ comes the deep voice I’d recognise even after a million years.
‘Hey, Markus,’ I chime, happy to hear his voice.
‘Wait, what’s wrong?’ he asks. ‘I can hear something in your voice.’
I sigh. Where do I start? ‘Uh, the doctors here think I need to wear a CPAP mask. I’ve had anxiety attacks that leave me gasping for air at night.’ There, I’ve told him and not my own husband. Nothing surprising there.
‘Then wear it if it’s going to help,’ he says. ‘Anything to get you back in shape.’
‘But it’s a noisy machine…’
‘It does its job, though, Livvie.’
‘But once I start wearing it, I’ll be wearing it for the rest of my life,’ I counter.
‘Not necessarily. Just try it and see how it goes.’
Markus is always so practical. No beating around the bush, no insecurity of any kind. If there’s a problem he solves it. End of.
‘And that’s it?’ I squeak.
‘That’s it.’
‘Hmmm…’ I say.
He lowers his voice. ‘Livvie?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Whatever happens in your life, I’ve got your back.’
I know he has. But just hearing him say it makes my throat tighten and I let out a high-pitched ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. Okay, I was just checking up on you; now go and book that machine before they run out. They’re all the rage nowadays.’
I laugh. ‘Okay, Markus. I will. Good night…’
‘Night, skat.’
*
The next morning, just before breakfast, I find a text from Cassie! I can’t believe it! My fingers are actually shaking with excitement as I open it.
Jen is having a party for the class and then a sleepover. Dad says I have to ask you if I can go.
Nothing else. No Hi, how are you. No Please. Nothing.
‘Is that a text from Loverboy?’ my mother asks as she’s towel-drying her hair, fresh out of the shower.
‘Who?’
‘Oh, just the gorgeous man you work with.’
‘How do you know he’s— Never mind.’
‘Your father sends me pictures of you all.’
‘Right.’
‘So it wasn’t him? Something’s got you smiling.’
‘No, it was Cassie.’
‘Oh, well that’s great, Olivia!’
I purse my lips. ‘Not really. After weeks of radio silence, now she wants my permission to go to a party.’
‘It’s better than nothing. Maybe it’ll be a good chance for her to blow off some steam?’
I snort. ‘Hardly. She’s not going.’
‘Oh. May I ask why?’
‘It’s not to punish her. All things being equal, I would have normally said yes, but not this time.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, where do I start? I’m assuming the party is for the class and the sleepover is strictly for the girls, but I know her friend’s family.
Jen is the daughter of Gemma and Brian, a real prize of a man whom no one likes – and for good reason.
Apparently he lets his daughter smoke and drink, although only at home and strictly under his supervision, but even so…
and he’s way too friendly with Jen’s friends. ’
‘Ouch.’
‘Exactly. Plus, Gemma works night shifts as a doctor at the A&E, meaning that she is hardly ever home in the evening, leaving Brian in charge. And Jen has two older brothers, both of whom have turned out to be real creeps.’
‘Oh, my!’
‘Exactly.’
‘Jesus…’
I put my head in my hands. ‘I should not have left her in such a delicate moment of her life.’
There is an awkward silence between us, but then she says, ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘There is no way that she can go to that party and I’m going to have to be the one to tell her because Simon is completely useless at parenting. And—’ I bite my lip. ‘Then she’ll hate me even more.’
Mother thinks about it for a moment. ‘Have you ever considered that maybe she doesn’t hate you? And that maybe she just doesn’t appreciate your mothering her?’
‘But I am her mother…’
‘Of course, but she’s used to you being the boss and setting all the rules.’
‘But that’s what mothers are for.’ I realise the irony of our conversations and that she is giving me pointers once again, but it’s slowly becoming less awkward with every heart-to-heart chat we have.
‘Yes,’ she concedes. ‘But perhaps you might want to make yourself a little more vulnerable to her.’
‘What do you mean? She needs me to be the strong one.’
‘Absolutely, but if you explained to her why you’re uncomfortable with her going, she might see things from your point of view.
