have to take the chance, Susie. This may be my last shot,’ he said, his colour rising rapidly.
Susie shook her head, not picking up on the cheap joke, the laughter not abating. If anything she was laughing harder, tears rolling down her face. ‘Oh, Robert,’ she said, opening the front door for him. ‘Best you go and have a baby then. Take care.’
Robert stood for a second or two, looking bemused. ‘Look, Susie – you have to understand. It’s just that we want different things.’
She stared at him. ‘How was I supposed to know that?’ she said.
As he moved she noticed the last of the sunlight glinting on his bald patch. He looked uncomfortable and pained. ‘I’m sorry, Susie. I didn’t want to hurt you,’ he said, as if that made it all right.
‘Too late,’ Susie said, guiding him back towards the door.
‘I’ll ring, maybe we could talk, maybe I could pop over later in the week?’
‘Please don’t bother on my account,’ she said, closing the door behind him. There was a fragile silence and then the tears that had come with the laughter turned into great, wailing, miserable sobs; sobs that consumed her whole; sobs so huge that she could barely breathe. Bastard. The bastard.
Jesus Christ, how could she have been so totally stupid, so totally blind? Susie sat down on the bottom of the stairs feeling so many things, some of which she hadn’t got a name for – and then, very slowly, the kitchen door opened.
‘Mum? You okay?’ asked Jack, peering round the door.
‘No, not really, but I will be, just give me a minute or two,’ she said, backhanding the tears away.
He sat down beside her and put his arm around her, gently. ‘You want to tell me about it?’ he said, handing her half a dozen squares of kitchen roll.
Susie shook her head, infinitely touched by his gentleness and concern. ‘This isn’t how it works, I’m the grown-up here. I’m supposed to look after you,’ she said, between sobs.
He leant closer. ‘In that case, is it all right if I have some of that casserole, only it smells wonderful? And the veggies are done. The pinger just went – I’ve switched them off. Do you want to come in here and Delia or shall I?’
It was a horrible, long, long night. Susie slept fitfully, and when she slept she dreamt she had been jilted by a grumpy bald taxi driver who had driven over from Italy. He left the meter running. Delia was there. She’d brought along a large box of homemade biscuits and a twice-baked lemon soufflé; they ate it over coffee, sitting on the flat-pack boxes in the spare bedroom. The great secret for a successful soufflé, apparently, was to fold the ingredients into the egg whites, never beating them, and to use a spotlessly clean bowl. Susie had to pay the taxi driver with a cheque.
In the post the next morning was a catalogue full of really useful things for the more mature shopper, things to help pick your socks up off the floor with a clawed pincer on the end, an A4 plastic magnifying sheet for reading newspapers and one of those big single faux suede slippers, modelled by a blonde thirty-five-year-old in a bri-nylon floral housecoat. Jack was thumbing through it when Susie came downstairs to the kitchen, feeling like hell.
Outside in the back garden, the trellis, the terrace and most of the bay hedge was festooned with socks, tee shirts and underpants. It looked like the bunting for an orgy.
‘Someone’s been busy,’ said Susie, settling herself into a chair by the kitchen table. She felt tired and frail and headachy, as if she was sickening for something. Her eyes had puffed up like doughnuts from a combination of sleeplessness and crying. She made an effort to corral her thoughts, not letting them stray anywhere near the sore, turbulent wilderness that threatened to engulf her. ‘Had you not thought of using the washing line?’ she asked.
Jack looked up at her; he had a mouth full of breakfast cereal and was currently shovelling more out of a blue and white striped pudding basin. ‘Uh?’
‘The washing line? The rotary thing.’
‘I couldn’t fathom out how to work it.’ He jabbed with his spoon towards the catalogue. ‘You know, there is some really cool stuff in here, there are these things that hold bin bags open for garden rubbish, solar-powered rocks – and then there’s this springy stainless-steel nipper for opening jars, looks like some sort of weapon from Star Wars. Cool.’ He mimed frisbeeing the jar opener across the room with accompanying space noises before turning the page on to the insect-shaped boot scraper and shoe jack selection. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’
‘Probably best not to ask.’ Optimistically, Susie leant over and picked up the teapot from the table. It was cold and empty; across the kitchen Jack’s tea bag lay resplendent on the top of the cooker in a little venal bleed of tannin.
‘And I couldn’t find the pegs either.’
‘Your father would be so proud. Now, would you like to tell me what your plans are?’ she said, pointedly setting the little enamel bucket marked pegs onto the table alongside him.
‘I have to have plans?’ Jack asked, looking at her. ‘The love of my life has given me the old heave-ho, sublet my home and sent all my stuff to Oxfam; I’ve just walked out of a job I loved, I’ve got nowhere to live and I’m supposed to have plans?’
‘Uh-huh,’ said Susie, while refilling the kettle and prising open the biscuit tin. ‘Life’s a bitch, and anyway you told me you’d come home to do a presentation.’
‘Well, I have – walking out of my job was more of a metaphor for the general chaos and hopelessness in my life at the moment. Ellie’s always saying how much pressure it puts on our relationship, what with me travelling, never being there for her, and money is always an issue. Her dad was the same when she was a kid, and she keeps saying she doesn’t want to end up like her mum. I can see her point, although I haven’t got a woman in every port like Simon. I was thinking maybe I ought to jack it in – get a proper job, there’s plenty of work in Cambridge, maybe take up a career in telesales, or maybe I could stay around here for a while?’
Susie stared at him. ‘In which reality would that be?’
‘God, you’re a hard woman,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d understand – you’re my mother, you’re supposed to love me unconditionally, help me out in times of need and not be offended or hurt that I only ring you when I want something.’
Susie shook her head. ‘See, this is why I always tell people, read the small print,’ she said, handing him the biscuit tin. ‘And why on earth didn’t you go to your dad’s last night? He lives a lot closer to the university than coming all the way out here.’
There was a short, weighed pause as Jack sorted through the Rich Tea to find the last chocolate digestive. ‘He’s a hard man,’ said Jack.
‘He’s a complete pussycat; he just won’t take any crap. And he most certainly wouldn’t have paid for your sodding taxi,’ said Susie as she opened the fridge.
‘He’s on holiday,’ said Jack.
Susie lifted an eyebrow.
