When I get home, Mum is doing angry ironing. She’s attacking a shirt with steam on level-three heat. This is never a good sign. Dave is nowhere to be seen. She would have seen Mum doing this and gone straight behind the couch. It’s Dave’s panic room.
When Mum sees me, though, she stops everything, rushes over, and hugs me. She won’t let me go.
“Oh, Millie! I’m so sorry about your dad. I saw your vlog. I screamed at him on the phone. He didn’t tell me! I mean, I’m not saying he shouldn’t have told you first, but he should have told me, too! Total strangers saw before me! It had thousands of views before I went near it! In fact, why didn’t you tell me last night?! This is typical of him. He’s got a heart of gold, but he’s totally useless. BUT you can go and see him! WE can! Me and you. Just me and you.”
To be honest, I’m very surprised at this reaction. My mum and my dad have always gotten along, but I didn’t think she missed him or wanted to be with him in any way. She seems more upset than me.
I finally get out of her bear hug (ever since Lauren went on about the bear I’m thinking of them ALL the time) and it’s then I realize that her eyes are all red and puffy.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine in no time!”
When Mum does this rubbish rhyme, it means she is not fine at all.
My mum doesn’t like being not all right. She is old school. She likes to keep all the feelings under the carpet. Because of this, she makes me go upstairs to change out of my school uniform. It gives her some breathing space. I get straight into my pajamas. It’s the only way to be after school. I lie on my bed and make myself look at the comments on my vlog.
There are lots and loads of new subscribers, which gives me a bit of head-spin, a rush of pride, and desire to vomit all at once.
I look at the most liked.
Honest and Dave is everything.
(Yes, and yes she is. I don’t tell her that but she is incredible.)
Sorry about your dad. My dad did this, too. We don’t know where he is. Happened 4 years ago.
(That’s awful. Luckily, my dad keeps in touch and he does send cards.)
Make sure you keep in touch. Sometimes going abroad means disappearing forever.
(It won’t.)
U R lucky 2 have a dad in the first place. Count your blessing.
(I think that should be plural, but never mind—and yes, I know I am.)
Typical drama queen. Making something out of nothing to get hits.
(This is horrible, but is it also a bit true? I knew a ton of people wouldn’t “get” it.)
Is Dave drugged?
(WHAT?! OF COURSE NOT! DAVE IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE. I WOULD NEVER HURT HER.)
Another subscriber replies.
How can you drug a cat?
(THANK YOU! Of course, you can’t. Unless you are a twisted evil vet and I am not!)
I say this out loud but I don’t comment. I’m not commenting on anything. It’s the safest way.
I read on. Two people are having a full-on argument underneath my vlog.
Of course you can drug cats! Animals should not be made to perform. This is no better than the thousands of dolphins that are in captivity that are made to jump through hoops to get a fish treat. It’s disgusting.
This makes me furious. I go downstairs. Mum is always the person to talk to in situations like this. She’s got a level head and she—
Mum is now attacking a pair of pants. It smells like something is burning. I don’t think she should iron nylon slacks on a maximum setting. I think they are melting.
I look at her face and decide I am not going to mention this right now. In fact, changing the subject seems like a very good idea.
“Mum, have you ever heard of an animal being drugged so they can do stunts and tricks?”
Mum answers like she is in a dream.
“I think they used to do it in films. You’d need a lot of tranquilizers for an elephant, though. People can be cruel when you don’t do what they want you to do.”
I go to reassure her. Don’t worry, Mum, I’m not going to ever do anything like that to Dave. I mean, she can’t even handle catnip.
Suddenly Mum bursts into tears.
This is weird as it’s not just a few tears, it’s full-on sobbing. For a minute I just stand there with my mouth wide open. Mum folds into a heap in the big chair. Dave appears from behind the sofa and starts licking Mum’s tears off her face. Please note—my cat is better in an emergency than me.
Eventually my shock wears off and I manage to give Mum a huge hug.
Mum manages to talk through her tears.
“Millie. Gary and I have split up. He’s left.”
This is strange. Not so long ago I would have wanted Gary to go. It would have been my absolute dream. He is so difficult to live with. He is super strict, uber-grumpy, and he could sense a speck of dust from four miles away. Now that he’s left, I’m honestly sad. This feeling is mainly for Mum, though.
