Page 126 of Don't You Forget About Me

‘GEORGINA HAVE YOU QUITE FINISHED TALKING DOWN THERE I AM TRYING TO GET SOME SLEEP GOD ALMIGHTY YACKETY FUCKING YACK.’

‘We’re done,’ I shout back, fingers wiping under my eyes. Wishing that weren’t true.

44

Six Months Later

You don’t appreciate youth when you have it, do you. When I was age appropriate to be doing a degree, I felt gauche, conspicuous, like everyone could see through the fact I wasn’t bright enough to be there. Now I’m knocking thirty-one and I feel completely out of place thanks to my age. What was I worried about age twenty? With my sheen of cluelessness, ignorance of the set text, Tippexed Dr Martens and permanent moderate hangover, I fitted right in.

After the Sunday lunch incident, Esther and I secretly, or not-so-secretly, hoped Mum might leave Geoffrey. She didn’t, but I get the impression that the balance of power moved a little more in her favour in the aftermath. Even a protest of that minimal size, registered.

Maybe Geoffrey realising her family wouldn’t stand for it helped.

Mum asked me if she can buy me a new coat for Christmas.

‘The thing about the pink furry thing, darling, is that it doesn’t encourage people to take you seriously. It sort ofsends you up.’

I sighed, and considered that I could be testy, or I could accept the offer and keep the colourful fluffy one for weekends.

We went to John Lewis and I chose a mid-length navy coat with bracelet length balloon sleeves and a belt tie and big collar. I admit, as Mum chorused approval and I turned this way and that in the mirror, it made me feel quite elegant. A bit like a vampish woman in a black and white film who’d say, ‘Promise me we’ll be together when this horrid war is over’,next to a steam train.

We went for coffee afterwards and Mum asked about my job. I’m waitressing at a cocktail bar on Leopold Square. The fifty-something owner, Rita, wanted somewhere women could have a quiet drink without being hassled and the atmosphere is so civilised. She and I took such a liking to one another, she made me manager on my second day. ‘Your manner sets the right tone,’ she said.

If you asked me for the best places to drink in the city, I’d happily, with no vested interest, recommend it, along with the revamped Victorian place on Ecclesall Road which I hear they’ve done great things with. I used to work there, but I’ve not been back.

Mum asked if I saw it as a long-term thing or if I was going to hunt further. I got the feeling she was not being as combative about this as usual. I explained that I was looking into retraining.

‘I say retraining, I mean actually training for something, given I never did in the first place. I was wondering if I could do an internship onThe Staror something. So it could involve writing.’

‘I was thinking,’ she said, stirring her flat white, ‘you never finished university. And your father so wanted you to get a degree. I have quite a lot of money sat in ISAs not doing anything, and it was your father’s money too. I’ve been so angry at him for so long that I wasn’t very interested in what his wishes might’ve been, and you’ve suffered for that. I think you should have it to finish your education. Whatever that might be, you choose.’

‘Mum, I couldn’t take that,’ I said, touched and not a bit stunned. ‘Not at age thirty, that would make me a complete moocher.’ Also thinking: Mum, you might need a Fleeing Fund.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can,’ she replied, brisk now that it was out in the open. ‘It’s money you’ll inherit, further down the line, so why not have it now, if you have need of it? It would make me happy to see you put it to use. I know you won’t spend it on cruises. Or let’s face it, with your tastes, designer clothes! Hahaha!’

I rolled my eyes.

‘Think of it as a challenge. I’m setting you a challenge to spend it wisely. I am actually very excited to see what you do with it. Where you can get to. I think you have a lot going for you, Georgina.’

‘Do you?’ I said. The narrative has always been mitigating disaster, with Mum and me.

‘Yes. I know I’ve not given you that impression. I think … your father so adored you and monopolised you, it didn’t leave much room for us.’

I got it, all of a sudden – I knew where the resentment and hostility I’ve always felt from Mum, came from. Her problem with me was that Dad fell out of love with her, and stayed in love with me. It made me a rival as well as a daughter. Now we’d discussed the affair, things had moved. She realised I was always on her side, too.

‘I miss Dad, Mum,’ I said.

‘So do I,’ she said, ‘though Lord knows why.’

‘I’m so glad I still have you though.’ I squeezed her arm, and her eyes were shiny.

Now, sat in my English Literature tutorials in a modern office block at Sheffield University, I feel like a cat at a Mice Only party, trying to conceal my tail. At first I flattered myself that I look youthful enough they might not notice my incongruity, but I soon gave myself away with my punctuality and cheerful introducing of myself.

Sometimes I think the undergraduates are grateful for my interrogations of the tutor, giving them plenty of time to go blank and sneak a look at their phone screens.

Except when the hour is nearly up and I ask when our essays are due in and the tutor says, ‘Oh thank you for reminding me, Georgina, that would be Friday.’ I hear the audible groan and irritated exhalation that the keeno mature student has gone and dropped everyone in it,again.

I can’t help myself though, I’m so excited to be here. I’ve had four first-class essay marks! I even got to grips withBeowulf!

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