Chapter 8
The Cormorant
Effie has never had a birthday party. That sounds tragic but her birthday is in the summer and since I’ve been working for Cerium and can afford it, we make our annual three-week visit to my parents as a celebration. She loves her grandparents; to her, it’s even better than a party. For now.
Since she started school, though, she has received a few invitations to other kids’ parties. Some invite just the girls in the class; some brave souls invite everyone –usually to a soft-play centre where the children can tear around to their hearts’ content.
Today’s invitation is to a painting party, and unusually, parents do not need to stay.
I expect Effie to be excited but she seems resigned.
We’ve already been present-shopping; I vetoed Effie’s choice of a pocket microscope and a detective kit.
Instead, we compromised on a bead bracelet kit as a safe choice based on the type of party.
Effie was scornful, but I reminded her presents had to be something the recipient enjoyed, not something the giver wanted.
When I asked her what the birthday girl liked, her response had been a shrug and a blank face.
Effie’s attention to detail seldom extends to humans.
We join the other partygoers outside the designated address.
Thankfully we were instructed to dress in old clothes, which means I didn’t have to fork out for a new party dress as Effie has been growing recently.
Looking around, though, some parents have an odd definition of old.
A fair few girls are in floaty floral dresses that could pass for flower girl outfits, although most are in jeans and t-shirts.
And many of the girls are wearing their hair in elaborate styles involving plaits and beaded combs.
I snort to myself as I wonder how long a style like that would last on my daughter.
Ten minutes, tops. I long ago cut Effie’s hair into a shoulder-length bob but maybe I should have added a sparkly clip.
If it was a butterfly, I might have got away with it.
I recognise most of the mothers from previous parties.
There are a few nods in my direction, but no-one talks to me.
I’m an unknown, a working mother. To be handled with politeness but not inclusion.
Everyone is gathered in groups. I’ve no idea which of them to join, so I take my cue from Effie and she chooses to stand alone.
We’re only waiting a couple of minutes before the doors open, and the mother of the birthday girl appears.
She seems more excited than her daughter as she explains the children will be painting ducks. Party food is included and we are to return in two hours. I kiss Effie, pass her the present, and wait until she files in with the other kids.
Taking advantage of Effie-free time, I set out to buy clothes and shoes I need.
Effie is allergic to all types of shopping.
It’s bliss to try on things without the backdrop of my daughter’s moans and groans.
I’m careful to be back outside the venue five minutes before the deadline.
Again, the other mothers stand in their groups, ignoring me.
Then happy little faces emerge, each proudly displaying their painting talents to their mothers: ducks in various shades of yellow, a couple in white, several in pink, and one in black from head to tail.
“It’s a corm’rant.” Effie offers the explanation without being asked. Which is an indication of how often she’s had to explain it already.
“A cormorant?” I repeat the correct pronunciation back to her. “How lovely!” I look at the gothic monstrosity she’s handed me and quickly decide it can live in the bathroom, out of sight for the most part.
Unusually, Effie slides her little hand into mine as we set off walking home. She doesn’t chatter or skip or swing our conjoined hands and I don’t force her to talk. I’m aware she’s just had two hours of constant stimulation, and she probably needs some quiet time.
It’s as we get to familiar streets, Effie breaks my heart. “Why don’t I have any friends?” she asks.
“You have Max,” I point out, careful not to stop, to make a drama out of this moment. “He’s your friend.”
“At school. Why does no-one like me?”
Parenting puts you on the spot a lot. Wishing I had the internet, a childcare expert, or even Rob around, I venture, “Do you like them?”
Effie considers, her head on one side, her lips pursed. Then she wrinkles her nose and says, “They’re silly. They don’t want to know things.”
“Not everyone is lucky enough to find the people who like the same things they do at infant school. But never forget, there are people who adore you. Gran and Gramps, Dana, Fiona and Max. And most of all, your dad and me. I think you are the most special person in the universe.”
She walks on. After a moment, she sighs. As our home comes into view, she drops my hand and runs forward. Conversation over. I just hope I’ve said enough.
But even as I carefully find a space for the cormorant on the crowded bathroom counter, I’m thinking about what Effie said and how I can help her.
