My Real Life
I trudged home, sulking at the whole world. My hand throbbedtoday it smacked right into the jaw of that charmer, Roman Chivers. The jaw survived, so did my hand, though I can’t say the same for the nerves of our esteemed headmistress. She stared in horror at Chivers, howling in the snowdrift, then shrieked at me that I was about to be expelled from college.
Like I care! You hear me? I don’t care! Ritamy girlfriend, the first girl I ever kissed, the one whose mere presence makes my hands shaky and breathing trickywell, today she started up with Chivers, making sure I saw. Was she trying to wind me up? Provoke me? Or does she expect even more? I’m not ready! Surely there’s some sort of logical sequence to these things: get a flat, prepare mentally… Chivers is probably always ready!
The whole thought was so cringy that it made me shudder, then I spatright onto my own trainer. Brilliant.
It was like the universe had snubbed me. First it beckoned me in, paraded about, teased me, then gave me a resounding slap, one that still made my teeth ache. Or maybe that was from Chiverss right hook. It hardly matters.
Enough of this! ENOUGH!
Whats all this, then? Snow wont shift itself, you know! That was old Mr. Evans from next door. I must have been muttering all this drivel aloud, because there he was, staring at me over the handle of his absolutely massive, neon-orange snow shovel. He was digging out his monster black Range Roverheaded for the country house again, no doubt. My dad always called him Evo, and rumour had it his place out in Surrey was enormous, complete with sauna, guesthouse for lady friends, and even a swimming pool.
But thats just talknobody really knows what hes got going on. Mr. Evans, a solitary, busy bloke, kept everything to himself and never invited anyone over.
Im fine! I snapped, booting an ice clump and wincing as I realised my foot hurt more than my pride. Why did I go out in trainers? Mum would say Id lost my headbut truth is, my heads been replaced by a raging cauldron of love, full of steamy, swirling thoughts about Rita, so vivid and embarrassing I wouldnt risk sharing them with her in a million years.
A gaggle of tourists squeezed past us, slipping on the narrow pavementfolks bussed down from London to gawp at our towns attractions. The guides always marched them round to the one and only local café, The Penguin, fed them glaringly sour cabbage soup and casserole in silly pots, then finished off with scalding Brambleberry teanamed after our town, Bramley, with currants and raspberries bobbing about. There were always pastries, too. When the guests were quite bewildered by the warmth and carbs, theyd be dragged off to the Mansion: allegedlythough only allegedlythe last home of the ancient Bramley family, founders of the original factory town, perfectly situated behind our dodgy old block in the grove.
A couple of wings and a three-story manor with massive windowsinside, dazzling chandeliers, mirrors everywhere, velvet chairs, absolutely posh as you like. All gold curling bits and frames, paintings by some locally famous artist, vases on marble plinths, and mock-old parquet floorseverything you could gawp at through my bedroom window for free.
The city visitors, meanwhile, could only look for the price of the ticketand only in slippers provided by the dragonish museum wardens, who were more worried about parquet damage than the houses history…
Mind your step, young man! snapped a woman in a fur coat. Some tour guideabsolutely high on the scent of heritage. What a way to carry on! Theres a tour going on! People have come all the way from London to see the old family seat, and youre pushing about! You ought to appreciate living by such a marvel, you know, she squeaked, halfway floating off the ground. These walls saw earls and duchesses, these stones rang with the clip-clop of their steeds! Well, their horsesbut still! Because She stopped for air, like she was about to announce the Queen.
Because those walls only ever heard builders swearing and flicking fag butts! I blurted. Your grand old house was built five years agothere was a Tesco here before, but Pete Sparrow torched it. He got sent down for arson, and up went the ancestral mansion in its place. Youre being taken for a rideopen your eyes!
I was quite pleased with myself for this, a real truth-tellerbut the woman just gawped back at me, genuinely rattled. Her mouth wobbled as she tried to respond; the tourists looked on, eyebrows up, and grinned.
Well, I never! What a local character! one of the visitors finally crowed. So, is the whole town fake toothe factory, the streets, everything? You going to give us the real story, mate?
Then I realised the tour guide was crying.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tom, really?! Mr. Evans scolded. Thats all funded, yknow… Give you a good hiding, I should… He turned away and started brushing snow from his windscreen.
Honestly, I didnt know anything about trusts, funding, money. My head was full. Or rather, full of Rita. Rita, who now hangs around with Chivers, flirts, bats her eyelashes at me but cuddles up with someone else. Hes older, a college hotshot, a real expert with girls; he knows how its done.
