Chapter 12
‘He’s taking me on a cruise, you know,’ Mum announces before I’ve barely managed to ask how she is. It’s been two weeks since we’ve spoken.
‘It’s so romantic, don’t you think?’ she continues. ‘Just me, Paul, a cold glass of wine . . . the deep blue sea—’
‘A cruise?’ I interject. ‘Isn’t that a bit sudden? You’ve only been seeing him for a few weeks. Do you even know his surname?’
She laughs. ‘Of course I do! It’s Rudd. Paul Rudd.’
‘Come on, are you serious?’ I exclaim. ‘Paul Rudd is an American actor!’
‘Is he? I’ve never heard of him.’
‘He was in Anchorman, Clueless, Ant-Man . . .’
I stop, realising that she’s unlikely to have seen any of these movies. If Richard Curtis didn’t write it, or Meryl Streep didn’t star in it, she isn’t interested.
‘Well, he’s a very famous American actor who definitely doesn’t sell green sideboards on Facebook.’
She scoffs. ‘It is possible for two people to have the same name, you know. The actress Anne Hathaway is a good example. Same name as Shakespeare’s wife.’
‘But that’s her actual name. She isn’t pretending . . . You know what, it’s fine, never mind.’
I hear Mum close the back door. It still has the same squeak it had when I lived there.
‘Anyway, what’s wrong with just having a weekend break?’ I ask, making a mental note to google the shit out of this imposter when I hang up. ‘You haven’t been dating that long.’
‘Nonsense, it’s been long enough, we’re not children. It’ll be fabulous.’
I disagree. While I know that she’s a grown woman, she’s always been impulsive.
She once bought a ￡1,500 MacBook so she could write a novel.
A month later, it was still in the box and the novel-writing idea was replaced with learning the piano.
A piano that still remains unplayed in the front room.
While we may have our issues, she’s still my mum and I don’t want anyone to take advantage of her.
‘Stuck on a ship with someone you barely know sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,’ I tell her. ‘Jesus, the farthest you went with George was Dobbies Garden Centre!’
‘They do a very nice soup and sandwich deal.’
‘Well, where are you going?’ I ask, hoping it isn’t some far-flung continent with no phone reception. Not that she’d be in any rush to answer my call anyway.
‘Paul says it’s a surprise but to pack for the sunshine,’ she replies. ‘So far, I’ve bought a new bikini, a black cocktail dress, a pair of FitFlops and some beautiful underwear from Debenhams. I don’t think I have sunscreen, though. Must add that to my list.’
Can you also add calming the fuck down to that list?
‘Good for you,’ I say, reluctantly. ‘If you’re happy, then—’
‘You know, you really should have settled down with someone by now,’ she declares. ‘Someone should be whisking you off for an exciting getaway.’
I roll my eyes. I knew this was coming. She cannot help herself. Poor single Sophie. ‘I’ve been trying if you must know.’
‘You have? So happy to hear it! And?’
‘Nothing to report as yet.’
‘I think you’re just too picky,’ she says, her voice sounding mildly exasperated. ‘You must give men a chance. I mean, you’re forty-five, Soapy. No kids, not even a budgie to take care of.’
Her comment hits a nerve. Years of endometriosis led me to having a womb ablation and my tubes tied eight years ago.
My bleeding finally went away but so did my chance of ever having children.
Sometimes seeing Naomi with the twins gives me a twinge of sadness but I get to be an honorary auntie who brings toys and knows some of the Minions by name. They adore me as much as I adore them.
‘Well, I can’t have kids and . . . wait, why on earth would I have a budgie?’
‘Look, find yourself someone who wants to spoil you. I just don’t want to see you get stuck in your ways.’
She has a point. I’m only forty-five and being a creature of habit isn’t doing me any favours. Here’s hoping I can turn things around.