Something Old, Something New
‘Studying going well?’ I ask Janis and she colours.
‘Yeah I guess.’
‘What is it?’ I smile. ‘Social networking distracting you?’
Her colour deepens and I move closer. I don’t want a chasm to open up between us. I want to keep my children close and to be there for them, to be a good mum. But a good mother ensures that her children are achieving their potential and doesn’t let them underachieve.
She takes a deep breath as if she’s going to divulge some deep, dark secret. I wait, afraid to move in case I deter her. Then she exhales slowly and says, ‘I’m okay Mum… honestly.’
‘I’m here to talk, you know. Whenever. I know the younger two keep me busy but you’re my child too and I love you, Janis.’
‘I know, Mum.’ She nods her easy acceptance of my fierce maternal devotion, evidently unable to comprehend exactly how much I love her, then plugs her earphones back in. I stand there for a moment and smooth out the patchwork quilt again. I want to say more, to have a meaningful conversation with my baby girl, but I can’t seem to find the right words because I’m afraid of saying the wrong ones. So I say nothing at all.
As I pull her door behind me, then walk out onto the dark landing, I am suddenly overwhelmed by sadness. There is no manual to help with this stuff, to tell you how to negotiate your way through having three children by two different men and two divorces, while dealing with your own guilt at getting it wrong before you’d even really begun. There are manuals on parenthood, sure, but I need a precise one to help with my particular situation.
And as I descend the stairs, heading to the living room where I’ll sit with a book or flick through the television channels for an hour before heading up to bed alone, I wish again for all that I miss. For things to have been different from the start. Yet at the same time, I know that what I want is impossible and that, therefore, I would change nothing.
Getting pregnant when I did gave me Janis. Marrying Dex gave me Henry and Anabelle. Things happened as they did and I wasn’t wholly to blame. Yet I wasn’t totally blameless either.
****
I jump awake, dragged from a dream about being in the jungle. Strangely, Lady Macbeth was there, talking about when the owl shrieks and the crickets cry…
Crickets?
I hold my breath and will my heart to slow down as I listen.
But I am not mistaken; my house is filled with the song of crickets. It’s as if I am abroad and they’re chirruping away. But I am not on a Greek island in a café eating date and walnut scones filled with honey and yogurt; a pleasant image inspired by a recent novel. I am, in fact, in England, inside my own home, clad in my fleecy pyjamas and it is February. So why, then, can I hear crickets?
I sit up and rub my eyes. My neck is stiff from sleeping on the sofa and I am cold. I need to go to bed and snuggle beneath the duvet. I pick up my phone and check the time. Three-thirty a.m. I head out to the hall and nearly fall over Dragon who is sleeping across the hallway guarding the stairs like some ancient mythical creature guarding its gold. Fairy Princess is not far away, snoring her head off in a very un-princess-like way. They clearly don’t need to go out, so I step carefully over them and tiptoe up the stairs. The house is immersed in darkness and I usually like this time when I can listen to everyone I love breathing in unison under one roof. But tonight, there is another noise and it is incongruous in my Sutton semi.
The crickets! The central heating must have encouraged their journey to maturity and some of the larger ones are chirping.
Upstairs, I pop my head into each child’s room to check on them. Anabelle and Janis are sleeping in their beds, but when I enter Henry’s room, he is sleeping on his knees in front of the vivarium. How can children do that? Fall asleep in some strange sort of yoga position. The lights inside it are off but I can make out the small dark shape of the baby dragon underneath the fibre-glass cave. I gently scoop Henry up and shuffle him into his cabin bed – not easy when he is getting so big and I have to lift him up four steps too – then pull the covers over him. As I turn away and head for the door, something crunches under my foot.
And again as I take another step.
There is a slimy wetness beneath the crunch.
I pause as my sleep fuddled mind tries to conjure an explanation.
Lego.
Henry probably sneaked a grape up here too and that somehow got mixed up with the Lego and that’s what’s now sticking to the ball of my foot and oozing between my toes. It must be Lego that Henry has left out again, even though we’ve had the discussion about putting it away once he’s finished playing with it. The dogs don’t brave the stairs very often, but if they do and they decide to consume some of his plastic building blocks or his intergalactic pirate ship, then there will be an expensive trip to the vet and Henry will lose what is now being hailed as a better investment than stocks and shares. I will certainly have to speak to him about tidying up properly tomorrow.