Im absolutely clueless. They say its learned at home, but my parents have always acted like friendly housematesnever a kiss, never a proper hug. Id assumed thats how things worked: you muddle through, and if you manage twenty years with someone, fine; you still have to try, right? But my trying is all elbows and awkward fumbling, and clearly Ritas not impressed, nor does she pretend to be.
This was what I was thinking aboutnot foundations, and certainly not disappointed tourists.
The guide muttered something, grabbed her red flag, and herded her flock toward the mansion. Shed sort it, I reckonedmake up some story about the local nutter for them to tell their friends. So what.
Pull the other one! I shouted after them. Bunch of London sophisticates!
And I stomped into my block while Mr. Evans kept chiselling away.
In the hallway, for some reason, there were two hulking suitcasesthe ones we used for holidays by the sea.
Mum! Whats going on? We going somewhere? I yelled sourly, kicking off my drenched trainers and chucking my socks on the floor. Never mind. Crisis at handpriorities!
Oh, its you, Tom… Mum looked at me blankly, then came over. I braced for a kiss on my cheek but got nothing.
She just moved me aside and started cramming hats and scarves into one of the suitcases.
Whats all this? Where are you going? I frowned.
Im off, Tom. Thats it. Ive had enough. Dont you see? I cant do this anymore, she answered, her voice thinlike that weepy tour guide.
Had enough of what?
The whole farce. Pretending were a real family, Mum muttered, pulling on her boots.
Arent we?
Cant you see? Oh, typicalyou and your dad, wrapped up in your own business and problems, she scoffed, a lopsided attempt at a smile. And I just had to grin and bear it, nod along, not interfereoh, never mind, son! I only stayed with Victor because hes convinced its best for your upbringingthe proper family, all that tradition… I couldnt care less for tradition! Ive had enough. Wasted my best years.
Susan! Dad emerged from the lounge, grave and steady, watching me, not hernot the wife walking out on him, but me. Susan, youre making a mistake. We cant start over anyway; lets just carry on as before. Lets have dinnerIll cook, Tom can help.
Go on then, Vic, cook, do what you want! Without me. She was too forceful, as if she had to convince herself. You two carry on. Ill finally be happy. God, I wont need to sit through another Sunday at your mothers, acting like I love her little teddy bear! Or host your dreadful mates, laugh at all their jokes, put up with being lectured on how to cook rice!
Well, therell be new mates and more lectures. Youll just move locations, Susanthe rest stays the same, Dad replied. You never did get the hang of rice.
Mum didnt answershe hurled a broom at him, missed, tugged her woolly hat down, then dragged her suitcases out.
Mum! I wanted to ask something, but stoppedDads grip on my shoulder was iron.
She was schlepping her bags across the courtyard when I realised shed forgotten her gloves.
Ill take them! Be right back! Not waiting, I ducked on my soggy trainers and raced outsidejust in time to see her packing the bags into Mr. Evanss Range Rover.
Sorry, son… thats just how it is… Evans didnt look at me; he slammed the boot and got behind the wheel.
I chucked her gloves in the snow; she scurried after them and fell to her knees.
I wanted to shove her, to make her feel what me and Dad felt, but I couldnt. I didnt know whyperhaps I just wasnt raised that way…
I slumped on the hallway floor. Dad sat down next to me, offering an open bag of crisps.
How long… has this been going on? I managed. You knew? Why didnt you punch him? Why didnt you make mum stay?
Ages. I knew. I just… Im not a fighter, Tom. Never have been.
Dad answered each question slowly, which left me no less confused. Then he sighed.
I got a call from your college. Fuss with the headmistress, they said youre out. Is that right?
I smirked to myself. Ms Walters, the head, is practically allergic to any form of dramaespecially a schoolyard scrap. Absolute disaster for a college with pretensions. Ours is a town of two colleges: one for hospitality, the other (mine) for IT. You pickhairdresser or network engineer. Anything else means a commute to the city. And here I am, blackening the colleges good name.
Yeah, she said so, I muttered. Really going to expel me?
I looked down at my jeansbaggy ones with chains, rips, all the works. Suddenly, I wanted to shove them in the binthese were the jeans I learned mum was leaving in. Gross.
She said you need to see hertalk it over…
Whereve they gone? I jumped up, swapped jeans for joggers, and slumped back down.
Who? Mum? I dont know. Evans has a house somewhere… I get it. What happened with the fight, then? Just need to know what to say to Ms Walters.
