Chapter 7
SAMMIE
‘How do you feel about a holiday?’ Mum asks out of the blue.
‘Can I finish my cereal first?’ I check.
She just laughs at me.
‘You should let me cook for you – I can’t believe you’re having that.’
She nods towards my bowl, looking at it like it’s a sandwich I found on the pavement. Actually, scratch that, she would probably think that was more nutritious.
‘Well, I assumed you would have eaten with your fancy man,’ I clap back, trying not to overthink how that sounds. ‘I thought you would be too busy to make me dinner, so I’m happy to make my own, thanks.’
Yes, I know, I sound like a stroppy teenager, but let’s be real.
She’s making me feel like one. I like to think I’m a grown adult, but discovering my mum upstairs with a man, eww, I can’t shake off the cringe.
I want to be grown-up about it, really, I do, but regrettably, I can’t.
And I don’t suppose eating cereal for dinner is helping.
Again, she laughs.
‘Sweetheart, calling that making yourself dinner is a stretch…’
‘It has milk added to it,’ I insist.
‘So does a cup of tea, but that doesn’t make it a dinner,’ she claps back.
Well, that’s what I’m having for dessert.
She sighs, but not in a dramatic way. More of a tired, fond way – maybe she feels like we’ve travelled back in time too. It’s oddly nostalgic… Perhaps I could use it as a way to make myself feel younger.
‘Sorry, did you say something about a holiday?’ I check.
Her words have only just come back to me, and now I’m wondering what she’s up to.
You don’t think…? No. No, she wouldn’t. She – my own mum – wouldn’t encourage me to go away for a bit so that she and her fancy man could have my house to themselves, would she?
If Nico is living at home, then they probably won’t get much space there either, so I get that they want a place of their own to be together, but why can’t they just slink off to a hotel like normal people?
‘You’re working too hard,’ she informs me.
‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ I reply. ‘And yet it rarely feels like enough.’
I place the empty bowl down on the side, still hungry – not because I haven’t eaten, but because Mum was right: that didn’t really register as dinner.
I glance back towards the table where my laptop, two notebooks and a pile of papers are waiting for me.
Mum looks at them, then looks at me. Okay, yeah, it’s work, but only because my night of relaxing has gone out of the window, so I may as well channel my stress into something useful.
‘It’s just a busy time…’
‘It’s always a busy time,’ she reminds me.
‘And it always will be for as long as you like clean water,’ I reply.
Honestly, she is not getting rid of me that easy.
If she wants this house to herself then she’s going to have to ask me, not trick me, because I don’t recall her leaving her house clear for me to have hook-ups when I was living with her.
Then again, I was a teenager, and also not that popular anyway.
‘You look exhausted,’ she says.
‘That’s just my face,’ I joke.
‘No, your face is very lovely,’ she insists. ‘But it would look a lot better if it was “out of office”.’
That one does make me smile.
‘I would like to take a break,’ I insist. ‘But I don’t want to, because people at work keep telling me I need one, as though my work isn’t up to standard because I work “too hard” when really they’re all just worried about me making them look bad.
It’s mostly the men, they almost weaponise my efforts against me, making out like I’m running myself into the ground, saying I’m uptight and need to relax more… Blah blah blah.’
‘I understand that, really, I do, it must be so much harder to prove yourself in your industry,’ she replies.
‘But if they think you’re tired, then rest. Go away for a bit.
Switch off properly. Come back sharp and rested, and then no one will be able to say anything, because you did the sensible thing before you “burned out”.
You can go back to being brilliant and showing them how it’s done, with nothing for them to hold against you.
Plus, you can’t refuse spending a bit of time with your mum. ’
‘Oh, you’d be coming too?’ I check.
She frowns.
‘Did you really think I would send you off on holiday on your own?’ she replies. I mean, I absolutely did. ‘Obviously I mean that we could go together. In fact, I want to treat you, to say thank you for letting me stay here with you. Let me whisk you away somewhere for a reset.’
I feel terrible now. Why does my mind always go to the worst possible places? I thought this was about Hank when really it’s about Mum wanting to spend time with me, to take me somewhere nice. Thank goodness I never vocalised that thought when it popped into my head.
‘I do have a week coming up where things are quieter,’ I tell her. ‘It’s probably the best time for me to take a break, actually, because the difficult stuff is done, so even the least competent members of the team should be able to handle it.’
‘Amazing – so we’re doing it?’ she says giddily.
‘We’re doing it,’ I reply, smiling, allowing myself to get excited too.
I don’t know if it’s the thought of a break, but I notice how tired I feel all of a sudden.
Not sleepy tired; it’s deeper than that.
The kind of exhaustion that only responds to sunshine or a spa break.
It’s almost as though my brain is letting my body know that it might be allowed to switch off for a bit soon, so it’s winding down already.
‘Let me take care of something for once,’ she insists. ‘You’ve been doing a great job, but you deserve a rest – and a surprise.’
A surprise… hmm… not sure how I feel about that one. Yes, in theory, a surprise would be nice, but if the surprise is camping somewhere cold and wet, no thank you. I’ll only take a surprise if I can guarantee I’ll like it… which I can’t do, without knowing what it is.
I can’t be boring all the time though, right? I need to take risks, to broaden my horizons. I need to lean into the unknown.
‘A surprise sounds fab,’ I say, trying to sound like I mean it.
Mum’s eyes widen and brighten in a way I should probably be more suspicious of.
‘I already have a place in mind – somewhere we haven’t been before,’ she says. ‘I think you’re going to love it.’
I really do hope I love it, because I’m building up a picture in my head, and I don’t want to be let down.
I’m imagining somewhere nice – the Lakes, maybe somewhere in Scotland, or even a city break in London.
Either way, all I’m seeing is relaxation, food, cocktails.
No laptops or site visits. No Jon saying, ‘Just to play devil’s advocate on this one for a minute…
’ as though the devil needs more representation anywhere.
Mum looks so pleased. Not just pleased with herself, although there’s definitely some of that. Pleased to be arranging something for the two of us – a break. A real break. Not just from work but from being stuck in the same loop at home.
She crosses the kitchen and pulls me into a hug.
‘I’m so looking forward to this, darling, you’ve made my day,’ she says into my hair.
She smells like her usual perfume and the particular brand of hairspray she has used for as long as I’ve been alive. Both smells that make me think of home – as a concept rather than a place.
‘Can I at least know if it’s hot or cold?’ I check.
‘Warm.’
I suppose it is summer here, but it does rule out a trip to the South Pole, at least.
‘Abroad?’
She taps the side of her nose.
Okay, so probably not abroad, if she’s not answering that one. Then again, I didn’t think she would be whisking me away to the Bahamas. Blackpool makes more sense.
I can’t believe it. I’m taking a break. An actual break. On the one hand, I’m excited. On the other, I’m wondering what happens when I finally hop off the treadmill for a while.
Here’s hoping I can still stand.