Contrary to appearances, Effie isn’t a loner.
She might prefer to play alone than fake interest in other children’s games, but she still needs social interaction.
Her interests align more closely with those of boys, but boys her age don’t want to play with girls.
While I was never the queen bee at school, I also never lacked for friends.
And I found them without too much effort on my part.
People liked me. It was easy. The same at university.
Although all those ‘ride or die’ mates from college soon dropped away when I had to bring a squalling baby to every meet up.
I can understand Effie’s problem, and I now have far more sympathy for the non-conformists in my past but I’m at a loss to find a way to help. If I were a stay-at-home mother, I would make friends with other mums who would ensure their kids played with Effie. But that option is out.
Despite all of my fretting, in the end the only thing I can think of is to look for some clubs for her to join. But half an hour of trawling the internet results in a blank. While there are drama and music clubs galore, it seems odd bods who are intensely interested in the world have nothing.
Not for the first time, I regret I’m an only child and Effie doesn’t have a host of cousins to join in with and to love her in turn. I don’t really want to bring Effie up as an only child either, but it can’t be helped.
Except Anders’s proposal sneaks into my mind. Effie could have a sibling by the end of the year. Someone she could lavish her love on and who would adore her in return. She’d be their beloved big sister.
No! I can’t believe I’m even considering it. I’d be better off giving into Effie’s pleas for a dog. A dog would give her the emotional support she needs, but we are gone from home for long hours. It wouldn’t be fair to leave a dog alone ten hours a day and doggy daycare is expensive.
The solution to finding a friend for Effie does not lie in procreating with Anders, no matter how enticing my subconscious thinks the required sex might be.
Not for the first time when raising Effie, I’m out of ideas.
I’d meant to spend my lunch break quizzing Nur, who has two children of her own, for advice on helping Effie make friends but when I drop into the seat opposite her, the first thing out of my mouth is, “I’m thinking maybe I should start dating.”
Nur leans back, a speculative look in her eyes. Her hijab today is black, and it gives her this whole wise elder vibe, although she’s only five years older than I am. “Steve would be a good choice,” she says. “They fancy the pants off you.”
She looks toward Chloe, who is quick to agree. “Even I’ve noticed. Their eyes follow you every time you leave the room.”
“Aagh!” I groan. “I know, but…” I halt, not wanting to appear shallow.
“But what?” Nur is going to make me say it. “Steve’s a really nice person.”
“I can’t get past the man-bun,” I admit. “Or the ponytail.”
“Tsk,” Nur says. “Looks change. Especially men. They get all jowly and paunchy. No point in choosing an Adonis. He’s still going to look like Norm from Cheers within a decade.”
“Who’s Norm from Cheers?” Chloe asks.
Nur considers for a moment. “Okay. Jackson Lamb in Slow Horses.” Chloe’s face reflects her horror. “In fact, he’s a very good illustration. Check him out in JFK. And I rest my case,” Nur continues.
“Even so, the hair is just not doing it for me.” I shrug. You either feel attraction or you don’t.
“What about Anders?” Chloe suggests. “Isn’t he single? And you’d even have a cute ship name. Andora. See?”
“Out of the question,” I say. Only a teenager would pick a mate on the strength of their ship name. But then again, who am I to talk? The factors in my choice of baby father were equally flimsy.
“What’s out of the question?” I hadn’t even heard Ginny arrive at the table. Immediately, I feel bad. I knew she was back at work today but I haven’t made time to check on her. I’ve been too preoccupied. But seeing her now, her eyes red, a clear indication she’s been crying, I feel guilty.
“Cora dating Anders.” Chloe blunders in where Nur and I hesitate to go.
“Totally out of the question,” Ginny agrees. “Never date your boss. Piotr’s been an absolute arse all morning. Skewering every idea I come up with, whereas Scarlett can do no wrong.”
I exchange a look with Nur. I thought Scarlett had her eyes on Anders but perhaps she’s hunting a wider field.
Nur’s hand drops on Ginny’s arm, and she squeezes. “If you need to hide, you can always come to us.” Finance, for obvious reasons, has a separate office. “Tell them there’s a query about your expenses.”
