It’s A Man’s World. Polly Courtney

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      ‘Hi, Dad.’ She put her spare arm round his shoulders and squeezed. She was taller than him now, she noted. Either he was shrinking or – God forbid – she was still growing. ‘This is Matt. Need a hand?’

      ‘Darling! Come and meet Matthew!’ cried Alexa’s mother, unnecessarily, adding, in a noisy hiss, ‘I think you’ve used too much charcoal!’

      Alexa grimaced, wondering why her mother had been so intent on holding a barbecue in the first place. A pub lunch would have been perfectly adequate and they all knew that Dad wasn’t famous for his culinary skills. In fact, thought Alexa, he wasn’t famous for much at all, now that he was retired – except perhaps being the most hen-pecked man in Averley.

      Poor Dad. She didn’t remember things being like this before, when she was growing up. Although, thinking about it, Alexa realised that this was probably because he’d spent most of his time at the office, preferring company accounts to the company of his wife. Alexa felt bad for thinking such things, but it was true. Her mother was a control freak. She had never been able to trust other people to get things done. Alexa had learned this at an early age. One of her earliest memories was of her mother dropping her off at a gym lesson and then reappearing in the doorway, giving pointers to her daughter from the back of the room. Eventually, the instructor had asked her to leave, but that hadn’t seemed to deter her. Music, swimming, art and virtually every other extra-curricular activity that had featured in Alexa’s privileged upbringing – as well as most academic ones – had involved input from her mother. She meant well, Alexa knew that, but she had trouble letting go.

      Matt had moved over to the barbecue and was talking quietly to her dad.

      ‘. . . the air vents . . .’

      ‘. . . wasn’t sure . . .’

      ‘. . . slide that along?’

      Alexa smiled as the air began to clear.

      ‘Well! Marvellous!’ Alexa’s mum clasped her hands together in jubilation. ‘I’ll go and get the drinks! What would people like?’

      Drinks were served, with only a small mishap involving the wobbly garden table, and after a couple of glasses of Pimm’s, Alexa felt herself starting to unwind. Her dad also looked more relaxed, she noted. In unspoken agreement, Matt had taken the seat nearest to the barbecue and was discreetly tending to the smouldering coals as he sipped his drink.

      ‘So, Matthew! That’s a very nice car out the front. Is that a family heirloom?’

      Alexa felt like screaming. She wanted to launch herself at her mother and tell her to stop being so obvious. How could a DB9 be a family heirloom? How, mathematically, given the model of car, would that be possible?

      ‘No,’ replied Matt, unable to resist a little smile. ‘I bought it with my bonus last year.’

      ‘Oh!’ Alexa’s mother gave a nervous laugh, clearly impressed and a little overwhelmed. ‘Gosh.’

      ‘I was lucky,’ he explained modestly. ‘We had a bumper year for deals last year.’

      ‘Yes. Right.’ Alexa’s mother nodded, raising her eyebrows at her husband, who was trying to look through two sets of windows to catch a glimpse of the car.

      More questions followed. Where had Matt grown up? What had he studied? Did he have brothers or sisters? Which area of law was his focus? Matt passed with flying colours. He kept up with the questions, laughed at Alexa’s mother’s jokes and masterfully down-played his lifetime achievements, even managing to weave in a reference to his time doing pro-bono work for a local children’s charity. The only slight hiccup came when Matt had pulled out his phone to check the name of his old scout group and noticed the lack of message alerts.

      ‘Oh. Don’t you have any reception around here?’

      ‘No,’ replied Alexa’s mother, suddenly caustic.

      ‘Amazing.’ Matt shook his head, clearly not picking up on the vibe. ‘I didn’t think there were places like that left . . .’

      ‘I hope you’re not addicted, as well?’

      Alexa took it upon herself to step in. She hadn’t warned Matt about this. ‘It’s not an addiction, Mum; it’s communication. It’s the way things work these days. ’

      Her mother leaned over to Matt, speaking directly to him.

      ‘She’s addicted,’ she said softly. ‘Don’t you think? She can’t stop looking at that thing.’

      Matt smiled tactfully.

      Alexa said nothing. She knew that she ought to move on, to think of a neutral topic of conversation, but she couldn’t. She was so angry with her mother.

      It wasn’t simply that she was imposing her old-fashioned views on people who didn’t want to hear, or that she was insulting her guest for doing something as innocent as checking his phone. It was that she was so damned contradictory.

      If there was one personality trait that Alexa attributed to her mother, it was her drive to succeed. Where else had it come from, if not the woman who had allowed her only educational toys as a child – the woman who had withheld her evening meal until her homework was done? Alexa could still remember the time her mother had denied her a place on the Year 11 post-exam holiday to Barcelona – could still feel the wrench of disappointment in her gut as she took in her mother’s words. It was all because of the B she had attained in her Geography coursework – and it hadn’t even been her fault. The teacher had slipped up and set an unsuitable piece of work. Nobody in her class had got anything higher than a B grade. It was no wonder Alexa had found herself working her way into a top university, desperately seeking out a top graduate job and flinging herself into every piece of work in a desperate attempt to succeed. It was no wonder that now, ten years later, she was still feeling the same compulsion to achieve, achieve, achieve – yet her mother did wonder. She wondered why Alexa was continually checking her email. It seemed so hypocritical that Alexa wondered whether she might have missed something along the way – whether she had misinterpreted her mother’s words of ‘encouragement’ over the years.

      She reached out and topped up her father’s empty glass. Her hands were shaking.

      Matt stoked the coals on the barbecue. He had picked up on it now.

      ‘Nearly time to put the meat on,’ he said, cautiously. ‘Five minutes, I’d say.’

      Nobody moved.

      Eventually, Alexa could bear it no longer. The pressure inside her was too great. She got up and stormed inside, locking herself into the downstairs bathroom. Flipping down the lid of the toilet, she sat, head in hands, waiting for the rage to pass.

      Her mother didn’t say those things to annoy her, she knew that. That was the ironic thing. She said them because she cared. She was worried about her daughter turning into a workaholic and failing to keep hold of Mr Right – risking a life of lonely, work-fuelled celibacy. Like most mothers, she just wanted her daughter to have it all. She couldn’t see, СКАЧАТЬ