But as I take another step, the chirruping gets louder and something scuttles across my naked foot and up my shin. I shake my leg vigorously and hear a plop as something hits the wall. It’s like a horror movie where everyone except for the actress can see that at any moment she’s going to have her leg ripped off by a giant killer scorpion. My heart thuds as I realise with mounting dread what must have happened. This is no giant scorpion and this is not a movie. I told Henry ten times before he went to bed to ensure that he put the lid on the cricket tub properly but now…
I thrust my fist into my mouth and bite down to stifle my scream. I want to get my feet off the floor so I take it in turns to lift one then the other. Which is your favourite foot? Which one would you keep if you had to choose? It’s like some bizarre Sophie’s choice.
I hate bugs!
The doorway is further away than the bed so there is only one option open to me. I hop back to the steps and climb them, then perch on the edge as I use a tissue from my pyjama pocket to clean the squashed cricket corpses from between my toes. The thought makes me heave but what can I do? I am trapped, a prisoner in my own home, surrounded by a Gryllidae enemy. I long for some antibacterial handwash but I would have to step back into the abyss to get it, so I have to make do with an already soiled tissue.
And all this because I could not deny my son another pet. I am a stereotype of the overindulgent single mother. Will my son grow up with a sense of entitlement because I struggle to say no to him when I should stand firm? No. Henry is a good boy, not some little prince who believes everyone exists to please him. He’s kind, intelligent and sincere, even a bit too serious at times for a boy of his age. Giving him a pet all of his own is a good thing. It provides a sense of responsibility and helps him to understand how important it is to care for an animal properly. I have done the right thing; this will be good for him. Just not for me.
As these thoughts race through my mind, I sit still for a while, gazing into the darkness. My eyes burn with tiredness but I cannot look away in case I come under attack from an advancing cricket army.
I am staring at the floor as the grey dawn light seeps into the room and brings with it another day. I am cold and tired and my head is fuzzy. But only when I am certain that no crickets have found their way up the steps, do I finally surrender and crawl beneath the covers at the bottom of Henry’s bed and fall into a restless slumber.
Chapter Seven
The Sky’s the Limit
I open my eyes to find my youngest child staring at me. It’s quite disconcerting waking up to a curious child watching you intently.
‘What are you doing in Henry’s bed, Mumma?’ Anabelle’s big blue eyes roam my face.
I sit up and run my hands through my hair. I am disorientated and groggy.
‘Oh, I uh, came in here last night and I was very tired and I fell asleep.’ I peer cautiously over the edge of the bed to see if the cricket army followed me. It’s almost as if I expect them to be waiting there for me like evil sentries, ready to throw themselves kamikaze style beneath my feet.
‘All the crickets escaped, Mumma. I don’t like them. They’re in my room and in the bathroom. One tried to crawl on my foot when I went to wash my hands.’
I sigh and pull Anabelle into my lap. A flicker of pride runs through me as I inhale her unmarred sweetness and realise that she must have had a dry night. ‘I know sweetheart, Mumma doesn’t like them either. I guess today is going to involve a big clean-up.’
‘Can we go to the park too?’ she asks as she snuggles against my chest.
‘If it stays fine.’
The quilt moves and Henry sits up at the other end of the bed. His hair is messy and he has a white dribble streak up his left cheek. The lucky boy slept through it all, oblivious to the great cricket escape. ‘Mum?’ He frowns at me. ‘Why are you and Anabelle in my bed?’
‘Somebody forgot to put the lid on the cricket tub.’ I stare at him but his face is a picture of innocence. ‘They all escaped.’
‘Oh no!’ he gasps and crawls over to me. I expect him to express concerns about how on earth we are going to manage to find all of the crickets but instead he says, ‘Whatever will I feed the dragon today?’
I shake my head. ‘I guess a trip to the pet shop is in order too.’ He nods and smiles sleepily at me. ‘But first you’d better get up and see how many crickets you can catch because I don’t fancy finding the crunchy little bodies beneath my feet for the next year.’
Anabelle shudders. ‘A year, Mumma? But does that mean they will be in my room for Christmas?’ She pops her thumb into her mouth, a habit that I usually try to discourage but at this moment in time I don’t, because I know how she feels. I too need some comforting.
‘Tell you what. Let’s go down and make pancakes for breakfast shall we?’
‘Yes!’ Henry bounces on the bed and Anabelle joins in.
