I stop by the park on my way to my wax appointment. Ross is sitting solemnly on the bench. It isn’t clean. He has his top off and is sweating. He looks sadder than usual.
‘Are you alright?’ I ask him as I sit down.
‘I forgot the wipes. I’m so stupid,’ he says, looking at the bench with disgust, like the pigeons made their mess to spite him. I check my bag, but I don’t have any either.
‘Bloody pigeons, they have no respect,’ I say, smiling at him. He manages a little one back. ‘You look like you have more on your mind than usual?’
‘Yeah, I have a big weekend coming up. Family stuff, I always get anxious. But I’ll be alright. Where’s Bonnie today?’
‘Oh, she’s at nursery this morning. I was actually hoping that I would see you. I wanted to thank you.’
‘Thank me? What on earth for?’
‘For saying all the right things.’
He laughs to himself. ‘Well that would be a first.’
‘I needed to meet someone like you. You’ve given me a perspective that I think I needed.’
‘All problems are relative. You can’t compare everything to the death of a child.’
‘True, but it certainly made me assess what is important. Like I said, I needed it, so thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. I guess it’s good that something positive can come from all this,’ he says, dropping his head again. He is so heavy today. Of course he has days like this. I’m not sure I would ever get out of bed. ‘My wife doesn’t know about this bench,’ he tells me, as if that bothers him.
‘Really, why?’ I ask, quite shocked by that. The bench should be for everyone who misses Verity, surely?
‘She brushed her death under the carpet. She didn’t want to talk about it. All I wanted to do was talk about it, I couldn’t stop. I’ve seen a therapist twice a week since it happened, just so I can go on and on. I don’t understand how she couldn’t. She didn’t want a bench. She thought it would be a place to wallow, rather than a place to feel connected to Verity. This bench feels like my lifeline some days.’
‘It’s a lovely thing to have,’ I say, feeling a need to reassure him that she was wrong.
‘I used to bring the girls to the park. You see it a lot, don’t you? Dads on Saturdays with their kids. That was me. This was our favourite spot. I went ahead and organised the bench without telling my wife. It’s my special place where I can be with my daughter. I find it so peaceful here.’
‘It is.’
We sit for a moment looking out. I notice the time and realise I better get going.
‘I have to get to an appointment,’ I say, standing up. ‘Thanks. Again. I hope your weekend is OK and not too stressful. Families are hard.’
‘They are. Bye Ruby.’
‘Bye.’
Something tells me he’ll be there a while today.
I have a wax appointment at ten a.m. I travel across London on the underground at rush hour to get there, I am now very hot. I underestimated the weather and wore velvet instead of cotton. The waiting room is packed, everyone is young and, to my self-deprecating eye, extremely beautiful. I walk purposefully to the receptionist. She is young, too.
‘Yes, I have an appointment at ten,’ I say, feeling like an old hag.
‘Great, and your name?’
‘Ruby.’
‘Ruby … yup, there you are. OK, you’re in for a full body today?’
I can’t believe she just did that. Any number of these people could have heard. I can’t speak. I just stand still, like a pillock.
‘Is that right, Ruby? A full-body wax?’
Oh my God, she did it again. Is this woman thick?
She needs an answer from me. There are two women in the queue behind me, why is this place so busy?
I am so desperate for this wax. I have to be brave. I nod.
‘OK great, you’ll be with Pete today, he’ll be right out.’
‘Pardon?’ I ask, I must have misheard her.
‘Pete, he will be your technician today.’
‘Pete? Is that short for Petra?’
‘No, Peter. He does our full-body waxes. You’ll love him, he’s very quick.’
‘He’s a bloody man!’
‘Oh, God yeah, sorry. Don’t worry, he’s gay.’
She looks at me as if she just solved all my problems.
‘I can’t do that, is there a woman available?’ I ask. I have done an enormous amount of mental preparation to come here today and I have found peace with using a new technician, but not Pete.
