My Own Worst Enemy, page 29
‘I know that,’ I say impatiently. ‘I’ve seen the wedding photos.’
I used to think they were idyllic. The small, intimate ceremony in a quaint chapel, Mum’s bump proudly displayed, Dad grinning in every picture. Pete’s wife Sally was maid of honour, and Pete was best man and caterer.
Mum says, ‘I should have known the marriage was doomed as soon as I saw that wedding cake made of pizza.’
‘You never loved each other?’
Is that why I can’t seem to love people properly? Some curse of being born to parents who don’t really want you?
‘Oh, Julius and I had an understanding,’ Mum says. ‘But sometimes two perfectly lovely people can like each other, and that does not mean they should get married.’
She laughs heartily, then stops herself again.
‘Your father and I quickly realised we were incompatible as spouses. Emotionally, logistically, sexually—’
‘I do not need to know that part.’
‘Well, we weren’t incompatible enough to stop us from having you, I suppose,’ she muses. ‘But after the honeymoon all that stopped, to our mutual pleasure. Once you were born, our relationship became something else. We were co-parents. If we hadn’t had you, we would have got divorced immediately.’
‘So you were both miserable,’ I mumble. ‘Because of me.’
‘Pumpkin, no. The opposite. We had you, and, mad as it sounds, having a screaming child shitting herself every second made us love each other more. Because I loved your father being a father. And I think he felt the same about me being a mother. We felt lucky because we both had you.’
I swallow painfully.
‘You were our whole lives. We both wanted to be there for you. We kept telling ourselves we’d separate one day, but the goalposts kept shifting. First we said we’d wait for you to go to school. Then, we’d wait for you to start Key Stage 3. Then you were twelve, and you came out to us, and we thought, God, the last thing we wanted to do was for you to associate coming out with us breaking up! So we held on…’
I try to keep my voice level.
‘So, what changed? You met John?’
‘No,’ she sighs deeply. ‘What changed… is that Sally died.’
I watch the drizzle make patterns on the table. The sounds from the bar rise and fall.
‘I wish you’d been able to know her more,’ says Mum. ‘She was – oh, she was the best. Wicked sense of humour. Kindest soul. Adored you, of course. When she got her diagnosis we were all so…’
Dogs whine in the background. I can hear the jangling of earrings as Mum shakes her head.
‘It shook us all deeply. Pete just… stopped. Didn’t look after himself. Your dad moved in with him to help, but they shut the pizzeria, so they were both out of a job. I was looking after you by myself most of the time, while I was grieving too.’
Her words conjure a memory of Sally’s funeral – Mum and Dad clutching each other’s hands, whispering out of my earshot.
‘I… I got it wrong,’ I say. ‘I knew Sally had died, but… All I really understood was Dad was moving out of the flat and you were trying to hide that you were crying all the time. I thought he was leaving us and neither of you were telling me.’
She sighs. ‘I’m sorry that we didn’t talk to you more about it at the time. I see now that I should have done. You were thirteen, old enough to understand all of it, but… To me, you were still my baby. I wanted to shield you from reality.’
She sniffs.
‘Somewhere in the heartbreak,’ she continues, ‘your dad and I decided the time would never be right, so it might as well be now. We were going to divorce. But we wanted to make sure we had all the legal information understood before talking to you. It was all very amicable.’
If their separation was so amicable, why did they stop talking, except through me? I swap the phone to my other ear, so that I can warm my other hand in Mae’s jacket.
‘Sally died in January,’ Mum continues, ‘and your father reopened the pizzeria in the autumn so… Eight, nine months later? I dropped you off at school and walked into the office to file for a divorce. And there in the waiting room was this man.’
I sit very still.
‘And this man had his hand resting on this gorgeous puppy, a grey Staffy with three legs, and the puppy was gazing up at him with such… such pure devotion in his eyes, and then John looked at me and…’
My vision blurs.
‘I’d never felt like that before,’ Mum whispers. ‘Like maybe – maybe I was the main character in my own life, and I was finally getting a love story.’