‘Watch your heads!’ I shout over their laughter, because a cabin bed is not the best trampoline in the world and I do not fancy having to call out a builder to have the ceiling repaired.
Downstairs, I pull flour and sugar out of the cupboard and get the milk out of the fridge. The kettle is bubbling away and Henry and Anabelle are sitting at the kitchen table chatting about the best methods to trap the errant bugs. Apparently, a snare would be a good plan but they’re not sure that they have enough wire outside in the playhouse. I make a mental note to find said wire and dispose of it. Where they’ve found wire I do not know, and how they would create a snare small enough to trap a cricket is beyond me, but their earnestness makes me smile.
The early morning sunlight streams through the window and across the kitchen floor, warming the tiles and creating a golden glow that suggests the day ahead will be fine. It lifts me, the promise of good weather, and I think that Anabelle may well be lucky and get her trip to the park. I try to avoid looking at the calendar that hangs from the wall by the door, because I know that it will dampen my mood. Four days of half-term left before we all return to school, and I know that those four days will fly. So I vow to make them count.
I measure out the ingredients then begin to beat them together into a thick batter. ‘Do you want blueberries with these?’ I ask my youngest children.
‘Yes please!’ they reply in unison.
‘Can you get them out of the fridge then, Henry?’
He does as I ask then heads for the sink. I have taught him well; he knows that everything needs to be washed before we use it. He’s funny like that anyway. Last Christmas when he wrote his wish list, at the top was SAFE. I immediately launched into worried maternal mode, concerned that he wanted to feel safe. Was he being bullied? Was he suffering insecurity because I had split from his father, or was he just trying to tell me that he needed me to hug him more? However, he’d calmly explained – in that way that eight-year-old boys can do when they think they’re talking to an irrational adult – that he actually wanted an electronic safe to keep his valuables in. So Santa brought him one. And now he locks everything in it. His money, his favourite toys – well, the ones that fit anyway. I have no idea what the combination is, so I told him to make sure that he remembers it, but he said that he will never forget as it’s linked to his favourite movies.
The conversation about keeping his money safe progressed to one about how important it was to wash his hands after he’d touched the money. Anabelle was present too and she chipped in, stating that it was especially important now since the outbreak of cola. If you didn’t wash your hands, she explained, it could kill you. I’d wondered why she’d turned her nose up at a glass of pop in a cafe a few days earlier, and suddenly it all became clear. She meant Ebola. Henry had finished the rather odd conversation with the comment that at least if his money was locked in the safe, then the Ebola couldn’t get us, so he’d lock all my money in there as well if I wanted him to. He was so determined in his desire to protect us that I gave him all the change out of my purse and now, whenever I need something from the corner shop, he offers to get me some money from The Bank of Henry.
I pour some batter into my large non-stick frying pan and drop blueberries into it. As the pancake slowly cooks through, I flip it to brown the other side. The blueberries pop in the heat and I inhale their sweet summery fragrance. Summer may be a while off, but at least we can eat as if it’s here.
When I’ve used up all the mixture, I put a few pancakes into the oven to keep warm for Janis, then take the rest over to the table. Just as I’m about to eat, the back door opens and Cassie waltzes in.
‘Good morning!’ She helps herself to a plate from the cupboard then takes a seat at the table. We mumble hello through mouthfuls of breakfast. ‘And how are we all today?’ Cassie asks, looking from Henry to Anabelle to me.
‘Good, thank you,’ Henry replies.
‘Henry left the lid off the crickets, Aunty Cassie, and they all escaped.’
I see Cassie start then she turns to me for an explanation.
‘Henry’s bearded dragon.’ I gesture at the hallway with my fork. ‘Up in his room.’
Cassie presses a hand over her chest, which is bursting out of a black vest top with a pretty sunflower print. She’s coupled it with black capri pants and yellow wedge heels. She looks gorgeous and I realise that I’m still in my pyjamas and that I must look a sight, as I haven’t even brushed my hair.
‘It eats live insects?’ she asks as she dabs at her pink lips with a tissue.
‘Yes, Aunty Cassie!’ Henry says, rolling his eyes. ‘It doesn’t like dead ones.’
‘Because dead bugs would be so much worse?’ Cassie grimaces and I suppress a smile, thinking about how she’d react if she went up to Henry’s room and saw the cricket corpses ground into the carpet. I’ll have to scrub that later and I shiver at the thought of the crushed little bodies embedded in the thick pile.
