Chapter 28
Olivia wakes with a cracking headache and a vague memory of her husband making her come with both his tongue and the new vibrator, at the same time.
A milky, subdued grey light seeps through the side of the orange curtains, giving no clue whatsoever to the time of day, only the murkiness of it.
Olivia props herself up in bed, reaches for the light switch on the bedside lamp, remembers too late that it is one of those old-fashioned switches on the neck of the lamp, knocks it over trying to get at it, and then effs and blinds as she realizes she is going to have to get up and turn the overhead light on.
‘Fuck,’ groans Nick, as the unforgiving strip lighting roars into action.
‘This is like waking up in your worst nightmare.’ They both survey the room, the bright orange walls, the empty bottles of Prosecco and wine that cover the desk, the bowls of half-eaten chips stacked on a tray next to the door.
With a start, Olivia notices the vibrator, flung on the floor on top of one of Nick’s heated back pads, which he has started wearing to keep up with all the youngsters at CrossFit.
‘Well,’ she says, picking up her phone from the bedside table and getting back into bed, ‘I think we might have made a mistake ordering that fifteenth bottle of wine.’
‘Don’t joke.’ Nick pulls the covers over his face to block out the light.
‘No joke is the fifteen calls from Jonathan’s mother that I’ve managed to miss.’ Olivia drops the phone on the bed and puts her head in her hands. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s ten a.m. and we need to have left about half an hour ago.’
‘We didn’t say when we’d pick Jack up, did we?’ Nick reluctantly reappears from beneath the covers.
‘No, but clearly Jack has taken matters into his own hands.’ Olivia picks the phone back up, begins reading the message from Jonathan’s mother.
‘I think it would be prudent if you came and retrieved your son as soon as possible. I’m sure it’s out of character but he has been extremely rude to Jonathan and made him cry. ’
Nick snorts with laughter.
‘Come on, up.’ Olivia pulls the duvet off her husband fully, is reminded by the big red welts on his body that she had enjoyed a moment of biting his nipples, and giving him some love bites. ‘No time for a shower, we need to go get him.’
‘Would you chill out, babe? I thought we agreed on no more abandoning our own needs to meet everybody else’s. The world won’t end if we have a wash and delay “retrieving” our child by another twenty minutes.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Olivia shrugs and heads for her wheelie suitcase, which lies flung open on the floor, easily reached by any bed bugs that might also inhabit the Carol Thatcher Suite.
She gets on her knees, begins searching for the outfit she had packed for today, realizes with a resigned groan that she has forgotten to pack it.
‘Well, it hardly matters how clean I am, given that I’m going to have to wear my leopard-print minidress until we get home anyway.
I can hardly wear what I was in yesterday, because it’s damp and smells like a bar after you sprayed that cheap Prosecco all over it. ’
‘May have tasted cheap,’ says Nick, making his way to the bathroom, ‘but I bet you it was fucking expensive, given that they insisted on charging us fifty per cent extra just to have our dinner in the room.’
‘Are we fucking mad?’ Olivia elbows him aside to get to her toothbrush. ‘We must have spent a fortune.’
‘It was worth it, because I for one had a great time.’ Nick turns on the shower, tweaks his nipples in the manner of a camp pantomime dame. ‘God bless the Carol Thatcher Suite, and all who lay in her!’
The front door of Jonathan’s house is flanked by beautifully clipped bay trees, the stained glass kept squeaky clean and the door knocker perfectly polished.
There’s one of those pretentious year-round wreaths perched on it.
Olivia hoicks down the skirt of her dress, presses the Ring doorbell, and does a curtsy at the sing-song tune it plays.
Then she waves at Nick, who is staying in the car because the two of them have decided – quite wisely, Olivia thinks – that the love bite on his neck is far more embarrassing than the animal-print frock that’s already verging on risqué.
The door opens and Olivia is immediately confronted by the sour face of Jonathan’s mother.
She is wearing soft, buttery dark green yoga leggings – ‘forest green’ is how Olivia imagines this woman would describe the tone – teamed with a matching cashmere hoodie.
Olivia thinks that Jonathan’s mum should really look a bit more cheerful, since she can clearly afford athleisure wear that costs more than a year’s membership at Fitness First.
‘I’m Sally,’ she says, handing Jack’s overnight bag to Olivia as if it contains hazardous waste.
