Candy and the Broken Biscuits. Lauren Laverne
Hoppings is Mum’s latest boyfriend. Ray is a life coach. What this involves, I couldn’t tell you, although I have a mental image of him following people around the supermarket while they do their weekly shop yelling, “GO FOR IT! WAY TO SELECT CARROTS!” like a football coach at the side of the pitch.
I have actually heard him refer to himself as (DIRECT quote) “Bishopspool’s answer to Paul McKenna”. Paul McKenna! Ray can’t even hypnotise people! I asked him about it once and he said, “I can hypnotise myself” like that was in any way remotely cool. Maybe he’s hypnotised himself not to realise what a total dofus he is.
Opening the kitchen door, I am greeted – even by Our House standards – by an unusual scene. Mum, resplendent in her pink fifties-style salon coat-dress and heels (she’s a dresser-up) is dancing around the kitchen with Ray. In her free hand she’s holding a spatula, on the hob there’s a frying pan, eggs and bacon sizzling away. They’re both still singing Ice Ice Baby. Suddenly Mum shimmies back a few feet and then actually RUNS towards him. Ray holds his arms out. She leaps! And in one Dirty Dancing move, he hoists her into the air before spinning them both round, placing her gently down in front of the oven and kissing her on the cheek.
“Ahem.” Seriously. I can’t think of anything else to say.
“Candy! Morning darling!” says Mum, flustered. “We were just…celebrating! Sit down. I’m making us a proper breakfast.”
Then I notice our big old kitchen table. The usual mess of glossy mags and science-lab salon stuff have been replaced by a smart checked tablecloth, a teapot, knives, forks and actual alive flowers in a vase. Something is clearly up.
“Celebrating what?” I ask, pulling out a chair and easing myself into it.
“It’s a beautiful day!” Ray chirps, setting down a plate of toast. “On a day like this, anything could happen! Dreams could come true! Maybe they already have…” He looks over to Mum, who gazes back gooily. Ick.
“Celebrating what?”
Still humming that appalling Vanilla Ice song, Mum is dishing up slightly burned eggs and bacon with her back to me. She picks up two plates and plonks them down with a flourish on the table. As she lifts her hand away I notice a flash. There – gleaming and glistening on her fourth finger. Left hand. Ice Ice Baby. Oh no.
I feel the shock register on my face before it hits my chest. My eyes widen, my jaw drops open. Mum swoops down into the chair next to me and leans over to give me a huge squeeze of a hug. Beaming her beautiful, perfect-lipstick smile she clasps my hand in hers. Ray is saying something.
“…have decided to take our relationship to the next level…”
They’re getting married.
“…truly make a lifetime commitment…be a family…create something non-traditional but special…”
Oh. My. God.
Ray is still talking but I’m not taking in the words. I pull my hand from Mum’s grasp and drop it into my lap where it lies uselessly by the other one. For a moment I imagine them growing, superhero-style, to ten times their size, lifting Ray up and throwing him out of the kitchen window.
“Candy? Isn’t it wonderful news?”
It’s Mum.
“We’re so excited, darling! I know this will be a big change for you, for all of us, but it’s going to be wonderful! Like Ray says. We can be a family.” She’s holding my hand again, and Ray hers. For a second we look exactly as she wants us to.
“Mum, I’m fifteen! What’s he going to do – adopt me? Walk me to school? Dress up as Santa at Christmas?”
Mum’s smile falters. “I don’t mean that, Candy.” She looks at Ray. “Ray loves me. And you. He wants to be…part of your life. Maybe like a dad, maybe more like a friend. Is that so terrible?”
I can’t believe this. There were always Rays. Rays, Daves, Larrys, lans, Johns, Toms, Harrys and (total) Dicks. They might have stayed for a while but they were always THEM. We were US. And this is Our House. Suddenly I feel like a visitor.
Ray clears his throat.
“Candy, science has demonstrated that human beings only use twenty per cent of their brains. Did you know that?”
I sulk harder, wishing he’d only use twenty per cent of his mouth.
“Before I met your mother, I was using only a fraction of my emotional capacity. But Maggie makes me the best me I can be. In terms of happiness, I am at saturation levels.”
He pauses, allowing us to absorb the full impact of his wisdom. I look straight at my mum. She can’t seriously want to marry this guy.
“I don’t…I don’t know what to say, Mum.”
“Candy darling, Ray loves me and I love him! Don’t you want me to be happy? Don’t you think I deserve that?” She starts breathing a bit hard and I know she is trying to stop herself crying. I look at the clock – eight fifty. Clients in ten minutes. She doesn’t have time to re-do her makeup, so we can’t have an argument now.
“It’s all right, Maggie.” Ray puts his arm around her and leans in, touching his head to hers. Puke. “Candy’s entitled to her feelings.” He turns back to me, every inch the reasonable dad at the family meeting, dealing with the inexplicably moody child. I obviously must have missed the meeting where anybody asked whether I actually wanted to be in this family.
“Well we’d better get going. Start of a new day. Come on love.”
He gestures to Mum, who is still too busy concentrating on not getting upset to actually say anything.
Mum has this thing called “poise”. She developed it years ago, working as a model. It’s the knack of walking into any room as if it’s her surprise birthday party, no matter what kind of day she’s having. Another gift of hers I have not inherited, along with unbreakable nails and consistently obedient hair.
Shaking her shoulders out slightly, Mum adopts her delighted-you-could-make-it expression. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it. She places her twinkling left hand on my shoulder and leans in close.
“Candy. Darling, I love you. Both. Please, please try to be happy for us. If you can’t just yet then give it some time to sink in? It’s a big change, I know.” She stands up and they leave together. Be happy for us. The new us. One without me.
I don’t remember much about the next ten minutes. All I know is, by nine o’clock that morning I am sitting on the step of the East Bishopspool Pensioners’ Day Centre under an empty blue sky. Believe it or not an OAP club down at the old docks is the only place I can think of going this morning. Yes, I’m that cool. There’s nobody around but I turn the collars of my school blazer up anyway to make it look less like I’m wearing my uniform, in case anyone spots me. Do people still call the police about truanting? They might call the taste police, in which case I’m stuffed. Guilty of possession of aubergine polyester.
Hurry up, Glad.
I’ve never skived off school before. The world looks weird, like it’s the wrong colour or something. I’m freezing and starving. Why couldn’t we have had all this upset after breakfast?
Where is Glad, anyway? She’s always here first. You know what old people are like for timekeeping – fifteen minutes early for everything. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep I look out of my bedroom window at the seafront about 6am and there are old guys out there. Why are they up so early? It’s not like they’ve got work or a train to catch.
The sudden crunch of enormous wheels approaching accompanied