Chapter 17
MARY
It was when I started thinking about a name that I decided it was time to tell my parents.
I couldn’t think of Bob as anything else at this point, but I did want something a little more formal.
However, I vaguely remembered my great-grandfather had been called Robin, which could work.
Picturing Dad’s eager face as he described how various ancestors had championed social justice, including a great-something uncle who helped found one of the first orphanages back in the nineteenth century, and someone else who’d been a suffragette, I accepted that where we came from mattered.
Bob might never know his father’s family, but it wasn’t fair to deny him the chance to know mine.
The later I left things with my parents, the harder it would be.
That evening, I dithered until Bob had fallen soundly asleep, poured a small enough glass of wine for the NHS website not to disapprove, and picked up my phone.
‘Mary?’ Mum sounded brisk, as if in the middle of something. Who was I kidding? The only time she wasn’t in the middle of something was when she was rushing to get to the middle of something else.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Oh, thank goodness you called. Did you know your email isn’t working?’
Since leaving ShayKi I’d reverted to my old Gmail account from years ago. I’d not thought to tell Mum and Dad not to contact my work email, as they’d never used it before.
‘Yeah, I’ll send you my current one. Why did you try to email me?’
‘We wanted to discuss Christmas. You never remember details on the phone so I thought it would be easier to have it all written down.’
Less than thirty seconds for criticism number one.
‘You could have sent me a WhatsApp after the email bounced back.’
‘Yes, we would have got around to it, but things have been rather busy here.’
She then spent the next five minutes describing the highly important people they’d met with, the lectures, lunches and various other impressive things they’d been doing.
‘So anyway. Christmas. You remember the fantastic little charity we’ve been offering free consultancy advice to?
They have an outreach during the week before Christmas, handing out gifts to children with a parent in prison, and we hoped you would consider a donation.
Hats, or bags or something. I know they’re a big thing at the moment.
The teen girls would be thrilled to have a ShayKi, rather than one of our usual fuddy-duddy brands. ’
‘Wow.’ I sat back, wishing I’d poured another centimetre of wine. This was the first time my parents had mentioned my company in a remotely positive light. I had no idea they even knew how well ShayKi was doing, or how in the past few years our teenage market had boomed.
‘And then, well, we felt that seeing as Cameron is also visiting with Daytona…’
Who is Daytona? I would never ask, but would no doubt find out in great detail on social media as soon as the call had ended.
‘And given you were unable to join us last year…’
Because I’d been informed they were far too busy to take any time out to see me, even if I’d wanted to come.
‘We’ve decided to take off the day itself.
A contact has offered the use of a beach house.
It’s rather ostentatious for our taste, but you’d probably love it.
All designer whatever and impossibly complicated gadgets.
Anyway, we can light a fire, order in food, walk on the beach, hope it snows and have a jolly old time for once.
’ Mum paused to let this bombshell sink in, and when she spoke again her voice was stilted.
If I hadn’t known better I’d think she was almost nervous.
‘What do you think? I know your business keeps you dreadfully busy, but would you be able to squeeze us in? We can have the house for three nights.’
I took a deep breath, determined not to reveal how emotional I was.
Furious that she was talking as though it were down to me that we’d not seen each other for almost eighteen months, and spoken less than a handful of times.
Unable to help how my heart cracked in two at my mother requesting to spend time with me.
If Shay and Kieran had been there, I’d have assertively told her what I thought about a last-minute invitation to take a nine-hour flight across the ocean and spend three whole nights battling with jet lag and parental passive aggression.
Now, here, if it hadn’t been for the logistics of travelling with a passport-less Bob, I’d have been tempted.
‘Anyway, think about it as flights are horrendous that time of year, and you’ll need to hire a car to get to the house.
How do we move forward on a ShayKi donation?
Are you able to expedite the request, or do an email introduction to the right person?
We don’t have time to waste on people with no authority to give the go-ahead.
Do you have someone who oversees social impact? ’
‘Yes, Mum. For thirteen years, that was me.’
Contrary to my parents’ belief that all our business cared about was conning women on TikTok to spend money they didn’t have on things they didn’t need, all three founders were adamant our business would be a positive force in our city.
