Читать книгу When I Met You - Jemma Forte - Страница 12

As I put the key in the lock, I felt fed up and dejected. My mood wasn’t improved when Mum’s voice immediately hollered through from the kitchen. ‘That you Marianne?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well hurry up and have your shower because I could do with a hand in here.’

The day was feeling more like an endurance test by the minute. I felt dreadful and the last thing I felt like doing was helping Mum get ready for a state visit from Hayley, Gary and his bloody family. Especially since I could hear that Pete was upstairs, blasting Elvis as usual. I know he’s younger. I know I should have a place of my own. I know I need to pull my weight but I also know Mum will never expect anything of Pete simply because he’s male. She’s raising a Neanderthal. My mum’s a sexist.

I heaved myself upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom, where I began the process of changing from a clown back into a normal person. As I stood under the shower, the pan-stick make-up dripped off my face and disappeared down the plughole, along with any hopes I might have been harbouring about Simon. What a bastard. Thank god nothing had happened. At least now I could still tell Andy I’d waited for him. The thought of Andy made me instantly nostalgic – and guilty – and as the water pounded my head, I wished more than anything I was miles away from here, on a beautiful beach with him. Preferably lying in a hammock eating a banana pancake at my favourite time of day, five o’clock. Although that’s only my favourite time of day when I’m on the beach, not when I’m at home. That is to say I don’t like it when everybody’s pouring out of work after a gruelling day, battling home in heavy traffic, or on the bus without a seat, head squashed into someone’s armpit. But five o’clock on the beach is another story altogether. It’s when the sun’s starting to dip and its rays are losing their intensity, but it’s still so beautifully warm that you can feel yourself drifting off into a peaceful, dreamy slumber.

‘These vol-au-vents aren’t going to stuff themselves!’ Mum shrieked up the stairs, putting paid to any more of that whimsy.

Ten minutes later I’d shoved on some black leggings and was just about to pull an oversized sweater over them when suddenly I pictured Hayley’s look of outraged disapproval. Off they slid again and I selected instead a dress and belt that I didn’t think even she could take umbrage with. I dragged a brush quickly through my hair, another reason to love having short hair, along with the fact I no longer feel like a poor man’s Hayley. We both used to have long, straight, blonde hair, only hers was that bit blonder and straighter. Since going for the chop, I feel more like I have my own identity and less like people are constantly comparing us when we’re together.

I hoped my outfit would keep her happy today. Not because I gave a shit whether she approved or not, but because I couldn’t be bothered with any more scenes. Still rattled by my confrontation with Simon, I slapped on a bit of mascara and some blusher and then went downstairs to help stuff Mum’s ruddy vol-au-vents.

‘You need to give your eyebrows a rub,’ said Mum, who was in full flap mode. ‘You’ve still got black make-up on them. Other than that though, you look nice.’

I was surprised. I don’t usually get many compliments from Mum – they’re usually all reserved for Hayley or Pete and, on occasion, Martin – and when I had my hair cut short she acted as if I’d mutilated myself. Today Mum was wearing too tight white capri pants with perspex wedges and a v-neck fuchsia sweater that matched her lipstick. Her ash blonde hair was looking bouncy. She’d obviously tonged it to within an inch of its life and her eyes and cheeks were plastered with shimmery make-up. She’s good looking my mum, attractive for her fifty-one years, though her sweet tooth contributes towards what she calls her muffin top. Last year, Martin bought her an exercise bike, which she keeps in the bedroom and goes on religiously every day. She likes to watch Loose Women while she’s on it and has been known to devour an entire packet of biscuits as she pedals.

As I rubbed my eyebrows viciously with a bit of kitchen towel she rushed around the kitchen, making sure it looked pristine. ‘When Wendy and Derek get here, I want to fill them in about Sing For Britain,’ she said. ‘You know how much your sister looks up to Wendy, so if we can just get her on side.’

I sighed.

‘The forms have come through, so now I’ve got all the dates for the London auditions. You will back me up about what a good idea it is, won’t you?’

