22. Lavender
“Oh my!”
Polly’s exclamation pulls my attention, but not Daisy’s, as she gleefully flicks paint onto the oversized canvas. She’s wearing an old T-shirt that Tod likely left here after we whitewashed the gallery walls because the old clothes she’d brought were unsuitable. Now Tod’s T-shirt is wearing as much paint as the canvas. And the wall behind. And I’m pretty sure her fingernails will be indigo for a long time to come, but boy, is she having fun. Which was the whole point. The whole messy point. Though it had taken some persuasion for her to give it a go.
“Hey.” I send a cursory smile my mother’s way as the back door clicks closed behind her. We’re in the tiny communal backyard. I’d warned the other commercial residents we’d be getting messy out here for an hour or so because no one wants to be splattered with paint when you’re trying to have a sneaky cigarette out the back. Thankfully, they’re a nice, accommodating bunch, which leads me to believe they’re all aware of who my brother is. I suppose he is their landlord as well as mine.
I’ll take the perks where I can, including the lack of complaints received about our Christmas decorations. Or should I say Tod’s artistic vision? He’d made a Christmas tree from rolls of wrapping paper that was meant to be a statement against consumerism and waste despite the fact he bought the rolls from the local Sainsburys. But I suppose the butt plug baubles (yes, butt plug baubles) were purchased from various local charity shops. Though why anyone would recycle a sex toy, let alone be in the market for a secondhand one, is beyond the realm of my comprehension.
“It looks like you two are having fun,” Polly says with a smile. “And this must be Daisy.”
Daisy does her worried-but-trying-to-hide-it smile, the same she’d greeted me with, as she steps toward us. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she offers softly, the poor kid’s gaze flicking back to the mess and her no-pressure project.
“And I you,” replies my mum. “It looks like you’re making a masterpiece.”
The little girl nods.
“Then don’t let me stop you.”
With a grateful grin, she hurries back.
“A budding artist,” Mum says.
I lean my shoulder against the wall, glad I’d also changed into an old pair of jeans for our painting experiment. “One unafraid to take risks.” At least, I hope she’s learning to now.
My mother’s expression is soft as she takes me in. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
“Can’t think who,” I half grunt.
“Can’t you?”
“My days of recklessness are over.”
“Oh, are they?”
Well, I suppose I walked into that one.
I watch as she pulls an old wooden stool closer, dusting it off with her hand. Then dumps her Birkin to the floor and her bum to the stool. It always tickles me that she treats that purse like one of those supermarket bags for life. The Birkin was Whit’s first expensive gift to her after he’d hit it big. He still winces when he sees her abuse it. Which, of course, tickles me to no end.
“She seems like a sweet little girl.”
“Yeah, she is.”
“And Raif is a good father?”
“So you’re not here to see if I’ve been Svengali’d, then?”
“That’s a noun, Lavender, not a verb.”
“Yes, I know.” Hearing my mum say that is much less of a turn-on.
“I don’t think you’ve been hypnotized, darling. But you have had your head turned by a man with magnetism.”
I make a noncommittal noise, keeping my attention focused on Daisy. Raif has way more than magnetism. He looks like a Greek god, possesses buckets of sexual voodoo, and has the kind of dirty mouth that would make a sex worker blush. He’s insanely rich. Kind and funny in a really dry way, which is totally my bag.
Urgh! He has all that going for him, and it’s so unfair. Pick a lane, Raify bear. Give the rest of us a starting chance!
“He’s quite something,” my mother murmurs to herself.
“He’s my husband.” God, that sounds so weird.
“Yes. I suppose I’m still coming to terms with how you’d never mentioned him before. Not about meeting him or knowing him, let alone…”
Maybe I should’ve just straight up said we’d been fuck buddies. She might’ve understood that better. But who wants to say that sort of stuff in front of their mum? Especially when that mum thinks there should be nothing beyond the realms of conversation between her and her children.
“And then, of course, there’s Tod.”
“What about Tod?”
“For the longest time, I assumed you had a thing for him. You do live with the man.”
“Tod is my friend.” Actually, I don’t really know what Tod is. Apart from selfish.
It’s not like I was in love with him. I don’t think I could’ve fancied him that much either.
On Friday night, I’d thought I might like him to kiss me, but it must’ve been the champagne. I suppose I had sort of made us a couple already in my head, especially living and working together. But now I see he treated me more like I was his mother than a potential life partner. Borrowing money, eating the contents of my fridge, getting himself in trouble and expecting me to sort it out.
I might as well have adopted a teenager.
When I compare Tod to how I feel about Raif, there really is no comparison. The latter makes my tummy flip, and my knees go a bit rubbery. And when his body brushes mine, my whole insides light up like a pinball machine.
“He looks so miserable,” Polly says with a sad-sounding sigh. “Poor dear. I just saw him inside.”
“Look, Mum,” I say, turning to her. “He’s just sulking. What’s done is done.” Ain’t that the truth. “I didn’t have plans to get married this weekend, and I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. When Raif asked me to marry him, I wasn’t thinking about anyone but myself.” Ain’t that the truth, part II. “I know that was selfish of me and—”
I halt as Polly lifts a negligent hand to wave away my words. “I’m not here to play the injured party, Lavender. Your life is your own, and I would much rather you not let the thought of other people affect your happiness.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice sounding small.
“Grab joy where and when you can.”
My lips begin to tip with a dirty thought. Next time I make a grab for Raif’s junk, should I tell him my mother said I was allowed? I have a feeling his penis will make me very joyful. The man attached to it doesn’t make me feel too bad.
