The Café in Fir Tree Park. Katey Lovell
up in a neat daughter-sized package. “I know you’ll not listen to a word I say, but there’s plenty, and you’ve got a fridge full of millionaire’s shortbread too, remember? You’re making work for yourself again, Mum.”
“It keeps me busy. Stops me having time to worry about you.”
It’s a tongue-in-cheek remark, but the truth nonetheless. Being a parent is terrifying at the best of times, and when exams are looming and you can do nothing to help but provide them with tea and cake, parenting is ramped up to a whole new level. If I’d known how much brain-space kids take up, I’d have thought longer and harder before having them. Not that I regret Josh and Kelly, not for a minute, but I had them young – too young probably – and now I’m a forty-year-old single parent on the verge of an empty nest.
I’ve done my best for the pair of them, but there have been many, many times I’ve fallen short. The days they had to wear their grubby school sweaters for a third time because I’d not had chance to put a wash on, or when I was forced to serve beans on toast for tea four nights in a row because I couldn’t afford anything more substantial. Things have been tight over the years, in terms of both time and money, and I never understood it before, but I realise now that sometimes you can be doing your best and it’s still not enough.
“When you get home you can knuckle down to that history revision. There’s only three weeks until your exam, remember.” I throw a pointed look in my daughter’s direction, willing her into action.
“I am aware,” Kelly says brusquely, every inch the know-it-all teenager.
It’s a funny age, eighteen. She looks like a young woman but still has the capability to act like a petulant child. Her long blonde hair’s cascading down her back and her hand’s jauntily placed on her hip. Attitude aplenty, although she’s a good girl, mostly.
“It’s me that’s going to be panicking about it, not you,” she fires.
‘Ha, that’s what you think,’ I want to say. It might be Kelly revising long into the night and it might be her again, sat at a small, square desk to frantically scribble down everything she remembers about World War I and the Industrial Revolution on exam day, but I’ll have as many sleepless nights over these A-levels as she will. They’re all-consuming, I remember how it was with Josh.
It had been a different battle three years ago to the one now, but a battle it had been. I’d spent hours reminding him that although he was a natural academic, his aptitude for learning was no excuse for not hitting the books. With Kelly it’s something else entirely. She works hard, colour-coding her notes with fluorescent sticky tabs and a multitude of neon highlighter pens. They’re as bright as the accessory aisle in Miss Selfridge in the ‘80s, but for all her organisation and effort, study doesn’t come easy to her.
I’m a hard worker myself, never satisfied until the glass cabinet that runs the length of the old wooden counter is jam-packed full of sweet offerings. Since the day I bought the café, way back when Kelly was in junior school, it has always been the same. But it’s been a gruelling slog at times, and I hope beyond all hope that my children will have an easier ride than my own.
“What time’s Fern getting in?” Kelly asks, throwing the now-grubby dishcloth she’s been using into the hot soapy water that fills the kitchen sink. “Because I’ve loads of revision planned for today. My head’s a mess trying to remember all those dates and laws. I need to put the hours in if I’m going to get the grades for Birmingham,” she reminds me, as though I’m likely to forget. It’s all she’s spoken about for months.
“She’ll be in at ten, so you can get off after that. Or you can sit at the corner table all day if you prefer? I’ll make sure Fern keeps your cup filled with tea.”
I’m a great believer in the power of tea. A warm hug when the world feels cold, rejuvenating when you feel beaten. I pretty much live off the stuff and have passed my love of it on to both Kelly and Josh, who are equally addicted, although they’re far more liberal with the sugar than I am.
“It’s up to you,” I add. “Wherever you think you’ll concentrate best. My only worry is you’ll go home, turn on your laptop and fall down a YouTube-shaped rabbit hole.”
Kelly’s hooked on the beauty vloggers’ channels, constantly looking for tips on how to perfect her eyeliner flicks and discover which foundation offers best all-day coverage on a shoestring budget. All the important stuff.
Kelly groans. “Mum, really! It’s me you’re talking to. I’ll put in the work, I’m not like Josh.”
“I know you’ll put the effort in. I do,” I answer, ensuring my voice stays soft and reassuring. I don’t want to risk it veering off towards fussy fuddy-duddy mode, because Kelly doesn’t respond well to being told what to do. Never has, even as a tot. She’d been one of those puce-faced children who kicked and screamed at the supermarket checkout when she wasn’t allowed a packet of chocolate buttons, always knowing what she wanted and doing her level best to get it by fair means or foul. Both my children had been like that, and I don’t want to dwell on what that says about me. A psychoanalyst would have a field day, I’m sure.
I choose my words carefully, talking slowly. “But I can’t help but wonder if you only want to go to university because you think it’s expected of you, and that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
I catch Kelly’s gaze. Her turquoise eyes flash, but not with anger, and a tangible rush of love flows between us. For a second I wish I could turn back time. Things were bloody tough when the kids were little, but at least then I’d felt I was making a difference. Back then I’d had some level of control over her life and how she experienced the world. These days I have to trust the mistakes she’ll inevitably make will be minor rather than major. Kelly’s very much her own person, a glorious muddle of juxtapositions – stubborn and flighty, beautiful and petulant, angry and delicate – but beneath the lipstick and mascara she’s still my baby. She always will be.
“You don’t have to take the same path as your friends, you know,” I continue. “There’s more to life than university, other options you could explore. I was already pregnant with Josh when I was your age…”
“Are you saying I should get pregnant?” Kelly jokes. Quick-witted as ever, especially when a conversation takes a serious turn. Just like her dad. He never wanted to talk about anything heavy either. I bat away thoughts of Clint because there’s no point ruining a perfectly lovely morning. “I didn’t think you’d be up for being a grandma just yet.”
“Absolutely not!” I exclaim, flustered. I can feel my cheeks burning up; they’ve probably already turned an attractive shade of beetroot.
“All I’m trying to say is that what’s right for one person isn’t always right for another. I was married with a baby on the way when I was eighteen, whereas at the same age Josh got accepted on to his physics degree. Your dad…” I pause, consciously trying to keep the distaste from displaying on my face. I never purposefully badmouth Clint to the kids, as much as I’ve wanted to at times. It’s not their fault that their dad’s a waste of space. “…well, he was already in with the wrong crowd by then. But you, my gorgeous baby girl? The world’s your oyster! You can do anything you put your mind to. And you don’t need a piece of paper from a stuffy university to do most of it, and you definitely don’t need the debt that goes hand in hand with it. I wouldn’t be saying this if I thought history was your passion. But I don’t think it really is, sweetheart, do you?”
I wait for an answer, but nothing’s forthcoming. Kelly’s nibbling on the skin of her thumb, a bad habit she’s had since she was small, and I resist the urge to tap her hand away from her mouth.
I smile gently, hoping it can reassure her. “All I’m saying is three years is a long time to be miserable.”
Kelly smiles back awkwardly, more grimace than grin. “I don’t know, Mum. Everyone’ll be going away in September – Tash, Meg, Luke … I don’t want to be the only person stuck here when they’re all having fun at freshers’