is loud and lively. I’ve put the meat and multiple vegetables in bowls on the table so everyone can help themselves. There is the inevitable hassle when Lily says she’d rather die than eat peas but I put them on her plate anyway. Again, Abi entertains us all. This time with stories about famous people she’s met and interviewed. Her stories are hilarious, informative and sometimes risqué. The girls – giddier than ever because they have both Tanya and Abi to play to – are near hysterical when she tells them she’s met Selena Gomez. They squeal at a constant, high pitch and, for fun, I join in. Ben jokily covers his ears and yells at us all to shut up. ‘I can’t hear myself think.’
Quick as a flash I say, ‘You think with your head? Wow, you are quite a special man.’ This gets a big laugh from Abi and Tanya, the girls too, although they probably didn’t even hear the joke, let alone understand it.
Smiling, Ben turns to Liam and bemoans the fact they’re outnumbered. ‘More than ever. We’re going to need to get soundproofing.’
‘You can’t say that,’ says Liam with a distinct note of embarrassment. ‘You two are so politically incorrect.’ He can be an outspoken kid and his opinions are generally quite well researched but normally he keeps his discussions and deliberations for the college debating society; today he seems to want to peacock in front of Tanya.
‘Can’t say what?’ asks Ben, genuinely mystified.
‘Mum can’t say that men think with their . . . ’ he glances at his sisters, who are hanging off his every word. He corrects himself. ‘She can’t say men think with anything other than their heads. It’s sexist.’
‘It was a joke,’ I say, still giggling. Quite pleased with myself.
‘It’s a cliché,’ replies Liam. ‘What are you saying? All men are dumb, led by instinct rather than intellect. Clichés always lead to sexism.’
I sigh because this may be true but it’s so damned sad. ‘Clichés used to lead to jokes, I’m pretty sure of it. We used to be better at laughing at ourselves,’ I comment, defensively.
‘Sexist jokes. I’m surprised at you, Mum.’ Teens do have occasional forays into bouts of self-righteousness. Normally, I ride them out. Today, I wish Liam hadn’t decided to so abruptly change the atmosphere. We were having fun. I pick up the tureen that still has some roast potatoes left in it and offer them to him – he can usually be side-tracked by roast potatoes, but he shakes his head impatiently. ‘And Dad, you’re no better, implying that women are nothing but pointless chatter and noise.’
Ben looks horrified. ‘Mate, I’m pretty sure that’s not what I said.’
‘The thing about soundproofing.’
‘I’m not being sexist. I’m being accurate.’ Ben winks at me and I throw a balled-up napkin at him. ‘The women in our family are more garrulous and the men more circumspect, on the whole.’ Although not right now. Liam seems determined to make his point. Ben is walking the thin line of taking him seriously and yet fuelling the debate that would be better closed down. ‘We work in a world full of clichés and assumptions but there’s nothing wrong with that. Those things are stabilising, helpful. We need to be able to categorise and order,’ adds Ben.
Liam shrugs because he can’t bring himself to agree. He’s too young for such heavy-handed certainty. He still sees nuance and complication everywhere. His world is delightfully in flux. ‘I bet you never relied on cliché, Abigail, when you were interviewing and stuff,’ Liam declares. I smile inwardly. He may be feeling argumentative with his parents but he’s remembered to be polite to our guest.
‘I’m sure I’m guilty of slipping one in on several occasions,’ admits Abi, diplomatically.
‘Abi used to be a TV presenter in the States,’ I explain to Tanya, in case Liam hasn’t told her.
‘Less of the past tense, if you please,’ says Abi. I can hear that she’s trying to sound amused but isn’t.
‘Oh, sorry,’ I mutter, colouring.
‘You’ve gone red,’ Imogen points out, unnecessarily.
‘It makes the stripe in your hair look totally and absolutely white,’ declares Lily. I want to kill her.
Instead I run my fingers through my hair and try to sound unconcerned. ‘I meant to pick up a kit yesterday when I was in town but work was hectic; I only got a thirty-minute lunch break.’
‘A kit?’ asks Abi. Then she understands. ‘Oh. Wow. Do you dye your own hair?’ Her tone is incredulous. I’m embarrassed but maybe my expression comes across as one of irritation because Abi quickly changes her tone. ‘Oh my God, that is so impressive. I honestly thought you must pay a fortune in some fancy salon. You look amazing.’
I do not enjoy the process of dying my hair. I don’t like the smell or the waiting around, plus I’d like to be the sort of woman who can afford to go to a salon for the job, but mostly I feel cheated that I’m already turning grey, even though I’m still in my thirties. It doesn’t seem right. Grey hair is for grandmas and I am nowhere near that stage. No rush at all. I’ve no desire to age gracefully; I do what I can to push back the inevitable.
Tanya, bless her, picks up the conversation. She asks the girls which is their favourite Disney song. Soon, everyone joins in. My grey hair and home dye kits are forgotten as people shout out, ‘Let it Go,’ ‘A Whole New World’, ‘Circle of Life’.
The rest of the lunch passes without incident. My sore head is easing but probably only because I’ve had two glasses of wine.
‘A Sunday roast: just what the doctor ordered,’ comments Abi as she puts her knife and fork together and leans back in her chair. This is the first hint she’s given that she might have been even a tiny bit hungover; I’m in awe, she’s superwoman. She’s the last to finish – she had the most stories to tell and besides, she eats the tiniest bites. Lily and Imogen have been waiting patiently, nailed to their seats through years of training that you can’t leave the table until everyone finishes. Lily immediately seizes the opportunity to hop down from her seat and climb on Liam’s lap. I see Tanya melt when he wraps his big arms around his tiny sprite of a sister. Lily likes sitting on his knee because when the adult conversation gets too boring for her to follow, but she doesn’t feel ready to slink off on her own, he keeps her amused by whispering in her ears. Silly jokes and sounds that send her off into peals of giggles.
‘I was wondering, how long are you staying, Abigail?’ Ben’s question is shot over the clatter of my gathering up the used plates. I shoot him a quick look of reproach, one I hope he sees but no one else does. He doesn’t catch it because he’s determined not to; he’s staring at Abi, not me. He’s smiling. He looks affable enough. There’s only me who would know he’s asking her to pack her bags. I get it. I know what he’s thinking – it’s been a fun weekend but tomorrow is Monday, we should get back to being normal. ‘We have a busy week ahead of us,’ he adds, as though it’s a simple observation.
Abi smiles – if she’s picked up on his hint, she doesn’t seem bothered by it. ‘Really? What’s going down?’
Ben must have checked the family calendar before we sat down to eat because he rattles off our commitments with impressive confidence. ‘It’s Imogen’s Brownie investiture.’ Abi pulls her face into a picture of awe to show she’s impressed, Immie beams back, thrilled to be centre of attention. ‘Lily has a school trip to a working farm and Mel is a parent
