Gigi

Oliver was right about Megan, in the end. With gargantuan effort, Gigi gave her the weeks of space that Olly thought she needed, preoccupying herself with work and settling into the flat and trying not to torture herself with all the insignificant and enormous episodes of Meg’s life she was missing. She wished it was Megan every single time her phone rang – grabbing her mobile and pulling her glasses off her head on to her nose to read the caller ID frantically – but Megan didn’t call.

So she took the train one Wednesday when she wasn’t working, not wanting to drive home wobbly and tearful, if things didn’t go well. She resisted the urge to collect up treats – Megan’s favourite biscuits, posh shower gel – stuff she would normally have done before a visit. She wasn’t trying to buy back Megan’s goodwill. And she didn’t want to reward her unkindness. She wanted to fix things between them, but she badly didn’t want to be pathetic either. She gazed out of the window and wondered what she would say, face to face, as the train sped through the countryside.

Gigi had arrived before she realized she didn’t have a concrete plan. Of course she knew where Megan’s house was, but it seemed invasive to just knock on the door. She and Richard had once dropped in unexpectedly on Oliver, years ago, and found him hungover and sound asleep, in a room that looked like it had been ransacked, at three in the afternoon. She almost smiled at the memory of her son, crazy-haired and pale-green, answering the door wrapped in a grubby duvet. God knows what Megan might be doing. She had no idea of her schedule. The idea of coming here unannounced and uninvited, let alone unwelcome, suddenly seemed stupid and desperate to her. Kids milled around, a hoodie army, but she didn’t recognize anyone, and they all ignored her. She bought a coffee in a polystyrene cup from the café in the middle of the large atrium space that seemed to be at the centre of everything, and sat down on one of the uncomfortable, trendy sofas to ponder her next move, which might very well be to go straight home.

She’d finished the coffee, and was watching a young couple smooch over a laptop, oblivious to everything but each other, when she heard Megan’s voice, laughing and chattering. A quick flood of relief – both that she’d found her and that she sounded so … so normal – was almost instantaneously replaced by a rush of adrenalin, and her heart raced. When she turned away from the young lovers, Megan had already seen her. She’d peeled away from a small group of boys and girls she’d been walking with, and was coming towards her, files clutched against her chest, omnipresent headphones around her neck, wide-eyed with panic.

‘Mum?’

Gigi stood up. ‘I had to come …’

‘What’s wrong? Is Dad all right? Is everything okay?’ She should have realized her appearance might frighten Meg. Gigi put up both hands, as if they could stop the anxiety.

‘Everyone is fine.’

Megan visibly exhaled. And Gigi inhaled deeply. ‘But we’re not okay, Meg.’

They stood about three feet apart, staring each other down. Gigi knew Megan so well that she could almost hear the debate going on in her lovely daughter’s head – stubborn, posturing, angry adult versus girl, a girl probably very much in need of a cuddle, and a truce.

She watched the girl win. Megan’s eyes filled with tears, and she just stepped forward into Gigi’s arms, not caring who was watching.

They went to a pub and sat outside. It wasn’t quite warm enough, but it was quiet. Megan pulled her sleeves down over her hands, and Gigi didn’t tell her not to, like she normally would have done.

‘I’m sorry you’ve been so upset, my darling.’

‘What about Dad?’ She was persisting with the anger, though it was hardly convincing either of them now.

‘Of course I’m sorry he’s upset too. I don’t expect you to understand, Meg.’

‘Well, I don’t –’

‘But I did expect, I think, that you’d at least try.’

Megan looked shocked. Even Gigi hadn’t known this was the tack she would take.

‘We’ve babied you all your life, Meg. Not your fault. Ours, I know. But you are not a child.’

‘I know that.’ Gigi wished the tone wasn’t so petulant.

‘You are old enough to understand that your dad and I are just people. I am just a person.’

‘That’s what Oliver says.’

‘He’s right.’

Megan’s lip trembled. ‘I know he is. I just … I hate this. I hate Dad being so unhappy. I hate not knowing you’re both at home. I know it’s selfish. But I can’t help it. It’s not how it’s supposed to be.’ Gigi’s heart twisted. ‘I know so many people, from school, here … so many people who have divorced or separated parents. I just never thought it would happen to me, you know? I mean, I know it’s happened to you too, but you sort of made it happen. It’s so … weird … you not being together. It’s weird and I hate it.’

Gigi latched on to something she’d said. ‘Those people you know … do they have relationships with both parents?’

Megan shrugged. ‘I suppose. Mostly.’

‘Do they still go home at the end of term? Still go on holiday?’

She shrugged again.

Gigi put her hand on Megan’s, gripped it tightly through the material of her sweatshirt. ‘It’s like I said, love: we’re your mum and dad. We love you to bits. We’ll both be here, while we’ve breath in our bodies.’

‘Fighting … being miserable …’

‘Fighting – no – not when it comes to our kids. Never. Being miserable … That’s an entirely more complicated question. But I hope not. Together or apart … I wouldn’t be doing any of this – I wouldn’t have dreamt of making any of this mess, Meg, if I wasn’t trying to make things … better.’

‘But you mean for you, Mum, not Dad.’

‘I mean for both of us.’

‘That’s not true. That’s not what Dad wanted.’

‘I’m not sure your dad has been any happier than me, Megan. Honestly I’m not.’

‘Are you sure you aren’t just telling yourself that?’

Gigi couldn’t answer that.

‘Are you sure this is permanent?’

‘I’m not sure of anything, except that something needed to change.’

‘So you might get back together?’

‘I don’t want you to fixate on that.’

‘But you might –’

‘Megan … listen to me. This is what is important right now. I want you to stop being in a sulk with me. I want you to let me back into your life. You need me. I need you. We both know it. So you need to stop shutting me out. See me, speak to me. See your dad, speak to your dad. Let us both do what we’ve always done. Get on with your life, secure in the knowledge that your family is still your family, even if it’s been shaken up. Even if your dad and I are not together. Grow up a bit, lovely girl. Forgive me.’

‘Okay. Okay. You’ve made your point.’

But there was a small sob in Megan’s voice, and her face was softer now – her angry jaw unclenched.

Gigi held her awkwardly across the table, her head on her shoulder. Megan was nestled in, so her voice was muffled when she said, ‘But you might get back together again …’

When they pulled apart, they laughed for the first time, and for the first time since the night she’d lined them up on the sofa and shattered at least Megan, Gigi felt okay about her daughter, and the relief was extraordinary.

‘So … are we going shopping or what?’