Suddenly, I have a terrible thought.
“Oh no. Was it me coming back to live here?”
My mouth says this thought. It does that sometimes.
Mum reassures me so fast it’s scary.
“No! NO!” she cries. “I’ll be really straight with you, Millie. Gary wanted to have a baby and I didn’t. It’s as simple as that. I don’t want to do the whole diaper and horrific toddler thing again. I feel way too old. I understand that he does, though, and that’s why…”
Mum breaks down again, Dave puts her paw on Mum’s arm, and I try to say something supportive.
“I’m sorry, Mum. I know you were totally loved up and that he made you happy.”
Mum looks at me. “It’s not just that, Millie. He’s taken the robot vacuum cleaner! It did most of the cleaning! What now? I can’t go back to life without it!”
This makes me laugh, but Mum is dead serious.
“It’s all the other stuff Gary did, too,” Mum says. “Now I’ll need a stepladder again to mend the shower light and the bathroom is half tiled. Who’s going to do that?!”
This makes me annoyed. I reassure her.
“We can do the tiling! We are feminists!”
Mum sighs. “It’s nothing to do with gender equality, Millie. I haven’t got the time or the energy to do things like that! I haven’t got the money, either. I just want to come home to a clean house, a cooked meal, a decent box set, and someone to share it with. It’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“Don’t worry!” I say. “There’s other people we know who can help. Lauren’s dad can do little jobs. His own house is a total disgrace, but he can do DIY. And we can totally get you on Tinder. We’ll find you a guy who’s good around the house and has a wide range of robot cleaning products. It’ll be FINE, Mum.”
To be honest, Lauren’s dad is a bit of a nightmare. He puts Lauren through a lot, what with arguing with her mum since she was born. Lauren used to dread going home. But my mum needs some help around the house, and he can do it.
With this, Mum gives me a huge hug and says she wants five minutes on her own just to get herself together. She disappears upstairs, probably to keep on crying on her own for a time.
Wow. This is a huge shock. I hate seeing Mum like this. And I understand where she’s coming from. I probably could have dealt with having a little sister. It’s Mum’s choice, though, and honestly, if she’d given birth to a boy I would have moved not just back to Granddad’s house but probably to the moon.
The mad, ambitious, maniac part of my brain thinks it might have been great drama for my vlog. “Hashtag Help! My six-month-old brother is the devil,” but no, not worth it even for that.
Also, Gary did do some amazing things—Mum is right. McWhirter did most of the dusting without any of us trying and Gary did a lot of great cooking. Him leaving does mean a lot more of Mum’s meals. That is not a good thought—appalling leftover pie with lots of fridge debris and her legendary “nachos,” aka chips with sour cream, a whole avocado (no attempt at guacamole!), and beans.
I realize I’m being selfish. We’ll manage. We did before. When it was just Mum and me it was wonderful. Her heart is broken and I’ve got to help her. I’ll start by making a fuss over her and organizing a good night.
I would normally do a vlog, but when Mum comes back downstairs I suggest the things you absolutely need when a relationship breaks down. Ice cream and a movie.
Mum is quite clear. “Millie. Nothing romantic and nothing about love or teenagers dying in a forest because of an ancient curse they find in a tree or something.”
I suggest Wonder Woman. She survives. Men die. In fact, men die for her.
Mum winks at me and says, “That sounds like just what I need.”
At this point, my phone goes off. It’s a message from Danny.
Hi M. Got a virus or something. Temperature 101 degrees. Mum making me eat soup. Won’t be at school for a few days. No voice so can’t talk. Just saw your vlog though. Baby, I’m sorry but know you are strong and you look and sound great. Dave also incredible. Try a bit of Zan. D xx
“Try a bit of Zan.” I wish I could explain to Danny and lots of other people that it isn’t that easy.
Also, I know not being able to speak is a very good excuse for not calling, but I still feel a bit …
No, I’m being terrible. He’s just ill. Tonight is ALL about my mum and making her feel better. That’s what good daughters and good women do—support each other even when they are feeling bleurgh.