‘No, sorry,’ she says, getting impatient. ‘Will you take a seat?’
I sit on the sofa next to a young woman in a short skirt. I look at her legs – not a single hair in sight. Why is she even here? If she knew what was going on underneath my dress, she would be sick. I might be sick.
‘Ruby,’ says a man who I presume is Pete. He is about five foot six, blond, also not hairy. I can’t put myself through this.
‘Sorry, I’ve changed my mind,’ I say, getting up. ‘I don’t need it after all.’
‘Are you sure?’ Pete asks, confused. I tell him I am very sure. Instead, he calls for a Hannah. Hannah jumps up and says ‘Yay’ and they kiss on each cheek and disappear into the back. To wax her perfect fanny, no doubt.
This is not the salon for me.
I’ve been waxing like clockwork for more than twenty years and have never missed a cycle, but it’s like the universe is conspiring against me.
Due to the failed wax attempt, I pick Bonnie up at nursery after two hours, just as Maria insisted. It gives me a little spring in my step, to do something that suggests I am actually a reasonable parent. Maria said she didn’t cry as much this time, but she refused to play with the other kids, saying they were babies and that she wanted more three-year-olds. Maria said there are other three-year-olds who come to the school, but they are all on holiday.
‘All of them, in the middle of a term?’ I asked, in my most accusatorial voice. She nodded and told me I could only bring her for two hours a day until she was settled. It’s too hard on the other kids when Bonnie loses it the way that she does, apparently.
Bonnie clung onto me when I came to pick her up. I’m trying not to get used to it, because she will no doubt hate me again soon. The second we were out of the building I covered her hands with anti-bacterial gel. That nursery is a Petri dish. The toilet still isn’t fixed. It’s a real dump of a place, I need to find somewhere else.
I bring Bonnie to the park. It’s either this or more TV at home.
I look over at the bench with the plaque on it. Ross was so upset today, I wish I’d sat with him for longer. If I’d have known what a disaster my appointment was going to be, I would have. I really enjoy seeing him. A homeless man is sitting on it eating half a sandwich that he found in the bin. He eats quickly, dropping crumbs on the floor that pigeons gather round his feet to eat. He smiles at the pigeons, like they are his friends, then breaks up the final bite of the bread and throws it down for them. By the look on his face, he got as much pleasure from that as he did the food in his belly. The homeless man realises I am looking at him and he smiles at me. I smile back, and even offer him a little wave. He does the same. Poor man, I wonder where he will sleep tonight. I think Ross would be happy to know that this man has found a moment’s peace on Verity’s bench.
Bonnie is in the shrubbery looking for the mouse. If she finds it, I will scream and we will leave.
The homeless man gets up and moves on. The bench is now empty, other than the pigeons that are walking across it, picking up the last few crumbs that he dropped. I walk over and shoo them away. They have pooed all over it. Ross won’t be very happy about that. Using the wet wipes that I picked up on the way here, I clean all of the bird mess off the bench.
Bonnie is now on her hands and knees underneath a hydrangea bush shouting, ‘Mousey, come on mousey. Mousey, mousey.’ It would be cute, if she weren’t trying to draw the attention of a rodent. I throw a smile in her direction, she doesn’t catch it. I spend so much of my time regretting having a child, and fantasising about how much easier my life would be if my only responsibility was hair removal. But the idea of anything happening to her is so unimaginable. Ross has given me a perspective that should have been obvious all along. I know how it feels to have someone I love taken away from me, so why wasn’t losing my dad lesson enough? The only way I was ever able to cope with losing him was knowing that I made the most of him while he was alive. My memories of being with my dad are the happiest of my life. If something happened to either Bonnie or myself, all the other one would have to remember would be screaming fits and violent episodes. Her playing alone, and me trying to hide. It’s not good enough.
I get down on my hands and knees under the bush next to Bonnie, and nervously call for the mouse.
