Page 56 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
I give Helen a strange look. There are parts of my life so far that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Like the whole widow thing, for starters.
‘You’re bloody interesting, that’s why,’ she carries on. ‘I’d rather be friends with someone like you who’s seen the world, who has a lovely diverse family, rather than her and her Harry Potter hoodie.’
‘She’s wearing a Harry Potter hoodie?’
She nods slowly. In amongst all of that, though, what’s nice to hear is that Helen considers me a friend. It’s a weird thing with school-gate mums. I’ll see Helen every day now for an eternity and it strikes me that when our kids go their separate ways our friendship will fade away. It feels comforting to know I’m at least likeable enough for her to get to know me, to be an ally.
‘You’re not vegan or one of them strange types who don’t drink coffee, are you?’ she asks me.
‘No.’
‘Then we can definitely be mates.’
We’re interrupted by her William, who jumps in her lap and my attention turns back to Sam, who is trying to catch my eye. If you go back to that woman, you won’t move on. She’ll win you back but the victory would be completely hollow for you; she’ll just use and abuse you until the next twenty-something comes along. She may also give you crabs. He smiles at me and Orlagh clocks it immediately, whispering something into his ear.
‘Miss Loveday! Miss Loveday! We’re trying to make these clay coil pots but the instructions are very poor. It would help if they were clearer.’
The whole classroom stops to hear Carrie interrupt the proceedings. Miss Loveday shuttles over to appease her and the rest of the parents take a deep collective sigh.
‘It’d help if she didn’t have claws for fingers,’ Helen mumbles.
‘What did you say, Mummy?’ asks William. ‘Are you talking about Carrie Potter?’
Poor William doesn’t have the quietest of voices so it travels and I see people sniggering under their breath.
‘I’ve heard that the class next door are doing some real-life acrylic painting, not bargain-basement crafts. I really don’t get the point in all of this,’ says Carrie.
‘It’s all just for fun, Mrs Cantello. Some of these activities are great for their gross motor skills.’
‘Really?’ Carrie replies condescendingly.
I’d watch before you criticise, Carrie. I think your daughter is trimming her own fringe with the craft scissors.
‘Yes. Here’s a range of pots that some of the other children and parents have made… from my poor instructions.’
You go, Miss Loveday. Carrie stares daggers at her but she knows how to deal with all of that now. I look at the poem in front of me and fold it, putting it my handbag. I might make a pot next. I need something for my spare change. But where’s Maya? I take a glance around the room.
‘Looking for someone?’ Helen asks, nudging me. I catch a glimpse of a little person on all fours in clear stealth mode. Maya. Like a cat. A ninja cat, dumping tubes of glitter into the collection of handbags stored underneath the table.
‘This is why we can most certainly be friends,’ Helen says, chuckling heartily and giving my daughter a double thumbs up.
14
Tom,
You really can be such a humungo dick sometimes. Of course I have friends and actually I did go out and I celebrated my new job with Lucy and I went clubbing and had sex with a man called Mario who had a really giant knob and I came like a billion times, so really, piss off with your girls in bikinis and your travel and you showing off thinking you’re all spiritual and enlightened and putting Instagram pictures of you on beaches in tie-dye writing stupid quotes about peace and sunsets. I hope you go swimming and a crab swims up your actual bum.
Grace
It’s one week until the memorial and people are descending on Bristol in their swarms. It feels like a convention. Tom would love a convention in his honour. We should have hired out a university hall and had special guest speakers. Dress as your favourite version of him: hippie-surfer Tom, noughties-dance Tom, waistcoat-teacher Tom. Tom-Con. We could have merched it out properly.
The guests flit in and out of my life, they drop in for tea and tag me in their social media posts. At times, it’s a little too much so I hide in my room, in my Huggly with my girls, and we watchMoanatogether. I can’t hear another story; I can’t drink another cup of tea while someone holds my hand. That’s not a safe or comfortable way to drink hot beverages in any case.
Then a Friday happened. Cue chaos. Yes, the family have descended on the place with all their accompanying children, partners and husbands. My parents have rented a massive Airbnb to house everyone. It’s like some familial experiment to see who will be the first to storm out. I feel we should be starting wagers. Lucy will be the first to pick that fight. Meg will be the first to leave. If I didn’t have a home it’d be entertaining to stay there and witness it all unfolding. My mother has made a detailed agenda. There will be walks, there will be dinners with an exact meal plan, a cooking and washing-up rota, and a games night when the world could very well implode in a sea of Monopoly money.
Except today when, for one afternoon, my mum and dad have taken charge of all the grandchildren and me, Meg, Emma, Beth and Lucy are headed to a spa for an afternoon. This was Meg’s idea. Obviously, we could have gone to the lido again but after our act of sabotage I fear they may have our faces on a poster on the wall so we’ve opted for the Nirvana spa on the outskirts of town. It’s big on a tropical motif, despite being ten minutes from the M4.
Meg and Emma like a spa. They like the idea of relaxation and sitting still in a hot room to open up their pores. Beth, who is currently pregnant with baby number two, is more worried about whether she’ll look like a pink beached whale. Lucy just wants to know if there will be alcohol. I worry about what sort of ailments one can pick up from a Jacuzzi. In my mind, I’m thinking foot fungus and things one can catch inside one’s cooch. I don’t do spas. I don’t do sharing my relaxation with other random people when I could easily do that in my own bathtub and with added extras that would be frowned upon here. Like a tube of Pringles and a cheeseboard.
