Tilly wasted no time in stripping Ben’s bed and emptying the contents of the drawers into two bin bags.
‘I’m not carrying all that,’ he said, finding them on top of the rucksack he’d already packed to bursting.
‘You don’t have to,’ I told him. ‘I’ll put them away in the other room.’ I frowned at Tilly. ‘Take them back upstairs, please. And we’ll have a chat when I get back from the station.’
I surveyed Ben’s luggage. ‘But have you got everything you need?’
Ben swung his guitar case over one shoulder. ‘I’m not emigrating.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
I fixed my smile as we pulled out of the drive. I loved all my children equally – I didn’t know why Ben’s departure gave me the biggest wrench. Perhaps it was being the youngest or maybe because he’d been the last to go. ‘Have you got enough money?’ I asked him, determined not to press him for when he’d be back.
He grinned. ‘I’ve never got enough money – but yeah I’m okay. Kerry has got us another gig in that pub in Streatham. That’ll be fifty quid. And all our beer.’
‘I must come to see you play together sometime.’
‘Yeah. Gabe wants to come too – you could come with him.’
‘I’m quite sure Gabriel doesn’t want to turn up with your mum.’
‘He thinks you’re cool.’
I smiled to myself as I turned towards the station. ‘Cool,’ wasn’t a word my own children would ever use about me. Even Oliver, who was the one who most appreciated that I might just have hopes and dreams that extended beyond getting dinner to the table and the washing on, had looked slightly unwell when Jinni had joked about the two of us going out on the pull.
‘I expect his mum really misses him,’ I said lightly. ‘Don’t forget if you get stuck …’
‘… You’ll always pay my train fare to come home …’
Ben gave me a brief hug and jumped out of the car, opening the back door and retrieving his bags and guitar before I could even undo my seat belt.
‘Thanks, Mum, love yer.’
With a raised hand, he was gone, instrument against his back, headphones already plugged in. I watched the back of his coat disappear through the double doors.
‘Well, it’s not very nice, is it?’ Tilly looked thoroughly wounded. ‘You come home after seeing Ben off, looking like someone’s died, but when I say I’m staying on, you get all funny about it.’
‘I’m trying to be realistic,’ I said. ‘I love you being here and of course it’s your home whenever you want it to be, but you’ve got a job and a flat. You can’t just abandon them.’
‘I can get a job here. The Fox are looking for staff.’ Tilly’s mouth hardened. ‘And Danni can find someone else to share the flat.’
‘But you’re responsible till she does,’ I pointed out, looking in despair at the clock and filling the kettle. ‘And what about Ella? How’s she going to feel if you up sticks and move out – you said she finds Danni difficult too.’
Tilly gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘I also said she’s never there. She spends literally every night at Jamie’s. She’ll be moving in with him when the tenancy agreement needs renewing. And I’m not staying after that, either.’ Tilly glared at me. ‘It’s really awful, Mum.’
I picked up two mugs from the draining board and took a deep breath. ‘It might all be different when you get back. And anyway the diner are surely expecting you.’ I turned to look her in the eyes. ‘I don’t know how you’ve managed to have all this time off already. Isn’t Easter a busy time?’
Till was unabashed. ‘I told them we had food poisoning,’ she said. ‘They don’t want me there with E. coli.’
‘Tilly! What did you say that for? Nobody’s got E. coli.’
‘You said you hoped you hadn’t given it to Sam.’
‘I didn’t mean it literally. You’ve got to earn money. How are you going to pay the rent? And everything else?’
‘It’s all under control.’
I put a hand on her arm. ‘Is this about Gabriel?’
Tilly gave me a withering look. ‘No.’
‘Because it’s no time on the train … You can still be friends.’
Tilly scowled. ‘It’s nothing to do with him. I just can’t stand my flatmate.’
‘But what about your career?’ I asked, inspired. ‘What about being on hand for auditions?’
My daughter looked despondent now. ‘There aren’t any auditions and if there are, I never get them. I’m too tall or too fat or I haven’t got the right hair.’
‘You are not fat,’ I put in automatically, as Tilly swept on.
‘I haven’t got an agent, so I’ll never get anywhere. I spend hours trawling through the jobs on Spotlight and I know I haven’t got a hope of getting any of them. I may as well give up and work in a pub here.’
‘Your chance will come,’ I said, as I always did. ‘And a pub won’t pay much. No tips like you get in the diner.’
‘Who cares. If I’m not going to be an actress, I don’t need money.’
I looked at my daughter. I knew once she got into one of these negative moods, everything would be shot down. I also knew she’d bounce back, because she always did.
‘Why don’t you stay for the weekend then?’ I said reasonably. ‘Caroline’s coming on Saturday – she might have some ideas. And then go back on Monday. To sort things out!’ I continued, as my daughter’s mouth opened. ‘You at least need to tell Danni you’re not staying on when this tenancy ends, don’t you? And you shouldn’t mess work about. You might need a reference!’
‘Okay,’ Tilly said, mollified. ‘I’m supposed to be seeing Daddy on Tuesday anyway. I’ll go but I’ll probably give my notice in because I hate that diner almost as much as I hate living with Danni.’
‘Right, well, there’s a plan, then,’ I agreed, hoping Rob might have a fatherly chat. He was big on work ethic and would be none too impressed with his daughter walking out on a job without another one to go to.
I delivered a beam and my cheeriest tones.
‘Could you strip the spare bed too? For your aunt. If I don’t do some work, I won’t have a job either.’
‘Oh!’ Tilly put a hand to her mouth as she suddenly remembered. ‘Paul called.’
I bet he did.