Lucy was a bit of a troublemaker. Honestly, poor thing, she was so bad it was almost pitiful. Everyone tried to let her know, in their own way, that she wasnt exactly the model citizen.
Badand unlucky, too. Of course, no husband, her sons grown up and moved out, and Lucys left all alone, seemingly unnecessary to anyone.
She wandered into work on Monday morning, and the other ladies were all boasting about how busy theyd been over the weekend, washing, cleaning, getting the garden sorted. Some spent hours at their allotments, some made preserves. Lucy kept quiet, with nothing to say. What could she tell them, really? No bloke at home, her childs grown and gone, so she just sat quietly, pretending to be engrossed in emails.
She left early today, as everyone expectedonce or twice a month she asks to leave before the rest. They always glance at each other, shaking their heads in judgment, convinced everyone knows exactly where Lucys off to: meeting one of her many lovers.
All her colleagues are sure Lucys got a string of men on the gobecause isnt that just what bad women do?
The rest of them, mind you, are good married ladies, caught up in proper domestic business. Lucy is the outsider.
Lucy, says her mum, Why cant you just be normal?
What do you mean, Mum?
Youre unsettled. Honestly, you could at least find yourself a bloke to keep you company. Truly, darling, its still not too late to have a second child. Everyones doing that after forty these days.
Mum, why would I want some random man around? Why would I have another child with him? For what? Lucy asks, genuinely baffled. Ive got Tom, my lad. Hes more than enough for me… And what would I do with this bloke, anyway? I have Oliver.
Lucy! her mum exclaims, exasperated. Lucy, wake up! Oliver isnt your man!
What do you mean? He absolutely is, laughs Lucy. He takes me out for dinner weekly, gives me presents, helps pay for holidays, never nags, doesnt send me off to his mums to clean windows, never makes me wash his socks and pants, doesnt demand dinner, doesnt dump his problems on me, doesnt hog the sofa. Its bliss.
Yeah, and all that bliss falls on his poor wife.
And you want all that on my plate instead? Forget itIm forty-something, Mum. Dont you remember, Ive been married twice. The so-called happiness drove me out with my slippers flying!
My first husband, Toms daddont forget you pushed me into marrying him at eighteen, because he was older, so supposedly wiser and serious, loved me, respected me, and had a good job, didnt he?
Five years, Mumfive years I was cloistered. Couldnt study, couldnt spend time with mates, not allowed to fuss over Tom because I was ‘too young’ and might do something wrong, just work myself to the bone for him and his mother. Oh, but sure, I was dripping in gold.
And once a month he dragged me out like a pet, just to parade his young, proper wife. Not like those silly dolls others hadthough he wasnt above visiting them, mind.
And when I left and filed for divorce, bless Nana for helping me, he wanted everything back, even my knickers.
The second marriage, that was for love. I was at university and working, remember? Days spent catching up on chances Id missed, evenings at my job so I wouldnt feel like a burden on you and Dad
Lucy! How can you say that? I never once begrudged you hot soup or a slice of bread, for you or your boy!
It wasnt you, Mum but there was Dad, and my brother, Nickthey never sorted themselves out, but why should they? You were always there. You worked two jobs, dashed home, shopped on the way cause your chicksone on the sofa, one glued to a computerwere hungry.
You cooked, cleaned, washed So I rushed into my second marriage for love. Couldnt do without it.
What changed? Nothing. More trouble, really. I went from LucyAngela to Lucyeveryones problem. My beloved lounged on the sofa, I did the working, the nursery run, picked up my own child, and no way would I ever burden the man, not his concern even if it was. Men dont do nursery runs, Mumhes tired enough.
Raced around, shops, carried groceries and my kidall without a car. Why bother? Clearly my husband needed it more; he cant take the tram.
All the women live like this, and if I complained of exhaustion, who cooked? Me. Who served up dinner, fed everyone, washed, ironed, then had to coddle the husband, as if hed die without his ration of warmth and affectionotherwise hed wander off, the precious darling.
