Chapter Twelve
‘Where’s Tybalt?’ said Joe, at book group that evening.
‘He’s probably sulking because I threw him out earlier when he wouldn’t stop winding up a Yorkshire terrier,’ said Erin.
‘Do cats sulk?’ said Riley.
‘I doubt that little beggar does,’ said Susan. ‘If anything, he’ll be punishing you for having the audacity to remove him from the premises. He’ll probably expect a handwritten invitation in gilt lettering before he deems to come back.’
‘Nah, he’s not as choosy as you think,’ said Erin. ‘One shake of the cat biscuit tin, and he’ll be here like a shot. Watch.’
They did as they were told, their eyes following Erin as she grabbed the ornate tin with Fortnum it’s theirs. While I was thinking about this writing exercise, I realized I’ve been caught up in their lives and their next steps, and I’m lucky because they don’t seem to mind—’
‘They adore you,’ said Riley. ‘Of course they don’t mind. I saw them in The Crown a couple of weeks ago and they were talking about how grateful they are for everything you’ve done for them.’
‘Ah, that’s lovely,’ said Susan, smoothing her hand over her hair as if the compliment made her uncomfortable.
‘But it’s probably about time I left them to it.
Who wants their mother-in-law hanging around all the time?
And there’s a risk I could get too invested in becoming a grandma, and then that’s all I will be.
That would become my whole identity. I can see it happening.
I know a few women who live for being asked to babysit once in a while, and I don’t want to be a peripheral person, if you know what I mean, someone who’s always waiting for an invitation to be allowed to take part in someone else’s life.
I’ve been a wife, a mother, and then I’d be a grandma.
But who am I outside my relationship to other people?
Thinking about my next steps has opened my eyes to the fact that I’ve lost sight of what I want to do with my own life.
Stewart’s still working long hours in London, Bella and Sophia plan to spend the whole summer in France when the schools they teach at break up. What about me?’
As Susan spoke, Erin thought about how lucky she was to be a business owner.
That gave her purpose and an identity beyond her role as Jack’s mother.
A small voice told her she only had the business because her mother had passed it on, and it was her mother’s legacy more than it was Erin’s.
Erin was the one who was about to lose it all.
There were the wasp-thoughts again: sting, sting, sting.
‘What about you, Riley?’ asked Susan.
‘I’ve already started.’ She grinned. ‘I’m TikTok famous.’
‘Is that right?’ said Mercy, nodding her approval. ‘You go, girl.’
Riley snorted. ‘I’m not really, but I have got a few thousand new followers, and my older stuff is getting shared loads. I’m a slightly bigger fish in a fucking enormous ocean. But at least I’m out there swimming.’ She mimed front crawl with her slender arms.
‘Nice work.’ Mercy rubbed her nails on her shoulder, a proud expression on her face. ‘I’ve been busy too.’
‘Oh yeah?’ said Riley. ‘Spill.’
‘I’ve been reading the internet,’ she said.
‘All of it?’ said Adam, his eyes full of amusement.
‘It feels like it,’ Mercy chortled. ‘I start looking into one destination I fancy, and I end up reading everything I can find about it, then deciding I definitely want to go there—’ she lifted her hands ‘—then somewhere else catches my eye, and I get all excited about that. I’m like a schoolgirl again.
It’s like all this potential has opened up for me. ’
The energy radiated from her and she appeared more like a giddy young woman than the kindly retired librarian Erin knew.
‘I love this for you,’ said Adam. ‘The world is a big and beautiful place, you should see as much of it as you can.’ He rubbed his fingers up and down the stubble on his chin.
Erin found herself wondering how he always kept it the same length.
It gave the impression of careless grooming, but the fact it never seemed longer or shorter meant that some effort was at play.
She realized she was staring at him, and forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying instead of what he looked like.
‘You know what, this is all interesting stuff. I know a few lifestyle journalists who might want to hear about this project.’ Erin wondered if they’d take as long to write their articles as he was taking to write his.
She was still planning to ask whether he’d found someone else to help with the piece about Terry Waite, but hadn’t found the right moment yet.
‘What about you, Hafsa?’ said Mercy. ‘Any ideas?’
Hafsa slumped. ‘I haven’t had time to think about it. Zahra’s been having a tough time at school. Friendship issues.’
‘Bless her,’ said Erin. Hafsa’s middle child, thirteen-year-old Zahra, had recently been diagnosed with autism, and while the diagnosis made sense of how she experienced the world, it didn’t alleviate the symptoms or make other teenagers any kinder.
‘Honestly, I think they need us more as teenagers than they did when they were babies,’ Hafsa said.
‘I’m spending half the night staying up chatting things through with her.
At least when they were tiny I just needed to feed them, cuddle them, and change their bums. Now I have to try to manage anxiety and talk about climate change, or the Middle East, or …
whatever bee she’s got in her bonnet that day, until the early hours.
If I say I’m tired and need to go to bed she either cries because she feels guilty for being a burden, or accuses me of not being interested.
I never know which way it’s going to go, and I’m walking on eggshells all the time. ’
‘That sounds tough,’ said Erin. She’d worried herself sick about Jack when he was that age, and it had got far worse before it got better. Not that she was about to tell Hafsa that. She was still anxious about him now with all the changes in his life. Such was life as a parent.
‘Add hormones in, and whoosh.’ Hafsa made an explosion with her hands. ‘I’ve been reading up on ASD, autism spectrum disorder, since her diagnosis and I’m ashamed at how much I didn’t know. I’m a GP, for goodness’ sake. I should have been up on this stuff.’
‘You can’t possibly know everything about every condition. It’s not possible,’ soothed Joe.
‘He’s right, that’s your mother’s guilt talking,’ said Erin.
‘We all know you’ve always done the best for your children.
That’s all anyone can do.’ Once again, she wished she could practise what she preached.
Her guilt about making Jack anxious about the future churned in her head when she’d been awake in the early hours of that morning.
‘Thanks,’ said Hafsa. She let out a long breath, as if releasing some of the tension she was holding. ‘And what about you, Erin? What’s in your last pages?’
‘Feeling Good’ played through the speakers, but the track did not describe how Erin felt when she was asked the question. ‘Oh, erm—’ She was interrupted by a loud ringing sound.
Adam lifted his hips and extracted his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. He frowned at the screen, mouthed, ‘Sorry,’ then stood and held the device to his ear as he left the room.
Erin took the opportunity of the distraction to lift her book back up. ‘So, what did we all make of this? I loved it. I can see why it was longlisted for the Women’s Prize.’
All heads turned as Adam blustered back in.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to get off.’ He lifted his leather jacket from where it was draped over the back of a chair and shoved his arm through a sleeve, dropping his phone as he did so.
It clattered onto the wooden floor and skittered under a table.
‘Shit.’ He knelt to retrieve his phone and checked the screen, his face red and flustered.
‘You okay?’ said Riley.
‘Yeah,’ he said, his creased brow and florid cheeks suggesting he was anything but.
‘Sorry. I, erm … I’ll see you all next time.
’ He gripped his phone as if his life depended on it and strode towards the door, leaving the group staring after him, as Nina Simone’s voice sang ‘You’ve Got to Learn’ into the quiet room.