Lauren Pearce – Instagram post
@OfficialLP
The picture is of Lauren sitting in a gazebo in a garden. She is surrounded by Bianca roses. She is wearing white lacy underwear, her hair is perfectly tonged.
The caption reads:
Today I woke up and smelt the flowers. Feeling like the luckiest girl alive. When life gives you lemons, surround yourself in roses. That’s the expression, right? #TWO MORE SLEEPS
@wellyturnips: your life … it’s perfect. Lucky, lucky girl!
@MikeyinDisguise: Show us your mum again. I love a MILF.
@harriethartly: Looks, love and millions. You nailed it.
@bettyblack: SHOW US THE DRESS!!!!!!!!!!!
@iamtheonebutyouarethetwo: Gavin could have had any woman in the country but he chose you. I find this FASCINATING. Not being mean, you’re nice and everything, but Cheryl Cole is single again … just saying!
@garindagale: So bored of the me me me posts. Disappointing lack of #realness. UNFOLLOW.
Even though I have made versions of the same dress over and over again in the past twenty years, I like the ritual of starting from scratch each time. Step one is always measuring myself, just to be sure. I start with my bust: thirty-five centimetres. My waist: twenty-seven and a half centimetres. My hips: thirty-eight centimetres. Just as I was at university. I knew I hadn’t changed, but it’s nice to see the numbers. A satisfying visual after all the hard work.
I measure as a size six, but because of my height I generally have to buy size eight clothes. Which is why making my own works much better for me. Also, finding dresses with the level of coverage I like usually involves me looking like a frump, or having some random key-hole detail somewhere pivotal, like on the back above the zip. A pointless and very annoying detail when you have a hairy back and shoulders.
On top of this, I have quite long arms. I need a thirty-three-centimetre sleeve, which most brands do not accommodate. My dress pattern is unique to my body and satisfies both my need to be protected and my desire to be stylish.
A while ago I purchased a large roll of slightly stretchy crimson velvet. It’s a vibrant colour. I have been saving it for a special occasion. Maybe Lauren Pearce’s wedding is that occasion? I realise I won’t be at the main event, that I will be in a back room working – and I’m relieved that I won’t have to socialise – but that doesn’t mean I can’t step up with my dress, does it? The best thing about my design is that the velvet is very soft and comfortable. I could sleep in it. Not that I would. But working for an entire day in it is not a problem. The only issue is the heat. I’ll find a way to deal with that on the day.
I cut a pattern following the outline of the black one that I made in high school and cut the fabric to size with my traditional shears. I do this every time, I really enjoy the process. I stitch it all together on my Singer sewing machine, putting a light lining in, to avoid any friction. I add a slightly larger puff on each shoulder, for some extra drama. The sleeves are a little longer with tighter elastic so they don’t ride up at all. I will be fully hirsute at this wedding, and whether I am alone in a room or not, I cannot take the risk of exposing myself.
All in all, the dress takes me four and a half hours to make. It’s an evening of my life well spent, to produce an outfit that will have me living confidently outside of my house. I put it on and look at myself in the full-length mirror in my bedroom. The colour is exciting and the fit is perfect. I’ll wear this one a lot, I am sure.
I stand staring at myself in the mirror. It’s never an easy thing to do. Although if I force myself to be honest, I am not an unattractive woman. I’m too thin, I’m too pale. I wear my attitude like a coat of armour, it warns people away. But my hair is long, the curls are thick. From my advertising days I know that it is desirable. I have deep brown eyes and the bone structure of someone who means business. In a dress like this, I pass as good looking. With my own style. In my own way. Which, when I really break it down, I think maybe I actually quite like.
‘Boss, what is wrong with you?’
Risky’s voice is there in the background somewhere. My stare stays fixed to the window.
‘Beth? Beth? Seriously what’s going on with you today?’
She is right next to my desk now. She is looking at me like I am a child who just did an emotionally charged pee on the floor. Annoyed, but with sympathy and concern for what made me do it.
‘Sorry,’ I say, snapping out of my daze. ‘Sorry, just a lot on my mind.’
