The Mum Who’d Had Enough: A laugh out loud romantic comedy perfect for fans of Why Mummy Drinks. Fiona Gibson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ still can’t quite believe I have one. It feels as bizarre as if I were to say ‘my butler’). I’ve been vague about it, muttering about staying late at the shop to help out Vicky, my boss – not that he’s particularly interested in what I get up to. But I know he’d be shocked if he knew where I’d really been going.

      I realise it’s indulgent, and that when I describe my life, it seems like I have everything I could possibly want. I am forty-three years old, with a husband, a son and a job that doesn’t stress me terribly – and of course people have it far worse than I do. Hesslevale is a popular, family-oriented town – the kind of place where people get together and create vegetable gardens on waste ground, for anyone to enjoy. You can barely move for artisan roasted coffee and poetry readings, and I’ve found myself being wrestled into screen-printing workshops and giant community knitting projects, virtually against my will. Thankfully, our town still retains a slightly shabby edge, which prevents it from toppling into unbearable tweeness; there’s a couple of burger joints, and a noodle bar (‘Canoodles’) that no one I know has ever ventured into. It’s been a wonderful, supportive and friendly place in which to raise our son.

      The trouble is, somewhere along the way I have stopped loving his dad.

       Write down all the aspects you’re unhappy with …

      Did Rachel really mean all of them, or just the big stuff? I’d switched on the car radio in my temperamental Skoda, trying to decide whether the whole therapy business was a colossal waste of time and money. I’d spent £360 so far, and she’d basically told me to make a list. The whole drive home, I started to think of specific reasons why I was unhappy, and where on earth I’d start if it came to writing it all down.

      As I’d parked up, another disturbing thought had hit me: my mother-in-law, Judy, was dropping by that evening. The realisation caused me to leap out of my car, hurry to L’Ondice at the end of our road, and virtually hurl myself at the wine fridge at the back.

      ‘Oh, you’re lucky to have caught me,’ Judy announced, eyeing my clinking carrier bag as I strode into our hallway five minutes later. ‘I’m just leaving, love. What a pity …’

      ‘Such a shame,’ I agreed. ‘I’m so sorry!’ We hugged briefly, and my gaze met Nate’s over her shoulder. He was wearing the nervy expression I’d become accustomed to seeing after I’d had a session with Rachel. I caught him scanning my face for clues. ‘I thought you were staying for dinner?’ I added, greeting Scout as he hurtled towards me.

      Judy shook her head. She wears her silvery hair in a pixie crop, and was kitted out in her go-to attire of chambray shirt and navy chinos. As rangy as a racehorse, she exuded no-nonsense chic. ‘I’d love to, but I really don’t have the time. Still so much to do before the trip.’ She frowned. ‘Shame I’ve missed seeing Flynn …’

      ‘Yes, he’s out at the cinema with friends.’ I paused. ‘I hope you have a fantastic trip. Has Raymond been hill-walking before?’

      ‘No – but he’ll be fine,’ she said firmly. Having divorced Nate’s late father when Nate was a teenager, Judy is partial to setting tough physical tests whenever she starts seeing anyone new. You’d never guess she is seventy-two; her face is virtually unlined, her blue eyes bright, her figure enviable. ‘Anyway, how was your … appointment?’ she asked as she pulled on her jacket.

      ‘Appointment?’ I frowned, confused. Surely Nate hadn’t told her about Rachel?

      ‘Nate said you had an appointment after work.’ She studied me, unblinking. ‘Nothing … worrying, I hope?’

      ‘Oh, no, not at all!’ I felt the blush whoosh up my face.

      ‘Not … ill are you?’ She tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a glimmer of hope.

      ‘No, no – I’m absolutely fine.’

      Her stare was piercing. Right up to retirement, Judy was a science teacher, and I bet no one lit their farts with a Bunsen burner in her classes.

      ‘I, er, just had a massage,’ I fibbed.

      ‘A massage?’ she gasped, as if I’d said ‘colonic irrigation’.

      ‘Yes, just a little treat for myself …’

      ‘Oh, I do admire you, Sinead. I really do …’

      ‘Why’s that?’ I asked, genuinely perplexed.

      Her mouth flickered with amusement. ‘Putting yourself first like that. It’s very commendable, I have to say …’

      ‘Well, er, I—’

      ‘… Although I could never justify spending that sort of money on myself. I’d feel so guilty, so decadent, that it would cancel out any enjoyment I’d gained from the massage …’

      What would she have thought if she knew I’ve been forking out – weekly – to have my head examined?

      ‘Er, Mum,’ Nate cut in belatedly, ‘a massage isn’t that big a deal, you know.’

      ‘Ha. Isn’t it? I wouldn’t know. Never gone in for those pampering scenarios myself – but each to their own.’ She flashed a bemused smile. ‘Anyway, I’d really better go. Bye, Bella, darling!’ But Bella was far too interested in gnawing Scout’s disgusting fluorescent rubber hamburger to even glance in her owner’s direction.

      A stillness settled over us after Judy had gone.

      ‘Well, that was nice, as usual,’ I muttered.

      ‘Oh, you know what she’s like.’ Nate adjusted his wire-framed specs. At forty-three, with wavy caramel hair and intensely brown eyes, my husband still manages to fall into the ‘cute’ category. Due to his height and long, long legs – he’s six-foot-four – there’s something endearingly gangly about him. If he were in a film, he’d be the kindly teacher who helps a colleague carry her unruly heap of books and box files – and bingo, they’d fall in love.

      While he started to make dinner, I went to investigate the bathroom, which I meant to tackle the previous night. As expected, it had still been strewn with socks, pants and several T-shirts belonging to Nate and Flynn. Both of them are phenomenally untidy. Nate’s music magazines were piled messily on the bathroom scales, and the washbasin was daubed with toothpaste and shaving gel. Of course, none of that needed to be dealt with there and then. What I should have been doing was hanging out with Nate, chopping parsley and chatting companionably, instead of moving on to hoover our bedroom and prickling over a massage I’d never had.

      ‘Ready, love!’ he called from the kitchen.

      I trotted downstairs to see he’d poured our wine and set out our bowls of pasta very prettily, with salad in a glass bowl and a fresh loaf. Although I have always done the lion’s share of the cooking, Nate had started to make dinner on Rachel days. It was as if he was trying to make things right.

      ‘This looks great,’ I said, at which he muttered something I didn’t catch. We started to eat in silence. I heard the front door fly open; Flynn was home. I jumped up and bounded over to hug him as if he’d just traversed the Himalayas, rather than sat in the Odeon for two hours.

      ‘Hey, Mum.’ He laughed and bobbed down to greet Scout and our visiting hound. ‘Hi, Bella-baby. You СКАЧАТЬ