Page 14 of A Good Mother
I wasn’t in love with Pete, I kind of grew to love him but what choice did I have? I mean easy choices, not one that would mean a visit to a clinic or being a single mum. Either way I wasn’t that brave so, as my parents reminded me, I’d made my bed and I lay in it.
I bloody hate that stupid saying and Christ, those two wore it out!
I cried so much when Lynda said goodbye because I was losing my best friend and my dream. She never came back, not to live here permanently. She married a Spanish guy, and they live in a lovely villa that looks out across the Med. I’m pleased for her, I really am. She used to invite me – us – to stay but family life always had a way of scuppering that and now we’re just Facebook friends.
At least we reconnected once the internet revolution arrived, and that’s nice, and sometimes it’s not. It’s a constant reminder of what I missed. It’s not Lynda’s fault I messed up and I was chuffed she still wanted to be friends with someone as boring as me.
Thinking about Lynda makes me wonder about our summer holidays this year and what I say next will sound so bad and ungrateful, but I won’t care if we don’t go. Honestly. I’ll be over the bloody moon.
I used to love our summer holidays when the kids were little. We’d go to a static caravan in Whitby and have the best time on the beach, or walking along the prom at Scarborough. In the evening we’d get dressed up and go to the club and watch the acts. Just the four of us at the time.
Demi was our surprise baby. And although having a newborn as your eldest comes of age and your middle one hits puberty isn’t ideal, we muddled through and embraced being a unit of five.
We still went to a caravan, but money was getting better, so we ventured south to Cornwall, or Devon. I loved it there so much, like another world it is. Everything changed around the time Demi was eight. Pete got promoted and met Calvin his new counterpart.
Calvin is a flash knobhead. Penelope is his flashier wife, Penny to her friends like me. Although she’s not really my friend, it’s just a tag that I wear to keep the peace. A friend is someone you can confide in, who gets you, makes you laugh and feel at ease. Penny does none of these things and neither does Sheryl and her husband Barry, another member of the bin crew.
Unfortunately they’ve become our circle of friends, who Pete thinks are the bees’ knees and that’s why for the past few years they have been our social and holiday companions.
Calvin is head honcho, and he basically picks the location for our holidays. He books it all, days out, hire cars, the bloody lot. Sheryl and Penny spend the spring months preparing – and by this I mean buying new outfits, getting bits plucked, fake tanned, false nailed and in Penny’s case a syringe or two of Botox.
I can’t compete with them, and nor do I want to. The whole fortnight exhausts me. Yes, I sound so ungrateful because a lot of people would love to go all-inclusive to Tenerife, or any of the other destinations I’ve endured. But all I can think about is the hours and hours I worked all year, the big fat chubby envelope of hard-earned cash that paid for it. And I wouldn’t mind if I got a choice, but I don’t.
Sasha does her own thing now, like Isaac, but I still have my Demi who loves it because she has ready-made friends in Sheryl’s two daughters. Pete loves it because he gets to hang with his workmates 24/7 and even though he drives me mad, I remind myself he works hard, too, and deserves a holiday. Who am I to ruin all that?
So I fake interest in Penny’s strappy maxi-frocks from Primark, and her tacky accessories, although I could do without seeing how smooth her Brazilian is. She’s very gregarious, is Penny, and uninhibited especially when drunk. Life and soul of the party she is, they all say it, like it’s a badge of honour to be carried home on a deckchair by Barry and Calvin cos you’re too pissed to walk.
I did ask Pete once, if we might go away, just the three of us. It was last year, as the spectre of holiday number six loomed. His response stung. The hurt lingers still.
We’d been to a curry night, to celebrate Barry’s birthday, and the subject of holidays had come up. My heart had plummeted, and I refused to join in the discussion and decided there and then that I wasn’t going.
Later, as I drove us home, I took a deep breath and broached the subject. I had Pete to myself, strapped into his seat so he couldn’t wander off mid-conversation like he always does when he’s put on the spot.
‘Pete, hear me out on this before you say no. It’s just an idea but it’s been on my mind for ages.’ When he remained silent I took it as a sign to continue. ‘The thing is, I really fancy a change so next year I’d like to go away on our own, with Demi of course, but have a break from the others. We see them all year round and I’m tired of doing the same thing every summer.’
Usually his eyes are glued to the road ahead, a terrible passenger even when he’d had a few but that night he swivelled to face me, his voice incredulous. ‘What? I don’t get it. Why do we need a break from our friends? What’s wrong with them? They’re a good laugh, we’re a gang, and we’ve had some brilliant holidays together. And you know what they say, if it’s not broken…’
I interrupted, snappy and annoyed. ‘Yes, Pete, I know the saying and it’s crap. And you might enjoy seeing Calvin and Barry day in, day out, but I think it’s time we pulled away and did our own thing. It won’t kill you or them. And I’d like to choose where we went, something a bit different. Not all-inclusive or non-stop entertainment. We could go to Lynda’s villa. She’s always asking and has a separate annexe we can stay in. I’d love that.’
‘But it’s Calvin’s fiftieth. Turning fifty is a big thing.’
‘What, like my fabulous fiftieth? When we had a family meal at a Brewers Fayre! Not a big bash. Why? Because you couldn’t be arsed to organise anything, and I wasnotgoing to throw myself a do. So, tell me, why is Calvin’s big birthday more special than mine?’
I was livid, all the hurt I’d buried deep, the sense of embarrassment, because that’s what it was. After all the parties I’d thrown for him and the kids, nobody could be bothered to do one for me. Well, it had festered like a big yellow pus-filled boil, and I’d just given it a good squeeze and splattered it over the windscreen. It was either pus or Pete’s blood.
‘You’re not even a party person,’ he blustered, ‘and you never said you wanted a do, so that’s not my fault. I wanted a weekend golf trip with the lads for my fiftieth and that’s what I got because I spoke up. So if you’d wanted something special then you should have said, so don’t go blaming me. I’m not a sodding mind reader, Babs.’
I gripped the wheel. ‘Yes, you always get what you want, don’t you, Pete. So now it’s my turn and even though I can’t think of anyone more annoying to go on holiday with, I want to go with you, and Demi. Not with that lot. OKAY!’
And then it came, the thoughtless comment, a damning indictment that said more about our marriage than the fact I’d had the audacity to suggest breaking free.
‘Have you gone mad? It would be boring, just the two of us. I mean, what would we do? And our Demi wouldn’t have any friends of her own, so she’d be stuck with us all day. Nah, no way.
‘And I’m not going to see Lynda, either. She’s your friend not mine. I like all-inclusive and being entertained, it’s what I look forward to all year. Anyway, they’d take the huff if we even suggested it. It’s like a snub.’ After his big speech he folded his arms and stared ahead. His body language telling me loud and clear the decision was made.
Everything he’d said was like a slap, one of those that make a cracking sound, and sting but I swallowed down the tears and squeezed the steering wheel because if I’d let go, I reckon I’d have smacked him in the gob.
I couldn’t speak at first. Even though I hadn’t expected him to be quite so honest and whether it was the beer that had loosened his lips, they’d spoken the truth and told me exactly who he’d rather spend a fortnight with. When I finally gathered my emotions, my voice was calm, my thoughts collected.
