Clare Shaw - The Mother And Daughter Diaries

If I’m sick, it’s me who’s sick. No one else need throw up on my behalf.

As my mother waved and called ‘Coo-ee,’ my stomach churned. My chest heaved. My throat went into spasm. I headed for the house. Walls make me feel safer than the open air. Or canvas.

Later, I was sitting in the marquee feeling a little better. My mother skipped over, full of sympathy. Sympathy for herself because her daughter couldn’t perform any more—she had pulled a sickie.

She said, ‘You must be a doctor when you grow up and you must eat this bread. Then I will tell you what else you must do.’ Or words to that effect.

Anger hides round corners. If you listen carefully, you’ll hear it rumbling, swishing. Like lava surfacing. You feel your body tightening as it grips your muscles and tendons and seeps into your nervous system, and you become hot, steamy, rigid. You can’t keep it trapped inside, it will make its escape.

I pushed the plate away with too much force. I spoke with too much aggression. Then I sat back and let my mother turn my anger into guilt.

‘Sorry, I was only trying to help, I forgot you weren’t feeling well. I thought you’d want to meet that medical student. It’s your life, but I’m here to support you, and it’s just that you need to gather all the information you can. Talk to people, ask questions, and something will come up and you’ll think, Yes, that’s for me. But there’s no hurry, just keep all your options open.’

‘I just feel like…I don’t know.’

‘Go on.’

‘I feel pushed. Kind of.’

‘Well, it’s you pushing yourself most of the time. No one else is pushing you in any way. You’re completely wrong about this, you have nothing to be angry about. I simply don’t want you to have any regrets, that’s all. Regret can niggle you for the rest of your life.’

‘Sorry.’

‘That’s all right. No harm done. Here you are, you can have my bread.’

‘Can I go and play outside?’ asked Eliza. She had scoffed down her food like eating’s an Olympic event or something.

‘I don’t suppose children have to stay for the speeches, Eliza. Off you go then. Jo and I will be here if you need us.’

Ben walked past and winked at me. I smiled. Then I saw him wink at the girl in the pink chiffon dress.

The wedding party was sitting in a line like they were waiting for a bus or something. Victoria and her husband kept looking at each other. Uncle George and Auntie Sue kept looking at each other. The in-laws kept looking at each other. People seem to come in pairs, like book ends. Or shoes. One by one, the men in the line stood up to speak. The audience joined in with romantic sighs, laughter, applause. I saw myself sitting up there in a white dress. My mum and dad beside me. Eliza one of a pair of identical bridesmaids. Everyone in pairs. Perfect.

I miss being a complete family. Two parents. Two children. Two gerbils. I like everything neat and tidy. Life arranged to perfection.

The speeches were over and Mum was chatting to some random man. Middle-aged men in suits all smell the same. She picked a piece of fluff off his shoulder. She smoothed down her skirt. She pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. She said it was a nice tent. She said the mother-in-law’s hat looked like a pancake. She threw back her head and laughed. He laughed too. She said, ‘You have to laugh.’

I stood up and went over.

‘Ah, my daughter, Jo. This is Gordon.’

‘I don’t feel well.’

‘Do you want to go and lie down in the house? Uncle George won’t mind.’

‘I really, really don’t feel well.’

‘Oh, dear, let me think…’

‘I want to go home.’

The challenge. Who comes first?

‘I’ll catch you later.’ Gordon slunk off quietly.

We got into the car in a cloud of apologies. Apology and regret equals blame. We stopped at the end of the village.

‘Jo, if you’re feeling sick, perhaps you’d better swap with Eliza and sit in the front. It was your turn to sit in the front anyway.’

‘It’s all right. I’m feeling much better.’

‘But it was your turn.’

‘Get a life.’

There are different types of silences. There’s the easy, comfortable silence you share with friends. I can sit with my best friend, Scarlet. We can sit in silence like soaking in a warm bath. Then there’s solitary silence, but your own thoughts make it a noisy, frantic silence. The silence in the car was thick and heavy. Like wet concrete waiting to set into something solid. Eliza eased into the silence with soft humming. I thought my mother would slice through it with laughter. Or a shrug-of-the-shoulders remark. Instead, she made us sit in it. She turned on the radio. Radio Two. She hummed along. But too high-pitched.

When did I first feel I’d let my parents down?

I remember when I was six years old. It was our school sports day. I was entered in the sack race and the obstacle race. Lucy Button was better than me. On the day, I stayed at home. I told my mother I hated school. I never wanted to go again. Mum and Dad argued. Dad had taken the day off work. Mum liked to talk to the other mums. I was off reading schemes. I could read what I wanted and Mum liked to tell everyone.

After that, I practised running in a sack all year. I practised crawling under tarpaulins. I practised throwing a bean bag into a hoop. The next year I won both my races but Mum was in hospital, having Eliza. Dad was with her. When I got home, I had to go to the hospital. I saw that Eliza was ugly. I didn’t want her to live in our house. She had my mother’s name and I didn’t. I asked why. I said what about me?

I think Dad was on my side. I don’t know, but there was shouting, right there in the hospital. I had caused a rift be-tween my parents. So? They’d missed me winning my races. Life needed to be balanced like that. Neat and tidy. Ordered and fair.

When we got home from the wedding, I went straight to bed. I was still feeling shitty. That night I dreamt I was running along a winding path towards a big house. I knew I had to run through the house and get to the other side. I didn’t know why, I just knew it had to be done. I ran along corridors but kept coming across dead ends. Then I realised I had to go down some stone steps into a dark cellar. That way I would be able to run through the cellar, climb up some steps at the other end and get through the house. But I lost my way in the dark. Then I woke up and my stomach felt full. I felt like I had been stuffed with cotton wool like a teddy bear. My throat was dry. My forehead was hot. In the morning, Mum left warm toast and a mug of steaming tea on my bedside table. She told me to rest.

There were two weeks left before term started. Sixth form waited ahead like a mountain. Daunting, imposing, frightening. Somehow the wedding had changed things. Another mountain was in view. The future was too steep to climb.

I would make a list. A list limited the time ahead you had to think about. I would make a list of what I needed to do in the remaining two weeks. I got out my pad and pen and stared at the blank page. I didn’t like blank pages. They looked uncertain, open, ambiguous. I started to write, to cure the page of its emptiness, to cure the future of its uncertainty.

• Read through AS curriculums .

• File away GCSE work .

• Tidy desk drawers .

• Keep dream diary .

• Buy Screamhead’s new album .

• Mend puncture on bike .

• Collect photographs .

• Get a new boyfriend .

• Lose a stone .

• Phone Scarlet .

I decided to start at the end and work backwards. Maybe life should be like that. Start off as a crinkly with all that experience. Then feel yourself getting younger and fitter. Life would get better, not worse.