‘I know. A four-month-old and a major celebrity wedding in two days. Yeah, you’ve got a lot on. What do you need? Can I order you food? Download a podcast? Massage your feet?’
I look at her like she is joking. She isn’t.
‘Oh, nothing. I just need to get through it. OK, I’m back in the room. What did I miss?’
Risky is thinking. She likes to fix things. She is wondering how to help me survive the next few days. I am wondering the same thing.
‘I’ve got it,’ she says, clapping her hands. ‘I know what to do. Get your things, I’m taking you to the spa.’
‘The spa? No Risky, that’s a massive waste of time. We have so much to do.’
‘Yes, we do, but we can work there. There’s a warm floor you lie on, and Wifi. Come on, I am insisting.’
‘Who’s the boss here?’ I ask, not moving.
‘You are, and that is the problem. You’re not taking care of yourself. Come on, if we get there before lunch it will be quieter. Chop chop.’
She is standing over by the door now. I clearly have no choice. And maybe a foot rub from a professional would be nice.
‘What is this place?’ I ask as we arrive. It’s not like the spas I have been to before, where people walk around in towelling robes and uncomfortable slippers, sipping cucumber water and eating almonds and dried fruit while panpipe music fills the room as people wait to be called in for their overpriced treatments.
‘It’s a Korean spa,’ Risky says, confidently. ‘Heaven.’
We pay at a reception desk. It’s very cheap. I have to fill in a form – Risky has been before so doesn’t need to. It asks if I am breast feeding or pregnant and Risky urges me to lie.
‘It’s just a hygiene thing,’ she says. ‘Just get out if you start lactating in the hot tub.’
‘Oh, I probably won’t go in it anyway, I don’t have my swimsuit,’ I tell her.
‘Swimsuit? Boss, this is a Korean spa, you have to be naked. That’s the point.’
‘What?’ I ask as she hands my form back into reception. ‘Naked? Are there men in there?’
‘No, just women. Come on, you’ll love it.’
I stand still. I don’t want to get naked with other women. I don’t want to get naked with Risky. I don’t want to. I just don’t.
‘Boss, come on. You need this,’ she says, making a scene. The two Korean ladies behind reception are looking at me like I am pathetic. Now I do want to emotionally pee on the floor.
‘Can I wear a towel?’ I ask Risky, following her reluctantly.
‘Not in the water!’
In the changing rooms, I am first struck by the absolute lack of luxury, relaxing vibes or glamour. In each locker there is a thin cotton robe and some rubber slippers. The lighting is stark. Risky strips immediately like she is running down a beach towards the sea and can’t pause or she’ll chicken out. She throws her clothes into the locker and, just like that, my assistant is naked in front of me. Her young, tight body, unharmed by slow metabolism or childbirth. Small breasts sitting perfectly on her chest, nipples so dark they look like raisins. A vagina like a Jackson 5 hairdo. Up the sides of her body, stretch marks run like snail trails across her hips. She isn’t perfect, but she is utterly beautiful.
‘OK, your turn,’ she says, hands on hips, her legs slightly apart. ‘Boss, you have to stop staring at my vagina or I’ll have to file a sexual misconduct case against you.’
‘God, I’m so sorry,’ I say, shaking my face and pulling myself together as I begin to undress. First my maternity jeans, then my shirt. I fold them neatly, putting them into my locker. My heart is thumping at the thought of removing my underwear.
‘Boss, seriously. We have a wedding in two days. As much as I want you to relax we can’t be here all day.’
I reach around and undo my bra. It’s OK, Risky sees my boobs every day when I pump. I fold it up and put it under my clothes in the locker. I then slowly pull down my knickers, and pop them in too. And so here I am, naked in a changing room. A tall skinny woman with a nice tan storms in. I grab the robe and put it on.
‘OK, you ready?’ Risky asks.
‘My body has changed a lot. I could have done with some mental preparation before I got naked in front of people, that’s all.’
