Kate Lawson - Mum’s the Word

‘Jack, will you please go?’ snapped Susie. Whatever Robert was going to say, the last thing she wanted was for it to be in front of her twenty-four-year-old son.

Jack pulled a face. ‘What?’

‘Please, Jack. Just go, will you?’

‘Sure,’ he said, looking hard done by. He started to get up. Slowly. Susie quelled a throwback impulse to smack his legs; couldn’t he see that he should make himself scarce? And quickly. Frustration and bewilderment bubbled up inside her. This wasn’t how she had anticipated this evening going at all .

‘And can you take all this with you?’ she said, waving at the heaving mass of washing.

‘I was going to put it in the machine,’ he protested.

‘ Now , please, Jack,’ she growled.

Reluctantly and still at a glacial speed, Jack picked the backpack up. As she turned her attention back to Robert, he sloped off towards the kitchen grumbling to himself.

He’d barely closed the kitchen door when Robert said, ‘Look, I’m sorry, Susie, there’s really no easy way to say this. The thing is – I’ve been thinking about this for some time now. What I really want is a family.’

‘What?’ It felt like the floor had fallen away. She reran the words in her head, trying to grasp what they meant, while Robert pressed on.

‘I’ve been mulling the idea over for a long time now, thinking that these feelings, my needs, would go away, but they haven’t. If anything they’ve got more intense. To be honest, I’ve been so depressed over the last few months, Susie. When we’ve been together I keep thinking to myself: Is this all there is, is this all there is to look forward to – is this my life ?’ he said glumly, lifting his hands to encompass him, her, her life, her home, her dog. ‘Susie, the truth is that what I really want is to settle down and have a family. I want to have a baby.’

She stared at him, struggling for breath, not sure whether to burst into tears or punch his lights out.

‘What do you mean “have a baby”?’ she said, finding her voice. ‘I’m forty-five, Robert, I’ve got a baby, I’ve got two grown-up babies.’ She waved towards the kitchen door where, by the sound of it, one of them was raiding the larder. ‘I’ve already done that, I’m too –’

And then the penny dropped. ‘You don’t mean with me, do you?’ she whispered. ‘You don’t want us to have a baby, do you?’

‘I have thought about it, but as you say, Susie, you’ve already done it. You don’t want to go back to that place – even if you could. And I mean, it isn’t that likely, is it? Not at your age – not that you’re that old but, you know, babies, all that falling fertility and everything.’

Susie stared at him, wondering if he had any idea what he was saying or how it made her feel.

Robert sighed. ‘I didn’t want it to be like this, Susie, really I didn’t – I thought it would go away.’

‘Robert, you’re nearly forty-seven.’

‘I know, that’s the whole point. I keep thinking that if I don’t have children soon I’m never going to have them. And I’d like more than one, probably two, possibly even three, and I’d really like to start having them before I’m fifty – I mean, after that I think you’re too old, don’t you?’

Please god he was being rhetorical, thought Susie, as she carried on staring, not certain what to say, all the words and thoughts and pain and anger and hurt and indignation and the downright ridiculousness of it all snarled like a motorway pile-up in the back of her throat.

And then, against all the odds, Susie started to laugh. It was a close-run thing as to who was more surprised, she or Robert, but as she laughed some more he stared at her in horror.

‘I don’t see why on earth you’re laughing, Susie. This isn’t funny, this is my future we’re talking about,’ he said indignantly.

She was laughing so hard now that she could barely breathe. ‘You’re right, Robert, this isn’t funny, it’s crazy. It’s madness. For a start you can’t just summon up a family, you need to find the right person,’ she said, struggling with a giggle.

‘I have to take the chance, Susie. This may be my last shot,’ he said, his colour rising rapidly.

Susie shook her head, not picking up on the cheap joke, the laughter not abating. If anything she was laughing harder, tears rolling down her face. ‘Oh, Robert,’ she said, opening the front door for him. ‘Best you go and have a baby then. Take care.’

Robert stood for a second or two, looking bemused. ‘Look, Susie – you have to understand. It’s just that we want different things.’

She stared at him. ‘How was I supposed to know that?’ she said.

As he moved she noticed the last of the sunlight glinting on his bald patch. He looked uncomfortable and pained. ‘I’m sorry, Susie. I didn’t want to hurt you,’ he said, as if that made it all right.

‘Too late,’ Susie said, guiding him back towards the door.

‘I’ll ring, maybe we could talk, maybe I could pop over later in the week?’

‘Please don’t bother on my account,’ she said, closing the door behind him. There was a fragile silence and then the tears that had come with the laughter turned into great, wailing, miserable sobs; sobs that consumed her whole; sobs so huge that she could barely breathe. Bastard. The bastard .

Jesus Christ, how could she have been so totally stupid, so totally blind? Susie sat down on the bottom of the stairs feeling so many things, some of which she hadn’t got a name for – and then, very slowly, the kitchen door opened.

‘Mum? You okay?’ asked Jack, peering round the door.

‘No, not really, but I will be, just give me a minute or two,’ she said, backhanding the tears away.

He sat down beside her and put his arm around her, gently. ‘You want to tell me about it?’ he said, handing her half a dozen squares of kitchen roll.

Susie shook her head, infinitely touched by his gentleness and concern. ‘This isn’t how it works, I’m the grown-up here. I’m supposed to look after you,’ she said, between sobs.

He leant closer. ‘In that case, is it all right if I have some of that casserole, only it smells wonderful? And the veggies are done. The pinger just went – I’ve switched them off. Do you want to come in here and Delia or shall I?’

Chapter 2

It was a horrible, long, long night. Susie slept fitfully, and when she slept she dreamt she had been jilted by a grumpy bald taxi driver who had driven over from Italy. He left the meter running. Delia was there. She’d brought along a large box of homemade biscuits and a twice-baked lemon soufflé; they ate it over coffee, sitting on the flat-pack boxes in the spare bedroom. The great secret for a successful soufflé, apparently, was to fold the ingredients into the egg whites, never beating them, and to use a spotlessly clean bowl. Susie had to pay the taxi driver with a cheque.

In the post the next morning was a catalogue full of really useful things for the more mature shopper, things to help pick your socks up off the floor with a clawed pincer on the end, an A4 plastic magnifying sheet for reading newspapers and one of those big single faux suede slippers, modelled by a blonde thirty-five-year-old in a bri-nylon floral housecoat. Jack was thumbing through it when Susie came downstairs to the kitchen, feeling like hell.

Outside in the back garden, the trellis, the terrace and most of the bay hedge was festooned with socks, tee shirts and underpants. It looked like the bunting for an orgy.

‘Someone’s been busy,’ said Susie, settling herself into a chair by the kitchen table. She felt tired and frail and headachy, as if she was sickening for something. Her eyes had puffed up like doughnuts from a combination of sleeplessness and crying. She made an effort to corral her thoughts, not letting them stray anywhere near the sore, turbulent wilderness that threatened to engulf her. ‘Had you not thought of using the washing line?’ she asked.