The Mummyfesto (24 page)

I sat in the hairdressers looking at my watch every five minutes and feeling guilty about how much this was costing when we were denying the boys popcorn. I actually put one pound a week from my wages away for it in a special pot at home, like I was some kid saving for something special that I’d been gazing at longingly in a shop window.

‘OK, so it’s looking a bit wild,’ said the hairdresser, running her fingers through my mass of thick red curls as she smiled out from under her immaculate bob.

‘I know, good haircuts come but once a year and all that.’

‘What would you like me to do with it?’

‘Just a really good cut, something that will last. Quite a bit shorter. I’m in danger of starting to look like Rebekah Brooks.’ She smiled and led me over to the washbasins.

I edged my way down the cinema aisle in the dark, my eyes still trying to adjust from the bright sunlight outside. I could just make out Oscar’s powerchair at the end of the aisle in the front row.

‘I’m here,’ I whispered, tapping Rob on the shoulder. ‘They’ve said it’s OK to swap.’ He nodded, rummaged around on the floor for his bag, said goodbye to Oscar
and Zach, and crept out down the aisle. I sunk quickly into the still-warm seat, trying not to think about how ridiculous it was that this was as close as I seemed to get to Rob at the moment.

Zach immediately took hold of my hand and snuggled into me. Oscar was far too busy staring at the screen even to notice my arrival. The film pretty much washed over me. I had far too much to think about to be able to concentrate properly. I was vaguely aware of Hugh Grant’s voice, and I did have to try to explain at one point who Charles Darwin was, but I couldn’t have told you much about the plot except that it involved a dodo.

We headed out of the fire-exit doors and down the side alleyway, meeting the rest of the audience as they came down the steps at the front.

‘When I grow up,’ said Zach, ‘I want to be like Charles Darwin, discovering things about the world.’

‘That’s fantastic,’ I said. ‘You’d make a great discoverer.’

‘When I grow up,’ said Oscar, ‘I want to be a pirate. Can I be a pirate, Mummy? Do they have pirates in wheel-chairs?’

I looked down at him, his normal exuberance dented for a moment by the doubts.

‘Of course they do,’ I said. ‘You can be anything you like.’

My parents arrived shortly before teatime. Actually it was shortly before the time I’d told them we would be having tea. In truth I’d not even made a start on anything food-related,
having been waylaid by the need – and Oscar insisted it was a need – to build a pirate ship out of recycling containers and vegetable crates in the backyard.

‘Grandma and Grandad ahoy!’ shouted Oscar, looking through the rolled-up newspaper telescope I’d made him. It still felt weird hearing them described as such, even almost eight years on. I suspected they felt the same; they hadn’t even been keen on being called Mum and Dad, encouraging me to call them by their first names once I’d reached my teenage years. I’d never really taken to it though, and had reverted to Mum and Dad by the time I’d hit my twenties. It was weird enough when Rob called them Julian and Carole now. And I’d been adamant that my own children weren’t going to follow suit.

Zach put down his treasure chest and ran over to greet them, throwing himself against my mum’s legs.

‘Hello, gorgeous boy,’ she said, bending down to give him a hug. ‘What’s this you’ve built?’

‘It’s a pirate ship,’ shouted Oscar in a voice which suggested he couldn’t believe she hadn’t worked it out for herself.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, letting Zach lead her up for a closer look and to give Oscar a kiss.

‘Hi, Dad,’ I said, walking over to give him a hug. He was in his sixties now, but it didn’t seem like it. Which was just as well, as otherwise Rob would have thought to ask him to sit for him for his nude-pensioner thing. And I had a horrible feeling Dad would have said yes.

‘Hello, love,’ he said, brushing his unruly mass of grey hair back from his face. ‘How’s things?’

‘Oh, mad as ever, you know.’

He nodded. ‘When’s your launch?’

‘Wednesday.’

‘Bloody great timing,’ he said. ‘You couldn’t get a country more disillusioned with politics than we are right now.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘That’s what’s so scary. It feels like quite a responsibility.’

‘You’ll do a great job,’ he said. ‘You’re standing up for what you believe in. That’s what’ll set you apart.’

‘Thank you.’ I smiled at him, knowing I was lucky to have such supportive parents. Last I’d known, Anna hadn’t even told hers yet.

‘I’m hungry,’ called out Oscar. ‘What’s for tea?’

‘Pirate stew, if you carry on being that cheeky,’ I replied.

‘Why don’t I go in and give Mummy a hand?’ suggested Mum. ‘I’m sure you can find someone else to walk the plank.’

‘Grandad,’ shouted Oscar, ‘come and be fed to the crocodiles.’

‘He seems on good form,’ said Mum, as we made our way into the kitchen.

‘Yeah, as ever. I swear he runs on Duracell batteries sometimes.’

‘Only Zach’s the one with the copper-coloured top,’ she said.

I smiled and started rooting around in the kitchen cupboard for the big lasagne dish. Mum put the washing-up
gloves on and ran water into the bowl. She was good like that. Just got on and did stuff without being asked.

‘And how are you?’

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Well, crazy fine – you know how it is.’ She nodded slowly as she scrubbed one of the pans.

