I felt even worse in the morning, shame and humiliation compounded by a horrible hangover. I staggered around the kitchen, dropping things and averting my gaze from the congealing Chinese until I felt up to the task of disposing of it.
I couldn’t decide whether my clumsiness was down to the DTs or more PMT. In theory I should be in my manic, positive phase now, but these days I seemed to spend every day of my life teetering on an emotional knife edge. Perhaps Sally-Ann was right and I was menopausal instead. What a cheering fucking thought that was.
I pushed the dishes to one end of the table and sat down with my third very strong coffee, adding the possible shrivelling of my ovaries to the mental list of issues of joy on which to congratulate myself.
1) Have made a total prat of myself with a younger man who was evidently stringing me along just so that he could make an even bigger prat of me in a film which, for a portrait of just how bad older women could look with too much lipstick and the wrong dress on, rivals What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
2) Have lost my best friend, who might have had some sensible, grounding things to say on the matter and who I should have listened to in the first place.
3) Have been beastly to the only person who has tried to be nice. Here I grew hot-faced as I recalled shrieking at Andrew to get out of my house. The details were a bit of a blur now but I could remember shoving him and him protesting through the letterbox. Of course he probably wasn’t trying to have an affair with me at all – who on earth would want to? – but was paying me compliments to try to make me feel better about going out on national television looking like Bette Davis.
4) Have provided enough WIT points to keep Stanley in therapy for an extra decade.
Every time I thought of my son, my eyes filled with tears. He was already upset and now I’d done this to him. I prayed that the kids at school had been so disbelieving they hadn’t bothered to check the telly or had forgotten when it was on. Better Stanley was thought to be a fantasist than the spawn of a mad, drunken, hormonally-ravaged mother like me.
Had Stanley even seen it himself? Hopefully he’d been too busy eating pizzas. I prayed Daniel had taken him out to eat instead.
I wished I could find out. Then I could say the video machine hadn’t worked here and he might never need see it. My phone was still quiet. We didn’t usually have contact when Stanley was with Daniel unless he phoned to say he’d be late back or something, but now he had the new mobile I thought he might have sent me a text.
I wondered whether to send him one. I wouldn’t mention the film in case it reminded him. In case Daniel had set his video after all, and Stanley asked to watch it. I would just gauge his mood.
Hi darling hope u having good time with dad. Love you very much xxxx
As a sudden afterthought, I sent one to Andrew too. Sorry.
I pressed send . Then when I’d stared at it for 20 minutes and nothing had come back, I put the phone down and made a supreme effort to get up and throw all the food out of the back door where it was instantly attacked by a hoard of screeching gulls. I watched as one got another’s head in its beak as they fought over the last pancake roll.
5) Have wasted money and become one of those people who throws away a quarter of their food uneaten.
6) And also the sort of person who spends the day in bed.
Because having fucked up so royally on every count, there was nothing I could begin to contemplate doing now except climbing back under the duvet with painkillers.
I looked at myself in the hall mirror as I made for the stairs. Yesterday’s make-up was still smeared around my face, which was blotchy from crying. My hair stood up in clumps, sticky with old hair gel. My eyes were creased and baggy. I looked about ninety.
Cal, eat your heart out.
I was at least up and showered and dressed when Daniel came banging on the door the next morning, although I still felt like shit and the sight of his sanctimonious face did nothing to improve things.
‘I’ve taken Stanley to school,’ he said pompously. ‘And how do you think he’s going to feel when all his friends have seen his mother looking like that?’
I felt instantly sick. ‘What did he say?’
‘He was embarrassed – what do you think? Luckily for you, I turned it off before he could see too much.’ Daniel looked at me scathingly. ‘But we saw enough.’
I swallowed.
‘I’m wondering if, in the circumstances, I should pick him up from school again tonight,’ Daniel went on in the same contemptuous tone. ‘And take him back with me.’
‘No,’ I said at once. ‘He’s been with you two nights already. He’s coming home now.’
Daniel looked me up and down. ‘I’ve already told Stanley to phone me if he’d prefer not to. So perhaps I should take some more clothes with me in case.’
‘How dare you!’ I cried hotly. ‘He lives here. How dare you suggest he might not want to be with me?’
‘Well can you blame him? Making a spectacle of yourself like that. What were you thinking of?’
‘You sound like my mother.’
‘A pity you don’t. You sounded drunk.’
Daniel took my silence as an opportunity to stick the knife in a bit more. ‘You’re not really setting a very good example, are you? It’s hardly surprising that Stanley is anxious about school. It’s what’s going on here. He says you’ve been away a lot. I think maybe he should be spending more time with me if you can’t cope …’
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. Normally I would have been yelling at him by now but I just felt like crying.
‘I can cope.’ I said eventually.