Silently, I press my eyes with the palm of my hands.
‘It just felt… right,’ she says. ‘Your father and I could sell the house and get some money to put aside for you. Your dad could move in with Pete, where they realised they were both happier anyway, and they could get the business back up and running. He’d still get to be with you every weekend. And you and I could move into a cottage the way we’d always imagined. I was so sure you’d love John and Amy and the animals as much as I did. I really, really thought that you’d be happy.’
I swallow hard, looking around the smoking area, but to my relief, I have no audience watching me.
‘I did it all wrong, I see that now,’ she says. ‘I got caught up in it. I thought it would be this magical surprise, this fairy tale, like it had felt for me…’
Driving down that pathway to the cottage, holding hands with Mum, thinking this was my new home. Then the door opening to John and Amy.
‘I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you, or making you feel second best,’ she says. ‘If I had to choose between you and anyone, anything else – I would choose you, my Emmeline, every time, a hundred million times. But I… I never thought of it that way.
‘I don’t believe that love is limited. Love isn’t a competition. Everyone can be a winner. I love you and I love Amy, and those loves are different, sure – but they don’t take away from each other. If you had been a twin, would you think I loved you any less? Or if you were a triplet? Or an octuplet? Or—’
I laugh snottily. ‘I think I get the idea, Mum.’
‘I suppose my problem has always been that I have too much love to give,’ Mum sighs contentedly. ‘But oh, what a nice problem to have.’
All this time I could have allowed myself to be happy at the cottage with Mum and her wonderfully wholesome other family, and I wouldn’t have been hurting anyone.
I look up at the clouds moving past the bright full moon.
‘I thought I had to side with Dad because he was the one who was alone,’ I say quietly. ‘He was the one who was left behind.’
I stand and start pacing. ‘But Dad kept trying to tell me. He kept saying he was happy and that I should talk to you, I should forgive you. I just never believed him. I guess because… I guess because I found it really hard to be happy without you.’
Mum sniffs. The sound makes me start sniffing. And then I hear Mum is crying, and I can’t stop it any longer. Finally, I let myself cry. For a while we both sob, unabashed and unrestrained, animals wailing along in the background.
‘Oh Emmy,’ she says. ‘I wish I was there with you. I always wish I was there with you. I am so, so sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry,’ I say, wiping desperately at my nose with the jacket sleeve. ‘God, I just feel so stupid. I hate myself for doing this to us all. You were always so supportive of me, and I was so scared that I hadn’t been good enough for you, that you didn’t really want me anymore… Think of all the time we’ve lost because of me.’
‘Emmeline,’ Mum says, hoarsely, ‘it’s not too late. We can start now.’
I sniff, and nod desperately, then realise she can’t see me over the phone.
‘Mum?’
‘Yes, my love. I’m here.’
‘Will you come and see my show?’
There’s a silence.
‘If – if John and Amy want to?’
But Mum doesn’t reply. For a moment I feel the same as when I invited Dad and he ignored me. Then Mum starts properly wailing.
‘Mum! It’s really fine, you don’t have to, I’m sorry I—’
‘I have been waiting for you to invite me to one of your shows for ten years!’ she sobs. ‘I bought a front-row ticket to every single one, just in case.’
The world blurs. All those shows at drama school with an empty seat in the front row. The reserved seat at the improv show. The seat next to Alice tonight…
Not caring who might come into The Boards Theatre Smoking Area, I wail too.
‘Sometimes,’ says Mum, through her tears, ‘I felt like I was your own Phantom of the Opera.’ She starts singing the opening music. I laugh snottily and join in. Sat there wiping my cheeks and clutching the phone to my ear, I imagine Mum doing the same.
‘Do you want to stay at the cottage tonight?’ she asks. ‘I could come and pick you up? I’d be there in a couple of hours, faster if I manage to escape without The Pig knowing.’