‘Morning, Sally, I’m Olivia.’ She holds the backpack in front of her hips, hoping it might at least disguise the sluttiness of her skirt. ‘Sorry I missed your calls last night, my husband and I were having a rare evening away.’
‘How lovely for you.’ Sally’s lip curls in distaste. ‘Now you’re parenting again, I take it you’ll have the appropriate conversations with Jack about his behaviour?’
‘Of course, Sally, of course.’ Olivia will not give this woman the pleasure of a rise.
‘Jack!’ Sally calls into the hallway, which is decorated in huge black and white portraits of the family, clearly taken on a professional shoot. Olivia thanks the Lord that in all her people-pleasing lunacy, she never forced the Greenwoods into such a cringeworthy endeavour. ‘Your mother’s here.’
‘Thank god!’ Jack comes rushing out the door and into Olivia’s arms. ‘Why are you wearing that dress again, Mum?’ He shakes his head in genuine bewilderment. ‘It wasn’t as if you had much luck the last time you wore it.’
‘Lovely to see you too, Jack,’ Olivia smiles. ‘Say thank you to Sally for having you.’
‘Thanks for letting me stay,’ he huffs.
‘I’m so sorry, Sally, he’s clearly tired. I better be getting him home.’ Olivia bundles him down the immaculate path, aware that her skirt is riding up. She lets it, reasoning that it’s probably as much arse as uptight Sally will see all year.
‘So what happened?’ asks Olivia, as she pulls her seat belt around her.
‘Nothing,’ he sulks, looking out the window.
‘Well, something clearly went on because I woke up to a load of missed calls from Jonathan’s forest-green fairy mother.’
‘It was nothing, she probably called by mistake.’
‘Jack.’ Olivia turns uncomfortably in the front seat so she’s facing him.
Some things are just more important than middle-aged lower back pain.
‘I know how much it meant to you to be invited on this sleepover. I know how hard you’ve found it dealing with Jonathan and the other football boys.
And I know how bloody awful it is when you’ve been looking forward to something for ages and it doesn’t go to plan.
A bit like how Granny and Lily must have felt when Grandad had his funny turn last weekend. ’
‘I didn’t mean to upset him, OK? I thought I was doing the right thing.’ He lowers his chin, as if he’s about to cry.
‘Listen, whatever happened, it’s not going to change the fact that Dad and I love you, Jack.’
‘That’s right, kiddo,’ says Nick, eyes firmly on the road. ‘There’s nothing that you could do that would upset me, not even if you switched allegiance to United.’
‘As if,’ tuts Jack. A quiet envelops the car, and Olivia allows it to. She knows, now, that you can’t rush anyone into Speaking Their Truth (?). They pass two roundabouts and a junction, and are almost home when Jack starts talking.
‘We’d been telling each other ghost stories, and I go to switch the light off, and he starts to cry.
He says that he can’t sleep without a night light on, and I say I can’t sleep with one on, and then because he’s sobbing so much I do what he wants and when I turn the light back on he’s sucking his thumb and snuggling a BLANKET.
’ Jack lets out a frustrated snort. ‘I mean, he’s the leader of the football boys so I express my surprise that he still sucks his thumb and has a blanket, and do you know what he says? ’
Olivia turns round and looks expectantly at her son.
‘He says, “Actually, this isn’t a blanket, this is my SHMOOSHIE.”’ Jack huffs. ‘As if I’d done this terrible thing by calling it a blanket. As if he hadn’t once tried to flush my head down the loo during a lunch break for being a wimp after the ball hit me in the face.’
‘He did what?!’ Nick nearly drives the car into the wrong lane in shock.
‘Dad, chill out, it was ages ago, in Year Five.’
‘Year Five was last year,’ says Nick.
‘Exactly, ages ago. Anyway, he was sobbing into his Shmooshie hysterically and obviously his mum heard him because, frankly, he was making one hell of a noise. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him at your hotel.
’ At this, Jack widens his eyes in amazement.
‘She comes in and she puts on this babyish voice, “My darling boy, whatever is the matter?” And he says that I’ve been scaring him with terrifying ghost stories all night, and that I’d called him a baby and laughed at him and his Shmooshie.