‘Well, I don’t think you can and I want to be a lot more involved. I want him to spend half the Christmas holidays with me.’ The thought of Christmas, about which I had done precisely nothing, and that we wouldn’t now be spending with Charlotte, made me want to cry even more.
‘How does Emily feel about that?’ I asked tightly.
For a moment there was a flicker of discomfort across his face.
‘Stanley is my son and she will always welcome him, of course,’ he said stiffly.
‘Yeah, right. So she can go on badgering him about his calorie consumption.’
Daniel stood up straighter. ‘I don’t think you are in any position to criticise Emily.’
I was suddenly weary. ‘Oh bugger off, Daniel.’ I tried to shut the door. ‘I’ve got work to do.’
Daniel remained in my way. ‘I’ll call Stanley later to see how he is,’ he said ominously. ‘And I’ll come and get him if he needs me.’
After he’d gone, I tried hard not to burst into tears. Stanley hadn’t answered my text yesterday and I had absolutely no idea what he was going through at school. Daniel was right – I was a terrible mother. I’d been totally carried away with the film and, all that time, Stanley was worrying about this revolting child, Robbie, and feeling awful about himself and I’d done nothing to help. I felt hot with shame.
The phone started ringing. I glanced at it as I walked past; it was Mike. I couldn’t face talking to him now. Whatever new deadline he’d just created would have to wait.
I wondered whether to text Stanley again, but if his phone started beeping in the middle of a class it would be confiscated and that would stress him even more. If only Charlotte would get in touch. All of a sudden I remembered seeing her number flashing up on Saturday night and rushed to the phone to see if she’d left a message. She’d know what to do now. Even if it only involved a large glass of wine and a doughnut. I pressed buttons and listened to the robotic voice. You have no messages.
She must still be deeply upset with me. I cringed all over again at the thought of what I’d said about her on the film.
I spent the afternoon pacing and twitching and failing to come to a decision. I toyed with the idea of either meeting Stanley from school – shuddering at the thought of coming face to face with Andrew – or waiting by the bus stop. But decided that if the kids were really teasing him about me, that would make it all worse.
When the phone rang again about half an hour before he was due home, I nearly ignored it, imaging it would be Mike again, who’d been alternately trying the landline and my mobile and no doubt leaving increasingly tetchy messages if only I could be bothered to listen. But something made me go and look at the display and I snatched it up in panic.
‘Stanley?’
He sounded normal, cheery even. ‘Can I stay the night with Connor, mum? He’s got the new Pro Evo soccer and his mum says it’s OK. And he’s got some stuff on his iPod I can put on my phone. If I come home now and get some clothes, his mum will pick me up at five. Mum, is that OK?’
I was swallowing, trying to make my own voice light. ‘Yes, yes, it’s fine. Are you OK?
‘Yeah, gotta go – the bus is coming.’
‘But Stanley, what about –’
The phone had gone dead.
He came in looking the same as he always did. Hair on end, muddy trousers, overflowing rucksack trailing beside him. I wanted to hug him for ever. He wriggled away from me.
I followed him round as he gathered up more clothes, games, CDs, and school books, handing him clean uniform, making him a drink, waiting …
At ten to five, I couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘Stanley,’ I said, voice bright and brittle, praying I could hold it together. ‘What happened about the film? Did the other boys at school see it?’
Stanley didn’t look at me. ‘Oh yeah, it was cool. They said a few things but I told them you were an actress and so you had to take on all sorts of roles and in this film it was one of an unhinged woman with ageing issues. I said you were pretending because that’s what an actress has to do – pretend.’
He turned and smiled. ‘I told them they put special make-up on you and had a special lighting man to make you look so horrible.’
I stared at him wordlessly, both horrified and impressed. ‘That’s really clever of you.’ I managed eventually. ‘How did you think of saying that?’
Stanley shrugged. ‘Mr Lazlett told me to.’
While I was digesting this startling information, Stanley dug around in his rucksack and thrust some papers into my hand. ‘There’s stuff from school and I need a costume for the play.’
‘Play?’ I asked weakly.
‘Yeah. I’m in it.’ He gave a huge grin now. ‘Mr Lazlett said as I’ve got acting in my blood I should have the lead. I’m the chief inspector and I get to question all the suspects. Everyone else is well jealous. But Robbie wants to come round and do lines with me. He’s my sergeant.’
I felt the tears well in my eyes. Dear, kind, thoughtful Andrew.
Stanley frowned. ‘Why are you crying?
I sniffed and made myself beam. ‘I’m just so proud of you.’
I kissed him goodbye at the door, waving to Michelle, who was parked in front of the gate. ‘I love you, Stanley. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He swung his rucksack onto his back and picked up the bulging carrier bag at his feet. ‘Yeah.’
I watched him walk away looking taller, somehow more grown up, than he had done on Saturday morning. Halfway down the path he paused and turned.
‘You OK, Mum?’ he called.
‘Yes, darling, I’m fine.’