Читать книгу It’s a Wonderful Life: The Christmas bestseller is back with an unforgettable holiday romance - Julia Williams - Страница 18

‘Can I get you anything, Mum?’

I’ve come into the kitchen to find Mum staring into the garden. She’s still wearing her dressing gown and looks like she hasn’t slept.

‘A different life?’ asks Mum bitterly.

Oh God. Here we go. Every day since I’ve moved back in she’s been like this. Never mind that my own life has spectacularly imploded since Jo left. To top it off, I finally got made redundant just after Christmas. My manager blamed cutbacks, told me it was nothing personal, but it was the last thing I needed after the blow of Jo leaving. I can’t afford the rent on my flat without a job. If I’d still been with Jo, I could have gone to stay with her. But I had nowhere else to go, hence why I’ve ended up back home. I may as well be miserable with Mum and Dad rather than be on my own.

I’d thought maybe there might be a silver lining to moving back home, that my being here might help Mum, and help me too in a funny way. I thought it might take my mind off my own misery. But she barely acknowledges me, and I’m not sure if I’m making any difference. I mean, I get how she feels. I’ve had my fair share of heartache and I’m no stranger to being dumped and cheated on (Jo said there’s no one else, but I’m not sure I believe her. But that might be my insecurity talking). Finding out your husband of over forty years has been cheating must be horrendous. But I hadn’t expected this. This shadow of a person, not moving, inert, just accepting her fate. The Mum I know would never give up like this. Why can’t she be angry any more, the way Beth and I are? It’s like all the fight’s gone out of her.

I want to shake her and say, Do something. Fight for him. But she doesn’t. Beth thinks she needs time, but I’m not sure my sister realises how bad the situation is. Sam and Megan, of course, think it’s hilarious that Grandpa could even be having an affair. The idea of seventy-somethings having a sex life is completely incomprehensible to them. But this is serious. Mum and Dad have had their ups and downs, but they’ve always been together. And the situation is further complicated by the fact that Dad seems to be spending a lot of time with this Lilian woman, but he still hasn’t officially left Mum’s house. He’s sleeping in the spare room and sneaking out to see her every day. He never says where he’s going, or what his plans are. Presumably because the first time I asked him about it we had a stand-up row; it was horrible. Dad isn’t the rowing sort, and since then he’s refused to discuss the situation with me.

I don’t know what to do. I’ve spent my whole life being regarded as the pathetic one in the family: poor Lou stuffed up her A Levels, poor Lou can’t get a decent job, poor Lou hasn’t got a man – and now here I am having to act like the responsible one. I really haven’t the faintest idea how to do it.

‘I was thinking more on the lines of a cup of tea?’ I say as cheerfully as I can, but Mum looks at me blankly.

‘I suppose,’ she says. Her eyes look dull and lifeless. It’s a bit scary how quickly my energetic mum has morphed into a zombie. She’s barely been out of the house since Christmas, and I keep being bombarded with messages from her friends, checking up on her because she refuses to speak to them.

‘How about we go out for a coffee at the garden centre?’ I say.

I’d like to suggest going shopping, but I know I’ll get nowhere with that. I’ve been doing the shopping for the last two weeks, Dad being incapable of doing any domestic tasks. Lucky Lilian.

‘What’s the point?’ says Mum.

‘The point,’ I say firmly, ‘is you need to get out of the house. Trust me, I know.’

I think of all the times people have done this for me, stopped me drowning in self-pity when all I wanted to do was sit in my PJs eating chocolate and drinking too much wine. I’ve only coped this time because Mum needs me so much I haven’t had time to wallow in it. But when I’ve been heartbroken in the past, I’ve always been lucky enough to have someone there to kick me into shape and get me out of my despondency. I know it works.

‘So come on,’ I say. ‘Time to have a bath and pull yourself together. Dad’s never going to take you back if you wander round looking like a wet weekend in November.’

‘Don’t be rude,’ says Mum, with a flash of her old self, which gives me some hope. Slowly but surely, she does start to get ready.

First steps, but maybe I’m getting there …