Just glad to be out of my flat. My scars make me look like I have teenage acne though. Or leprosy. A lady on the bus keeps staring at me.
Maybe she’s hot for you. It’s that cool and dangerous vibe you’re giving off.
She’s about fifty. She looks like she’d eat me alive.
Maybe she’s Carly.
You are funny. I’m scared now though. What are you up to today? Wanna hang out later?
I’m doing a work thing with my mum, but yeah, sure. We can hang out. Or more…
I’m intrigued by the more.
I’ll message you later. With pictures maybe.
I just cheered out loud. Carly’s just moved seats.
Look after that coffee xx
‘Why are you smiling?’ my mum asks as she watches me put my phone down from the mirror where she’s sitting.
‘Oh, just Cameron…’
Mum smiles back. ‘Good to know he’s feeling better. Invite him round later, for dinner?’
‘Maybe,’ I reply.
She narrows her eyes at me before returning to her mirror to talk into it. ‘Good morning, my name is Susan Jewell. How are you?’ she announces to this dressing room, practising her serious TV arms and earnest nods. ‘Yes, that is very interesting. Thank you for your input. However, I do object to your line of questioning…’
I sit and cradle a cup of coffee while I watch Mum do her thing. Today is TV debate day and I’m here as the moral support, the wardrobe advisor, the debate practice partner. Mum smooths down the dress I’ve put her in. It’s midi, it’s teal so it’s calming on the eye, and she wears the earrings I got her for Christmas so looks vaguely classy. I don’t doubt that she’ll be amazing at this. It’s hard to say that my mother has screen presence, given her former line of work, but she does. However, she’s also likeable and well-spoken. As she’s developed her charity, she’s built amazing partnerships with schools and local health centres and it’s come from a good place, from a girl who once had nothing. She’s nervous as hell today, though, this is not a school assembly hall and she’s not winging it in front of a room of bored fifteen-year-olds.
I get up and drape my arms around her.
‘I’ve never heard anyone call you Susan, ever,’ I tell her.
‘My father used to,’ she says, looking further into that mirror than needs be.
‘You’re Susie. You’ve always been Susie. Don’t fake it, just be you,’ I say.
The irony of my advice is not lost on my mother, who giggles, watching me in the mirror. The last week, while I’ve let Cameron get over his chickenpox, I’ve spent a lot of time making amends with my family. We chatted through the Mike situation and I showed them his wedding photos. I explained the speed in which he found a new love and I told them everything that he wrote on that note, as painful as it was to say out loud. There are still shades of anger there from all of us but mostly from Nan, who said that she had once offered him some of her special fudge.The next time I give him fudge, it will be laced with arsenicand glass.However, things are better now, all of that is out in the open and it’s a relief to not have to hold on to it alone anymore.
‘Do you think I should go with the other dress with the big collar?’ Mum asks me.
‘It makes you look slightly Quaker?’
‘You’re right. I don’t want to pretend I’m all light and virtue,’ she jests cheekily.
‘I think we’ve got your vibe just right. The other option was that latex dress; we could show off a bit of bum cleavage.’
She shakes her head at me. ‘Latex. Back in my day, it was PVC.’
Imagine if we brought her here, full dominatrix. We could have fully accessorised, whips and all. I laugh to myself.
‘What if they use words I don’t know, Josie? I left school at sixteen.’
‘They won’t.’
‘What’s that word you taught me for old-fashioned?’