‘You look amazing,’ Risky tells me. ‘I love this place. Women of all shapes and sizes walking around like the fashion industry never even happened. I love it. My mum and I come here all the time.’
I look around and see that she is right. A large black lady is sitting on the edge of a small pool. Her extra-long breasts dangling over the rolls of her belly. She is chatting and laughing with her friend who is immersed in water. On the other side of the room, standing in line for a shower, is a very thin lady, maybe in her seventies. She has short white hair, her breasts are mere flaps of skin with nipples. Her knees have hoods, her neck wobbles when she moves. Her pubic hair is straight and grey. To her right, there’s a short woman, maybe in her forties. Her red hair is the exact colour of her pubes, and goes down nearly as far as her knees.
All of these women are so different, yet they are all the same. I take off my robe and hang it on a hook.
‘OK, I love this one. It’s really hot and the minerals in the water are purifying and make your skin feel so soft,’ Risky says, stepping down into a small pool with steam rising from it. She respectfully looks away as I lower my naked body into the water.
‘This is very nice,’ I say, settling in.
‘I told you so!’ she says, proudly.
After a few moments, the large black lady comes to get in. I’m not so down with the etiquette and as I smile at her, it is impossible for me to ignore the pinkness of her labia as it gets closer to my face. It sinks under the water and her breasts float up like life rafts in front of her.
‘I could never drown with these attached to me,’ she says, smiling.
Risky kicks me under the water because she finds it funny.
‘Aren’t women amazing?’ she says, leaning over to me.
‘Yes,’ I say, feeling perfect in my skin for the first time in a very long time. ‘Yes, we absolutely are.’
Liam is here as he’s agreed to take Bonnie for the afternoon. Maria is insisting on just two hours a day at the nursery, just until she starts to settle, and I simply cannot keep her home any longer to watch TV while I work. I might not be the one getting married on Saturday, but it is a huge event and I can’t bear the idea of being surrounded by beautiful people whilst feeling so grotesque myself. I have made yet another wax appointment. Who knows how it will go this time!
I told Liam the nursery is insisting on a long induction process. He has no reason to question me further and isn’t suspicious as to why we can’t do full days. I have never lied about our child’s welfare before, so he fully trusts me. I have warned him that Bonnie misses her friends, which is why she keeps complaining. I realise I need to find somewhere else, and I am also working on that. I can’t do any of the things I need to do with Bonnie home, hence him taking some time off work to help. He’s very generous like that. Never complaining about being with Bonnie. I’ve only recently realised the amount of effort it must be for him to have her every weekend. That doesn’t leave much time for him to have for himself. Or to find a new relationship. He’s never mentioned anyone else, and neither has Bonnie. I can only hope and presume that there isn’t anyone. Which is good. I’m not ready for that.
‘So what are your plans?’ I ask him, as I finish putting Bonnie’s shoes on and zip up her jacket. I’m still quite upset about what he said the other day, but I am trying not to show it because what is making me most upset is that I think he is right and I’m not sure what to do about it.
‘We’ll go get some food. Then head to the park. Or we could go to Pret and get a picnic. Shall we go feed the ducks, Bon Bon?’
‘Yeeeaaaaah,’ she says, sounding so joyful and cute that both of us smile.
‘OK, well be good. Home for six please, and no sweets. I don’t want to be dealing with a sugar rush tonight, I’ll work after I’ve put her down so I need bedtime to go well.’
I don’t know why I say this, because actually I have finished all the work that Rebecca sent through. I got it all done early, so I could go for this wax.
‘So you’re very busy then?’ he asks me, lingering a little longer than usual.
‘Yes. I have some pictures to do, but mostly gearing up to a big job next weekend. I’m going to a wedding. Lauren Pearce, you know the … I mean, I don’t know what she is, model I guess? She’s getting married.’
‘Yeah, she’s marrying Gavin Riley. You’re going to the wedding? That’s crazy, how come?’