It was over a girl, I shrugged. Rita fancied me, I fancied heror so I thought. But today shes all over Chivers. Telling me Im boring, wont get anywhere with me. Chivers is the real deal. So I punched him. I felt so pathetic. Now, I dont even care about Rita. In fact, I dont want anyone. Seems you can live with someone years and theyll still walk out with the neighbour. And youDad, youre a wimp! Another bloke would have fought for his own, at least tried! Let me be! Im offskip dinner.
I stormed into my room, slamming the door. Dad just sat there, munching crisps. Another dad would have…
The smell of fried eggs and frankfurters drifted through hours later. My stomach grumbled.
Tom, come eat, Dad called softly at the door. I cooked…
He cooked! As if that solved anything. Hed just let Mum walk out with Evans! Ugh!
Still, I was hungry. I waited till everything went quiet, then crept out, barefoot. It was pitch-black. I tripped, sending Dads shoe flying. Always leaving them lying about!
I rummaged through the potsnothing but the cold frying pan, half a helping of eggs and sausage, complete with congealed fat. Hed even laid out a plate. Waiting for me…
I ate straight from the pan.
Light flickered in the hallway; Dad padded to the loo. Id never realised he could look so utterly flattenedshoulders drooped, shuffling feet, old before his time. Hes not even fifty!
Am I in your way? Cant sleep… Dad rummaged in cupboards. You seen the sherry glasses?
Youre not supposed to drink.
Doesnt matter anymore, Tom. Doesnt matter, he waved me off.
Dont call me Tommy. Who thought up that daft name, anyway? I bristled.
Whats wrong with Tom? Dad shrugged, finally nabbing the glass and pouring just two fingers, like Grandad always said. Whats wrong with it?
And whats right? Youve got Victorofficial, serious, solid. You want soft, its Vik, Vicky. Me? Im always Tommy, forever a kid.
Well, your mum wanted something warm, affectionate. I didnt object. She loves you, Tomwhats happened is just between us. Dont think she stopped caring for you, Dad insisted, reaching to ruffle my hair. I dodged.
Yeah, right! She was sobbing for you, not for me! Pour me one, too.
Youll survive, Dad retorted.
Will I? What, my feelings arent hurt? Why the secrets? Mums run off next door and
No secrets! Dad jumped up, pacing our narrow kitchen.
Who builds kitchens this tiny? Mum always raged about it. Never cooked for a family, obviously!
Shed begged Dad to move, but hed refusedor couldnt. Mum got angry. Maybe thats why she left? Because Dads useless?
Yeah? Then what? Who just hops into someone elses car? I pressed.
Theyre not strangers. Your mum knew Evans since childhood, before I ever came here. She and Iwell, I didnt know she was with anyone when I started courting her. She was proper standoffish, threw away the flowers, hung up if I rang. Then Evans left for a years posting… She felt lonely, I kept her company. Kept companythat sounds seedy. I was just there for her. We finally went to the cinema, then for a walk. We were proper awkward back thencouldnt even hold hands in public.
Why? I snorted.
Someone might see.
So what? Their problem, not yours! I snorted, sticking the frying pan in the sink and lighting the kettles gas.
No, those were our problems. The way people were. Still, I kissed her eventually… Christmas Eve, on the corner of St Nicholass Street. She was tipsy, giggling, and…
I filled my mug, dunked in a teabag. Mum always made tea properlyin a pot, two spoonfuls, never bags.
And then?
We went back to mine. Youre old enough, it shouldnt shock you. Soon after, she realised she was pregnant. Evans came back, they met and spoke. I was terrifiedshe could have… you know, not had you. Or said the baby wasnt mine. Maybe Evans would step in as the hero. Instead, he chucked her out. We even foughtyes, your dad had his moments! Dad grinned ruefully.
And mum chose you? The stronger male, like in the lion documentaries? I snarked.
Maybe. Is Rita a lioness, too? You or Chivers, Tom? Dad poured another, wincing. He never could drinkMum always confiscated the glass.
Me? No idea. Anyway, Im done with Rita.
I needed your mum. Gave it my all, honestly. But I knew she never loved me. We stuck it out for your sake. Evans was gone again, your mum calmed down, and you grew up in a complete family. You never had to be embarrassed that
Embarrassed?! What about now? Mums off with the bloke next door. Not shameful, but pretty rotten. You couldve divorced, like normal peopledragged me round for visits, maybe even been friends. Why make it more complicated?
