After You

‘Lily’s choice.’ I wondered fleetingly if her arrival was some great joke and Dad was about to barrel in through my front door, laughing at what a great eejit I was, believing Josie would come anywhere by herself. I put a mug in front of her. ‘I don’t understand. Why did you come without Dad?’

She took a sip of the tea. ‘Oh, that’s lovely. You always did make the best cup of tea.’ She put it on the table, carefully sliding a paperback book under it first. ‘Well, I woke up this morning and I thought about all the things I had to do – put a wash on, clean the back windows, change Granddad’s bedding, buy toothpaste – and I just suddenly thought, Nope. I can’t do it. I’m not going to waste a glorious Saturday doing the same thing I’ve done for thirty years. I’m going to have an adventure.’

‘An adventure.’

‘So I thought we could go to a show.’

‘A show.’

‘Yes – a show. Louisa, have you turned into a parrot? Mrs Cousins from the insurance brokers says there’s a stall in Leicester Square where you can buy cheap tickets on the day for shows that aren’t full. I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.’

‘What about Treena?’

Mum waved a hand. ‘Oh, she was busy. So what do you say? Shall we go and see if we can get some tickets?’

‘I’ll have to tell Lily.’

‘Then go and tell her. I’ll finish my tea, you can do something with that hair of yours, and we’ll head off. I’ve got a one-day travelcard, you know! I might just hop on and off the Underground all day!’

We got half-price tickets to Billy Elliot. It was that or a Russian tragedy, and Mum said she’d been funny about Russians since someone had given her cold beetroot soup and tried to pretend that was how the Russians ate it.

She sat rapt beside me for the entire performance, nudging me and muttering at intervals, ‘I remember the actual miners’ strike, Louisa. It was very hard on those poor families. Margaret Thatcher! Do you remember her? Oh, she was a terrible woman. Always had a nice handbag, though.’ When the young Billy flew into the air, apparently fuelled by his ambitions, she wept quietly beside me, a fresh white handkerchief pressed to her nose.

I watched the boy’s dance teacher, Mrs Wilkinson, a woman whose ambitions had never lifted her beyond the confines of the town, and tried not to see anything of my own life. I was a woman with a job and a sort-of-boyfriend, sitting in a West End theatre on a Saturday afternoon. I totted these things up as if they were little victories against some foe I couldn’t quite identify.

We emerged into the afternoon light dazed and emotionally spent. ‘Right,’ said Mum, tucking her handbag firmly under her arm (some habits die hard). ‘Tea at a hotel. C’mon. We’ll make a day of it.’

We couldn’t get into any of the grand ones, but we found a nice hotel near Haymarket with a tea selection that Mum approved of. She asked for a table in the middle of the room and sat there remarking on every person who walked in, noting their dress, whether they looked like they came from ‘abroad’, their lack of wisdom in bringing small children, or little dogs that looked like rats.

‘Well, look at us!’ she would exclaim every now and then, when it grew quiet. ‘Isn’t this nice?’

We ordered English Breakfast tea (Mum: ‘That’s just posh for normal tea, yes? None of those weird flavours?’) and the ‘Afternoon Tea Fancy Plate’ and we ate tiny crustless sandwiches, little scones that weren’t as good as Mum made and cakes in gold foil. Mum talked for half an hour about Billy Elliot and how she thought we should all do this once a month or so and she bet that my father would love it if we could get him down here.

‘How is Dad?’

‘Oh, he’s fine. You know your father.’

I wanted to ask, but was too afraid. When I looked up, she was gazing at me a little beadily. ‘And no, Louisa, I am not doing my legs. And, no, he’s not happy. But there are more important things in life.’

‘What did he say about you coming here today?’

She snorted, and covered it up with a little coughing fit. ‘He didn’t believe I was going to. I told him about it when I brought him up his tea this morning, and he started to laugh, and if I’m honest with you it annoyed me so much I got dressed and I just went.’

My eyes widened. ‘You didn’t tell him?’

‘I already had told him. He’s been leaving messages on this phone thing all day, the eejit.’ She peered at the screen, then tucked it neatly back into her pocket.

I sat and watched her fork another little scone delicately onto her plate. She closed her eyes in pleasure as she took a bite. ‘This is just marvellous.’

I swallowed. ‘Mum, you’re not going to get divorced, are you?’

Her eyes shot open. ‘Divorced? I’m a good Catholic girl, Louisa. We don’t divorce. We just make our men suffer for all eternity!’

I paid the bill, and we disappeared to the Ladies, a cavernous room of walnut-coloured marble and expensive flowers, overseen by a silent attendant who stood by the basins. Mum washed her hands twice, thoroughly, then sniffed the various hand lotions lined up against the sink, pulling faces in the mirror depending on what she liked. ‘I shouldn’t say so, given my opposition to the patriarchy and all, but I do wish one of you girls had a nice man.’

‘I’ve met someone,’ I said, before I realized I’d said it.

She turned to me, a lotion bottle in her hand. ‘You haven’t!’

‘He’s a paramedic.’

‘Well, that’s smashing. A paramedic! That’s almost as useful as a plumber. So when are we going to meet him?’

I faltered. ‘Meet him? I’m not sure it’s …’

‘It’s what?’

‘Well. I mean, it’s early days. I’m not sure it’s that kind of –’

My mother unscrewed the lid of her lipstick and stared into the mirror. ‘It’s just for sex, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Mum!’ I glanced at the attendant.

‘Well, what are you saying?’

‘I’m not sure I’m ready for a real relationship just yet.’

‘Why? What else have you got going on? Those ovaries won’t go in the freezer, you know.’