Darcie Boleyn - Something Old, Something New

I approach the offending pile, which steams mockingly in the cool morning air, for a closer inspection. I don’t want to do this but as the responsible adult of the house I have to. I mean, who else would do it? Who else would mow the grass, sort the recycling and take the rubbish out? I brush away the cloud of loneliness before it can engulf me. I’ve no time for self-pity, especially not today.

I hold my breath as I lean forwards.

Yes, there is indeed a long white stringy thing wound into the mocha swirl. But part of it is sticking out of the top and waving in the breeze. And… is that writing?

I glance around the garden, looking for a tool, something to probe the smelly pile with. Dragon watches me, his big pink tongue hanging out of his wide mouth as he dons his happy face. I hope he doesn’t think that this is a game. His stubby tail wiggles with excitement. I shoot him a warning glance. He raises his eyebrows in the way that only bulldogs can, then hurries off to sniff Fairy Princess’s behind.

So…

An abandoned lollipop stick on the step of the moss-covered plastic playhouse attracts my attention. That will be my weapon of choice.

I crouch next to the brown swirl of stinky matter, well aware that I will have to clean this up before the kids come out here, and assess how best to extract the worm. Or whatever it is masquerading as a worm. But worms don’t have writing on them, do they? So it’s not worms. I sigh with relief.

But then, if it’s not worms, what has my dog eaten?

I roll up my sleeves.

Here we go.

I wiggle the stick into Dragon’s waste and lift out the white material. Yes; it’s definitely paper, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s… ‘ Dragon! ’

He glances up from his rather intimate grooming of Fairy Princess and eyes the lollipop stick in my right hand. He knows. He knows damn well what he’s done.

He’s been eating my post again.

****

‘That’s just disgusting!’

I glance from the dirty lollipop stick to the horrified face of seventeen-year-old Janis. There’s no look as scornful as that of a teenage girl; they just have this way of combining venom with distaste in a way that can make even a grown man tremble. I’ve seen it firsthand, believe me. Take Mr Watford-Browning who used to be employed at the school where I work. That man – once the dynamic and enthusiastic Head of Art – turned to drink because of a group of girls who terrorised him during their time at high school. It’s not funny, not at all, but I see those girls around now and they’re all grown-up with children of their own; you wouldn’t think that they were once so mean. They tormented him on a daily basis until he locked himself in his cupboard. It culminated in him being prised out of there by the caretaker and a burly PE teacher during a fire drill. They couldn’t find him at first, then one of the girls confessed and the deputy head sent the two men in to find him. It was dreadfully sad to see the quivering wreck he’d become. I heard recently that he now has his own gallery in Camden and that he’s very successful. It gives me hope, that life can continue after teaching and that people can achieve their dreams, even if the road is a rocky one at times.

‘Mother!’ Janis snarls and I stiffen. I do wish that she wouldn’t call me Mother . It’s like being called by your full name, surname and all, in gym class. You know you’re not going to get off lightly and the humiliation is made worse by the fact that your jiggly pubescent thighs are encased in totally unflattering navy gym shorts. Painful. Degrading. Best left in the past.

‘Um… morning Janis. Nice to see you up so early.’

‘What do you mean early ?’

‘Well… it’s not even nine yet.’

Janis glances from me to the kitchen clock then back again.

‘That clock has stopped. Don’t you remember you were going to buy a new battery for it? It’s gone eleven.’

My heart speeds up and I feel last night’s Shiraz recycle in my veins. Oh no! Henry has a football match this morning and I promised I’d be there. I must have slept for longer than I realised. Sometimes my responsibilities overwhelm me and I live in fear of being found inadequate at the only thing I’ve ever really been good at: being a mum.

I peer at the poopy thread of letter hanging off the lollipop stick, then back at Janis.

Everything freezes for a fraction of a second. In that moment, I could change what is about to happen but I do not move. Why don’t I move? The fates are against me as time begins again, and Dragon and Fairy Princess bound over to the doorway, eager to beat each other to greet my daughter. In that stubborn bulldog way, they pay no heed to the fact that I’m in their path. Dragon knocks my legs from under me and I am hurled backwards, landing with a thump on my back.

I lie still, surprised and winded, staring into the sky, vaguely registering that slate-grey clouds are gathering like ominous puffs of smoke.

Can’t put the washing out today.

‘Mum?’ Janis appears at my side, leaning over me to look at my face. Her perfectly arched brows are knitted together above her beautiful green eyes. ‘Mum… are you okay?’

I blink at her, suddenly tearful at her change of tone. Mother has been replaced with Mum . She does still love me.

‘Mum, sit up.’

I do as she tells me, shaking my head to clear the fuzzy feeling. I can almost hear the cartoon birds twittering as they flutter around me. From the kitchen doorway, Dragon and Fairy Princess hang their heads guiltily, tongues dripping glutinous dog saliva over the wooden floor.

‘Oh Mum.’

‘What… what’s wrong, Janis?’

I peer around me, wondering if I’ve actually hurt myself but the shock has prevented me from feeling the pain.

I move cautiously, wiggling fingers and toes but nothing seems to be broken. Nothing hurts.

‘Mum you fell into the dog poo.’ Janis backs away from me, wrinkling her cute little nose and folding her arms over her chest.

The lollipop stick lies next to me, sticking up in the grass, and the paper waves free like some kind of soiled flag, held in place by one sticky end. I can just about make out two words that have survived a trip through Dragon’s digestive system.

Two words that will change my life forever.

Two words I once thought… hoped… I’d never read again.

Decree absolute.

Chapter Two

Bed Hop

My first thought on waking is that my divorce has been finalised.

It is over. Finished. My second marriage crumbled to dust.

Irreparable. Gone. Forever.

However many times you say it, in whatever way, it means the same thing.

I failed. Twice.

Of course, this wasn’t entirely my fault and the main reason we’re getting divorced now is because Dex intends to marry again, but growing up I never thought I’d be divorced once – let alone twice. In fact, I had no intention of getting married at all but life often holds a few surprises. I had such big dreams of travelling the world and being an acclaimed photographer, of attending swanky parties and winning awards for my work featured in National Geographic or the Sunday Times supplement. But none of it happened that way.

I think then of the invitation that’s sitting downstairs in my kitchen, an innocuous looking cream envelope with my name written on it in spidery calligraphy. I tucked it between a council tax bill and a reminder from the vet about the dogs’ boosters. Even though the invitation is out of sight, I know it’s there, a pregnant rectangle of card, an invitation to a wedding yes, but also to accept that yet again, my life is about to change. The wedding will be a clear sign that we’re all moving on, that we’re all being very mature and accepting about things, and that I’ve given Dex and Trevor my blessing. It will also, I suspect, bring Evan back to England and this thought makes my stomach flip.