‘I’m not backing you up Mum,’ I said wearily. Having heard about nothing else for months the subject was starting to wear rather thin, especially since she wouldn’t listen to reason. Going on the show would spell disaster for my sister. Sad but true I’m afraid. I flicked the kettle on for a much-needed cup of tea. ‘I’ve told you already Mum, I don’t think Hayley should audition. The judges will crucify her. She can’t sing.’

Mum narrowed her eyes at me, outraged. ‘Marianne Baker, how can you say such a thing? Don’t be jealous, it’s not attractive. Just because you have no idea what you’re doing with your life.’

I despaired. Ultimately it was pointless trying to say anything because the fact that I don’t have my own life particularly well sorted out – thanks for pointing that out Mum – means she wrongly assumes I’m jealous. This really upsets me because I certainly am not and am only saying anything because I’ve got Hayley’s best interests at heart. It’s hurtful that she thinks I’m so selfish. She won’t listen to reason though and it’s just such a shame her enthusiasm is so misguided.

Mum is the living definition of a pushy stage mum, or at least she is when it comes to Hayley. In fact, if you were to look up pushy stage mum in the dictionary you might find a picture of her with a frenzied look in her eye, which is the look she gets whenever Hayley opens her mouth to strangle a tune. Ideally it would be an animated picture so you could also see her mouthing the lyrics without realising she’s doing so.

Mum and Martin sent Hayley to stage school when she was about thirteen. At the time they did ask me if I wanted to go too, but fairly half-heartedly and I can still remember the relief on their faces when I declined. They simply couldn’t have afforded two sets of fees and that was fine. I’d never been interested in singing or dancing, only violin, so it probably wouldn’t have been the place for me anyway, although I did sometimes wonder why they never encouraged my passion as much. Maybe if they had, I would have got further with it? Who knows?

Now Hayley’s ‘career’ is pretty much Mum’s reason for being, which is a shame for a few reasons. Firstly, because I strongly suspect Hayley only goes along with Mum’s obsession because she’s never been allowed to consider for a moment what it is she might actually like to do herself, and secondly because even if she did want to be a star I can’t see how it would ever happen because she’s simply not that good. She’s already thirty-three and all her showbiz ‘career’ amounts to so far is one fleeting appearance in an advert for a cruise company, a few shit modelling jobs, panto, and wearing hot-pants at events where she gives out leaflets. It doesn’t help that other people egg Mum on because Hayley’s so beautiful. Though just because someone’s beautiful doesn’t mean they have what it takes to become the next Elaine Paige. Singing in tune helps for a start. Still, this small detail has never bothered Mum or Hayley, or at least it hadn’t until a few years ago when Hayley grew utterly sick of never having Christmas off because of panto. She’d had enough. She was starting to get too old to play one of the villagers anyway and was sick of failing every audition she went to. By now she was settled and married to Gary, so shifted her focus from becoming a star, to bearing his children, which personally I think is wonderful. When she told me she wanted to try for a baby it was the first time I’d ever seen Hayley speak truly passionately about anything. Her entire face lit up in a way it never does when talking about performing. I could see then how caring for someone else could be the making of her. Plus, becoming a parent would take the pressure off as Mum would surely, finally, have to back off.

‘Guess who I bumped into last night?’ I said now, determined to avoid a row, so deciding to change the subject.

‘Who?’ she asked, still looking huffy.

‘Teresa.’

‘Oh did you?’ she exclaimed. ‘How is she?’

‘All right,’ I replied. ‘It was really nice to see her actually.’

‘Well of course it was,’ said Mum. ‘You two were such good friends.’ She looked at me with a knowing expression. ‘Didn’t I tell you something significant would be happening now that Mercury’s in retrograde?’

‘Er, I don’t know, did you?’

‘Yes,’ she insisted. ‘I did. It’s also the reason you’re being so bloody bolshy. Still, don’t worry, Venus will be rising soon and things will start going your way. Now, get the bowls out for the crisps and nuts will you? Then, when you’ve filled them up, take them through to the lounge.’

