Rebecca Smith - More Than Just Mum

I pull two pieces of paper towards me and once again look at the figures at the bottom of each page. Then I pick up my phone and for the third time today, add up our total salaries. Nick does the same and when we are agreed on the amount I type it onto the screen. We go through the remaining questions about dependents and additional income and then we arrive at the final page, which gives us two numbers. And despite the fact that I am crossing all my fingers and toes, it is the same two numbers that we had last time.

There is no mistake. Dylan will get a loan for his tuition fees, but his maintenance loan isn’t even enough to pay for his accommodation.

I drop my head into my hands.

‘How do they think kids are supposed to go to university when they literally can’t afford to eat?’ I moan. ‘It’s beyond ridiculous.’

‘They expect them to work,’ says Nick. ‘And they expect parents to pay up.’

‘I know I’ll need to get a job when I’m there,’ says Dylan, his voice quiet. ‘I’m not expecting you to give me any money.’

I look up at him and smile. ‘Of course we’ll help you out,’ I say. ‘But you’re right. You’re going to need to fund some of this too.’

There is silence for a moment as we all consider the facts. I’ve been talking to Nick about this for a few weeks, ever since Dylan firmed up his university place on UCAS and we could see how much his accommodation is going to cost. The deficit between income and outgoings is much bigger than I anticipated, though, and there’s no way that Dylan can find it all by himself.

‘Maybe he’ll fail his A Levels and won’t be able to go?’ suggests Nick eventually, trying to make his voice light.

‘I’m standing right here!’ Dylan tells him. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.’

Nick twists round and puts his hand on Dylan’s arm. ‘I’m kidding,’ he tells him. ‘You let us worry about the money and concentrate on passing those exams, okay?’

Dylan nods slowly. ‘The uni has got a Facebook page. I can probably use that to start figuring out where the best jobs are. That way I’ll be ahead of the rush when we all start.’

‘That sounds like a great idea,’ I say, forcing myself to smile. ‘And in the meantime, Dad and I will look at our budget and let you know how much we can give you each month.’

Dylan steps forward, giving me a quick hug before loping out of the room. His phone is already out of his pocket, his thumbs speeding over the screen.

‘Oh my god.’ I flop down onto the table as soon as he’s left the room. ‘This is a genuine, arsing disaster. Everything just seems to be going wrong at the moment.’

Although on the plus side, my lip has almost cleared up and the scarring appears to be minimal. Dr Google has reassuringly informed me that the numbness will almost certainly pass with time and at least I’m not going to have to find the money for plastic surgery, which is definitely something to celebrate.

‘Calm down,’ Nick says, standing up and moving across the kitchen. I watch as he fills the kettle and pulls two mugs off the shelf. In a crisis, we drink tea, just like the rest of the population of the British Isles. And if we’re out of tea then we just have to make do with wine. ‘It can’t be that bad.’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Were you even listening last week when I told you how much he needs for food and stuff? And that was before we knew how pathetically small his loan was going to be.’

Nick turns to face me, looking a bit sheepish. ‘Was that when I was watching Game of Thrones ?’ he asks. ‘Because you started talking just as it got to a good bit and there’s a remote possibility that I wasn’t listening.’

I glare at him. ‘Well, let me outline our financial situation once more, for those of you in the back who were too busy fantasizing about scantily clad women riding dragons.’ I stand up and rest my hands on the table. ‘We need to give Dylan at least three hundred pounds each month. Plus, in two years’ time, we’re going to have to do the same for Scarlet. And as it stands, I do not know where that extra money is coming from because we don’t have a secret stash of savings hidden under the bed and every time I think we might be able to put some money away, we seem to have a new disaster.’

I hold up my hand and count off on my fingers. ‘The car breaking down. The oven deciding that it didn’t feel like actually heating up. Dogger hurting her leg and needing the emergency vet, which cost us the equivalent of two week’s food shopping. The school trip that Benji needs to go on unless we want him to be the only child in his class who doesn’t attend.’

I pause for breath while Nick gawps at me. ‘Winter is coming, Nick,’ I tell him, as dramatically as I can. ‘Winter is coming and we don’t have any warm coats.’

There is silence while my husband digests my words.

‘Three hundred quid a month?’ he says eventually. ‘Are you sure?’

I nod and we stare at each other across the kitchen.

‘We’re going to have to rethink a few things around here then.’ He hands me a cup of tea, his fingers brushing against mine. ‘We knew that this day was coming, Hannah. You said it yourself a few weeks ago. We need to increase our earnings.’

He means my earnings, and he’s right. I need to earn a full-time wage.

I need a plan.

I spend days brainstorming ideas for a new career path, letting my mind explore the sensible, the wild and the downright obscure. On Saturday night, Benji has a sleepover at Logan’s house and Dylan is in his room watching god-knows-what on his laptop and talking to god-knows-who on his phone. Scarlet is diligently ploughing on with the ever-increasing amount of homework that she’s been given (I really think I might need to have a quiet word with her teachers; it’s unacceptable how much work that child is getting at the moment). So Nick and I have the kitchen to ourselves, which is a rare event. I’m intending to wait until after we’ve eaten to talk to him about my new plan, but just as we clear away the plates, my mobile pings with a text from Logan’s mum.

That’s her genuine contact name on my phone, along with Nina’s mum and Franco’s mum. And I am very aware that I don’t exist as Hannah in the lives of these people – I am Dylan/Scarlet/Benji’s mum, despite the fact that I have shared some of my most traumatic parenting situations with them while waiting in the school playground at the end of the day. We are all women who have been relegated to the status of ‘someone’s mum’ from the moment that our children started making friends with other kids.

Benji wants to come home. His teddy’s arm has fallen off & I think it’s upset him a bit x

‘Are you kidding me?’ I read the text aloud to Nick and we stare at each other for a moment. ‘Teddy’s arm?’

Nick shakes his head. ‘I sewed it back on after the last time. It must have come loose.’

I slam the dishwasher closed and wait for a second to hear the tell-tale gushing of water. A new dishwasher is not in my budget right now.

‘I think you’re missing the point,’ I tell Nick. ‘He’s going into Year Six in September and then he’ll be starting at Westhill Academy before we know it. How is he going to cope in a world of constant fights and drug-dealing and rampant sex when his teddy’s arm falling off sends him into a meltdown?’