I think about what Mum said, about how love isn’t a competition. I’ve done it again with pushing Ruth and Raphy away just because the love between the two of them has changed.
‘Thank you, Mum,’ I sniff. ‘Honestly, it means a lot and I’d love to visit some other time. But I’ve messed up a lot of things recently, and I don’t want to hold off on apologising and trying to set them right.’
Mum says quietly, ‘Well then, I’m proud of you.’ My chest feels lighter than it has in years. Then she squeals happily. ‘And I’ll see you tomorrow! Oh, I can’t believe I get to say that!’
I smile broadly to the empty smoking area.
‘I can’t wait. Goodnight, Mum.’
‘Goodnight, sweetie. I’m so, so glad you rang.’
‘I’m so glad you picked up.’
‘You hang up.’
‘No you hang up.’
We laugh.
‘Mum!’
‘Sorry!’ she says, but still doesn’t hang up.
I smile, and put the phone on the table, leaving it on. Mum and I sit there in silence together, looking up at our night skies, while a pig squeals happily in the background.
49
When I arrive back at the flat, I know R&R are still awake because of the delicate glow of candles burning through the thin living room curtains. On the windowsill I can see the reflection of a crystal Raphy charges in moonlight. I think that one is for the protection of friends. My chest aches as I ring the doorbell.
‘It’s her,’ I hear Raphy say.
‘She’d have a key,’ Ruth answers.
‘She isn’t sure if we’d let her in,’ he replies. ‘And she wants to do a big apology speech. Also, she can hear us.’
I almost turn away in panic when the door opens.
Raphy and Ruth grab me. Then we’re all hugging as hard as we can. I look into their faces and immediately start crying again.
‘Jesus,’ says Ruth, leaning back in alarm. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry outside of a self-tape.’
Raphy hands me his handkerchief.
‘Let it out,’ he coos. ‘Let it all out.’
Ruth smooths my hair efficiently and Raphy rubs my back, whispering what sounds like, ‘catharsis, catharsis’. This is so not going the way I’d expected.
‘I’m sorry,’ I cough. ‘I didn’t plan to just cry at you. I want to do a full apology speech.’
‘Of course you do,’ says Ruth. ‘I’ll go and get the popcorn, shall I? Is on the doorstep an important setting for you, or do you want to perform it in the comfort of your own home?’
I start blubbering again.
Before I know it, we’re in our old routine, Raphy spooning out herbal teas and Ruth checking her watch against the popping of the microwave.
‘Emmy, why don’t you go into the living room and choose a musical soundtrack?’
I don’t know why I was expecting the living room to have changed in the, like, two days I’ve been away, but it’s the same as I left it.
By the time we’re settled down, we’re already several songs into Les Misérables and it feels slightly weird to bring up the apology. But they deserve it.
I cough and stand before them. They nod, crunching on popcorn.
My old instinct would have been to draw on old films for apology scenes and steal their lines, or at least their expressions. But this is Ruth and Raphy. They’re my best friends. It should be my honest attempt.
‘I’m sorry I’m an idiot,’ I say. ‘I was so scared you guys had chosen the two of you instead of the three of us. I didn’t want to watch you drift slowly away from me, so I guess I thought I should rip the plaster off.’ I sigh. ‘But I was acting as if love is a finite resource, and as if change is inevitably a bad thing. I still really want to be your friend, whatever that looks like. I want our friendship to grow together. And just to be clear, I’m genuinely so, so happy for you both. You’re clearly so happy together and honestly, when I think about it, each of you is the only person I would ever think would be good enough for the other, so really, it’s perfect. I love you both so much and I really hope… I hope you’ll forgive me… And that we can… still be… best friends?’
After a pause, Ruth says, ‘I think that’s the longest I’ve ever heard you talk.’
Raphy does some kind of elaborate bow and hand gesture. ‘I hear your apology, I receive your apology, I accept your apology. It was accepted before you’d even left the flat.’
In the same moment, they both reach their hands forwards to do our three-handed handshake. I shake them, crying again.
