Katy Regan - The One Before The One

‘So just take a moment to relax. A few deep breaths. Would you like me to call you back?’

‘No, I’m fine. I want to talk about this now.’

‘Okay, all right.’ (Dramatic sigh.) ‘The thing is, honey, Lex is … how can I put it … “at sea” at the moment. She’s in a transitional phase, there’s a lot of inner conflict. She’s been off the rails recently, raging against the world. All the normal teenage stuff, but also some sadness, some searching; her mum and I feel, some un-met needs.’

I hold the receiver away from my mouth for a second and swear, silently and enthusiastically to the heavens.

‘Dad, do you think I could have this in plain English please?’

‘Basically, she’s decided …’ (sigh) ‘Lex has decided she doesn’t want to go back to sixth form next year and finish her A levels.’

Well, that’s a relief. By the way he was carrying on, you’d think she’d signed up for a sex change.

‘Basically, she dropped out of school last month, been moping around the house ever since, lots of tears, very hostile. As you can imagine, her mother and I are very concerned and we thought – well, actually it was Lexi’s idea – that she’d really benefit from spending some time with you. You lead such a stimulating life down there in London.’

‘Do I?’

‘And you’ve always been so driven, such an achiever, Caro, done your A Levels, gone to university. Always done everything so right. You’d be a great role model for Lex, who needs some direction right now, so I invite you to take this opportunity, Caro. Cass and I invite you—’

‘Stop inviting me, Dad,’ I interrupted, ‘it’s not a bloody party.’

He makes this noise, and I know he’s tapping manically at his forehead, which he does when he’s stressed.

‘I guess what I’m trying to say is, can you talk to her? Please, darling? She’s mighty upset about something, and something’s happened for her to just drop out of school, of life, like this …’

‘Probably just boyfriend trouble, Dad. She’s seventeen, these things often seem like the end of the world …’ (Like I knew anything.)

‘Ah, but it’s not. You’re wrong there, because …’

There’s an enormous racket as Lexi thumps down the stairs.

‘Look, she’s here now.’

‘I know, and I’ll talk to her in a minute, but just … Will you do this one thing for me, Caro? Will you talk to your sister? Her mother and I just don’t want to see her throwing her life away like this. It would give you a chance to get to know her better, besides anything else, and she’s a good kid, a great kid.’

Why was he talking like he was in an episode of The Waltons all of a sudden?

‘I will, Dad, okay? Course I will. Anyway, here she is …’

I hold out the receiver.

‘It’s Dad,’ I say. ‘I think you should talk to him.’

Lexi’s on the phone for ages. She sits, curled up like a cat, in a puddle of evening sun by the window, fiddling with the phone cord. I watch her as she talks, and I have to admit she’s very pretty. She has thick, dark hair, painstakingly styled ‘bedhead', a neat, snub nose – her mum’s nose, not the sizeable Steele honk I inherited, and then those eyes, wide-spaced, chocolate-dark, a flick of black eyeliner accentuating their feline quality, and framed by slightly too bushy eyebrows, which give her a naturally exotic look, like she might look ridiculous in too much make-up.

She talks to Dad for ages. At first there are the usual sullen grunts and rolls of the eyes and a ‘Yeah, all right, Dad, don’t give yourself a nosebleed about it.’

But then her voice becomes much quieter and softer and when I next look, a big fat tear is rolling down her face.

‘I know that, Dad,’ she’s saying. ‘I know it’s coz you care … Course I’d tell you if there was something. You know I tell you everything …’

Liar, I think. Girls don’t tell their dads any thing. At least, I didn’t, but then, that’s probably because Dad was always doing the talking.

‘But there isn’t, I promise,’ she carries on, wiping her nose on the palm of her hand, and something, despite myself, squeezes my heart. Even if this was just boyfriend trouble she was gutted, really upset – and she’d dropped out of sixth form. It must be serious.

Eventually, she says, ‘I will. I miss you, too. Yep, love you too.’ Then she hangs up and looks at me, mascara running down her cheeks. ‘God, look at the state of me,’ she says, laughing through the tears. ‘What sort of total minger must I look now?’

‘Wanna talk about it?’

I’m sitting down beside her now.

‘No. Honest. I’m all right.’

‘Sure?’ I nudge her with my elbow. ‘I might be able to help, you know. Especially since I am such an exceedingly sensible, level-headed and mature person.’

Lexi looks at me in my wedding dress.

‘Yeah, right!’ She laughs. ‘I used to think you were – now I’m not so sure.’ There’s a pause.

‘Anyway,’ I say, eventually, putting my hand on her knee. ‘We’ll sort this out, yeah? Me and you, whatever it is, we’ll get you back on track.’

‘Okay.’ She sniffs. ‘Thanks. You’re very nice to me.’

‘Oh, I know – my benevolence knows no bounds.’

‘I’ll be okay,’ she says. ‘I just need some time out of Doncaster, to be honest, some time away.’

Then she leans her head back on the radiator and studies me, her dark eyes still glassy from crying.

‘And d’you know what?’ she says, absentmindedly stroking the fabric of my wedding dress. ‘It’s all right to get dumped. We all get dumped. Carly’s just been dumped, so it doesn’t make you a freak.’

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

* * *

It’s only when Lexi’s in bed that I do what I’ve been dying to do all day. I sit back on my pillows, take my notebook – all perfect in its lovely, stripy hardness – out of my bedside-table drawer and I begin, asterisking new items.

To Do:

MINOR

*Make something with Quinoa

Pluck eyebrows

Get spare room painted

Sort out photo albums (buy photo corners)

*Get drippy tap fixed

Get involved in local culture: this coming weekend: installation by interesting sounding German artist at The Pump House Gallery. (Toby to come? Impossible. Shona and Paul? Possible. Martin? Pretty much a cert. Call him tomorrow.)

Learn how to use i-pod that have now had since Christmas. Just do it!!

*Do 3 x 12 squats and 3 x 12 sit ups before bed (start tomorrow)

MAJOR

Incorporate two hours of admin into every weekend. No excuse!

Every day, do something for self and de-stressing, even if just breathing (alone, concentrating on, rather than just breathing breathing.) for ten minutes. Work: Step things up a gear. Seal deal on two new clients per week.

*FIND OUT WHAT’S WRONG WITH LEXI ASAP!!! Fix it. Then send her back to Doncaster asap.

Was only joking about that last bit … Kind of.

I should say that when I say my ‘sister’ I actually mean half-sister. Lexi was born when I was fifteen – which makes her seventeen now – about seven months after Dad moved in with Cassandra, which means he must have got her up the duff whilst he was living with Mum. My mother never lets me forget that.

I remember the day she was born – 12 September 1991. It was a Thursday morning, a school morning, and Mum was putting a load of washing on. Mum was forever putting a load of washing on, back then, especially after Dad left. It was ridiculous; she was either stuffing it into the machine or hanging it out, like some manic, nervous tick, which I now realize it was.