After such a momentous conversation everyone needed a coffee, and Wendy blew her nose three times and passed around some tissues. Then, once they’d recovered and all eyes had been wiped, the talk turned to easier subjects. ‘I was going to suggest you join us for the “Dad dinners” from now on,’ Wendy said, explaining what these were, ‘but we’re moving on – aren’t we, Becky? – so perhaps we should think of something else we can all do together. Girly weekend lunches, maybe, when the kiddies are with Lawrence. Or cocktails in fancy bars in Birmingham – you get some good deals on Groupon now and then.’
‘I would really like that,’ Rachel said. To her surprise, she genuinely meant it. She felt lighter suddenly; an old hurt soothed, an old enmity wiped out. ‘Yes, we must, that would be great.’
Wendy went on to ask about the children and Rachel gave updates on them all, finishing with Mabel. ‘Like I said before, I’m slightly at my wits’ end with her,’ she confessed. ‘We used to be so close. Thick as thieves. She’d tell me everything not so long ago, unpack her entire day for me after school each time and we’d chat through whatever had happened. But now . . .’ She pulled a face. ‘Well, you’ve seen her, Bec. She’s so prickly and angry all the time, so secretive and private. I’m just not sure how to get through to her.’ She hesitated, conscious of the fact that she’d never deigned to ask for help before from either of these women at her patio table, dismissing their opinions without even hearing them. You arse, Rachel. Since when did you know it all? ‘I was wondering . . . do you two have any ideas?’
If Becca was surprised at being consulted, she didn’t let on. ‘I’ve been thinking about her too,’ she said, draining her coffee cup. ‘And I know since I’ve been staying, I’ve deprived her of her own room, now that Scarlet’s in with her. Maybe part of the problem is that Mabel needs her own space, somewhere she can go with her mates rather than hanging around by the river getting into trouble.’
‘A room of her own where she can shut the door on the world and have some privacy,’ Wendy agreed.
Rachel nodded. ‘Maybe I should put Scarlet in with Luke instead,’ she suggested, mentally measuring up Luke’s tiny bedroom for space. They could just about squeeze a mattress on the floor, she supposed, although it wouldn’t give either of them much elbow room.
Becca was gazing out across the garden. ‘I’ve had a better idea . . .’ she said.
Twenty-four hours later, it was almost time for the children to come home and Rachel stood in the middle of the shed, gazing around it with an air of exhilaration. Everyone needs an art project, Becca was fond of saying – and Rachel was starting to agree. Between them, they had got stuck in on Saturday afternoon, clearing it of all its clutter – toddler bikes that could go to the charity shop; ancient lilos hissing with punctures, fit only for the bin; a cracked old slide that should have gone to the dump years ago – and then sweeping away the dirt and cobwebs.
Becca had had to drive Wendy back to Birmingham at six on the Saturday – ‘I know you’re both going to mock me but I’ve joined the local W.I., and it’s brilliant,’ she had announced, ‘and we’ve got this handsome beekeeper coming to talk to us tonight, I can’t miss it’ – but had returned the following day, with some paint charts and fabric for curtains from which Mabel could choose.
Becca then had to get on with her bridesmaid tiaras for Hayley but Rachel carried on with Project Shed, scrubbing the windows and putting a beanbag and a rug inside to make it look more homely. Now she just had to cross her fingers and hope that her daughter approved of the whole thing.
True to form, Mabel appeared suspicious when she and her siblings arrived home later on and Rachel said she wanted a word with her in private. ‘What have I done now?’ she muttered, glowering.
‘Nothing,’ Rachel assured her. ‘Don’t look like that.’ She led her into the garden. ‘It’s just that I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this weekend, about mums and children, you and me. And while I’m not about to condone what your friends did last week, I do know that it’s tough being a teenager.’
Mabel made a non-committal noise as they walked across the lawn. ‘Aunty Bec and I were talking,’ Rachel went on, feeling nervous as they approached the shed, ‘and she had the brilliant idea of . . . Well, of this.’
She flung open the shed door, her heart pounding a staccato beat, hoping and hoping that Mabel wouldn’t scoff contemptuously or give her a blank so what? kind of stare, as she so often did these days.
‘It’s an . . . empty shed?’ Mabel said warily.
‘Yeah. And we thought it could be your empty shed. Your not-so-secret hideout. We can get some paint and decorate it. Aunty Bec said she would help make curtains if you choose the fabric. We can wire up some fairy lights, and you could put posters up . . . whatever you want. Then we can get you a padlock for the door, so it’s just your private place, and you can invite friends round and . . .’
The corners of Mabel’s mouth turned up a fraction and Rachel held her breath in the hope of a positive response. ‘Does that mean I’m not grounded any more?’ her daughter asked hopefully.
Rachel met her gaze. ‘You are still grounded,’ she replied, ‘but you can have friends round here. Girl friends,’ she amended, as her mind flashed up an alarming image of Mabel and Tyler locking themselves in the shed for after-school passion. She wanted this to be a nice, safe place for her daughter, not some kind of teen knocking shop. ‘Although . . . Well . . . I suppose Tyler can come to the house too, as long as bedroom doors stay open and . . .’
Mabel gave her what could only be described as a reproachful look. ‘Me and Tyler broke up ages ago,’ she said, before adding something that might very well have been ‘Not that you’d care anyway.’
Oh God. Another mothering fail. ‘I’m sorry,’ Rachel said, feeling wretched. How had she missed this? By slumping on the sofa feeling sorry for herself, probably. You took your eye off the ball, you disengaged, and this is what happened. There had even been something on the whiteboard about Mabel hating boys, she remembered too late – and she hadn’t even joined the dots. ‘Really, I am,’ she said, putting a hand on her daughter’s back. ‘I know you liked him. Are you all right?’
Mabel pushed her lower lip out. ‘Yeah. Whatever,’ she said, which quite clearly meant ‘No.’
First love, first heartbreak – ouch. ‘I’m sorry I’ve not been the best mum lately,’ Rachel said after a moment. ‘I think life just knocked me down for a while, and it’s taken me this long to get back up on my feet. But another time, I will be there, okay? I’m your biggest fan and I’ll always listen if you want to talk to me. I promise.’
Mabel shrugged. ‘’S’all right,’ she said. ‘He’s an idiot anyway.’
Tempted though Rachel was to agree, she knew she mustn’t. Rule number one: don’t slag off the ex. Instead she put her arm around her daughter and gave her a hug. ‘Well, it’s his loss,’ she said staunchly. ‘You should do what your Aunty Bec keeps telling me to do, and paint yourself better. Have a think about what colours you’d like for this shed, and we can pick some up for you.’
Mabel was stiff in her arms initially, but then she hugged her back. For the first time in weeks it was a proper, affectionate hug, one that felt genuine, as if they might just be heading back to a good place together. They stood there in the shed for a moment, mother and daughter, side by side, and Rachel felt peace descend.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Mabel, leaning her head against Rachel’s shoulder. ‘That would be really cool.’