I clear the table and Henry and Anabelle hurry upstairs to wash their hands and check on the dragon. Henry hasn’t decided on a name yet, so I’ve told him to try to think of one. It should keep him busy for a while and I have a feeling that Cassie wants to speak to me.
‘Coffee?’ I offer as I fill the kettle.
‘Please, Annie, but use the good stuff won’t you?’
I fetch the packet from the fridge – luckily there’s still some in there, although I did find out that Henry used it to age his homework because he left a pencil in the packet – and fill the cafetiere. The ground coffee smells divine and I breathe deeply of its rich aroma. I’m more of a tea drinker, Earl Grey in particular, but I do enjoy coffee and this one that Cassie bought me from Harrods is certainly delicious.
I take two large mugs to the table, then the coffee pot and a plastic carton of semi-skimmed milk. When I sit down, I can see that Cassie is bursting with news.
‘So?’ I say as I pour the coffee.
‘Whatever do you mean?’ she asks, fluttering her fake eyelashes.
‘Something’s up and I know you want to tell me.’
‘I do.’ She takes a sip of coffee. ‘Mmmm. That’s so good.’
‘Oh come on, Cassie, out with it!’
‘Tonight… I have a date!’ She claps her hands.
‘That’s great news. Who’s the lucky guy?’
‘He’s a friend of Vlad.’ She stares at me waiting for my reaction.
‘Okay.’ I sip my coffee. I’m not sure where she’s going with this and to be honest, I’m surprised it isn’t Vlad himself. I mean, I saw how he was looking at her.
‘It’s a blind date.’
‘What? So you don’t even know what he looks like?’
She shakes her head.
‘Then how are you going on a date? Isn’t it a bit risky?’
‘Well, see, I was speaking to Vlad after our training session the other day and he said that he had this friend who is quite shy. He’s a bodybuilder apparently and he has his own gym.’
‘Doesn’t he get to meet many women at his gym then?’ I ask, images of tight bodied gym bunnies clad in colourful Lycra filling my head. I don’t know why but they always have eighties hairstyles. It’s as if my ideas about gyms always have to throw back to the days of my childhood when movies were filled with aerobics and backcombed perms. ‘You’d think that he’d have his pick of women.’
Cassie shakes her head. ‘I just told you. Vlad said he’s shy.’
‘Is he Russian too?’
‘No. He’s Irish.’
‘Irish?’
She nods.
‘A Russian and an Irishman…’
She holds up her hand. ‘Just don’t do that, Annie. This is serious.’
‘It is.’
‘I’m actually quite nervous.’
‘I would be too if I was going on a date with a mysterious Irish bodybuilder who I’d never even met or spoken to.’
‘The thing is…’ She toys with her bottom lip and I get a sinking feeling in my gut. ‘Vlad kind of wanted to know if you’d like to come too.’
‘Me? What… why… he does?’ I am suddenly conscious that I am pulling a face so I try to relax my mouth and cheeks, to bring my eyebrows down to their normal position. Why would that hunk of muscle want me to go out on a date?
‘I think he likes you, Annie.’
I look down at my hands and my empty ring finger makes me start as it always does, as if I’ve misplaced my ring without realising.
‘Annie? Will you come?’
I feel like I’m fourteen and my friend is telling me that the gorgeous boy in the year above wants to take me to the school disco. I’m a woman fast approaching forty, I’m a mother to three children and I’m twice divorced, yet it’s as if all that suddenly drops away and I’m terrified. My stomach clenches and my mouth goes dry. What if he wants to kiss me or hold me or something else? I’m out of shape, my hair needs dyeing and I haven’t shaved my legs for weeks. I can’t go on a date! Besides, Vlad likes Cassie. I wonder if there’s been a mistake and if she’s misunderstood him. Did Vlad want to date Cassie but bring a friend along for moral support? This could end messily if I’m right.
‘I can’t, Cassie.’
‘Please?’ She steeples her fingers together and moves closer to me. ‘Don’t make me beg. I need you to help me with this one. I can’t go alone because if Connor really is that shy then we might not have a proper conversation. At least if you’re there then I can relax a bit. Pretty please? I need my wingman.’
