Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect (7 page)

“He’s a barrister.”

“Wow.  Impressive.”

“He’s certainly got the gift of the gab … funny to think last time I saw him he was probably a scruffy little boy, with dirty knees.  I certainly didn’t recognise him.”

“Do you want him to get in touch?”

“Yea, I do …” she says, laughing,  “ … lovely eyes.”

“Yes, I noticed,” I say.  “Rather a catch … is he single?  He seems too eligible to be …”

“Well, he said he’s just split up from his girlfriend.  She’s gone to work in America and they thought they’d be able to maintain the long-distance thing, but she’s already found someone else.  He seemed pretty cut up about it.”

“I’m sure you could cheer him up,” I laugh.

When we get home, Gaz is pleased to see us, but somehow manages to come over put out, at not being taken to the pub.  “Sorry, Gaz.  I know it was mean, but you were filthy,” I say to him, and he waddles off to get on his chair, with a resigned look.  We settle down to cups of tea and the Sunday papers and talk about the latest news.

Soon, it’s time for Holly to catch her train.  I’m always sad when she goes, but this time it seems particularly bad.  I know the house will feel devoid of life when I get home; the smell of her lovely perfume will linger around the sitting room.

When we arrive at the station, we sit in the car for a few minutes, as we’re a little early.  “So, we’ve sorted you out, Mum.  You’re going to hand in your letter announcing early retirement, you’re going to email Jane and … you’re going to come up and stay with me for a few days and we’re going to go to a show – right?”

“Okay, I promise I’ll think about it …”

“No, Mum.  Don’t think about it
– just do it.  Promise?”

“I promise.  Now off you go, it’s five minutes till it comes and it says it’s on time.”

As she gets out of the car, a look of depression comes over Gaz and I know exactly how he’s feeling.  I get out too and come round to her side.  We throw our arms around each other and hug hard.  We both have tears in our eyes when we separate, but both of us try to ignore them.

“You’ll be all right, Mum.  I’ll text you when I get home,” she says and she begins to walk away.  Just before she enters the little bridge, she turns and waves and I blow her a kiss.

She emerges on the platform and we wave again.  The train approaches the station and she disappears from view.

I get back into the car and sit, feeling sick with sadness.  I stay and watch the train leave the station – I put my hand on Gaz’s head and say, “Well, it’s just you and me again, old chap.  What would I do without you?”

Chapter Six

The Saturday before, when Adam left, was a day I’d like to forget.  David leaving me, had left me feeling old, useless, unattractive and … need I go on?  The only thing I had left that I was proud of, was being a mother.  I felt I’d done a pretty good job – the kids had turned out okay and we had a great relationship.  They talked to me, confided in me even, and I loved every day I spent with them. 

It was inevitable, of course it was, that Adam would leave, but somehow it happened so quickly.  One minute he was studying for his ‘A’ levels and the next, he’d taken them, booked his flight and was gone.

The plan to go to Australia in his gap year had slowly evolved during the sixth form and I blame my best friend, Laura.  She and I went to school together and had been friends all through university, marriage, children and jobs.  She’s got two boys, Rocco and Jake and they’re similar in age to my two.  We spent a lot of holidays together and inevitably, Jake and Adam became great friends.  Rocco’s a bit older than Holly and they got on well but had, in recent years, gone on different paths and didn’t see each other that much – but Jake and Adam were inseparable – when they weren’t together physically, they were chatting on FaceTime, playing computer games in cyber space and texting each other.  They were so similar that Laura and I used to laugh that we’d both used the same sperm donor for IVF, which of course wasn’t true, but it was as if they were cut from the same cloth.

Laura and John live in Cornwall – they’d met at uni, like us, and had spent summers down on the beaches of North Cornwall, working and surfing.  They never really came back up – they loved it too much down there.  John got a teaching job, which suited him down to the ground – he’d surf before school – and Laura worked in shops and painted, in her spare time.  Over the years, her seascapes became popular and in the end, she was able to paint full-time and they took over a little gallery where she sold hers and other people’s paintings.