‘Are you sure you’re not taking too much on with this election thing?’

‘You sound like Rob.’

‘We care about you, that’s all. And I guess we both know that you’re already flat-out, just with work and the boys.’

‘I need to do it,’ I said. ‘Someone’s got to stand up for what’s right.’

‘But why should it be you?’

‘Said the woman who singlehandedly keeps Amnesty, Greenpeace and Friends of the Earth going.’

Mum turned to smile at me and put the pan she was washing back in the bowl.

‘Unlike you,’ she said, ‘I don’t have a job and two young children, one of whom needs an extraordinary amount of care.’

‘I’ll make sure Oscar doesn’t suffer because of this.’

‘I know you will, love. But in doing that you’re going to put even more strain on yourself.’

‘I’m OK. I can deal with it. It’s not a problem.’ The lasagne dish slipped through my hands and fell onto the quarry tiles. It smashed clean in half. I burst into tears. Big, proper tears. Mum took the washing-up gloves off and wrapped her arms around me. And for just a minute I wished I was a kid again. Wished she could make it all
go away. That I had nothing more to worry about than a grazed knee.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Let it all out. It needs to come out.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I sniffed. ‘Most of the time I’m OK and then some stupid little thing happens and …’ my voice trailed off.

‘You cope with so much,’ said Mum, stroking my hair. ‘And all the time you’ve got this smile on your face and I know there must be times when you don’t feel like smiling.’

‘Sometimes I want to shout and scream at people, “You don’t know what it’s like to have a child with SMA.” Only I don’t because it would be rude. And because I’m glad they don’t know what it’s like. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.’

‘You need to talk to someone, love.’

‘Who? I can’t talk to the staff at the hospice because they’re dealing with children who are far sicker than Oscar. Children who might not even see the week out. And it’s stupid because the one person I could talk to, who knows exactly what it’s like is Rob, only he doesn’t want to talk about it.’

‘Have you tried telling him how you feel?’

‘I can’t. He’s got his own way of coping with it which is to stick his head in the sand and pretend there’s nothing wrong with Oscar. That he really is just like any other kid. And if I tell him how I feel that will remind him that Oscar’s not like any other kid and I’m not sure he’s strong enough to cope with that.’

‘So you’ll both go on suffering in silence?’

‘I can’t see any other way. I can’t destroy Rob’s coping mechanism just so I can get things off my chest.’

‘Maybe you’d be doing him a favour. In the long run I mean.’ Mum looked down. She didn’t have to say anything more. I knew what she meant.

‘I’ve thought that sometimes, too. But I still can’t be sure it’s the right thing to do. What if he’s right? What if it’s best to just enjoy the here and now instead of worrying all the time like I do?’

Mum nodded and walked a few paces away to look out of the window where Oscar could be seen commanding the pirate ship and doing a very passable Captain Hook impression.

‘It’s daft isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Sometimes, just listening to him, it’s hard to believe there’s anything wrong with him.’

‘I know.’

‘Why don’t you try to get some respite care?’ said Mum. ‘Even if it’s only for a night or two. I’m sure it would do you all the power of good.’

I shook my head. ‘There are so many families worse off than us, Mum. Families who really need those places. We’re OK. It’s tough but we can get through this.’

‘What about you and Rob? About the strain this must be putting on you.’

I shrugged. ‘We’ll be all right.’

‘You still need to be a couple as well, you know. Instead of always being Oscar and Zach’s mum and dad.’

‘I know. And I really appreciate tonight.’ I glanced up at the clock then looked down at the broken lasagne dish which was still lying on the floor. I felt like crying again. My face must have shown it.

‘We’ll do spaghetti,’ Mum said, picking the pieces up and putting them on the kitchen counter. ‘The boys love it and it’ll be ready in ten minutes.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, rummaging in the cupboard for a jar of pasta sauce and wondering how the hell I was going to stand for parliament when I couldn’t even manage to get a decent meal ready on time. ‘Sorry about all this.’

Mum turned to face me. ‘No one will remember the lasagne you didn’t cook,’ she said. ‘What they’ll remember is the love you always showed them.’

I’d quite forgotten how good Rob looked in a suit. Well, not a suit exactly, he had a pathological aversion to ties, but a smart shirt and trousers at least.

‘Hey,’ I said, sidling up to him before the guests arrived. ‘You scrubbed up pretty well. I can’t even see any paint in your hair.’

‘Cheers,’ grinned Rob. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’

I glanced down. I had my one posh frock on: a brown-and-gold silk number from Monsoon. I’d got it for a wedding years ago and had only worn it half a dozen times since.

‘Why, thank you. Had to make an effort to look my best, didn’t I? What with all the female flesh on show tonight.’

Rob smiled as we gazed around us at the array of nudes
on display. His paintings gracing the walls of the gallery, ready to be admired by the guests.

‘They look OK, don’t they?’ asked Rob.

‘No,’ I said. ‘They look absolutely awesome.’

‘Thank you,’ said Rob. ‘For all of this, I mean.’

‘Just make sure this is the first of many,’ I said.

There were voices in the corridor. The first of the guests walked through to the gallery, glass of wine in her hand, silver-grey hair blow-dried to within an inch of its life.