Page 96 of Don't You Forget About Me
Mum blows smoke out in a long plume. It’s so bizarre seeing her with a fag. I knew she dallied in her twenties, but she gave up when she got pregnant with Esther and never started again.
‘Grace, her name was. They were on and off for ten years. Met her at work. Wouldn’t give her up,’ Mum says. ‘She never married so was there at his beck and call.’
‘Well. What utter bastardy,’ I say. ‘To you and her. I don’t like what she did but I bet she thought they were in love and Dad might leave.’
‘I didn’t think you’d think that way,’ Mum says. ‘I thought you might blame me, for making him unhappy.’
I love my mum, but sometimes it does seem incredible we share DNA.
‘Why on earth would I blame you? It’s not your fault if he cheated on you.’
Mum nods. ‘I’m still glad you didn’t know. Caused a lot of tension for you, didn’t it?’ She nudges Esther.
Esther nods, scuffs her shoe on the ground. ‘It was hard to see him in the same way.’
I readjust my perception of Esther’s teenage hauteur, her exasperation with me and my closeness with Dad, and some of the slammed doors.
‘Why is Geoffrey spraying the information around all of a sudden?’ Esther says. ‘What gives him the right? All we said was we were going to the grave, not erecting a statue.’
‘He gets jealous, I think,’ Mum says.
‘Of a dead person,’ I scoff, and then consider I might be something of a hypocrite, given the sensations I felt looking at the late Niamh.
‘I know he can be difficult, but I have to be careful, girls. He’s the one with the finances.’
‘Mum, loads of equity in that house is yours,’ Esther says. ‘You’re not powerless. Tell him to sort himself out.’
‘It’s not that easy.’
‘I’m not saying it’s easy but you can’t let him walk all over you.’
‘We’ll back you up, Mum,’ I add.
‘That’s very kind but you’ve both got lives to lead of your own, I can’t be a burden.’
‘You’d hardly be a burden!’ I say, suddenly feeling tearful, like I can’t quite swallow around the lump in my throat. I can’t remember a time when it’s felt so sisterly between the three of us.
‘Always a spare room here,’ Esther says, clasping Mum’s shoulders.
For the first time, I feel the true uselessness of my skintness. I am not the same sort of help myself, whether I like it or not.
‘We should go in, the food’s ready,’ Esther says, with a look at Mark who’s waving through the kitchen window.
Mum catches my sleeve, as I stub my fag out under my boot.
‘Georgina, about your dad. He never gave up his Saturdays with you, for her. I took some comfort from that.’
This makes me feel gratified and confused and guilty and sad, all at once.
When we’ve finished the passion fruit mousse, Mum says no thanks to a coffee and I know, I already know what’s coming next. She sensibly waits until Nana Hogg is snoring in an armchair and unable to offer input.
‘Esther, thanks for the offer of staying but I think I’m going to go home.’
Esther’s brow furrows. ‘Are you sure?
I want so much to be some assistance, and not always have to defer to my capable sister, who spent so many more years of her childhood shouldering the fact of my father’s affair than I did. When I was tripping happily with him from cafés to curry houses.
‘Yes, absolutely sure. It’ll have blown over and I will tell Geoffrey his response was excessive.’