‘I’ll be retouching the photos on the day, so she can post them. It’s ridiculous, and not the kind of thing I would choose to do.’
‘Are you kidding? Gavin Riley, he’s seriously impressive. Wow, that’s really cool,’ Liam says, notably impressed.
‘Sure, maybe it is “cool”. I’m being paid well and that’s why I am going. And is he impressive or was he just born into the right family? It’s not like he set up the business, is it? Also, I’ve heard he is a relentless cheat. Which makes him awful.’
‘Harsh,’ Liam says, raising his eyebrows.
‘But true,’ I say, raising mine.
‘Maybe,’ he says, hovering by the door for a while. ‘If you’re working at the weekend, why don’t you take this afternoon off and come with us? We could grab food, go feed the ducks?’
‘No, I have too much to do. You two go, you’ll have more fun that way.’
‘More fun than us all being together? Oh come on Rubes.’ He always used to call me Rubes. I found it embarrassing at first, then grew to love it. It feels nice to hear it again. ‘You don’t hate me enough that we can’t spend one afternoon together as a family, do you?’ Liam says quietly, so that Bonnie, who is climbing into her buggy, doesn’t hear him. It doesn’t please me to think that the father of my child thinks I hate him. Hating someone and being angry with them are very different.
‘Come on Mummy, pleeeease,’ says Bonnie looking up at me. Her beautiful eyes begging.
I am dressed well for this weather, I suppose, with good coverage. I could just put some tights on under my green velvet dress. Liam knows not to touch me. I am desperate for this appointment, but my daughter’s happiness is somehow succeeding my need for personal comfort. It’s a new and complex emotion, but one I am surprisingly happy to pursue.
‘I could join you, I suppose,’ I say. This will, of course, mean I am hairy for the wedding. But I have made a great dress that offers full coverage.
‘Just give me a minute.’ I go upstairs. Tights, blusher, a red lip. I remove a few hairs from my chin and dab a little witch hazel on to reduce any redness. I put on extra deodorant as it’s a warm day. Back downstairs, both Bonnie and Liam look very excited.
‘You’re coming, Mummy?’ Bonnie asks.
‘I am,’ I tell her.
‘Let’s not bother with the buggy, she can walk, can’t you Bon Bon?’ Liam says.
‘Yes, I’m a big girl.’
Liam and I take one hand each.
One of my earliest memories is of a family picnic. I was around five, we sat on a red tartan rug and the fluff kept sticking to my food. My mother had made sandwiches and had various salads and dips in Tupperware boxes. I’m sure she did this a lot, but I only remember it the once. My recollections of my early years are hazy, but I do have some happy memories to refer back to.
My father was very proud of his wicker picnic hamper and kept mentioning the joys of drinking wine out of an actual wine glass in the middle of a beach. I remember Mum telling him to stop going on about it, but laughing at him at the same time. He leaned over and kissed her. She told him to get off. This was a common dynamic for them. Believe it or not, it was a sign of affection. They were flirtatious back then. I remember hints of it.
My dad had brought a skipping rope with us that day, and while they both took an end each, I jumped over it.
‘Faster, faster,’ I would shout, and they would oblige, speeding up until my little legs couldn’t take it. I’d crash to the sand laughing and exhausted, and they would laugh too.
Funny to think of me being a happy little girl. I had no idea what cards life had decided to deal me at that point. I was innocent. My relationship with my parents was all that mattered, really.
‘Can I have chocolate?’ Bonnie asks in Pret a Manger, as Liam gathers far too much food for us to eat in the park. He winks at Bonnie and puts a Rocky Road bar into his basket.
‘Rubes, anything particular you would like?’ he asks me. I shake my head, then pick up an apple and pop it in the basket.
‘That is far too much food, you two will never eat it all. Waste of money,’ I tell him, as he loads it onto the counter so the cashier can ring it up.
‘Oh, I bet we will, right Bon Bon?’
Bonnie nods enthusiastically.