Show her your own fears, that you’re afraid of what might happen, beyond her control.
Tell her that she’s too precious for you to risk anything, and compare your fear with one of her own worst fears. ’
‘Huh. I’d never thought of that before. I’m usually so stressed about her safety and everything that I never really stopped to think about it from her point of view.’
And this coming from someone who has only ever considered things as a daughter desperate to avoid her mother’s mistakes. Maybe I am too strict because my mother never was.
‘I guess I’ll give it a try. Thank you, Mother.’
‘You’re welcome, Daughter,’ she says with a smile. ‘See you on the terrace for breakfast?’
I am actually starting to not hate her. She is wise, so much wiser than she used to be when I was young. And she’s happy, now. Maybe one day I’ll understand and forgive her completely. It feels like we are on the right path.
‘I’ll be there,’ I promise as she goes back to her own room to change.
I figure there’s no time like the present to get the bad news out of the way as it is a Saturday morning and Cassie’s probably lounging around in her room.
‘Yeah…?’ she says when she picks up.
Oh, Jesus. I can see that this is not going to end well.
‘Cassie, sweetheart, can you put the video on?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I want to see you when I talk to you.’
‘I haven’t showered yet,’ she says.
‘That’s okay.’
She groans, there’s a blur and suddenly her face fills my screen. She’s still sleepy and her hair is in its usual bedtime ponytail atop her head. Her pjs are on inside out. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ I say. ‘I miss you.’
She suppresses a snort. I suddenly realise how difficult things must have been for my own mother, dealing with a stroppy teenager who refused to speak to her.
At least Cassie has answered the phone and switched the video on.
I never wanted to speak to my own mother for twenty-two years.
Perhaps I had indeed been a bit too hard on her.
After all, I’d never asked for her side of the story.
But now I know that there’s always a second side.
‘So can I go?’ she says. ‘To Jen’s party?’
‘About that,’ I say, ‘I’ve been thinking. I’m not comfortable with the situation.’
‘What situation?’
‘Well, for instance, is her mum going to be there?’
‘You know she works nights…’
‘And what time are the boys in your class going home before the sleepover?’
‘I don’t know…’
‘Well, that’s it, you see, Cassie. I’m… not comfortable with any of this.’
‘What exactly do you think I’m going to do, Mum? Spoke marijuana? Have a drink?’
Among other unmentionable things, yes. ‘It’s not you that I don’t trust,’ I reply, following my mother’s advice. Be honest, be vulnerable. ‘I don’t trust Jen’s father to look out for you. I don’t like the atmosphere in that house and frankly, Cassie… I’m terrified.’
Silence. ‘Of what?’
‘That someone is going to say or do something to you that they never would do under normal circumstances in a civilised environment. You’re too precious to me, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.’
‘But nothing’s going to happen…’
‘How can you know for sure, Cassie? I was your age once, and I remember all too well being in a hurry to grow up and surrounding myself with people who I thought were my friends, people I loved but who instead,’ I swipe at a tear, ‘took advantage of my innocence and trust in them. I don’t want the same to happen to you, Cassie.
I don’t want you to make the same wrong choices I did. ’
For a moment, she is silent and I can hear the cogs turning in her mind. I’m surprised we’ve been on the phone this long at all.
‘So basically, you’re saying no, and giving me a whole bunch of reasons why you’re saying no. You don’t trust me to tell off anyone annoying me.’
My heart sinks to my feet. ‘Sweetheart, please try to understand…’
‘What if Uncle Markus takes me?’ she suggests.
‘Uncle Markus? He can’t sit in on a party all night…’
‘There’s no need to, all night. He can make sure all the blokes have gone.’
Yeah, only to come back when they see he’s gone. I don’t think so.
I take a deep breath. ‘Not this time, sweetheart. Next time, I’ll be there to chaperone you myself.
But this time, I’m going to have to say no, for all the above-mentioned reasons.
I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to— Cassie?
’ But the screen has turned black. She’s hung up on me.
Fantastic. So much for being vulnerable.