Page 58 of A Good Mother
No he doesn’t, you fool.
‘Babs, Babs, what time will you be home? What will I tell the kids about their tea?’
Babs kept on walking and called back. ‘Never… and tell them what you like. Tell them to make a jam butty, and that I’ve run away with the vicar, to Mexico, and I’m having his love child.’
‘Babs, you’re being ridiculous. Making a bloody show of yourself, you know that don’t you.’
To that remark Pete received a reverse, one finger salute, and then Babs marched on. No going back. Well, not until she’d drank the other bottle, anyway.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
ROBIN
Robin pouredcrisps into the bowl and as she listened to Arty tell her all about the hoo-hah that was rumbling on his village. It seemed that someone had taken the liberty of painting the front of their house in pale pink which, according to commune rules was akin to sacrilege.
Themaire, by all accounts was up in arms and threatening action. The village was split in two. The old guard were all for getting the stocks out of the church cellar, baying for the blood of those who wanted the freedom to express themselves with a tin of paint and a roller.
‘So, which side are you on? Let me guess…’ Robin smiled, knowing exactly where Arty’s allegiances would lie.
‘Put it this way, I’m toying with the idea of a nice candy pink once spring arrives… and maybe, you could come and help me. You’re a dab hand with a paintbrush if I remember rightly. I fancy some stencilling. That’d send the maire right over the edge I reckon.’
There was a smile and a hint in his suggestion, and it wasn’t the first time he’d given her a gentle nudge lately and it made her sad and unsettled. Regrets and what-ifs were far more active than they’d ever been before. Perhaps he was feeling it too, the sense of time running out.
Robin carried the bowl to the table and set it amongst the assortment of sandwiches and finger food that she’d ordered from a little catering firm in town, spreading the post-lockdown love by helping a small business and saving herself a job at the same time.
‘Did I tell you I’m having a bit of a do? Gina’s upstairs with Willow and Babs will be here soon. We’re having a girly night in.’ What she didn’t say was that after the row with Edmund, she’d needed comfort, to feel love and friendship and solidarity, which was why, when Babs had suggested it, Robin had readily agreed.
The taking in of a deep breath was audible, as Arty acknowledged the changing of subject. ‘So, what’s the occasion? I hope there are no handsome chaps in attendance that might turn your head or I shall have to come over there and punch their lights out.’
At this, Robin laughed and explained it was just a spur of the moment thing, an idea that quickly morphed into firm arrangements and a date being set. It seemed to do the trick and soon he was telling her all about one of the ‘little buggers’ at school who’d been caught selling vapes to the other pupils, apparently turning over a tidy little profit. Robin was relieved the subject of her going there had changed.
Avoidance was her speciality lately and her stand-off with Edmund had been proof of that because ever since, and as much as she hated it, he’d forced her to take off her rose-coloured specs and look at Willow’s situation more clearly.
It had scared the hell out of her when she realised what a gap her daughter would leave in her life if she was gone, and wondered how she would fill it. There’d be no more excuses, no more turning her back on what Edmund regarded as her ‘duties’. Also, Arty might go back on his promise and ask her to leave her marriage for good.
‘So, how’s Willow doing? I’ll be going into Lourdes next week, so I’ll pick her up some trinkets and send them over. Oh, and while I think on, I know it’s only October, but am I invited for Christmas? I do love the excuse for a legitimate visit.’
Robin’s stomach flipped, at the thought of seeing him, of the terrible shame she often felt at what they were doing, followed by a wave of love and desire so strong and yet pure that it washed away any trace of sin.
Having him sitting opposite at their table, two actors playing a part, smothering their feelings for one another, waiting for a moment alone in the kitchen when they moved the dishes. Hoping that her contrived excuse for a day or two away from Willow would be believed. Praying that dear hippy Francesca would always provide an alibi and live in her caravan forever. Marvelling as she lit the Christmas pudding that nobody had guessed about her and Arty; and that Edmund couldn’t see the lies reflected in the flames. Was she that duplicitous? And from nowhere came another thunderbolt question. Had she made a terrible, terrible mistake?
Before she had time to process it the words were out. As though some hidden force had come from behind, given her a firm push, thrusting her through an open doorway and now she was staggering onto a stage, blinking, shocked and in the glare of an expectant audience of one.
‘Arty, can I ask you something? And I want you to be honest, not kind or jollying me along.’
‘Of, course, always, ask away.’
‘Do you think it’s all been a terrible mistake, the years we’ve wasted, that you’ve wasted on me? Do you ever regret it?’
Arty replied, stuttering, unsure, ‘Wha… why, what do you mean, Robin, a waste? I don’t regret one minute of us, not even a second. What on earth makes you ask that now?’
Her voice cracked. ‘Because I can feel it, Arty. Everything’s changing and I don’t like it… it’s in the air, outside, now the world is getting back to normal and moving on and I liked it, being here, with Willow. Taking care of her… not having to think about the future just the now and getting her through each day…’
‘Robin, has something happened? Has Edmund upset you?’
‘No, it’s not him, I can deal with him. It’s us, Willow, me. Suddenly, when I thought it was all so simple it isn’t any more and I’m questioning myself and I don’t like what I see when I look in the mirror.’
Arty attempted a response, but she ignored him and forged on, the words desperate to escape, be said and heard. ‘Have I been selfish? I think I have because I could’ve made a move, a bid for freedom when Cris went to university, that was the carpe diem moment, when I should have seized the day and come to you but instead I was a coward and hid behind my faith, telling myself I couldn’t break my vows when I already had, committing a sin. Yet I managed to convince myself I was being righteous and that makes me a huge pathetic hypocrite, doesn’t it?’
