Chapter 16
Olivia stares at the steaming-hot bowl of pale green and beige food in front of her and knows that she has finally cracked the code.
She’s spent sixteen years obsessing over the ultimate family meal, the right ratio of vegetable, fibre, protein and carbohydrate that will enable her children to grow up strong, healthy, and with zero food issues, unlike her.
If she could just be the perfect percentage of Nigella Lawson (while also maintaining the appropriate levels of Jessica Ennis-Hill and channelling the right amount of Helen Mirren), then she could break the cycle of dysfunction for Saskia and Jack. It wasn’t much to ask, was it?
But an orgasm and a decent night’s sleep have shown her what umpteen lifestyle pieces about being the perfect parent couldn’t: that when it comes to recipes for happiness, a simple bowl of cheesy pesto pasta knocked up in ten minutes is best.
‘What exactly are we eating here?’ Saskia stirs the contents of her bowl suspiciously.
‘It’s pasta, babes,’ says Lily, helpfully.
‘I can see that.’ Saskia raises her eyebrows in frustration. ‘But what kind of pasta is it?’
‘I’m calling it Pasta à la Gooey Cheese,’ Olivia interjects. ‘With a touch of pesto.’
‘There’s not a single vegetable in it,’ Saskia complains.
‘Actually, that’s not true. There’s basil in the pesto, and I’ve boiled up some peas if you want to add them.
’ Olivia points at a colander sitting unloved on the kitchen worktop.
‘Now, shall we talk about our days? I’ll start.
I’m being allowed to write one last feature, on being a People Displeaser.
It means I get to say whatever I want without worrying about the consequences! ’
‘Woah, cool!’ beams Jack.
‘That sounds utterly horrific,’ shivers Saskia.
‘Actually, it sounds a lot to me like being an old white man,’ sighs Lily. ‘Doesn’t it, Dad?’
‘What’s that, darling?’ Peter seems to be at a safe level of inebriation, the type that thankfully only enters the conversation when asked to.
‘I said that doing whatever you want without consequences must be quite relatable for you.’ Lily stabs her fork into her penne.
‘Actually, Lil, I’d say it was more applicable to Mum right now, given that she’s off living her best life while we all clean up her mess.’
‘Well, isn’t this lovely?’ Nick lifts a cheese-sodden spoon to his mouth.
‘Glad you agree that Dad’s a mess, finally,’ smiles Lily.
‘That’s not what I was saying, Lil.’ Olivia pulls an entire lump of melted cheese out of her bowl with her fingers, shoves it between her lips.
‘Is this really the time and the place for us to be having conversations about your childhood?’ Nick shakes his head, clearly the only proper grown-up at the table this evening.
‘Dad’s right, Mum.’ Saskia rolls her eyes almost out of her forehead. ‘It is pretty unhealthy and narcissistic to be discussing your own issues in such an unboundaried way in front of your kids.’
‘Boundaries! Narcissism!’ Lily claps her hands together in delight. ‘Can you imagine how different our childhoods would have been if we’d known about these things!’
‘Everyone’s mother suffers from narcissistic personality disorder nowadays, Lily, didn’t you know?’ Olivia is aware she sounds sulky, but if there’s anyone in this world she can be sulky with and know she’ll be forgiven, it’s her sister. ‘I know our mum does.’
‘Not this again,’ sighs Lily. ‘You’re forty-four, Olivia! Are you really saying that our mother has a serious psychological illness simply because she finally decided she’d had enough of his …’ Lily looks at her father, and then her niece and nephew ‘… carousing?’
Peter chews vacantly on his pasta.
‘I’m just saying that she has a special way of putting herself first, that’s all.’
‘As an only child,’ Nick interrupts, ‘I have to say I’m quite amazed that two people with the same childhoods could have such a varying view of them.’
‘It’s not that surprising, Dad,’ sniggers Saskia.
‘I think it’s because your mother doted so much on you, Lily,’ Peter nods towards his youngest child, ‘and was so hard on Olivia, that perhaps I was softer on her to make up for it. To make up for my many, many shortfalls as a father.’
Everyone turns and stares open-mouthed at him.
‘What?’ He shoos them away with his fork. ‘Don’t be so surprised that I am listening, even if you all think I’m a doddery old drunk.’
‘Think,’ seethes Lily. ‘Anyway, sis, putting yourself first isn’t always a bad thing, you know. Mum’s really coming into her own now she’s able to focus more on herself, and not worry all the time about what he’s up to.’
‘Lily’s right.’ Peter suddenly perks up. ‘Your mother is entitled to want a bit of space. Though I must say she’s missing out on wonderful family times, not being here.’
‘That’s so funny,’ says Lily. ‘She said exactly the same thing about you, Dad, for the two decades of wonderful family times you were usually absent from when we were young.’
‘I didn’t always get things right,’ concedes Peter, ‘but I’m trying to make up for it now.’
‘Only because Mum stopped putting up with you, and you realized you needed someone else to sponge off,’ Lily tuts. ‘I’m pretty sure you’d be in the pub right now otherwise.’
‘I’m really loving the texture of the pesto pasta,’ announces Nick.
‘Is “pesto pasta” a euphemism for whatever it is between Dad and Lily?’ Olivia gets up to help herself to some more stodgy carbohydrates.
