Chapter 19 #2
I appealed to Ollie. ‘Can’t you explain to her that blaming everyone won’t work? People don’t know what goes on. She needs to educate them more gently.’
‘She knows that. But she’s hurting, Mum. I will try, just don’t expect anything.’ Ollie dutifully gave it his best effort. You spoke for hours that afternoon. Afterwards, something must have registered with you.
When you came downstairs, you looked lighter. ‘Sorry, Mum. It just gets to me sometimes.’
‘I know.’ I paused, glad you’d found a way to park it, if only for now. ‘What you see is brutal, Lex. I worry about you.’
‘There’s no need. I’m fine,’ you said. ‘I’m going out later. I’m meeting some friends.’
‘That’s nice.’ Relief filled me, that you were doing something normal; but it was overtaken by confusion. Suddenly it was like you were a different person. ‘Do you need a lift?’
‘Thanks, but Ollie’s taking me – and picking me up,’ you said.
I was asleep when you got home, only dimly registering yours and Ollie’s voices as you came upstairs; your laughter. Laughter there was no sign of the following morning, when I came down to silence.
Ollie emerged around midday, bleary-eyed and lanky-limbed, still in his pyjamas. Yawning, he put the kettle on, then made himself some toast.
‘Good night?’ I asked.
‘Yeah.’ He stretched. ‘Actually, it was. We all ended up back at Mark’s house.’
Mark was one of his oldest school friends. ‘Was Lexie with you?’
‘No, I picked her up on my way home.’ He started buttering his toast.
‘Who was she with?’
‘Mum! What’s with the interrogation?’ Ollie said, half-joking. ‘Ask Lexie about her night.’
Was Ollie defending you in some way? I think back – should I have asked you? But on that occasion, I decided not to. You were a teenager, not a child any more.
* * *
Life was swiftly moving on, time suddenly gathering pace. Ollie was preparing to go to uni; by the time autumn came around, he’d be moving away.
You were growing up, both of you. I was no longer privy to where you went, your thoughts, your friendships; my maternal instincts gradually tempered as your independence grew.
It was the way change happened – slowly, almost imperceptibly.
And I made no excuses. But when it came to what was going on in your life, I should have seen it.
But as mothers, was what we did ever enough? There was always more. Better. There was the guilt and regret we tortured ourselves with. Not once did I stop and tell myself, you’re doing OK. You weren’t perfect, I’d give you that. But as an imperfect being, you were doing your best.
* * *
‘Do you ever worry about Mia?’ I asked Lucy on Monday morning. A little older than Ollie, Mia was in her second year at uni.
‘God. I never stop,’ Lucy said. ‘When it comes to letting go, I have a massive problem. But I’m working on it.’ She paused. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason, really.’ I pause. ‘I know all mothers worry. Though I worry less about Ollie.’
‘Because he’s a boy?’ Lucy says.
‘Partly. But mainly because he seems so grounded. Also, I don’t worry about him looking after himself. If he sees trouble, he steers away from it.’ I frowned. It was how things seemed, but I didn’t know for sure. ‘At least, I think he does.’
Lucy looked at me. ‘And you’re worried Lexie doesn’t?’
I shrugged. ‘I suppose I am. She’s so driven, Luce. She has no tolerance for anyone who doesn’t care about the things that matter to her. Yes, if I’m honest, it does worry me.’
‘Why don’t you talk to her?’ Lucy suggested.
‘I will. Meanwhile…’ I started to show Lucy the seeds I planned to plant for next year’s weddings. ‘I thought I’d ask Mary if she’d mind if we put up a small polytunnel. It would give everything a head start.’
‘This is fantastic,’ she said. ‘We also need to think about autumn weddings. Red and orange flowers, strands of old man’s beard, golden leaves…’ she said dreamily.
‘I’m on it.’ Summer was abundant with all kinds of flowers. But I loved the changing seasons; the cascading leaves and russet shades of autumn, even the stark simplicity of winter that had its own quiet beauty, before the beginning of another spring.
* * *
With your A levels coming up, you were spending less time at the animal shelter – a tentative agreement we’d reached that you were reluctantly going along with. But one evening, when you came back from college, you seemed preoccupied.
‘Is everything OK?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ You frowned. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
I tried not to show my exasperation; to see it as the classic teenaged response it was – a nudge to butt out and mind my own business. ‘I thought there might be something on your mind.’
For a moment, you didn’t speak. ‘It’s nothing, really,’ you said under your breath.
But the fact you hadn’t denied it meant there was something. ‘What is it?’
Turning to look at me, you sighed. ‘It’s one of the girls in my maths class. She’s spreading all these rumours about me. I know she’s just being a bitch. But everyone thinks she’s so cool. I’m really sick of it.’ Your eyes glistened with tears.
I wanted to defend you from this girl, my inner mother-protector rising to the fore. ‘What’s she been saying?’
‘That I’m a freak.’ Your voice was flat. ‘That I go and watch animals being killed. I explained what the vigils were about, but then she said I was stupid. That the only reason there are animals is because people eat them.’
‘She’s ignorant,’ I said furiously. ‘You’re not stupid, Lexie. Don’t let her get to you.’
‘She already has. I know most people don’t agree with what I believe in. I’m used to that. But she doesn’t need to be such a bitch about it.’ You wiped away a tear. ‘I thought sixth form would be better. But I hate it, Mum. So much… I can’t wait to leave that place.’
Alarm bells were going off. ‘Who is this girl?’ I said.
‘Laura.’ You shrugged. ‘You don’t know her.’
‘Steer clear of her,’ I advised you. ‘You don’t have much longer to go there. And there must be other people you can hang out with. She’ll lose interest eventually. Bullies always do.’
I could see from your face that you weren’t convinced. But I’d never known how it felt to go through what was happening to you.
You didn’t mention it again – and when I asked, you were evasive, as under my nose, there had been another shift in the pattern of our lives. I should have taken what you said more literally. Been prepared when, a few weeks later, you announced you were done with college.
‘Don’t you think you’ll regret not doing your exams? We can find somewhere else, Lex,’ I tried to persuade you. ‘With new people. It would be different to where you are now.’
But you shook your head. ‘It wouldn’t, Mum. I’ve always felt different to the rest of my class. The only people I know who think like I do are everyone I’ve met at the animal shelter, or at the vigils.’
As I looked at you, I knew I was fighting a losing battle. ‘Have you thought about going on a course? Related to animal care, or veterinary nursing?’
But you were resolute. ‘I don’t need to go to college. I’ve already learned so much just from work.’
I tried again. ‘Lex, it’s fine for now. But at some point, you need to think about earning money.’
You nodded. ‘I know. I’ve already spoken to Lea. She’s going to take me on full-time. I’ll start giving you some rent.’
But I was already shaking my head. ‘That isn’t what I meant.
I’m thinking more about your life – in the long term.
’ My heart went out to you as I took in your slumped shoulders, your air of defeat that was the flipside of the spark that fired you, of being an empath. But in basic terms, you felt, too much.
You were young. There was plenty of time for you to change your mind, I tried to tell myself.
‘Time is short. I don’t want to waste it.’ You turned your head to gaze at me. ‘Next week, next month…’ You shrugged. ‘None of us know what the future holds. I need to do something with my life – now.’
Even then, it was as though you had a sense that time wasn’t open-ended. As you spoke, I felt myself freeze. Was there something you weren’t saying? ‘Is everything OK, Lexie?’ I watched you like a hawk.
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ If there was something on your mind, you gave nothing away. And in a sense, you were right. You’d already seen your path clearly, stretched out ahead of you. You were right about many things.
But I couldn’t help thinking, were you always?