Being treated like a child makes you feel like a child. I wished I could go to bed and fester there for the remainder of the day but got up wearily to do her bidding.

‘How was work today anyway? Nice little kiddies were they?’

‘All right,’ I muttered, not wanting to talk about it.

‘Ah there you are,’ said Mum through the hatch as Martin walked into the lounge, laden with bags from the off-licence. ‘I was starting to think you’d run off and left me.’

On the left of our lounge is an enormous leather suite that rests against a wall, which acts as a partition between the lounge and the kitchen. This wall has a hatch in it, meaning if someone’s busy cooking in the kitchen, by opening it they can still keep an eye on the telly. Quite often I’ll be fully engrossed in a programme when suddenly I’ll glance up only to find Mum’s head hanging out of the hatch directly above me. This can be quite disconcerting.

‘As if,’ said Martin, rounding the partition to enter the kitchen and sidling up behind Mum as she re-wiped the surfaces for the thousandth time.

Mum met Martin when I was ten and Hayley was twelve. Their eyes had met across the big McDonald’s in Romford. I remember it clearly because we’d gone there for my birthday treat and they’d got chatting in the queue. It was a chat that had descended pretty quickly into saucy innuendo about whoppers, which were easy even for a child to decipher. Still, I hadn’t minded too much because I remember it was the first time in ages I’d seen Mum smiling. When we’d left, Martin had taken Mum’s number, and Mum had continued to be in a perky mood for the rest of that evening. Seeing her spirits lift that day was the best birthday present she could have given me.

Dad had left six years previously, which was when we’d had to move out of our house in Hackney and into a damp council flat in Romford. My memories of that time are grim. Mum was depressed and totally unmotivated to find work, as a job would have meant losing her benefits. It was weird though. We were so poor, yet she still owned fur coats and jewellery, left over from her old life with Dad. When she wore them they used to look quite grotesque against the backdrop of our life of penury.

As awful and heart breaking as this period was, looking back, I think it was the last time Hayley and I were really close. Our grief united us for a while I suppose. And I don’t think grief is too strong a word. To have your father in your life one day, a man who adored us and who was, as far as I can remember, a safe, big bear of a figure, our protector, to have him just up and leave was beyond devastating. All I know is that he was a pilot and one day he simply flew to Australia and never returned, abandoning his family without so much as leaving a note. The pain is less raw but I don’t think it will ever truly go away. Then Martin came along, Martin who was as working class as us, but who had done well for himself and had his own business. The only thing missing in his life at that time was someone to share it all with.

Mum and Martin had only been seeing each other for a few months when he asked us all to move into his house in posh Chigwell, the one he had before buying this place, and I don’t think Mum needed long to make up her mind. I believe he saved her in many ways, and Hayley and me for that matter. We’re very different but he’s very kind and the closest thing I’ve had to a dad since mine left. In fact, often I’ve wished he’d made more of his role as ‘stepdad’ but his nature means he prefers to stay in the background and not to interfere, so my mum’s always been in charge of the important stuff. Still, I’m not knocking him, any man who takes on a woman who comes complete with two young daughters has got to be not only reasonably kind but brave, too.

He still gets on my nerves sometimes though.

I watched now as he grabbed Mum’s love handles and gave them a good squeeze.

‘Oi you, don’t grab my extra bits, makes me feel fat,’ she squealed.

‘You are not fat my angel,’ said Martin predictably. ‘You’re built as a woman should be and besides, it just gives me more to love.’

I tried not to shudder and, as Mum untangled herself from Martin’s grip, concentrated on putting crisps into bowls. My hangover was so bad my hands were shaking, so half of them ended up on the floor. Mum frowned at me on her way to the fridge where she got out a bowl of tuna mix, which she handed to me along with a tray of pastry cases.

‘What time are they coming?’ I asked, removing the cellophane and getting to work spooning the gunky mixture into them. I was starting to feel quite nauseous and realised then I desperately needed some food to restore my blood sugar levels. I bent down to pick the dropped crisps up from the floor and shoved them in my mouth along with a bit of fluff from the carpet.