Even if he isn’t exactly good himself, says a little voice inside me. What he did…
I glance Daisy’s way. Maybe I’d do the same. And just look at her now, so mucky and carefree. Not that I think I’ve solved all her anxieties.
“But that’s not to say I don’t worry. It is very sudden.”
Here it comes.
“When you know, you know.”
“Yes, you already said that.”
“It’s not even the age difference. It’s more that you can’t really know him.”
“I know him well enough,” I say quietly. Enough to know that none of this is meant to be real. Enough to keep up my guard, no matter how good he makes me feel.
Unlike with Tod, I won’t be fooled by pretty pictures in my head.
“I’m sure you think you do, but marriage is hard, Lavender. Even when you really love someone.”
I refrain from commenting. I won’t say I love Raif when we’re both aware that I barely know him.
“Well, darling, I suppose that’s what I came to say. And that I’m here. Whatever happens, I’m here. You’re my daughter, and I love you fiercely. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but please don’t shut me out.”
My gaze dips to the tips of my shoes, the only thing not matching my painting outfit. “I know I haven’t been the easiest to parent.” Screwing my eyes tight, I shut out the beginnings of those bubbling feelings of inadequacy.
Why does Lavender have to behave like this?
Why does she have to be so much trouble?
It’s always been the million-dollar question, hasn’t it?
“But I’m a grown-up now. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Mum’s gaze slides to Daisy, a sad smile playing across her lips. “That’s not how parenting works.” Her gaze returns. “You might find that out yourself.”
But I’m not Daisy’s mum. I won’t be any sort of parent to her. But I can and I will be here for her. While I’m here, at least. I’ll leave her with good memories of me. Who knows, maybe Raif and I will end up being friends after this. But I don’t think so. It would be too awkward after my dowry-sized golden handshake. I haven’t even slept with him yet, but I know I won’t be able to see him with other women. I’d be lying to myself if I thought otherwise.
I stretch, my shoulders brushing the sun-warmed bricks. “I thought you might’ve popped in to take me to lunch,” I say flippantly.
“It looks like you have your hands full today.” Her expression is fond as she takes Daisy in.
“She’s a sweet kid.”
“They all are at this age. They don’t turn to monsters until they reach double digits.”
She won’t be my problem then. She isn’t really my problem now. I’m just helping out.
“Do you know if Primrose is home for dinner?” she asks, scooping up her bag.
“No idea.”
“Might be dinner for one.”
“Is that weird for you, given you used to have a full house, and now there’s just you and Prim?”
“I’ve had years to get used to it. You all snuck off in increments. Except Whit, of course.”
Whit won a prestigious scholarship to a college in Florida when I was quite young.
“But that’s life. And I get to see you all often enough. Well, some of you a little less than others,” she adds a touch pointedly.
I chuckle. I knew she’d get around to it.
“You and Raif should come to dinner. Daisy, too. Save me from a lonely widow’s existence.”
“Ha! You’ve got a better social life than I have.” She uses Whit’s fancy club membership like it’s her own. Badminton, Pilates, and a swim most mornings in their lush pool. Mahjong afternoons and evenings out with the “girls.”
“Yes, but to eat alone…” Though her words sound sad, amusement lurks in the shape of her mouth.
“Which means you get to eat all the cheese and do none of the dishes?”
“Yes! Quince paste, grapes, and those fancy crackers that Whit brings from France. And gin,” she adds with a fervent gleam.
“Mum,” I admonish playfully.
“Gin is good for you.”
“That’s so not true.”
“Of course it is. A lady of my age needs all the gin she can get. Colla-gin, estro-gin…”
“Hilarious,” I deadpan.
“Call me about dinner?”
“I’ll see when Raif is free. Enjoy your evening of mother’s ruin.”
“Oh, I was ruined a long time ago.”
“Yeah, don’t remind me. I know you’ve got a hundred kids.”
“Just seven wonderful ones,” she says, touching my cheek. “No need to ask Raif on my behalf. He gave me his number. I’ll ask him myself.”
“Outmaneuvered by the golden oldies,” I mutter without thinking.
“I’m sure your husband would just love to hear you lump him in with me, your decrepit mother.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” I just meant he’s a proper grown-up. “And you’re not old, so stop fishing for compliments.”
“I get them where I can,” she says, sliding her arms around me and pulling me in for a Penhaligon’s Chasing Constance-perfumed hug.
“I’ll get you all paint-y,” I protest, not that she lets go.
“I’ll take my chances, my little hedgehog.”
I frown and smile at the same time. It’s been years since she called me that.
“When an older woman starts seeing a younger man,” she begins carefully, righting the sagging neck of my old T-shirt, “she’s called a cougar.”
“Mum,” I say with a moan. “This is a line, right here,” I add, karate-chopping my hand through the air. “I do not want to hear you’ve been shagging full stop, let alone someone young enough to be my brother.”
“As if I would be that indiscreet.”
“Wait—you mean you are?”
“Did you change your mind, darling? Do you want to hear about my sex life?”
I quickly shake my head. Yet… I want to support my mum. But no. I couldn’t cope with the details.
“What was I saying again?”
“Older woman plus younger man equals cougar,” I mutter.
“Ah. Right. But do you know what they call an older man who marries a younger woman?”
I shake my head.
“Rich.” Then she pats my cheek.
Have I just been rumbled?
Nah. I don’t think so.
“I’ll just go introduce myself to Daisy, then toddle off home to my—”
“Gin?”
My mother’s laughter is infectious.