“Don’t let the bastard grind you down,” Chloe adds. “We’ve got you.”
I take Ginny’s hand. “It will get better.”
“Don’t,” Ginny says. “Stop. All of you. Or I’m going to cry and I’ve done enough of that this morning. Now, why are we talking about Anders and Cora?”
“Cora is thinking about dating.”
Ginny’s face is a picture. “What’s brought this about?”
I can hardly admit to having X-rated fantasies about Anders. I use the old chestnuts instead. “I just thought that maybe it’s time. Effie is at school. I’m not getting any younger.”
It seems to satisfy them.
“Steve,” Ginny says.
“That’s who I said.” Nur nods vigorously. “But she hates their hairstyle.”
“Hate is a strong word. It just does nothing for me.”
Surprisingly, Ginny doesn’t agree with me. “I’m not sure,” she says. “I’ve never thought of Steve that way, but imagine running your hands through those locks.”
“He’s fine as he is,” Nur says. “Beauty is on the inside.” She points to her own head. “Would you judge me on my hair?”
As one, we protest that we wouldn’t.
“Exactly,” she points out. “The hijab ensures you judge me on my character rather than my appearance. Which has been thoroughly justified this lunchtime.”
She gathers together her lunch remnants and seals them in her Tupperware. Then she stands and says, “See you all later.”
I feel like I’ve just been told off by the headmistress. Judging by the expressions on Ginny's and Chloe’s faces, they do too.
“Eek,” says Ginny. “Do you think we upset her?”
“I wasn’t in any way implying anything about her, her hair, or her religion,” I defend myself.
“I think we’ve disappointed her,” Chloe says. And I feel worse.
Which is precisely when Steve arrives. Chloe, face red, mouth for once tight-lipped, packs up quickly and departs.
Steve sniffs their armpit. “Did I forget my deodorant this morning?”
“It’s not you,” Ginny says with a smile. “It’s just something stupid Cora said.”
Steve raises their eyebrows but tactfully doesn’t enquire further. “Thank goodness.” They unseal their supermarket sushi and pull apart the bamboo sticks. “I kind of need finance to approve a few things urgently.” They say it with a smile, and it lights up their face. They are good-looking.
But then a guy stops by and Steve turns to exchange a few words with him and the lank ponytail flicks into sight. And just, no.
When he turns back, I change the subject to what I should have been talking about.
“Do you guys have any suggestions? Effie’s having trouble making friends at school.
I’m not sure I can do anything apart from having a word with her teacher at parents’ evening to see if she can sit Effie with someone more on her wavelength.
I thought it might help if she had some friends outside of school, but I can’t find any clubs that would suit her. They’re all art, drama or music.”
“Horse-riding?” Ginny suggests. “But it’s expensive.”
I’ve already got Effie lobbying for a dog or a snake. I’m reluctant to add a pony to the mix.
Steve leans forward. “Scouts?”
“Isn’t that for boys?”
“They take everybody.” Is that a mild rebuke for being gendered? “I was an Explorer until I went to university. I’ve sailed a barge, abseiled a cliff, hiked the triple, Snowdon, Ben Nevis and Scafell Pike. I had great fun.”
“I’m not so sure all of that is Effie.”
“They do conservation activities too,” Steve adds.
“I was a Guide,” Ginny interjects. “They did fun stuff, too.”
I consider that option, but Effie’s friendlessness arises because girls don’t take to her. I suspect if I sent her to an all-female organisation, it would make her sense of isolation worse. She’d be better as a scout.
“Okay. That’s one idea. Any others?”
But nobody seems to have anything more. Fair enough, it’s not their problem to solve.
I leave Ginny and Steve jockeying for who had the best experiences and head back.
A quick search shows a non-starter. All the meetings start before I pick Effie up.
The older groups start later in the evenings.
Perhaps when she’s six, she could join, but that’s over a year away.
For one moment I sit at my desk and despair. I think of the little black duck on the side of our bathtub and realise it’s a metaphor for my daughter. She’s a cormorant in a world of ducklings.