‘Three o’clock,’ Mum replied, the soles of her feet padding against her wedge heels as she bustled around.

‘Why are they coming again?’ enquired Martin, putting bottles away.

‘Good question,’ I remarked, stealing a spoon of tuna mix for myself and cramming that in my mouth, too.

‘Do they need a reason? They are family,’ replied Mum. ‘Although I must admit, Hayley was so adamant we were all here I have got my suspicions.’

‘What?’ I asked, wondering if they matched my own. Personally I was hoping Hayley might finally be pregnant. She and Gary had been trying for two years now and the stress of being disappointed every month had only heightened her already neurotic behaviour. But maybe this get together meant it had finally happened? Gosh I hoped so. It would just be lovely, but Mum had other ideas.

‘Well,’ she said now, her eyes wide with excitement. ‘The other day I told her about an open audition that I saw in The Stage. What’s the betting she went and got it?’

Not for the first time I felt the urge to query her psychic powers but resisted. The irony of the fact she never knew anything in advance was always lost on Mum and Martin.

Martin wandered next door into the lounge, where the TV was blaring. ‘Oof,’ he said, collapsing heavily and gratefully into his favourite armchair before putting his feet up on the leather pouffe. ‘What was the audition for?’

‘Les Mis,’ stated Mum. At this point they were conversing through the hatch in the wall.

‘Mum if you wipe those surfaces any more you’re going to make a hole in them,’ I said a bit impatiently, though what I was really thinking was; Do you honestly think your daughter, who has no real rhythm and sings sharp, is going to make the chorus of one of the most famous West End shows? Are you out of your mind?

‘You’re right love,’ laughed Mum. ‘Look at me getting myself into such a lather. They can take us as they find us can’t they? Martin, why don’t you switch off the telly and stick on a bit of music instead? Help me to relax.’

‘Sure,’ said Martin, who’d just that second picked up the newspaper but happily bounded into action, ready to please as ever. ‘What do you fancy?’

‘Ooh, bit of Mariah?’

Mariah Carey has always been Mum’s ultimate hero.

As Hero came on, Mum abandoned her cleaning and started dancing round the kitchen, using a tube of Primula cheese spread as a microphone. As she sang tunelessly and gyrated her hips Martin came over and stood watching through the hatch, nodding his head and clapping, with a delighted look on his face, as if he were being treated to a private audience with the world’s greatest performer. Thankfully, this ridiculous scene was interrupted by the doorbell and the arrival of Wendy, Derek, Hayley and Gary.

‘They’re here,’ Mum clucked, signalling to Martin to switch off the music before rushing to open the door, which he did before turning the TV back on.

I followed Mum and Martin into the hallway and while everybody noisily greeted each other, I hung back, feeling tired and grumpy. Eventually Hayley broke away and we walked back through to the lounge together.

She was looking particularly gorgeous today. Hayley’s hair is naturally white blonde and hangs in a perfect sheet down her back. She has fair skin, with a pinkish tone to it so she never looks pasty, just delicate, and her features are neat and even, giving way to a full mouth – possibly due to all the exercise it gets. Like me she has a flat stomach, longish legs and a small waist, but unlike me she also has big breasts. You know how there are different versions of Barbie? Surfing Barbie, caravan Barbie, disco Barbie etc. Well, she’s ‘wannabe footballer’s wife’ Barbie, only paler. Today she was wearing skinny jeans, Ugg boots and a leather jacket with a tight t-shirt underneath. She looked immaculate, but then she always does and puts hours into getting ready even if it’s just to pop to the shops.

‘All right,’ she said, her eyes flicking me up and down in a blatant attempt to check that what I was wearing was acceptable. I must have passed the test because she didn’t say anything.

‘All right,’ I replied. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Good,’ she said, popping a crisp in her mouth. ‘What have you been up to? Still washing people’s greasy heads at Roberto’s?’

‘Yeah. Jake was asking after you the other day,’ I said slyly.