We had rigorous policies about social value, sustainability and ethics.
I’d created a fashion and business scholarship for Sheffield University and we partnered with women’s and youth charities to provide apprenticeships, training and flexible employment.
‘Ah, marvellous. Shall I send you the details?’
‘No.’
We’d been on the phone for long enough for a headache to start pounding at the back of my skull. She was never going to ask how I was, or what I’d been up to. I could hear her gearing up to end the call and move on to the next task on her list.
‘I’m sure Shay or Kieran will be able to sort you out with a donation, but I’m not with ShayKi any more. I resigned.’
A brief silence while she processed this.
‘Why? What are you doing instead?’
I could almost hear her holding her breath, praying I’d moved on to something more in line with the family values.
‘I had a baby.’
Mum released her breath with a brittle laugh. ‘Oh, my goodness. For a moment there I thought you said you’d had a baby.’
‘His name is Robin Timothy Whittington. He was born 27 October.’
‘Mary,’ Mum gasped. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘Honestly? I’m an unemployed single mother living in a cottage with a leaky roof in the middle of nowhere. I’ve had a lot to deal with lately and couldn’t face yet more of your disapproval on top of everything else.’
‘We could have… I don’t know. We could have helped.’
‘What, got one of your charities to send a care package?’
I was possibly being unfair, but if my parents had taken any interest in my life, had asked how I was, what I’d been up to, at any point in this past year, I would have told them.
Mum clearly had no clue how to respond to such brutal honesty from her daughter.
Truthfully, I didn’t know how to handle it – I was alarming myself.
It appeared as though motherhood had opened the door to a heap of ugly feelings previously locked safely away in my brain’s deepest basement.
‘Are you both all right? I mean, healthy? Are… are you coping? Shay and Kieran must be supporting you.’
‘I haven’t seen Shay and Kieran since I left ShayKi. But we’re doing fine.’
I realised, with a flicker of surprise, that, for the first time in almost a year, this was mostly true.
‘Right. Okay. That’s good. Obviously, I have questions, but I won’t bombard you now. I’ve a meeting in two minutes. Can we talk properly, another time? How about we fly back to Sheffield for New Year, and you come and join us? Both of you?’
‘Both of us? As opposed to leaving my baby by himself?’
‘Mary.’ A hint of steel broke through Mum’s fluster. ‘You’ve dropped a monumental bombshell. You can’t blame me for requiring a moment to rally my thoughts.’
‘Sorry.’ I hated sounding like a bitter teenager. This was supposed to be a calm, composed conversation. If only the very sound of Mum’s voice didn’t make my nerves screech in protest. I took a deep breath and tried again.
‘I don’t want to come to Sheffield for New Year.
Please don’t change your plans. Not… not because I don’t want to see you.
’ Or rather, not only because of that. ‘A lot happened there before I left. I want Bob’s first Christmas to be about making new, happy memories, not confronting old, painful ones. I hope that makes sense.’
Mum sighed. ‘Yes. It does. And to be honest, cancelling everything now would mean letting down a lot of people. Let me speak to your dad and see if we can work out some other dates. We’ve a lot to get done, with never enough time to do it, but no one can begrudge us rejigging the schedule to meet our grandson. Robert, did you say?’
‘Robin, but I’m calling him Bob.’
‘Your great-grandfather was Robin. He did some excellent work on behalf of ex-servicemen after the war.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Of course you do. Right, well. I’ll be in touch. Oh – and you said Shay would be the best person to speak to about the donation? If you send me her number I can take it from there.’
No request for a photo of their grandson, or an address. Whether there was anything Bob needed, or ideas for a gift.
Shay and Kieran had spent a long time convincing me that my dysfunctional family was not my fault.
I’d been the child, and as parents it was up to them to love me unconditionally, support my perfectly acceptable choices and champion my not insignificant successes.
When they consistently – and, even worse, intentionally – led me to believe I wasn’t good enough, dismissed my choices as selfish and my success as shallow, the only way to protect myself from being crushed by the weight of their criticism was to establish firm boundaries.