More Than Just Mum. Rebecca Smith
Logan’s mum laughs gently. ‘And you must join us one of these days. Honestly – one hot yoga session with Orlando and you won’t ever look back!’
I open my mouth with the intention of making a hilarious quip about the fact that yoga is supposed to aid flexibility, and therefore surely my ability to look back would only be improved after a session with hot Orlando, but then I pause. Some of the mothers in the school playground take their exercise regimes incredibly seriously and the last thing I need right now is to piss off the PTA.
‘Maybe one day!’ I trill, trying to look like attending a yoga class isn’t my definition of hell.
I usher Benji towards the garden gate where Nick is waiting. And then a thought hits me and I spin round.
‘Actually,’ I say, ‘it can’t have been Scarlet who you saw, because I dropped her at school myself yesterday.’
But Logan’s mum has closed the door. Benji trips over his own feet and starts to wail.
When we get home, the fairy lights are on outside the front door. I always put them on if Scarlet or Dylan are coming home late but I was in too much of a rush to think about doing it tonight. One of them must have come downstairs and switched them on while we were getting Benji.
We get inside and I’m intending on scooting him upstairs to bed, but as we walk into the living room, I see Scarlet and Dylan draped across the sofa.
‘Hey!’ calls Scarlet. ‘We heard you were coming home. It’s just as well – the house was too quiet without you here.’
‘Get over here, little dude,’ says Dylan, opening his arms.
Benji dashes across the room and flings himself down between them, snuggling his feet onto Scarlet’s lap and his head against Dylan’s shoulder. Nick and I sit down, and we spend the next fifteen minutes watching our teenage children comfort, reassure and finally get a smile out of their little brother.
*
It isn’t until Sunday lunchtime that I finally get to discuss my new plan with the rest of the family. Nick cooks a roast dinner and I wait until everyone’s plate is full before clearing my throat and getting their attention.
‘I have an announcement to make,’ I say, hitting my water glass with my fork.
Nick cringes and puts out his hand to stop me. ‘Don’t do that, Hannah. Those glasses are only cheap. They’ll shatter if you look at them the wrong way.’
‘An announcement!’ Scarlet’s reaction is far more satisfying than my boring health-and-safety-conscious husband, so I turn to her, a big smile on my face. ‘Are you finally going to let me change my name to Scarlett with two ts, which is obviously how it was supposed to be spelt in the first place?’
I squint at her, wondering what she’s wittering on about now.
‘No, and I have no idea why you would think that’s what I’m about to say. Anyway, I’m really excited to be talking to you guys about this. So, the thing is—’
‘We’re going somewhere amazing on holiday, aren’t we!’ squeals Scarlet. ‘Oh my god, Mum! Where is it? Is it America?’
‘Is it Disneyland?’ yells Benji. ‘Logan went there last year and he said it was fantastic. You can go on rides and eat candy floss and meet Mickey Mouse and—’
‘It’s not Disneyland, numbnuts.’ Scarlet waves her hand, dismissing Benji’s suggestion. ‘Can you imagine Dad somewhere like that?’
We all turn to look at Nick, who is staring at us all like we’ve grown three heads.
‘What are you going on about?’ he asks. ‘And can you please eat this roast before it goes cold.’
‘We’re just saying that you wouldn’t be seen dead at Disneyland,’ Dylan informs him, ramming a huge piece of chicken into his mouth. ‘You know. Not with all that expectation that you might actually have a good time.’
Nick frowns. ‘You’re damn right I wouldn’t. What a waste of money! I don’t need some wet-behind-the-ears, spotty juvenile in a mouse costume telling me that it’s time to enjoy myself, thank you very much.’
Scarlet groans. ‘Well, not everyone is a killjoy like you, Dad.’
Nick looks hurt at this accusation.
‘I am not a killjoy. I just can’t stand organised fun.’ He spits out the last two words like they’re putting him off his food. ‘I don’t need permission to have a good time.’
It is for this very reason that the Thompson family will never step over the boundaries of Center Parcs or anything Disney-related or indeed any campsite that has the audacity to offer entertainment of any kind. We did once visit Legoland when Dylan was younger, mostly because Nick was under the innocent illusion that it would just be about Lego bricks. The car journey home was mostly spent listening to him bang on about the ratio of activity to queuing time and the cost of a can of coke. The day only managed to avoid being a complete disaster because Dylan had quite a lot of birthday money to spend and Nick convinced him to buy a box that consisted of boring, grey Lego, which he then spent three solid days turning into a replica of something from Star Wars that Dylan wasn’t allowed to play with.
‘I think we’re going to Morocco,’ says Dylan, having finally swallowed his chicken. ‘That’s on your bucket list, isn’t it?’
‘We’re not going to Morocco,’ I say. ‘And what I actually wanted to—’
‘Not with any of you, anyway,’ adds Nick. ‘We’re going to wait until you’ve all left home and then me and your mum are going to have the holiday of a lifetime.’ His eyes glaze over slightly. ‘We’re going to shop in the souqs of Marrakech and hike in the Atlas Mountains and drink funky cold medina.’
He sings the last three words, wiggling his shoulders in what I can only assume is his interpretation of a hip-hop dance move.
Scarlet’s eyes narrow. ‘You do know that song is talking about date rape, don’t you? Medina was a drug that the guy put in people’s drinks to make them have sex with him because they didn’t like him.’ She holds up her hand and starts counting off on her fingers. ‘It’s all there in the lyrics, Dad. He thinks that girls should be with him just because he has nice clothes and it condones animal testing and it is totally transphobic.’
We both stare at her and I run through the song lyrics in my head. The dog doing the wild thing on his leg. Sheena. The comment about making sure that the girl is pure.
‘Scarlet’s right,’ I tell Nick, feeling shocked. ‘He drugs them. And we’ve been playing it to the kids since they were tiny.’
‘Exactly.’ Scarlet smacks her lips with relish. ‘What kind of parent forces their kids to listen to lyrics like that?’
‘And anyway, the medina that you’re thinking of is a part of some cities in North Africa,’ Dylan informs Nick. ‘The streets are like mazes and it’s really easy to get lost.’
‘Thanks,’ says Nick, nodding. ‘I’ll try to remember that.’
‘That song is ruined for me now,’ I mutter. ‘Forever.’
‘So if we’re not going to Morocco and we’re not going to Disneyland then where are we going?’ asks Benji, waving his hand to get our attention back on the topic.
Which is absolutely not the topic that I actually want to discuss.
‘We’re not going anywhere,’ I say firmly. ‘The announcement that I want to make has nothing to do with any holiday.’
‘Bloody hell, you’re not pregnant, are you?’ asks Dylan and there is silence as four pairs of eyes bore into my stomach.
‘No, I’m not!’ I snap.