We couldnt. Evans didnt want her to take you; she wouldnt leave you with me.
Then it hit meMums always been wound tight, a coil under pressure. Some people are made of tough wire, never giving an inch. Others get squashed down until, at last, they spring back. Mums coil finally snapped. And suddenly, she didnt care anymore about anythingnot even me.
So, its all my fault? My voice echoed in that huge empty kitchen, embarrassingly thin and highevery time Im upset, it happens. Its all because of me? Then forget it! You dont need to keep pretending youre a perfect family for me!
I didnt even want teaI just dashed off, yanked on my sopping trainers and stormed out.
Dad shouted after me, even leaned out the window. I didnt look back. Apparently, my whole childhood had been a lie. I thought it was about love, but it was just endurance. For my sake.
And everythings a liethe Bramley mansion, that sniffling tour guide with her tales of laughter echoing down the halls. Mr. Evans, always so polite. I suppose in nature, if a lion claims anothers lioness, does he let the cubs live or… Who knowsmaybe animals are kinder than we are.
Somehow I found myself at Ritas place. Funny, considering we lived two streets apart but never actually visited each other. Young love, so they call it.
I wanted to ring and say, Do whatever you want. Love doesnt exist, family doesnt existits all just shacking up for convenience. My gran used to say, Just so you dont have to drink tea alone til you snuff it. But even gran, who feuded with her sister for decades, packed up for her place when grandad died. Funny world.
Or like my parents. We stayed together for your sake. Sixteen years of pretending for my benefit.
Maybe when they claimed they were off to the theatre, they went to different shows; on holiday while I was at camp, probably tanned on opposite sides of the world. Lies, lies everywhere!
So I rang Rita.
Rita! Listendo what you want, alright? Snog whoever you fancy, I dont care. Are you listening? I SAID, ARE YOU LISTENING?!
I must have been shouting. Rita softly asked me to come round.
What? Its three in the morning, Rita! No way
Tom, my mums unwellplease, can you help… she murmured, then rattled off the code for the entryway and her flat number.
I went up.
Normally done up to the nines, Rita now answered the door pale and thin, in a worn T-shirt and shorts plastered with dancing cucumbers, tartan slippers flopping off her feet with a hole in the toe.
Whats up? I barked. Call a doctor if shes that ill, why me? Or get Chivers…
Doctors already came. She had a jab. Im just scared to be alone with herplease, Im sorry about earlier, she whispered nervously.
Yesterday. And honestly, I dont care! So how can I help?
I kept my tone brisk in case Rita got any soppy ideas.
Just stay a bit while I pop to the chemist. Im scaredwhat if her heart goes again? She wouldnt go to hospital, even though I begged. She says home is betteryou get that, right? Tom, why are you outside at this hour?
She chivvied me into the lounge. This is my mum, Mrs Pearson…
The woman in the bed turned, frowning. Rita, whyd you bring this… this…
We recognised each other: the very same tour guide, the one Id embarrassed earlier when Evans was just a neighbour.
Oh, what a strange world, she sighed, then managed a smile. Rita, make our guest some tea. He must be frozen.
Home-Rita was a whole different person: gentle, relaxed, a bit of a daydreamer, always chewing her hair when lost in thought or jerking her shoulders when Mum got too helpful.
Right. Mum, hell sit with youIll be quick! Off to Boots, okay? Tom, you just wait, then well have tea together!
But I snatched the script from her and pushed past into the hallway. Ill go.
Only later did Rita admit she was petrified of another heart episode. She wanted to bolt, run through the freezing streets, slam that script into the tiny window at Boots, grab the medicine and dash home again. Instead, I did it.
When I came back with the bag of pills, Mrs Pearson noticed I wouldnt look at her.
Its fine! Dont be shyyou were right; I was spinning them a fairytale. City types love a good lost-and-found heritage yarn, buy the mugs, then go home boasting of how they were transformed by the spirit of the place. Its all guffand Im a guff-merchant. Our tours only exist because of their wallets. Thats that.
Im sorry, I mumbled. I shouldnt haveit was stupid and mean. Did I get you in trouble?
Rita glared at me, saucer-eyed. You? Because of you, Mum lost her job and her heart started playing up again! People complained! YOU ABSOLUTE PILLnow get out! she hissed. Thanks for the medicine, but
Enough of that, love, Mrs Pearson interjected. Im too thin-skinned. Tom had a point. You lotyoung peoplesee in black and white. As you get older, you learn to live with the grey, make do, muddle through. Sometimes you have to fudge the truth.
