…?’
‘And so I logged into the router to see if anyone’s squatting on our connection and there wasn’t, but what there is is lots of visits to his Twitter and his Facebook and I was like, that’s a bit obsessive, Mum!’
Becky attempts to look calm. Blithe, she tells herself. Unruffled. Everything has to be weighed now. If Maisie asks Adam about Scott, any lie that she tells now will be easily unknotted. Something close to the truth is required.
‘He’s a guy I knew when I was younger. School days.’
‘He’s a sexy guy you used to know!’
‘Not my type.’
‘Why are you looking at him then?’
‘I was curious. He was one of those kids you wonder where he’ll end up. It’s a big bit of my job, taking real people and then making up endings. Sometimes I’ll think about someone I once knew and decide how their story ended and then look them up just to see if I was right.’
‘Oh my God, that’s so weird.’
‘I’m good at it!’
‘No, you need a better hobby than Facebook-stalking people to see if you’re good at making up stories.’
‘Fine. Get me a basketball for my birthday.’
Maisie looks up. ‘I actually thought for a moment you might be thinking of going on a date. And I was like … good! At last.’
‘I’m not against dating. I’m just really busy.’
‘Yeah, but soon all the women your age …’
‘My age? I’m only thirty-two!’
‘Yes, like I said, soon women your age are going to be getting married and having kids …’
‘Jumped the gun there, did I?’
‘Mum. You need to get in there before all the good ones get taken. Go on a date again.’
Maisie takes the plate of bread from her mum’s hands and kisses her cheek. ‘And don’t mess it all up by saying you’ve got a daughter. I know that’s a buzzkill. Get them hooked first, and then drop the clanger that is me.’
‘Begin with a lot of lying?’
‘That’s how online dating works! A lot of small lies, big exaggerations and some massive omissions, like: I’ve got a teenage daughter.’
‘And when I bring them over?’
‘Say I’m the maid.’
Becky laughs now, right from the gut. It feels like it has set off chemicals through her brain and soul.
‘I’m just saying, you don’t always need to be so honest from, like, the first minute.’
‘Thanks for the advice,’ Becky says. ‘You’re too wise.’
‘So.’ Maisie picks up a slice of bread and for a moment gets distracted by some sticky blackcurrants tumbling off the side. ‘I’ve given you excellent advice, cheered you up … quid pro quo.’
Becky knows exactly what’s coming and she can’t help it but she laughs again – all that confidence and persistence Maisie has. Armour against the bad things that will surely happen to her.
‘So can I go to the sleepover?’
‘Where is it?’ Becky leans against the kitchen cupboard and folds her arms, smiling.
‘Not far. Islington.’
‘Whose house?’
‘Jules’ house. Lily and Eva are going as well.’ Maisie is braiding a long section of hair now, eyes focused on her work and evading her mother’s searching gaze.
‘Is Jules a boy or a girl?’
‘He’s a boy from school.’
‘Is he someone’s boyfriend?’
‘Lily likes him.’
‘And who does Jules like?’
‘Oh my God. This isn’t healthy. You need to be dating.’
‘Don’t avoid the question.’
For a moment Maisie looks like she’s going to sulk like she used to when she was five or six. But perhaps sensing there is a battle still worth winning, she finds a way to let it go.
‘I think he likes me.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘I think Lily’s one of my best friends.’
‘Could be quite a complicated evening.’
‘Not really.’
‘Can we talk about drugs?’
‘I’m not selling you drugs. You have to stop asking me, Mum.’
‘Are you going to do drugs?’
‘Do you mean, when I’m trying to get another scholarship am I going to wreck my cerebellum for the sake of what the kids are calling “a high”?’
It’s not what Becky means. She wants to ask: Will anyone drug you? Will you lose your sense of who you are? What if you’re attacked? Will you be unsafe? Who will prey on you? But instead she says:
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll have some wine and maybe a smoke but that’s it. I’m not really up for getting expelled.’
Maisie’s school is beautiful to look at, expensive to attend, and prides itself on a newly strict drugs policy brought in after a sixth-former got caught dealing coke to fifth years. It is a red-brick and sandstone confection of buildings with soaring arches and narrow windows and turrets curled skyward, like an Oxford college. There are playing fields for rugby and hockey, where a fete is held every summer. Every day there are three hot options for lunch, three cold, plus an extensive salad bar including vegan, dairy-free and gluten-free choices. Maisie is there on a full scholarship and, even so, the annual bill for uniform and extracurricular classes and school trips leaves Becky swearing in disbelief and saying things she never thought would come out of her mouth, like ‘There has to be a cheaper way to play lacrosse.’
Becky always feels the gulf between her and other parents, but Maisie seems not to notice it.
The last time Becky went to a parents’ evening at the school, someone mistook her for a sixth-former and asked her for directions.
Ding, Siobhan: Brace, brace
‘Mum, can I? I’ll have my own room. Jules is going to sleep in a different room.’
‘I