I mean, I might have been laughing in my head, but I’d never have been so stupid as to do it to his face. ’
‘Jack,’ Olivia winces. ‘It’s not OK that he tried to flush your head down the toilet, and it’s also not OK to laugh at him for having a Shmooshie.’
‘I told you, Mum, I didn’t laugh at him to his face, just in my head!
Also, his mum was totally over the top. She went off on one, and then his dad comes in and starts huffing at Jonathan for being a wuss, and then the mum and the dad are shouting at each other and Jonathan’s crying and I say, “Jonathan used to bully me, you know?” It just came out of me. I don’t know why I said it.’
‘Maybe because it was true?’ suggests Olivia.
‘Yeah, well at that his mum really loses it, she says I’m rude and it shouldn’t surprise her, given that I have a mum who sent such a rude message to the class WhatsApp group, and Jonathan went and slept in with his mum and the dad went to the spare room and I switched the light off and had quite a good night’s kip on the trundle on the floor.
It’s just a shame you couldn’t have come and got me a bit earlier this morning.
I felt pretty lonely waiting for you to turn up. ’
Olivia whimpers a bit as her heart strings are yet again pulled. ‘Jack, you should have told us about what Jonathan did in Year Five.’
‘What difference would it have made if I did?’ Jack stares sullenly out the car window.
‘It’s not as if you or Dad would have been able to do anything, you’re always both so busy with work or going to the gym or whatever.
Plus, you’d only have made it worse. You’re probably going to make it worse now, I shouldn’t have said anything.
I shouldn’t have thought it would be a good idea to copy you. ’
‘Copy me?’
‘Yeah, you’ve been happier since you started telling everyone what you think. I figured if I did the same, I’d be happier too. Maybe I’d feel like less of a freak.’
‘Jack,’ rasps Nick. ‘You mustn’t speak like that about yourself. You’re not a freak, you’re epic.’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t feel like it. Wherever I go, at school or at home, I’m the annoying kid everyone wants to go away.’
‘That’s not true, darling,’ says Olivia. ‘We don’t want you to go away. WE love you. And we want you to feel able to tell us anything.’
Olivia looks down at her stupid leopard-print dress, feels in this moment the stinging hypocrisy of her endless criticism of her own parents.
‘It doesn’t matter, you’d just think it’s stupid football stuff anyway. It’s not as important as your work or your weightlifting or whatever it is you do, Dad, at that stupid gym.’
‘But it does matter, Jack.’ Olivia stares straight at him, even if he won’t return her gaze. ‘If it matters to you then it matters to us. It’s not for me and Dad to decide whether something is or isn’t important to you. It’s just our job to support you through whatever it is you’re experiencing.’
‘What I’m experiencing, Mum, is how annoying you’re being right now. You wouldn’t understand what it’s like dealing with bullies.’
‘You’d be surprised, darling. I know a thing or two about people like Jonathan. And I know about not knowing how to deal with them. You’re right to want to stand up for yourself, Jack. You’ve just got to go about it in a way that doesn’t leave you feeling worse than before.’
Jack rolls his eyes in defensive irritation. ‘Well, if you’re so smart when it comes to things like this, what’s the right way to stand up to someone like Jonathan?’
‘You definitely don’t have to go to his for a sleepover,’ says Olivia, as they pull up outside the house.
‘When people are horrible to you and then they’re suddenly nice to you, you have every right to stay well away from them, even if it’s a bit confusing because their being nice to you suddenly feels good.
It’s understandable that you want to carry on pleasing them, especially if they’ve been bullying you.
But if someone has been nasty to you, it’s almost always got nothing to do with you, and everything to do with them.
It sounds like Jonathan has some pretty tricky stuff happening at home, so maybe he hasn’t learned that it’s not OK to take that out on other people.
But when we are empathetic people, like you and I are, we find it hard to see that.
We want to take everybody’s negative energy away from them, to make them feel better – or we tell ourselves we’re the reason for that negativity.
But that’s not our job. It’s not our job at all. ’
Olivia looks at Jack, sees the penny drop. As his eyes widen in a sort of wonder, she thinks for a moment that she might be beginning to understand too. That she has parented well today, and learned a little about herself, to boot.
Then he opens his mouth, and the truth comes out.
‘What’s Auntie Lily doing in the drive?’ he says, screwing up his eyes. ‘And why is she waving the mop around like that?’