Chapter 18
‘I can send that right over,’ I said, clicking desperately through my files, trying to find where the hell it was.
‘That’s great. Thanks, Lucy.’
‘No problem.’ I put the phone down, before sighing loudly and gently knocking my head on my desk.
‘Lucy, I think there’s someone at the door,’ shouted Mum from down the corridor.
I shook my head; she might be losing her memory but there was absolutely nothing wrong with her hearing.
‘Just me, Mum. I was tapping on my desk.’
I could hear her padding down the hall and I found my whole body tensing.
‘Whilst you’re not busy, did you fancy a cup of tea? I’ve got some nice biscuits in?’ She poked her head around the door then walked in and sat on the old sofa.
I rolled my lips together, trying to muffle the sigh. The trouble with my mum when she sat was that it was almost impossible to get her up again.
‘Um, actually I’m in the middle of finding something for a client and I’ve got to get it to them ASAP so no real time to chat.’
I went back to trying to find the file on the server but I kept getting blocked.
I’d changed companies when I’d moved in with Mum, and I’d never really got to grips with their computer system in the office, let alone now that I’d switched to home working in the mornings.
The arrangement was supposed to make it easier, in case Mum needed me, but between her constant interruptions and the IT failing, it wasn’t working.
‘Oh, of course. You’re busy. All those essays to write. Sorry, love, it’s just I’m trying to make the most of you being here before term starts again.’
‘Hmmmm, yep, on a deadline. I’m here for a while.’ I didn’t correct her that I wasn’t still at uni. ‘So you don’t have to worry. I’m not going back to Canterbury anytime soon.’
‘Good, OK. Right, well, I’m going to make the tea and have a biscuit. I think I bought some Jaffa Cakes or Hobnobs. Which are the ones you like?’
‘Both.’
‘Oh, that’s good. I have both. I think I prefer Jaffa Cakes.’
She turned her head to look out the window, in no hurry to get out of the chair.
‘Mum?’ I tried to be as gentle as possible.
‘What’s that?’
‘The tea. You were going to make me some tea. And I wanted a Jaffa Cake.’
‘I don’t have any Jaffa Cakes. Surely you’re too old for Jaffa Cakes?’
I closed my eyes and counted to three.
‘That’s OK. Just the tea.’
‘Tea, right, OK. I better go and let you get on.’
‘Yes, yes, please.’
She rested her hand on my shoulder and gave me a gentle squeeze.
‘It’s nice to have you here.’
‘It’s nice to be here,’ I agreed.
She nodded and headed out of the room and I went back to my computer files, not sure whether I’d get tea or not, or whether there’d be biscuits.
But I knew that, whatever happened, I didn’t have long before the next interruption, so I wrote a quick email to Kat in the office to send me the file I was missing.
A notification flashed up on my screen and I felt instant relief that it wasn’t an out of office for Kat. It was from Caz.
Email – Caz to Lucy
Hey Birthday Lady!
Just wishing you a good one. I know it’s not the birthday of dreams, but hope you’re having a good one. Chat tonight?
I sighed. I’d been burying my head in the sand about my birthday, pretending that it wasn’t happening.
I hadn’t even bothered to take the day off.
What was the point? I couldn’t go anywhere as I couldn’t leave Mum for that long, and getting her to leave the house had become such a battle at the best of times, there was no point doing it unless I really had to.
Email – Lucy to Caz
Thanks, it’s pretty shit, to be honest. Think I underestimated how crap it would feel working and dreaming of the type of holiday I could have gone on if things were different.
I hit backspace and watched the letters disappear one by one.
Email – Lucy to Caz
Thanks! Yes, let’s catch up tonight. Not up to much. Working and going to knock off early and head out for a bit. Making the best of it.
I was lying, but Caz didn’t need to know. She’d only worry, and it wasn’t like she could do anything about it. She’d recently moved to Edinburgh, too far to pop down and see me.
I sent the email and pulled up Facebook.
My notifications were going crazy with weird and wonderful friends and people I went to school with that I haven’t talked to in fifteen years messaging me.
I ignored them; it was bad enough that I’d moved back home and spent most of my dashes to the big Tesco’s trying to avoid them and their brood of kids.
There were the Timehop memories: a photo of us all on the night out in London, a couple from the flat before we went out, then there was the trip to Dublin.
I clicked through the photos I’d been tagged in.
The big green leprechaun hats, the endless pints of Guinness.