‘There wasn’t much point in us calling her Bonnie if you insist on only calling her Bon Bon, was there?’ I say, taking my apple and putting it into my bag. Liam mimics what I said in a silly voice and makes Bonnie laugh. I huff off and wait outside.
‘If she eats all that she will feel sick,’ I say, when he comes out. He stands in front of me and looks me directly in the eye.
‘Ruby, will you please get off your high horse and drop your standards for an hour or so while Bonnie and I try to enjoy your company at the park?’ He picks Bonnie up, and whispers, ‘Stare at her until she gives up’ into her ear, loud enough for me to hear it. They both, trying not to laugh, squint their eyes, as if waiting for me to say something. I hold as long as I can, insisting that they are being ridiculous.
‘OK, OK, but you will not eat that entire bar of chocolate all by yourself, OK?’ I say, warning my daughter with my scowl and starting to walk away.
‘There she is, I knew she was still in there somewhere,’ Liam says, referring to my softer side. ‘And of course she won’t, half of it is mine. Right Bon Bon?’ he says, making her scream, ‘NO WAY.’ They both laugh so hard you would think someone just cracked an incredible joke.
‘Are you coming or not?’ I ask firmly, a small smile trying to break out from underneath my stern expression. Liam passes me the two paper bags bulging with food and helps Bonnie up to his shoulders.
‘Do you have to …’ I start to say, before Liam stops me with a defiant look and a cheeky wink. He storms past me, Bonnie screaming with delight way above his head.
‘Well wait for me,’ I say, catching them up. ‘Bonnie, hold on please.’
‘Chase us, Mummy,’ she says, as if she has never been happier.
‘So tell me more about this mouse,’ Liam asks, as he lays copious amount of food out on top of the paper bag that he has fashioned into a base for our picnic.
‘Mummy caught it,’ Bonnie says, proudly.
‘Oh, she did? With her hands?’ Liam asks her, winking at me.
‘No! In a bucket,’ Bonnie says, correcting him. ‘She caught it in a bucket and we took it to the park and let it go back to its family.’
‘Wow, it sounds like you two are a super hero duo.’
‘We are,’ Bonnie says, raising her hand as if to punch me. I close my eyes expecting impact, but Liam explains.
‘It’s a fist bump,’ he tells me.
‘A what?’
‘She is giving you a fist bump, look.’
He punches Bonnie’s hand, and they both look very pleased. Bonnie holds her clenched fist up to me again. I punch it and feel a million years old and totally out of the loop.
‘Daddy, did you know that Mummy is hairy like a mouse?’ Bonnie says. The piece of apple I just ate jamming in my throat, causing me to cough like I just smoked a Marlboro Red in one drag.
‘I did, yes,’ Liam says. I still can’t talk, so I wave my hand frantically as if telling him to shut up. ‘I kind of like it, don’t you?’ he continues, realising I can’t tell him to shut up, and taking full advantage of it.
‘It’s funny,’ Bonnie says, and I finally get the apple up.
‘OK, Bonnie. Let’s play hide and seek. You go hide, now, go on.’ She drops all of her snacks and immediately runs behind the nearest tree.
‘ONE, TWO,’ I yell, hoping Liam has moved on.
‘You still can’t talk about it, huh?’ he asks me.
‘THREE, FOUR. No, Liam. I don’t like to talk about it. Not in the park, not at home, not at my wedding.’
‘Oh here we go, really? I know. I fucked up. But Jesus, Rubes, how many times do I have to say that I’m sorry?’
‘No amount of sorry will change the look of joy on my mother’s face when you humiliated me. So no amount of sorry will make it better, OK?’
Liam exhales loudly. I’ve made him feel so guilty about this for so long, and I know he regrets it. Of course he does. But I just can’t bring myself to let it go.
‘Mummy, what number are you on?’ Bonnie yells loudly, from her secret hiding place that’s right I front of us.
‘TEN.’ I shout, running towards the tree.
‘I still love you.’ Liam shouts after me. I keep running.