Ha! I actually laughed. Youre all masters at fudging. Rita! What now? Crying? Oh, not you too…
What do you do when a girl cries? Dad never knew, eitherhed say something lame and get shown the door. God, its all so complicatedme lashing out at the world, and now Mrs Pearsons suffering because of me. And everyones miserable again.
Sorry, Rita. I was an idiot. But… can we please talk? I ventured.
Mrs Pearson nodded slightly. Rita stomped to the kitchen, clattering cups, smashing one for emphasis, growling. I silently swept up the pieces, helped her bring the tea in.
We sat, drinking in silence. I choked, she thumped my backhard. Nearly put me on the floor.
She gets the heavy hand from her dad. He was a bear of a manmeant it well, but youd think someone had taken a log to you, Mrs Pearson chuckled.
Dad died three years ago. Now its just us. And dont you think you mean anything to me, Tom! You just helped today, thats allnot happening again! Im dropping out, and…
I didnt listen to what else she threatenedjust shrugged, got up and started pulling on my horrid, sodden trainers. Whatever.
Rita came out to see me off.
Tom, somethings up with you? she finally asked.
Mums left us. Turns out they only stayed together because of me. She got pregnant with me by accident. Now shes run off with the neighbour, I explained. Let Rita think the worlds punished me, too!
What? With the neighbour?! Tom, maybe… want to stay here? she blushed. You can have Dads old room.
So… I stayed. Just lay there, staring at the foreign ceiling and a model aeroplane. Whole new territorystrange flat, strange life, going on in the next room. Fine. Maybe I needed to get used to everything being different now.
For weeks, Dad and I ran on autopilotbreakfast, off to work, evenings of fried potatoes or pasta, a bit of tele, then bed. We never tried to cheer each other up. No point. Dad went to see Ms Walters, talked her downgifted her a bottle of bubbly. She relented.
Sometimes Id go round to Ritas, bringing Mrs Pearson oranges or something for tea, working off my penance. She forgave me easily, turned out to be a gentle, clever woman, always full of stories. Ritas lucky to have her for a mum. And Im lucky with Rita.
…Mum turned up again about two months on. Dragged her suitcases back in, tossed a scarf onto the shelf, flung off her boots.
Oh, Tom, are you in? Help me with the bags, would you?
I scowled, turned away, headed to my room.
Tom! I said, help!
I dunno. Call your precious Evans, I shot back sullenly.
Dont speak to me like that! Im your mother! she snapped.
My mother. By blood and papernothing more…
That evening she and Dad had an epic kitchen row. She cried, pleaded for forgiveness, then called Dad a loser.
So what happened with Evans, eh, Sue? Didnt work out? Dad asked.
We were just totally different! Couldnt stand his rulesa giant house, constantly cleaning. Hes got three dogsones a flipping mastiff! Dog hair everywhere, the stench! And he lets them on the beddisgusting! He seemed so refined, too. It was a moment of madness, Vicyou understand, dont you? Us women get these urges! I made a mistake. But men get forgiven for a bit on the side, dont they? Lets just forget it, carry on. Toms growing uphe doesnt know a thing, right?
I told him everything, Sue. Hes grown, Dad replied.
You WHAT?! Have you lost your mind?! Mum raged, called Dad every name under the sun, tried to hit him, but Dad just caught her arm.
Ive found a place. Ill move out. You just get on alone…
And I decided to go with Dad.
Mum wept, begged us to stay. But we left anyway. Maybe I should have felt sorry for her. Dad would survive without me, but Mum…?
I just didnt want to be there. Someone had to be the bad guy. Really, Dad started this mess years ago. But he was only fighting for his own happiness, after all. Look how that turned outreal life. Such as it is. And I stuck with him…
When Rita and I decided to tie the knot, I insisted on absolute honesty.
If you ever get enough, just say so, okay?
Okay! she grinned. And I believed her…
Now weve got two kidsand we still havent had enough of each other.
Im glad. Ours is the only real life, because its actually real.
Mrs Pearson got a job at the local history museum, runs a traditional crafts club, and sets sail each summer along the Thames. Back at sixteen, I cocked up her lifenow I try to make up for it. Shes even got a suitorsome fellow called Fred, obsessed with canal boats and Dickens. Good luck to both! Wed be thrilled if Mrs Pearson found some happiness.
I pop by to see Mum sometimes, too. Shes a part of meyou cant erase her. But forgiving? Im not quite there yet. Im thirty-eight…