‘I could definitely get used to this,’ beams Jack. ‘Cheesy pasta every day and Auntie Lily and Grandad replacing the endless bickering between Mum and Saskia.’
‘We are not having cheesy pasta every day,’ interjects Nick.
‘And we don’t endlessly bicker,’ snaps Olivia.
Saskia silently spoons some peas into her mouth.
‘Anyway,’ says Olivia, shifting her tone to alert all to the fact she is about to Change the Subject. ‘We’re digressing. How was school today?’
‘Oh, it was great.’ Jack doesn’t look up from his food.
‘I’m taking a leaf out of your book, Mum, and telling everyone what I really think.
And do you know what?’ Jack leans back in his chair, looking terribly pleased with himself.
‘It’s making me really popular. Even Jonathan asked me if I wanted to come round one day soon and play Roblox with him. ’
‘Jonathan?’ Olivia is surprised – Jonathan is well known as the leader of the football boys, who have never exactly welcomed her son.
‘Yep, Jonathan,’ nods Jack. ‘He says he’s going to get his people to speak to my people about arranging a sleepover.’
‘That’s great, darling.’ Olivia feels touched that their conversation yesterday could have had an effect so quickly, but her moment of contentment is broken by a manic vibrating on her wrist. ‘Ah, there’s my watch, letting me know that there’s something else to do, another thing, just in case one of the many other things has distracted my oversaturated brain, causing it to shut down and forget.
’ Olivia pulls her phone from her pocket.
‘Let me look. Oh, wow, it’s a humdinger, guys!
One from Mum in the Fabulous Fryer Ladies group!
’ She flashes the screen around the table, where everyone tries not to look too keen to read it.
‘I didn’t know you had a WhatsApp group without me,’ mopes Peter.
‘You’re not missing much, Dad. Let me read out what’s just come in from Mum.
Where is your RSVP card, Liv????’ Olivia pulls a goofy face.
It wouldn’t be fair to say that this is the last straw.
The last straw was encountered at some point on Friday, somewhere between her ‘promotion’ and taking drugs with Rose.
But it is a straw nonetheless, one of those elaborate, bright pink ones with a twist in the neck that you used to have in cheap cocktails.
‘I don’t want you to think that I’m not looking forward to your fortieth birthday, Lily,’ Olivia says, while spooning even more cheese into her bowl from a packet of pre-grated Cheddar.
‘So please don’t take what I’m about to do in any way personally.
Anyway, we know that this is really all a ruse for her to unveil her new boyfriend.
’ She begins to read out loud as she types.
Dear Mum, I’m afraid you’re going to be waiting for that RSVP card for about as long as I’ve been waiting for you to realize you have NARCISSISTIC PERSONALITY DISORDER (look it up).
You can take this as my reply – the Greenwoods will be there, along with your ex-husband, the one you kicked out when you decided you couldn’t be arsed with all that in-sickness-and-in-health bollocks they make you say on your wedding day.
PS. You more than anyone know how much I hate being called Liv, so please don’t do it.
She hits ‘send’, smiles at her shocked family members, then flings her phone on to the table before emptying the packet of grated cheese into her gob.
‘Way to show Mum all the wonderful fun family times she’s missing out on,’ Lily says.
‘Awfully kind to RSVP on my behalf, darling,’ Peter nods.
Olivia’s wrist vibrates again, this time a pointless news alert about the weather. She unbuckles the watch and drops it into the pint glass of water that sits in front of her. Then she takes her phone, stands up, and makes to leave the table.
‘I think I’ve had enough,’ she says, walking towards the stairs.
‘I think we all have,’ grimaces Lily, beginning to clear up.
In the cocoon of her room, Olivia collapses on to the bed and surveys the ridiculous plastic rectangle that rules her life. She opens WhatsApp, sees that the message to her mother has been delivered, and that her mother is already typing a response.
Olivia does what anyone would do.
She leaves the group.
Olivia smiles to herself as she imagines her mother’s indignation at first reading the message, and then the words Liv has left the group.
Olivia has never left a WhatsApp group before.
But if previously Olivia had been horrified whenever she’d seen those words flash up, wondering why a person couldn’t just archive a group, or mute it, to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings …
today she gets it. She completely gets it.
She wants her mother to know that she is done with playing the good girl, the nice girl, the compliant girl, the kind girl.
She wants her mother to know that she isn’t, actually, a girl any more, but a woman, and she’s sometimes a bad one at that.
Emboldened by this act of derring-do, Olivia scrolls through her WhatsApp feed, painstakingly leaving any group that has ever annoyed her – which is most of them.
Goodbye Class 9T, au revoir Yoga Girlies, adieu Monday Eve Coding Class Pick-Up Rota.
With each Exit Group she feels lighter, brighter, bouncier, less weighed down by the expectations of others.
She goes to her settings and switches off the function that allows people to see she’s online, or that she has read their message.
(In a world where Donald Trump has access to the nuclear codes, she doesn’t need the stress of wondering if Jane from yoga is quietly offended because she hasn’t yet replied to her message about meeting up for a coffee to discuss Jane’s new organic, sustainable yoga-block business.)
She feels a brief stab of shame about all the other, unanswered, unread WhatsApp messages that are contained within her phone, the ones from school parents and PTA representatives and book clubs she optimistically joined but never quite got round to attending.
Then she promptly dismisses said shame, and deletes them too.