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

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      Flynn’s lazy grin stretched across his face as he straightened up. He has inherited his dad’s features: the full, wide mouth and dark-chocolate eyes, plus the light brown hair with a defiant wave. ‘I was only at the cinema, Mum. Not sitting an exam.’

      ‘No, I know that. What was the film again?’

      He mumbled the name of an action thriller I’d never heard of. Nate and I haven’t been to the cinema since something like 1926.

      ‘Was it good?’ I enquired.

      ‘Uh, yeah?’ He shrugged.

      ‘What was it about?’

      He peered at me as I sat back down at the table. ‘You don’t want to know the whole plot, do you?’

      I laughed. ‘No, of course not … so, have you eaten?’

      ‘Yeah, we got pizza …’

      ‘School okay today?’ Nate asked stiffly.

      Flynn threw him a baffled look. ‘Have my real mum and dad been abducted?’

      ‘What d’you mean?’ Nate frowned.

      ‘The two of you, grilling me like you’re distant relatives instead of my parents. Shall we sit down and talk about what I’d like to be when I grow up?’

      Nate and I laughed uncomfortably, and Flynn sniggered and escaped to his room, away from his weird, quizzing parents.

      I tried to tuck into the pasta I’d barely touched. ‘You’re not upset about Mum, are you?’ Nate ventured.

      ‘No, it’s fine,’ I said quickly, gaze fixed on my bowl.

      ‘You know what she’s like. So bloody sanctimonious. God forbid anyone should enjoy themselves—’

      ‘It’s fine, Nate.’ I looked up. Tension flickered in his eyes.

      ‘You don’t mind having Bella to stay, do you?’

      ‘Of course not,’ I exclaimed. ‘Why would I?’

      ‘I’ve no idea,’ he replied. ‘I just wish I knew what you and Rachel talked about, that’s all—’

      ‘It’s not about a well-behaved collie coming to stay!’ I blurted out.

      ‘What is it, then? Why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?’

      Pink patches had sprung up on his cheeks. What did he think was wrong? He knew about my visit to the GP, and the antidepressants – although he hadn’t taken the trouble to talk to me then, to try and find out why I was so down, so close to tears much of the time. Depression: a taboo word, as far as Nate’s concerned. Brush it under the carpet, that’s his stock response to anything remotely uncomfortable. Three-point turns, emergency stops: he’s fine with that kind of stuff. But emotions are messy and scary and he prefers not to have to deal with them. It was clearly bothering him that I’d been sharing my own feelings with someone else. It happened every week, this post-Rachel probing.

      He still wouldn’t let it drop, even as we cleared up after dinner. ‘How long d’you think you’ll carry on with this?’ he asked, washing up with unnecessary vigour.

      ‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘I mean, there’s no grand plan—’

      ‘And you won’t share any of it with me? The stuff you discuss with this stranger, I mean?’

      ‘Well, it’s kind of private.’ I was doing my best to remain calm.

      ‘So private you can’t even tell me?’

      ‘Nate, the whole point is that it’s not you …’

      ‘Whoah, great, thanks a lot!’

      I stared at him, almost laughing in disbelief. ‘If it was you I needed to talk to I’d just, well – talk to you …’

      ‘At least that’d be free,’ he thundered. ‘You wouldn’t have to drive over Solworth either—’

      ‘Oh, right, so I’d save the petrol money as well!’

      ‘Yes, you would. Have you checked our bank balance lately?’

      ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake …’ I stared at the man I’d once loved to distraction, and who was now glaring at me, his face mottled red, his T-shirt splashed with dishwater. ‘You begrudge me the four pounds fifty or whatever it costs to get there and back?’

      ‘Of course I don’t—’

      ‘What’s wrong with you two tonight?’ We both swung around to see Flynn standing in the doorway.

      ‘Sorry, son,’ Nate blustered, looking away.

      Flynn snorted. ‘What were you shouting about?’

      ‘We weren’t shouting, honey,’ I said quickly.

      He blinked at us. ‘Yes, you were. And what’s four pounds fifty?’

      ‘Nothing,’ I exclaimed, looking at Nate for confirmation.

      ‘Nothing’s four pounds fifty,’ he said with an exaggerated shrug, while our son exhaled loudly and strode away, as if concluding that his parents really had lost it this time.

      Nate and I fell into a sullen silence, and only much later, when we were watching TV, did he attempt to make conversation with me.

      ‘I meant to tell you, I got her again today,’ he remarked.

      ‘Which one?’ I asked.

      ‘You know. The one with a tiny fringe that stops above the eyebrows, like your old college mates used to have?’

      Ah, the art-school-mini-fringe. ‘You mean Tanzie? The one who’s failed, what, ten times now?’

      ‘Yeah, that’s the one. And it’s eleven, actually.’

      ‘Poor thing,’ I murmured. ‘I can’t believe she hasn’t given up by now. If I were her, I’d resign myself to a life of blagging lifts and using public transport—’

      ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ he insisted. ‘Anyway, that would never happen to you. You passed first time! You’re so capable, nothing fazes you—’

      ‘That’s right,’ I said bitterly. ‘I just soldier on, never needing any care or looking after—’ Without warning, my eyes welled up. I turned away before Nate could see.

      ‘Tanzie usually just accepts that she’s failed,’ he went on, as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘Nadira and Eric say the same – we’ve all had her, over and over. But this time there were floods of tears. Inconsolable, she was …’ He sighed loudly and shook his head. ‘Anyway, I’m shattered. Coming up to bed?’

      ‘In СКАЧАТЬ