‘Or wing woman,’ I say with a shrug. Perhaps if I go I can steer Cassie to see that Vlad is interested in her. If I don’t go, then she can hardly go out with the two of them and she might never find out that Vlad likes her. Henry and Anabelle are meant to be going to Dex’s later so I could allow myself a night out. Janis will have plans or she’ll be studying and I should support my friend.
Cassie slowly slides off the chair and onto her knees then she crawls towards me like a dramatic thirties movie star. It makes me grin. She’s such a good friend and I think the world of her. I owe it to her to help her out, don’t I? Suddenly, I hear a scratching of claws on wood and before Cassie can get to her feet, Dragon has skidded across the kitchen floor and mounted her from behind. She struggles to remove his front paws from around her waist but he’s so strong and when he decides to hump someone, it’s difficult to get him off. ‘Please, Annie?’ Cassie’s eyes are wide as she begs for my support. It could be that she wants my help removing Dragon but it could also be that she’s just as set on her course as my bulldog is on his.
‘Oh I don’t know, Cassie,’ I say as I take hold of Dragon from behind and try to extricate him from my neighbour. His movements are so powerful that the three of us are soon bouncing back and fore and I start to laugh at how ridiculous the situation is. We must look like we’re taking part in some weird human-dog conga.
‘Please?’ Cassie gasps as Dragon loses traction and his back feet slip on the kitchen floor. He grunts and scrabbles to regain the advantage. ‘For me?’
I manage to free my friend from my dog then I open the back door and send Dragon out into the sunshine with a tap on his bottom. When I look behind me, Cassie is prostrate on the floor, her face red and sweaty and her lipstick smudged. She grins at me as I take her hand and haul her up.
‘Okay then!’ I force out through my laughter.
‘You’ll do it?’ She gets to her feet and hugs me. ‘I am so grateful, darling! You won’t regret this, I promise.’
‘I hope not,’ I say as I tear off a piece of kitchen roll and clean away the lipstick from Cassie’s chin.
‘I’m off to choose an outfit but I’ll be back later to check that we don’t clash!’ She pecks my cheek then dashes off through the garden and I am left standing at the sink. I plunge my hands in the bowl of soapy warm water and start washing the breakfast things.
I cannot believe what I have just agreed to do.
I am going on a double date.
For the first time in years, I need to get ready to have dinner with a man I’m not married to. The thought is at once thrilling yet disconcerting. Vlad evidently likes Cassie but she’s unaware of it and has hopes for a romance with his gym buddy. I could help her to get to know both men and decide which one she should date properly. Of course, I could be wrong about Vlad. I mean, I hardly know the man and he might not be her Mr Right, but if we don’t go, she’ll never find out.
Evan’s face flashes through my mind as I rinse a glass and for some strange reason I feel a prickle of guilt, as if I’m betraying him by even thinking of going on a date. But it’s silly, we’re not together and haven’t been for ages. I mean, I’ve been married to another man since then.
As I dry my hands, I realise that I’m not actually sure that I could flirt with another man, let alone kiss one or do more. It’s like riding a bicycle, so I’ve heard, but I never was that good at cycling; I don’t have the best sense of balance.
Something brushes my naked foot and as I look down, I see a small black cricket hopping across the floor. I grab a glass and place it over the creature, careful not to catch its legs beneath the rim. As I watch it wriggling around in the confined space, it reminds me of my own situation. I do the same things week in, week out, chasing around in circles, not getting anywhere except for older. I have beautiful children, I have a lovely home, I have relatively good relationships with my two ex-husbands and I have a few close friends. Yet life is passing me by and time waits for no woman.
Perhaps it is time to do something for myself, to have a little fun, to play matchmaker for my dearest friend who seems unable to find a decent man herself even when there’s one right under her nose.
****
So I’m ready. At least, I think I’m ready. I’m wearing black; black trousers and a black camisole top under a black chiffon blouse, which falls to mid-thigh. I feel sick and shaky as I step into my black heels and my legs tremble. This is ridiculous. I’m too old for this. I dress smartly for work but I don’t try to look attractive. I can’t recall the last time I actually consciously thought about trying to make myself look alluring. Smart and presentable, yes, but I’m not out to bag a man so I tidy myself up then focus on my children. This makes me feel strange, reminds me of dressing up to go on dates with Evan all those years ago. I used to make such an effort for him. Of course, that changed once I’d had Janis and had no time to spend on my appearance any more. Not that he was around much to notice anyway in the later days of our marriage.