I shuddered. I hadn’t had a pint of it since, and then of course there was Mags bending down on the stage with Noah towering over her, his face saying it all.
I clicked on his name, unable to help myself.
I stared at the latest photos that Mags had tagged him in.
In my head, the Maldives were the kind of place that you went to get away from everything.
The perfect place to do a digital detox, yet Mags didn’t seem to share the same vision.
For the past four days she’d uploaded a stream of photos that looked even more polished than the generic ones on Instagram, full of crystal-clear turquoise water, bungalows that hung on stilts over the water, private pools.
Their holiday, according to the photos, had been mostly lounging around said bungalows looking toned, trimmed, and now bronzed in their swimwear, and all of it felt like they were lording it over the rest of us stuck at home in Blighty in a particularly miserable February.
Not that I was jealous, of course.
‘Hard at work, I see,’ said Mum, walking back in the room, no tea in hand. I wondered how far she’d got through the process. Sometimes I found cups in rooms, forgotten about and undrunk, but more often than not I found the kettle warm and a cup with a teabag in, waiting to be filled with water.
‘I’m having trouble concentrating.’
My email pinged and I saw Kat had sent over the file. I quickly checked over the document to make sure it was OK, before sending it across to the client.
Mum started arranging the books on the bookshelf. Picking out one and putting it back; then taking out the next one. This was ridiculous. I was just sitting here feeling sorry for myself.
‘You know,’ I said, typing an email to my boss, ‘I think I’m going to take the afternoon off.’
‘You are?’
‘Yeah. It’s technically lunchtime. I’d only need to take a couple of hours out of my flexi.’
‘Great.’
I waited for a response from my boss, double-checking that I didn’t have anything I needed to do urgently, but I couldn’t see anything.
Rachel sent back an email confirming that it was OK, and I put on my out of office.
‘Why don’t we both go out?’ It had become a leap day tradition of mine to go sightseeing. ‘Why don’t we head to see that seventies exhibition they’ve got on at the museum?’
‘Oh, I don’t think I fancy a museum today.’
‘Come on, it’ll be nice. Birthday treat.’
‘Whose birthday is it?’
‘Mine, remember? The flowers arrived this morning, and then Hannah from the allotment brought the veg basket over?’
‘Oh, I meant who’s treating you? I can, of course, but I wasn’t sure if one of your friends was coming.’
‘No. Just us. Why don’t you go and get ready?’
I finished off what I needed to do and headed downstairs to wait for Mum, scrolling on my phone, making myself feel miserable looking at Mags’ pictures of the Maldives.
‘Are you still looking at that phone?’ said Mum, coming into the hallway, her hair unbrushed, still wearing her slippers.
‘I was waiting for you. We’re going out in a minute; let’s get you ready.’
I picked up the brush and ushered her to the mirror.
‘That’s right. Yes. I was just looking for my brush.’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ I said, nodding along. She started to brush but anytime it met resistance she took the brush up to the top. ‘Do you want me to do it for you?’
‘I can brush my hair. You’ve always been the same, always wanting to play the mum. You used to do that with your dolls, you know. It’s a good job you never had a sister or you’d have been dressing up her too.’
I winced at the matt of hair appearing. I wished I could get it out for her, but I knew better than to suggest it. It was difficult enough getting her out of the house as it was, let alone upsetting her and making her think she wasn’t coping with something.
‘How do I look?’
‘Great,’ I said, scanning the coat rack. ‘But you might want a hat. It’s quite drizzly still and it’s cold.’
‘It’s raining again?’ She peered out the window pane next to the door. ‘Maybe we should stay in? We don’t want to catch a cold.’
‘I’m driving. We’ll be fine.’
I picked up the coat, not wanting to break the momentum.
‘Oh, but you said I might need a hat; if it’s that bad I don’t want to go out.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I said. ‘Forget the hat. Looks like it’s stopped.’
I slipped her coat on, but she started to take it off again.
‘Wouldn’t you just rather have a cup of tea and we could see if that programme is on that you like?’
‘Hmm, I’m sure it would be on when I got back.’
I didn’t know what programme she was talking about and I don’t think she knew either.
This was the pattern of behaviour that happened anytime I wanted her to leave the house.
She tried to find a reason for us to stay in, and sometimes when I saw that she was getting distressed and it wasn’t urgent, I gave into her.
But not today. Today was my birthday and we were going out.