David and I had wonderful holidays down there, with them.  At first, they didn’t have room for us to stay and we’d hire a cottage or a caravan just up the road, so we’d be near them.  They eventually bought an old, rundown farmhouse just outside Newquay, which they did up slowly, even converting some of the outbuildings to holiday homes.  The cottages were posh, compared to the somewhat ramshackle state of their own home; they bought in some much needed revenue.  So, we would hire one of their cottages and it meant that we could all be together.  David and John got on well – they had their love of teaching in common and although David wasn’t a surfing fanatic like John, he’d go out with him every day and the two of them would chat on their boards, while waiting for the ‘big one’.  It was lucky that the two men liked each other – just because Laura and I were best friends, it wouldn’t automatically follow that the men would be.

Jake followed in his father’s footsteps.  He was in the sea at every conceivable opportunity and he often got into trouble at school for bunking off to go surfing.  He entered competitions and got a reputation – he was good.  All he wanted to do was surf and it was with great difficulty that Laura and John managed to persuade him to stay on and do his ‘A’ levels.  He worked in cafés to fund his passion and the moment he was seventeen, he took and passed his driving test and used all his savings on an ancient VW camper van.  This gave him the freedom to pursue the best surf – if it wasn’t ‘up’ at Watergate, he and his mates would tour the coastline looking for alternatives – Constantine, Boobies, you name it, they went there.

Adam worshipped Jake – he was everything he wanted to be and over the course of several long summer holidays, Adam acquired Jake’s expertise in surfing.  The summer Jake got his camper van, I didn’t see Adam at all.  They lived in it together, refusing to join us in the cottage.

Laura was the one who suggested they took a year off in Australia.  “It’ll give them a year of freedom and, hopefully, they’ll get surfing out of their system.  It’ll be an adventure for them – my brother’s out there and we’ve got other relatives they could stay with.  It’ll do them good.”

“Don’t you think they ought to fund it themselves, though?  You’re not just going to give Jake the money for it, are you?”  I wanted Adam to learn the value of money and so did David.  We didn’t believe in handing our children things on a plate.

“No, of course not.  I’m going to say that he’s got to save half the air fare and when he’s out there, he’s got to work for at least half the time.  Do you approve?”

“Yes, that’s okay – but do your relatives really want two teenage boys turning up?  I can’t imagine them being particularly tidy guests …”

“Yea, they’ll love it – Aussies are very hospitable.  They’ve got huge houses.  My brother’s got a caravan park in Byron Bay – the boys could probably work for him and have their own van.  I’ll find out if it’s possible and then discuss it with Jake.”

So that’s how it came about.  The boys, to give them their due, raised the money for more than half the fare and Laura said they’d have no trouble finding temporary work out there – one of John’s cousins owned a string of cafés around Sydney and would be able to sort them out as waiters there.  The thought of Adam waiting made me laugh; at home, he left everything on the table, never dreamed of taking it over to the sink or putting it in the dishwasher.  He didn’t know what a drying up cloth was for, and hoovers were just noisy things used by parents.  It was probably my fault for not making him do domestic things … this gap year would certainly make him grow up.

The day they left, Laura and I had arranged to meet at Heathrow.  Their flight was at 3.30 pm – we met in departures at 11.30 am, so we had plenty of time to have coffee all together, before the boys went through.

I had tried to get David and Adam together before he left, but Adam refused outright saying he ‘no way wanted to be anywhere near that wanker’ and when I rang David’s phone, suggesting he came over unannounced to say goodbye, he just said, ‘I think it’s best if I leave him to it.  Tell him I’m pleased he’s going and to have a brilliant time.  Give him my love.’

What can you do?  You can’t force people to be sensible.  Didn’t David realise he wouldn’t see his son for a whole year?  Didn’t he care?  I told Adam what his father said and I was sure I saw a hint of sadness pass over his eyes, at the realisation that his father wasn't interested enough to come and say goodbye, but he just said, “What does he care?  He’s got another family now.”

