It was somewhere around three in the morning when it hit me. I’d been dozing fretfully, in between floundering about in a puddle of pathetic self-loathing, when I suddenly jerked awake, eyes springing open, head startlingly clear.
I’d founded a charity to help empower people to make positive changes that often cut through years – if not generations – of destructive choices. Day after day I told the Baby Bloomers that, while they couldn’t change the past or even a lot of what was happening to them in the present – these babies were coming out one way or another! – they had so much more control than they realised. They could decide who they wanted to become. Although it wouldn’t be easy to become her. It might take lots of practice, and mistakes, and dusting themselves down and trying again. Focussing on what we called small yet significant choices. It would mean building emotional – and sometimes physical – boundaries to protect them from some people. It would include being uncomfortably honest about their own limitations and struggles and need for support. It would mean facing down the foe we all instinctively fight – fear of change.
And yet, here I was, wondering what on earth to do about my own miserable mess of a life.
Small, significant choices.
I’d start first thing tomorrow.
Or the next day, when I’d had some more sleep and a bit more time to think about what those changes would be.
By the middle of the week, I’d replaced the impossible List of a Billion Things to Do with something far better. Half a dozen small yet significant changes I wanted to make. This included finding a handful of friends beyond my dad and sister, deciding what to do if my mum made proper contact. I’d find time every week to spend on sorting out my house, and, once I’d proven I could keep it clean, I’d move on to proper renovations. Starting with an oven that worked, and a shower curtain that wasn’t held up with duct tape.
I’d go for an actual run. Overall, the plan was to make changes that resulted in me having some energy instead of dragging myself through life like a crab with four broken legs.
For three days I didn’t add anything about romance or dating to my list. Then I wrote, in tiny letters:
Maybe one day think about something to do with romance or dating.
There. Let the future begin.
By the end of the week, the actual changes I’d made were… putting three loads of washing away, rather than leaving them to pile up on the landing.
Oh, and I’d booked a hair appointment with Shanice for Saturday afternoon, when Brayden and Silva were taking the kids to their house in Newark, twelve miles away, so Silva could provide them with, as she’d assured me after Tuesday’s antenatal class, ‘a nutritional meal for once’.
‘For once, as in it’s the one time Brayden has cooked his children a meal?’ I asked, congratulating myself for graduating to passive-aggressive rather than plain old aggressive. Brayden had been angling for more time with the kids. I couldn’t agree to a whole weekend, so we’d settled on every Saturday for now.
‘I mean, compared to that chicken place!’ She grimaced. ‘You’re a parenting expert, Liz, you know children can’t reach their potential on cheap, hormone-riddled meat, fried in carcinogens.’
I thought my snipe had gone over her head, but then she went on. ‘And he’d have cooked them plenty of meals if you’d trusted him to take them home before now.’
I made a non-committal, indecipherable noise then turned away to prevent myself from launching the imitation pelvis I was holding at her head. Maybe the crap food I made them thanks to a broken oven and broken life explained Isla’s issues. After Brayden moved out, feeding my kids a baking tray of cheap, carcinogen-soaked meat was about all I could manage most days. Somehow, five years later, I was still resorting to the same rubbish.
I added ‘start cooking nutritional meals’ to my new list, then went to find the leftover fishfingers I’d not had time to eat earlier.
* * *
I did have another reason for finally getting my hair cut. At the postnatal Bloomers session on Wednesday, Courtney had blanked Toby for most of the day. While the mums decorated cupcakes, the dads had a refreshingly banter-free discussion about mental health. When they joined their partners to taste-test the cupcakes, Toby mentioned the topic to his girlfriend.
‘I can’t believe you’re going on about that again. Are you deliberately getting on my nerves now?’ she asked, turning her back.
‘I’m worried about you, that’s all. You’re sad and angry most of the time, and a doctor might be able to help.’
Courtney spun back around, eyes flashing. ‘Do you want to blurt it out a bit louder? Because I’m not sure everyone heard you say I’m a nutcase.’
Hardly anyone had heard Toby, as he’d been speaking discreetly. But Courtney had caught the attention of the whole cabin, and everyone immediately fell silent so they could listen to what came next.
‘Happy?’ she shouted, gesturing at the onlookers. ‘Now everyone knows you think I’m the problem, not my selfish, nagging boyfriend, his bitch of a mother or being stuck all bloody day and night with a baby who won’t stop screaming.’
‘I wonder who the baby takes after?’ someone muttered, causing a faint ripple of awkward laughter.
Courtney barged past Toby, ignoring Hazel in her car seat, and went to stand on the drive, despite there being another fifteen minutes until the end of the session.
Nicky followed straight out, so I stayed to talk to Toby.
‘Hazel’s teething,’ he mumbled, face red as he frantically rubbed a hand through his curls. ‘I try to get home as early as I can, but sometimes we need to stay and finish off a project, or the bus is late.’
‘Is Courtney still going out a lot?’ I asked, handing him a mug of tea.
Toby nodded. ‘We had a big fight on Sunday, after she got drunk Saturday night and Mum went mad. One of her friends picked her up and she didn’t come home until yesterday morning. Blocked me on everything, so I only found out where she was when some girl put a photo of her on Insta.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. That’s really tough.’
‘It was actually the most peaceful few days I’ve had since Hazel was born, just the two of us. Except I had to skip two days of college, so now I’ll need to stay late to catch up for the rest of the week. And Mum was fuming, of course. She was mouthing off about not letting Courtney back in the house. At first I thought she didn’t mean it, but…’ He shrugged, shoving in a cupcake in one huge bite and swallowing it. ‘I didn’t want to say anything in the session, but I’m dead stressed, to be honest with you, Libby.’ He looked down at me. ‘It can’t be good for Hazel, can it? Being around all that fighting.’
