Page 106 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
I nod. ‘Was it a big goat?’
‘No. But he was an angry bastard. And you thought I was a diva.’
I try to summon up a smile. She stands there looking so natural with Joe. He shuttles looks between the two of us. Real mum, fake mum. In some strange world, this would be an awesome eighties sitcom. We could all live together and share trainers. She puts a hand to my back, Joe in her other arm, and draws me into her shoulder. Was that a hug? Let’s walk back to the flat. I’ll tell you about Will. Every sad last detail. You can tell me about that goat too.
Track Twenty-Three
‘Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want’ – The Smiths (1984)
‘THEY HAVE FUCKING LEBKUCHEN!’ Lucy shouts out in excitement. Only Lucy would get that excited about an iced German cake, but then only Lucy would swear in a crowded forecourt in front of children. A woman tuts and Emma looks across, apologetic, rolling her eyes.
‘GRACIE, YOU LOVE THIS SHIT!’
I look over and Grace studies her phone intently. I tap her on the shoulder and she nods, confused. Christmas will be all the more special this year because she’s here, but it means she has to participate in the great British Christmas shopping frenzy. Presently, we stand in the middle of a high street that they’ve tried to turn into a cosy European winter market. Except it’s not. It’s all fake lederhosen and garden sheds decorated with cheap tinsel. Hangry people queue for fragrant hog roasts with a side of Diet Coke, and there’s a stall with a man selling phone covers and Tibetan-style coats and rugs.
‘Stop checking your phone,’ I tell Grace.
‘I shouldn’t be here.’ She stares at her screen, terrified, almost waiting for emergency calls about her girls. I notice that her screensaver is still a picture of Tom that makes my heart hurt.
‘No, I shouldn’t be here.’ I point to Joe swaddled into me while I drink mulled wine over his head like any responsible parent would be. She looks over at him and strokes his cheek, puts a head to my shoulder and exhales loudly. She wears the same fatigue as I do, but differently. Hers is physical – I think the girls are still a touch unsettled so she sleeps with them, sometimes on the sofa, sometimes on the floor with them wrapped around her, triggering her sciatica.
My fatigue is emotional. Will still keeps his distance, guessing from that one text that Sean and I are now an item. When I got back in from trying to chase him through the streets, I sobbed on Yasmin’s shoulder and then I texted Will to let him know the truth. I was clear and explained that Sean and I were not a thing. For him to have even presumed that was borderline insulting. Will didn’t reply. He didn’t get it. I ache with how ridiculous this is all starting to feel. Grace hears a phone ring and gets hers out again to double-check.
‘Gracie, Mum will know what to do if there’s a problem,’ I tell her.
‘I just can’t relax. Ems, is it like this all the time now? Is this what motherhood is about? Just a constant state of worry?’ she asks.
‘Yes,’ Emma replies, as she watches Lucy buy her girls marshmallows on sticks without her say-so, ‘a never-ending circle of self-doubt and paralytic fear that something’s going to happen to them… But fun bits in between. You wait until the hormones kick in.’
Everyone’s experience of parenthood is just one big cautionary tale. Lucy returns to the table stuffing her face full of cake and offering it to us. Emma recoils in horror at having to share something covered in Lucy’s spittle.
‘We all came out of the same vagina, dear sister,’ Lucy announces, putting on a wise scholarly accent.
‘Charming,’ says Emma.
But Grace doesn’t refuse. Lucy’s right, Gracie does love lebkuchen and one of my favourite memories is when I found both of them under our dining room table one Christmas scoffing a whole box my mother had put aside for an elderly aunt. She stuffs one into her face and gets out a list on her phone. I smile. I miss Gracie’s lists.
‘So I need to find this Baby Annabell thing for Cleo, she saw the commercial and her eyes lit up.’
Emma salutes. She looks like she’s been through the doll adventure before.
‘And what do you girls want? Seriously? I have nothing for you,’ Grace says.
I shrug. I’m still bagging on getting my Premier Inn night away.
‘We got new nieces this year, we don’t need anything,’ Emma says.
‘I mean I could do with a NutriBullet,’ Lucy says. Emma elbows her for giving Grace more gift stress. ‘Or a gift card I suppose.’
Do I need another gift card? Probably not. They’re tainted to me now.
Grace types away furiously on her keyboard. ‘And Violet, Iris?’
‘Pyjamas. Any. They grow like grass so buy big.’
Lucy rolls her eyes. ‘Or if you want them to be excited on Christmas day and not think you’re boring, they also go shit crazy for glitter gel pens.’
Violet’s eyes light up when she hears that and she bundles herself into Lucy’s arms. ‘Aunty Lucy, when can we have our surprise too?’ she asks.