So, it fell to me to take him to the airport.  I’m sure in the past, we would have gone together and made a day of it, but it was just me and him and although Adam was beyond excited to be going, I could sense his nervousness.  It was a big deal – this was the first time he’d been properly away from home and he was flying to the other side of the world.

I caught sight of Laura – she was waiting where we’d arranged, by the check-in desk.  She waved madly through the crowds and I could see Jake with a huge rucksack on his back, beside her.  They were so alike those two – they both had distinctive light auburn hair, green eyes and were now about the same height.  Laura was dressed in her usual, slightly hippy, way: long floral skirt with a lacy white shirt over the top; dangly earrings and beaded bracelets.  Jake, in his faded jeans, with his ear studs and lip ring, his hair long and sun streaked, his face brown – looked every inch the surf dude, down to his flip flops (or ‘thongs’ as he must now call them in Oz).

We all hugged – I love the way kids nowadays are so much better at this than we used to be.  All Adam’s friends hug each other – boys, girls – it doesn’t matter who.  The boys threw their arms round each other, with a lot of back slapping and
Hey Dude
and compared the size of their backpacks.  Adam had had quite a lot of difficulty even getting his on his back – we were hoping it wasn’t going to be too heavy for the flight.

“So … the big day’s arrived,” smiled Laura.  “How are you feeling, Adam?”

“Yea … awesome,” he said, sliding the rucksack off his shoulders.  “Man … that’s heavy.”  It fell in a heap on the floor, next to Jake’s.   Both of them were dressed identically and looked so young.  They were mere boys … surely they were far too young to be setting out on their own?  My stomach lurched at the thought that soon they’d walk away and I wouldn’t see Adam for a year.  Tears sprung to my eyes and I had to look away and surreptitiously wipe them away.  Maybe it was a mother’s intuition – Laura put her arm round me and whispered in my ear, “It’s hard, isn’t it?”  The boys were thankfully laughing at something on Jake’s phone.  She linked arms with me and said, “Come on, let’s go and get rid of their bags and then go to Costa and get a bucket of coffee.”

Any nerves that Adam had felt in the car, seemed to disappear in the company of his friend – they were writing status updates on their phones, as they joined the queue and discussing which films they were going to watch on the plane.   We shuffled along with them; when they reached the head of the queue and their rucksacks disappeared behind the flaps, the reality really began to hit me.

Laura and I sent them over to a free table in the café and for the last time, I bought my son a coffee and a huge piece of chocolate cake.  I bought myself a skinny latte, which was rather pointless, as I couldn’t resist a large flapjack.  “Still half-heartedly dieting, I see,” said Laura, grinning. “Why don’t you just give in to middle-aged spread, like me?”

“You never seem to change shape at all.  I’ve only got to look at a piece of chocolate, to put on weight.”

“Who cares?” said Adam.  “Just be happy with who you are, Mum.  Eat what you like, life’s too short.”

“Says he, who’s always trying to become an Adonis with a six-pack, in the gym,” I said.  “You wait till you’re my age – you’ll see the problem.  You’re right, though, life’s too short,” I repeated, stuffing the flapjack into my mouth.  “Anyway … tell me about life down in Cornwall – how’s the gallery going?”

“Fine … yea, fine.  The summer’s been really busy, so far.  Thank God for tourists.  It’s dead in the winter.  John’s job’s going well.  We’ve just heard that he’s been given deputy head, so we’re really pleased.”

“His tendencies towards world domination can be given free reign,” said Jake, sarcastically.  “Thank Christ I’m not there any more.  How horrendous would that have been.”

“Now you can see how I’ve suffered, can’t you?” said Adam.  “Being at the same school as your teaching parents is bad enough, without one of them being Head.  Especially when he makes a complete dick of himself by going off with a woman half his age.  God …”

“Adam, don’t talk about your father like that.”

“Well, what does he expect?  He’s an idiot.  I guarantee when I get back from Oz, she’ll have got bored with him and he’ll be out on his ear … serve him right.”