‘What will you do, if things reach breaking point and your mum does ask you to find somewhere else to live? Will you stay at home, or go with Courtney and Hazel?’
‘Mum’s as mad at me as she is with Courtney. If they go, I go.’ He clenched his jaw. ‘I’ll figure something out. That’s my job now, isn’t it? Providing for my girls.’
‘Well, you know where I am if you need any help.’
I made a mental note to contact Courtney’s social worker, and then called Shanice.
* * *
But before Saturday’s small yet significant haircut transformation, I had a Thursday evening antenatal class, and that meant another ninety minutes trying to act as though seeing Jonah hadn’t tipped my world on its axis. He’d dropped his sister off for the Monday Bloomers, and Nicky had paired her up with Petra, the fifteen-year-old from the Green House. It turned out Ellis used to have Petra’s current social worker, who was an interesting character, to say the least, with no time for new-fangled things like risk assessments or paperwork. This resulted in Ellis uttering several sentences, as well as a sarcastic joke, which was progress.
I had so many questions about her and her little brother, Billy. I had even more about Jonah. But while mentioning that I’d briefly known her as a child might be a positive way for us to connect, Baby Bloomers was a place of fresh starts. I wasn’t about to bring up her past, let alone say that I was part of it. I knew my questions would have to wait.
I thought I’d be ready to see him. Every time the door opened, I made sure I focussed on whoever I was chatting to, or making a drink for, rather than swivelling my eyes over to see if it was him. But that old feeling had started creeping in – the one where the room felt duller, more dismal without him in it. Every nerve was braced to see him. Hear him. Smell him – because although the whiff of cigarettes had gone, he smelled as if he still wore the same brand of toiletries my parents had given him.
When he did arrive, I felt my whole face go stiff, mid smile, as one dad was showing me the lullaby playlist he’d made.
‘Hi, Jonah, Ellis!’ Nicky called, loud enough to ensure I heard. ‘You’ve just got time to grab a drink before we get started.’
I was by the refreshments table, and if I bent my head any lower over this guy’s phone, I’d knock it out of his hand with my nose. I didn’t know what I was doing, except behaving as irrationally as an infatuated teenager.
This wasn’t good.
About the same time Jonah added one sugar to his black coffee – three less than he used to dump in – I managed to straighten up. Turning around with my oh-so-casual, how-perfectly-pleasant-to-see-you smile at the exact same time he was moving towards me, either he, I or both of us – but probably just me – misjudged the distance and my arm knocked straight into his mug, splashing scalding hot coffee over both our hands.
I yelped, he swore, and as we both jumped back our eyes locked. For a precarious second we were teenagers again. I don’t know how long we stood there for, frozen in time, but it was long enough for my heart to collapse in on itself like a dying star, for my head to remember everything it had spent thirteen years trying to forget.
‘Here.’ A cold, damp cloth pressed onto my hand jerked me back into reality, and I caught Nicky’s knowing glance as she lifted the cloth off, quickly checked me for damage then gently pressed it back down again.
‘Stick it in cold water for twenty minutes,’ she said, before glancing over at Jonah, who was now mopping his hand with a tissue. ‘Both of you. I’ll do the icebreaker.’
I led Jonah into the back room, where I found two plastic tubs and started filling them with water.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I managed to mumble over the sound of the squeaky tap. ‘I’ve had a busy week and I’m all over the place.’
‘No, I’m sorry. It was my fault for practically sneaking up behind you. You couldn’t have known I was there.’
Oh, I’d have known if I’d been blindfolded and wearing ear-defenders.
‘Both our faults?’ I asked, offering him a tub.
We stood there, each of us holding onto the tub while he kept his eyes firmly on the water slopping about, but it was there, the hint of a smile I’d fallen in love with.
‘If that makes you feel better.’
I let go, picking up the other container and submerging my red-raw hand with a wince.
‘How’s yours looking?’ I asked.
‘It was only a quick splash. It’ll be fine. Are you okay?’
‘I think so.’
I was somehow both very okay and definitely not okay all at once. Time would tell which one won out.
I spent the rest of the evening trying to co-lead an antenatal class while avoiding looking at one member of the group the entire time, while also making sure that my sister didn’t spot me avoiding him. It was exhausting.
‘You need to invite him out for a drink,’ Nicky murmured into my ear while the parents-to-be were brainstorming different ways they coped with pain.
‘Who?’ I asked.
She simply raised one eyebrow.
‘What? We spoke about that already,’ I whispered, shaking my head vigorously. ‘I’m not interested!’
‘Maybe not romantically, but it’s clear there’s enough interest there to make it impossible for you to look in his third of the room. It’s hardly helping Ellis feel welcome. Invite him for a catch-up over a coffee, don’t tip it all over yourselves, ask a few questions, say what needs to be said and then you can finally move on. Or not.’
‘What do you mean, “finally”?’ It was hard to convey the extent of my pretend outrage when speaking so quietly. ‘“Or not”?’
‘Libby.’ My sister’s voice was so soft I had to strain to hear it. ‘I haven’t seen that look on your face since you were sixteen. Just… talk to him. Find out who he is now. If who he is still fits so perfectly with you.’
Fits so perfectly?
In the end, he left before I had a chance to say anything, let alone decide whether I wanted to ask him for a catch-up coffee.
Was there going to be a single damn night this century that I got some proper sleep?