Hayley glared at me, a warning sign not to say anything else. Jake is one of her past conquests. One of the many she left broken hearted, wondering what had just happened to him.

‘Saved up enough for South America yet?’ she said, swiftly changing the subject as her husband Gary came lumbering in.

‘Another couple of months I reckon.’

‘Cool,’ said Hayley and then she smiled, a genuinely warm smile, and that was when I knew she must be pregnant.

I smiled back at her broadly and raised my eyebrows questioningly. She immediately scowled back. ‘What? Don’t look at me like that. You look like a retard,’ she added charmingly.

She didn’t say this with quite as much conviction as she usually would though, and I was on the verge of asking her whether she had anything to tell me, but then Gary piped up.

‘All right sis,’ he said, in his weird voice. The tone of his voice is really strange. It’s slightly high pitched and seems to emanate from the back of his throat, or his nose possibly. He always sounds like he’s got a cold. I guess he’s what you’d describe as adenoidal.

He patted me on the arm and I shuddered. I find Gary pretty revolting if I’m honest. He goes to the gym every day and his honed body is so muscle-bound he can barely walk. His thighs are huge and his jeans, which tend to be pale blue Levi’s 501s, permanently look like they’re straining against them. He always wears the same kind of t-shirts too. White but embellished with glittery stuff, sequins, logos or jewels, which tend to plunge into a deep V neck, which gives what I bet he thinks is a tantalizing view of his pecs, but is in fact an off-putting glimpse of his muscular man boobs. He wears a lot of chunky, silver jewellery and his hair is styled into unimaginative spikes. He has tattoos on his biceps and Hayley thinks he’s gorgeous. I’m sure she’s not alone, but I think he’s horribly beefy and the thought of having sex with him leaves me repulsed.

Not of course that I would ever want to have sex with my sister’s husband, but you know what I mean. Just to be crystal clear, I’ve only even considered it in the first place because he’s such an overtly sexual person. Gary leaves a trail of pheromones and testosterone in his wake wherever he goes and is always pawing Hayley in public. Sometimes when doing so his breath quickens and, even in a room full of people, you can tell he’s a bit aroused and that he’d like to get Hayley on her own. I know … it’s foul. Also, he looks at other women, including me, a bit inappropriately sometimes. I know he doesn’t fancy me or anything but he definitely checks me out and I don’t like it.

‘Marianne,’ said Wendy, Hayley’s mother-in-law. Today she looked a bit like the Queen, only minus the pearls. Her hair was set and she was wearing a lilac skirt suit with a navy handbag. ‘How are you? Still no boyfriend?’

‘Er no,’ I replied, wondering why this was always her first line of enquiry but reluctant to tell her about Andy. Why should I?

‘Let me get you a drink,’ interrupted Martin, leading Wendy away by the elbow back towards the kitchen and giving me a little wink. I flashed him a grateful smile in return.

Half an hour later and things weren’t going quite as badly as I’d thought they might. I’d noticed that Hayley had declined a glass of wine and was on the orange juice and it was all I could do not to start nudging people. The men were on beer and Mum and Wendy were tucking into a bottle of white. Still feeling wrecked from the night before I had a cup of tea and ate my body weight in crisps and vol-au-vents.

‘So anyway,’ Mum was saying, her face slightly flushed. The wine had gone straight to her head. ‘You said you had something to tell us Hayley and I don’t think I can take the suspense any more. So what is it? Are you going to be treading the boards you clever girl? Or have you landed some amazing modelling contract somewhere?’

‘No Mum,’ said Hayley, rolling her eyes ever so slightly but still smiling. ‘No, the reason Gary and I wanted you all here today … actually hang on a second, where’s Pete?’

‘Oh that bloody boy. Has he buggered off upstairs again? Go and get him would you Mar?’

Martin leapt up to do her bidding and we could hear him in the hall, hollering up the stairs at his son.

As Pete thudded back down the stairs Mum smiled politely at Wendy and Derek before saying, ‘S’cuse my French.’

