Page 4 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
If Helen could dance now, she probably would. She would actually twerk.
‘So you’re a single mother?’ asks Carrie.
That’s all she got from that? Yes, I am raising two sisters of Vietnamese/French ethnicity. On my own. In Bristol. In a house. And I am also sitting here with my pen poised ready to stab you through your jugular and tell you your Hogwarts-style living room is really quite the embarrassment. You have Hagrid coasters.
‘I am. And a widow, I guess.’
It’s like she doesn’t understand that. How am I supposed to look? Am I supposed to be a pre-teen single mother? Am I supposed to look sadder? Dressed in black? Do widows wear denim? Carrie scans the ring on my finger, ready to spread this information around the playground. This is a variation of her life that she just doesn’t understand and, for one small moment, I pity her.
‘Well, it was just an idea. I don’t want people beingsensitiveabout it.’ That smidgeon of pity evaporates pretty quickly.
‘What about your Pancake Day idea, Carrie?’ Liz suggests animatedly, trying to mend the mood.
‘The Great British Toss Off,’ Helen mumbles. A few mothers in earshot snigger to themselves.
‘What was that, Helen?’ Carrie barks back.
‘Nothing. I likes a good toss. Can we dress Ross up as a lemon? He’d look good in yellow.’
They glare at each other. An event with you two, frying pans, fire and hot batter in the vicinity? When can we vote on that?
* * *
I get home that night at 10.36 p.m. after Carrie tore apart the quality of the school uniform (Why are we letting girls wear trousers!), the school teaching (No child learns through play), and Ross may have actually farted at one point as there was definitely a smell that weaved itself around the room that Carrie tried to ignore. It could have seriously started fires.
I shouldn’t have walked. It’s too cold for walking but if I’d driven I’d have lost my parking space at the front of the house, the securing of which is something I plan in far too much depth. Guarding parking spots and observing the correct bin days: that is my life. I fumble about in my bags for the keys as I trudge up to our terraced home with its bright yellow door. Yellow. It was supposed to bring me joy but on a cold February night like this, as the wind bites at my skin, it simply makes it easier to find which is mine. In the front bay window, Maya’s Sylvanian Families are lined up ready to picnic along with an assortment of crayons and pens. I put the key in the door and let the warm glow of the house rouse me. A head pops out from the kitchen.
‘Hey. How was it?’ Sam asks. He’s got a tea towel in his hand. He’s done my washing-up? Gold star for you.
‘Like pulling teeth. Carrie Cantello really is an awful human being.’
‘That’s not a huge surprise. What’s she done now?’ he asks.
‘She outed me for being a widow. For having kids that don’t look like me. It was a fun evening.’
‘Wow.’ You can tell he’s not too sure how to soothe my soul. ‘Tea?’
Good try. ‘Something stronger? I have a bottle of Pinot Grigio in the fridge.’
‘Excellent.’
He escapes into the kitchen while I take my boots and giant coat off by the front door. If I’m going to do cold weather, I’m going to do it cocooned like the warmest of caterpillars. I unwind the scarf from my neck and catch my reflection in the mirror. ‘Ruddy warm’ is the term. In the kitchen, Sam’s not found any wine glasses so pours the Pinot Grigio into mugs.
‘That’s a good hat.’
I pull it off my head and feel the static of my dark brown hair clinging to my face. ‘It’s my favourite. If you’re going to wear a bobble hat, the bobble should be the size of a doughnut.’
He pushes the mug in my direction.
‘Thanks, Sam.’
Sam, one of my few school-gate friends, leans against my counter and holds the mug up to me in an attempt to offer his cheers. He’s in his regular outfit of Levi’s, hoodie and chestnut walking boots, with stubble lining his chin and creeping down his neck.
‘Was Orlagh there?’ he asks me.
I shake my head. ‘She doesn’t really do PTA any more. Not since…’
I daren’t say the words out loud, but not since their recent divorce. Sam was, up until recently, married to Orlagh and they have two sons at The Downs Primary. It was a public split so she started keeping her head down, mainly because a lot of people knew about what was happening before Sam did. According to Orlagh, she just fell in love with someone else but, to all who knew the real truth, she met Jordan on a mums’ night out in a local nightclub and apparently had sex with him in an alley. She continued this affair and we all had to play along with the charade, seeing Sam at the school gate and awkwardly waving at him like we knew nothing.
