Rebecca Smith - More Than Just Mum

4. I am scared. I am scared that I am going to disappear completely. Just another forty-something woman with a list of predictable and unimaginative titles. Wife. Mother. Teacher. Daughter. Friend. And I love that I am all of those things and I try not to take them for granted – but they aren’t exactly unique. They aren’t the sum total of who I thought I would be.

The facts are irrefutable. I need to work. I want to work. But I don’t want to lose my soul in the process. Which means that it might be time to begin a whole new chapter of my life. A chapter where I get to play the starring role for a change.

I clamber into bed and spoon into Nick’s back, feeling a frisson of excitement. I will find something that allows me to explore my own interests and challenges me and reminds me that I am more than just a forty-three-year-old wife and mother with a part-time job. And I will be a fabulous role model for Dylan, Scarlet and Benji and they will all see me with new eyes and respect me as Hannah, not just Mum.

And while I am pushing my boundaries and learning new things about myself, and exploring my hidden talents, I will also make a shitload of money and everything will be great.

I drift off to sleep feeling more content than I have done in ages. This is going to be the start of a whole new me.

I look again at the computer screen and try to resist the urge to throw it onto the floor. Surely there must be some kind of mistake? This can’t actually be right; the figures just don’t add up.

Sighing, I press the back arrow and go back to the start of the online form.

‘Maybe we entered the details in the wrong place,’ I say to Nick, who is sitting next to me and looking as stressed as I feel. ‘Let’s do it again, really slowly this time.’

‘We must have done,’ agrees Nick. ‘That amount of money isn’t enough to feed a newborn baby, never mind a teenage boy.’

We both lean forward and read the instructions on the screen for the student finance calculator. Behind us, Dylan cranes over our shoulders.

When does your course start?

That’s easy. I click the option for this September and move onto the next page.

What type of student are you?

‘A lazy one?’ suggests Nick. ‘A student who needs to get a job?’

‘Hey!’ protests Dylan. ‘I have a job, thanks very much. And I’d like to see you dealing with stupid customers who are asking you for the gazillionth time if they can have an item for free when it won’t scan through the till.’

‘He’s going to be a full-time UK student,’ I say, clicking the box. ‘Next question.’

How much are your tuition fees per year?

‘Too much,’ snaps Nick. ‘Honestly, is he really going to be getting nine grand’s worth of education? I don’t think so!’ He turns to me. ‘We spent most of our time either in bed or in the student bar, remember?’

‘You might have done,’ I reply, primly. ‘I seem to recall that I attended virtually every lecture and handed in every assignment on time and took my higher education incredibly seriously.’

Nick laughs. ‘In what alternate universe? You were as slack as I was, Hannah – don’t try to rewrite history!’

I pause, thinking back to my student days. ‘I do remember a fair bit of shopping for clothes,’ I say. ‘And nights out. And afternoon naps to recover from the nights out. And sitting around watching kids’ television – we seemed to do a lot of that.’

‘Well, it isn’t like that now,’ Dylan tells us. ‘Not now we’re all going to be leaving university with sixty grand’s worth of debt.’

I pale. ‘We bought our first house for sixty thousand pounds.’

‘I’m not going to be wasting time watching television and partying, am I?’ Our son is sounding suspiciously sanctimonious. ‘Oh no. It’s not like the olden days, you know. Back in the nineties, you guys had it made. Everything cost five pence and there were no pressures. Not like it is for us.’

‘Less of the olden days,’ grunts Nick. ‘And we had our fair share of pressure.’

Dylan smirks. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘Anyway,’ I say, getting their attention back to the task at hand. ‘Can we just get on with this, please? I do have things to be doing today, other than freaking out about how we’re going to afford for you to ever leave home.’

Where will you live while studying?

‘Who would choose to live with their parents?’ asks Dylan in disbelief, reading the options over my shoulder. ‘Surely that’s the entire point of going to uni in the first place? To get away from you lot.’

‘In that case, we can stop worrying,’ says Nick, his face brightening. ‘There’s plenty of things you can do in September, if leaving home is your main priority. You can join the army, or emigrate, or move in with Granny, or—’

‘He isn’t doing any of those things,’ I interject. ‘He’s going to university and he’s going to get a good degree and then he can get a decent job doing something that he loves and he’ll be able to afford to be an independent, fully functioning and worthwhile member of society who is capable of giving back to his community while also not forgetting that it was us who gave him such an excellent start in life and he therefore needs to spend every Christmas and holiday here at home with us and not with anyone else.’

Nick and Dylan stare at me as I stop for breath.

‘That’s asking quite a lot from a degree, Hannah,’ Nick tells me. ‘If it can do all that then maybe it is worth nine grand a year, after all.’

I click the correct option and we move on to the next page. And this is where my heart rate starts to race, because now we’re getting down to business.

What is your annual household income?