‘Not at all,’ said Derek, a self-important, ruddy-faced man who I sometimes think fancies Mum. Like father like son with their creepy roving eyes.

Looking thoroughly underwhelmed – his default disposition in life – Pete re-entered the room, only this time he was dressed as a teddy boy, which is how he likes to dress when he goes out with his friends. Or rather, friend. He only has one friend, Josh, that any of us know of anyway.

‘Hello Pete,’ said Wendy, looking disdainfully at him as her eyes swept up and down the length of him, taking in his drainpipe jeans, creeper shoes, long coat jacket and quiff.

Pete grunted. He’s a man of few words.

‘Isn’t he handsome?’ said Mum, girlishly. ‘You can see where he gets his looks from though can’t you,’ she said before striking a pose that she obviously thought made her look like a model.

Martin laughed uproariously. ‘You certainly can, my love.’

I sighed. My family are so weird. From the outside looking in, they probably appear deeply ordinary, an average suburban family, but sometimes I honestly wonder whether I’m adopted. It would explain so very much. And yes, I know everyone goes through phases where they feel like their family isn’t on their wavelength, but I often have moments like this when I feel like mine are a completely different species.

‘So anyway,’ said Hayley, frowning in Mum’s direction. She was perched on Gary’s meaty thigh, looking dainty as anything, and turned back to look at him so tenderly that I think that was the precise second I knew for sure what their news was. I was instantly filled with happy emotion, plus that feeling again that this could be the making of her. Hayley needed someone to love who adored her back and not just because she was pretty.

‘We’re pregnant,’ she announced to the room, unable to conceal the news a second longer.

I knew it.

Wendy instantly leapt from her seat, clearly delighted. All her usual frostiness and affectation vanished as she let the good news infuse her with grandmotherly excitement. I too squealed and raced over to give Hayley a hug. Derek’s reaction was more unusual.

‘What do you mean we’re pregnant? You’re not pregnant are you son?’ he demanded to know, looking utterly thunderstruck in Gary’s direction.

Still, once he’d been reassured that this was a physical impossibility, he too was pleased as punch and there was much backslapping between himself, Gary and Martin. Even Pete managed to mumble something about how having a child had been the single most important thing Elvis had felt he’d done, which coming from him was practically a speech.

‘I’m going to be an aunty,’ I shrieked as I hugged Hayley again and, for the first time in years, I felt her usually tense shoulders relax a little as she hugged me back.

‘I’ll be asking you to babysit all the time,’ she said, her odd manner making this sound more like a threat than she probably meant it to.

‘Any time,’ I said as we pulled apart.

After that there was a sort of happy pause and briefly I wondered what we were all waiting for, and then I realised. We were waiting for Mum. So far she hadn’t said anything and her silence had become conspicuous.

We all ended up staring at her and, finally sensing that something was required of her, she clapped her hands together and widened the rather fixed grin she was wearing even further. ‘Well, well done both of you,’ she said eventually. ‘I’m really pleased. Though don’t think I’m going to let it call me Granny. I’m far too young to be a granny aren’t I Mar? So it’ll be Nana Alli all the way. And when are you due my darling?’

‘Well,’ said Hayley, ‘Strictly speaking I shouldn’t really have told you yet because I’m only eleven weeks so I haven’t had my scan yet, but all being well it’s going to be a November baby, so he or she will be here for Christmas.’

‘Oh,’ came the collective soppy gasp from all of us, apart from Mum who looked vaguely distracted. By this point her luke-warm reaction was starting to annoy me. Apart from anything else I could see Hayley was starting to get wound up by it. I didn’t blame her.

‘Oh, well that’s great,’ she said, looking faintly doubtful. ‘But just thinking aloud then Hayls, you’ll be all right for the first lot of auditions but we might have to work out what to do about the live shows, all being well and you get through of course.’

‘Mum!’ exclaimed Hayley. She looked genuinely shocked. ‘Are you actually thinking about Sing for Britain? Tell me that’s not the first thing that’s entered your head? I know it’s a shame I can’t do it now, but I promise you I’m much, much happier that this is happening.’