‘Goodness me,’ says Raphy, his eyes widening as he seems to read my mind. ‘You’ve had a lot of houses in retrograde, haven’t you?’
I nod my puffy eyes.
‘Can the non-psychic amongst us be given a debrief please?’ Ruth asks.
I take a deep breath.
‘Since I found out that the two of you were together, I… fought with my dad and Pete, quit the pizzeria, and went to stay at Alice’s. Then Mae told me she wanted to kiss me.’ Ruth squeaks. ‘I told her I wanted to kiss her too, but I had a girlfriend.’ Ruth boos. ‘Also, she’s leaving for America. Alice told me. Then Alice tried to blackmail me and also told me she loved me. Then I fought with Mae because it turns out she’s Alice’s ex.’ Ruth grimaces. ‘Then I did the worst performance of my life, ruined the show for everyone. Fought with Alice, found out she’s not over her other ex, and broke up with her.’ Ruth cheers. ‘Then I got ghosted by Thalia – again – but no longer care. Rang my mum, realised I’ve been separating our family for no reason, and invited her to the show tomorrow. Then I came here.’
Ruth blinks and pops a piece of popcorn in her mouth.
‘Busy, busy.’
I laugh. Then I start crying, yet again. God, I’ve officially broken my tear ducts.
‘Sometimes I wish I could just become someone else. Throw away the character of Emmy Clooney and start again. Make a completely new life for myself.’
Raphy takes my hand.
‘You’re the only person you can’t run away from,’ he says.
‘I know. It’s the worst.’
‘But honey,’ he says, ‘that means you’re never alone. You’ll always be there. So stop trying to abandon yourself. Like, I know “self-love” can be hard; it’s the work of a lifetime to feel complete and unconditional love for ourselves – but maybe start with cultivating a bit of self-like? Be your own best friend?’
Raphy’s woo-woo is sounding bizarrely rational.
‘So,’ he smiles, ‘what advice would you give to your best friend if she was in this situation?’
I look pleadingly up at him.
‘I’d… I’d tell her to listen to her friends, because they’re much wiser than she is. And I’d tell her to apologise to everyone. But first, to go to bed.’
Raphy adds, ‘And dance under the full moon, naked, clockwise.’
I blink at him.
‘Would that help?’ I ask.
He shrugs.
‘Probably wouldn’t hurt.’
‘Things will seem better in the morning,’ says Ruth, patting my shoulder. ‘We’ll make a list.’
‘It’s going to have to be a very long list,’ I groan.
‘What if not everything that’s broken needs fixing?’ says Raphy.
‘Raphael,’ laughs Ruth, ‘we both know you’re just repeating things with a cryptic twist now.’
‘What if repeating cryptic things is itself a twist?’ he asks.
Ruth and I tickle him until he squeals.
When we head to bed, they both give me a long hug and Raphy invites me to blow out the prayer candle.
I can’t tell you what I prayed for, in case that means it doesn’t come true.
50
R&R were right. Things do seem a bit better in the morning… Until I check my phone and see that Alice Sefton has posted a review of Twelfth Night in The Atre online. She has given it one star.
I pull the duvet over my head and try to disappear into the mattress.
‘Emmeline Clooney is clearly no relation of George – someone who shares a great actor’s genes could not have such a complete lack of charisma. Not only does Clooney have the emotional range of a self-service machine, she cannot even remember her (pittance of) lines. One has to wonder if Clooney could possibly have earned this part in a fair audition – did she get into the production through dubious means? Apparently she is trained at St Genesius, which shows that even the finest establishments will let anyone in for a high enough fee. It’s exactly this kind of amateurish performance that means LGBTQ+ shows will remain underfunded…’
I continue to read all one thousand words dedicated to describing every way in which I am inferior.
But… The review doesn’t mention Mae.
Ruth pushes open my bedroom door.
‘Yoga in the living room, T-minus five.’
I groan and try to hide further under my blanket.