I don’t usually feel sorry for Hayley but at that moment I really did. My sister had my future niece or nephew in her belly, Mum’s first grandchild, but all she could think about was her own pipe dream.

‘Course it isn’t love,’ she added hastily. ‘But someone’s got to think about these things don’t they? I mean Beyoncé didn’t just sit back and let her pregnancy ruin everything, did she?’

Hayley looked dumbfounded, but for a second I thought she was going to let Mum’s insanity go, mainly because she usually likes to appear terribly demure around Wendy and Derek. However, perhaps it was all the hormones or something because in the next moment she let rip.

‘Ruin everything? Is that what you really think? That my baby would be ruining things? Ruining what anyway? I’m thirty-three for Christ’s sake and totally sick of going to crap auditions, which I never get. And besides, there’s always next year anyway. This year, however, we’re having a baby Mum. A baby that has taken us two years to make, so which stupidly, I thought you might be pleased about. Especially given I don’t have a fucking career to worry about because I’m not frigging Beyoncé.’

‘Hayley,’ boomed Derek. His ruddy face had taken on a purple hue, so horrified was he by such a display of emotion in public, especially from a female. Little did he know that when not in their presence Hayley likes to swear like a sailor.

‘I’m not sure you should be addressing your mother like that, young lady.’

‘Sorry,’ muttered my sister, instantly horrified to have lost control in front of the in-laws.

Mum looked mildly rebuked but typically wasn’t wise enough to know when to keep her mouth shut. ‘Don’t be silly Hayls,’ she insisted. ‘Having a baby doesn’t have to mean giving up your dreams this year. You don’t want to leave these things too late.’

‘Maybe you should leave it love,’ suggested Martin quietly, which was the most I think he’d ever stood up to her in all the years they’d been together.

‘All right Mar,’ replied Mum stonily, unused to anything that even remotely resembled criticism from him. I noticed she had a creeping patch of redness developing on her chest.

‘Well, we’re all delighted for you Hayley anyway,’ interrupted Wendy, and for once I was firmly on her side. ‘I for one cannot wait to be a granny. It’s unbelievably exciting and I can’t believe you’ve kept it secret this long Gary. Ooh, imagine a little Gary running around at Christmas.’

We all tried, but it was hard. For starters the baby would only just have been born so it being able to run around was unlikely, wasn’t it? Secondly, the thought of a muscular, dwarf baby version of Gary was disturbing. I hoped whoever was in there looked like Hayley.

Later, when they finally all left, it was a relief. Pete skulked out the front door, seconds after their departure. I planned on escaping too, albeit only to my bedroom, but needed a word with Mum first.

‘What did you have to go on about Sing for Britain for?’ I said.

‘Don’t you lecture me,’ she snapped.

‘I’m not lecturing, I’m just saying.’

‘Well don’t. Honestly, I don’t know where I’ve gone wrong with the pair of you. You living at home, single, wasting your life away and now Hayley, throwing away her chance of success.’

I recoiled, stung by her words. ‘That’s out of order,’ I said. ‘And believe you me, being here isn’t ideal for me either.’

‘Er, that’s enough. I’ve had enough shittiness today off Martin, Wendy and Hayley thank you very much,’ said Mum stroppily, hands on hips.

‘I’m sorry if I came on a bit strong love,’ said Martin.

I checked to see whether he was joking. He wasn’t. ‘But Mum,’ I said frustratedly. ‘She’s pregnant. It’s amazing and you should be so excited about it. This is all she’s ever wanted.’

‘And I am happy for her,’ she insisted, not looking it at all. ‘It’s just I want Hayley to have something to fall back on in life. She’s such a talent and it seems criminal that that should go to waste.’ Her bottom lip wobbled slightly.

I gave up. Frankly I was too bloody hung-over. I felt like total shit by now so I went to my room where I got into bed and promptly fell asleep, despite the fact it was only five-thirty in the afternoon. And despite the fact the wind was howling and an almighty storm was brewing outside.