No money? Thats my problemmy childs problem. If Id had his heir, maybe hed have cared. As it was, told me to find a fool to support me and my brood. Sorry Mum, wrong target
If I didnt pitch in for his car repairswell, whats the point? Were family, arent we?
So he compared wagessaid I got lucky. And when I left, whod want me, single with a kid?
Thats how marriage went for me, Mum. Been with the wealthy one, been with the not-so-wealthy one. Made no odds. Everyone else seemed happybut I wasnt. Just me.
Lucy, everyone lives like that
Let them. I wont.
How did you spend Saturday?
Well, Nick and Mary dumped their kids with us, and I took them out, made pancakes, did a quick clean, dusted, vacuumed, mopped, did the washing, settled the little ones in bed, fed Dad, did some ironing, watched telly, finally got to bed at nearly one.
Up in the morning, the kids were up early, wanted more pancakes; Grandma Lucy obliged. Then Nick and Mary came round, so I roasted some chicken, made a few salads, made pizza, everyone ate, I tidied up, crashed onto the sofa around eleven and fell asleep. Dad woke me in the night to send me to bed for real.
Mum, I dont remember you ever itching to sit with Tom like that, or me pawning him off so I could escape and relax. I was always quite independent, but these days well, no words.
Want to hear how I spent the last weekend, Mum? Friday night, Tom called and asked if Id mind looking after Timmy the cat for the weekend; he and his girlfriend wanted to go hiking. Of course, I said yes. Timmy belongs to Marina, Toms girlfriendMum, if you werent so wrapped up with Nick and his brood, maybe youd know what your oldest grandson is up to.
So they dropped off the cat and brought me pizza. I stuffed myself and watched Netflix all night, becauseguess whatI didnt have to jump up at dawn on Saturday.
Morning came, I fed Timmy, brewed my coffee, dusted a bit, popped a load in the washing machine, then rang you, thought maybe we could go to a museum or just chat.
Dad answeredsaid you were busy washing something with wet hands, called me a layabout. Mum working hard, minding my nephews and nieces, and me swanning about to museums like some aristocrat.
I started feeling offended, then changed my mindwhats the point? Dads always right, isnt he?
I headed to the museuma display by your favourite artist, remember how much you used to love him? Afterwards, popped into a café, browsed a few shops, remembered Timmy, came home to find him fast asleep. I flopped onto the sofa, watched more shows.
Sunday, Timmy and I slept until eleven, thought of inviting you to ride the river ferry, but Mary answered, eating and said you were busyprobably cleaning up after brunch.
In the evening, Oliver called and invited me out to dinnerand why not? I dont interrogate him about his wife, or his family life, we dont exchange worries. We just enjoy ourselves. Spent the night out, went to bed happy, fresh for work Monday morning.
I tried seeing single men, Mum. It was a nightmare.
Either they want a new mum, or theyre wounded by ex-wives and dragging kids along, expecting me to take them all in because, as a woman, Im ‘built to love kids.’ Hed spend his money on his hobbyfishingwhile living off my salary, promising me fresh fish.
I asked if hed help with Tomhe was offended, said Tom had his own dad for that.
Fair enough, so I showed him the door. Toms got his mum, thats me.
Of course, now they say Im mean, greedy, manipulativea scheming cowtrying to dump my kid onto some poor man for an easy life.
Thats why Oliver appeared. I know they all think Im bad, but it doesnt bother me. Im comfortable with how I live.
What hurts, Mum, is how youre livingthats what gets to me. So today, I lied to you and Dad about needing help, just to pull you out of the house for a bit.
Mum, Im fine. And right now, were going to focus on you, spend some quality time together.
Youve lost your mind, Lucywhat about Dad?
Whats wrong with Dad? Hes not sick.
No, but lunch
Dont tell me there isnt something ready to eat at home.
Needs reheating, and anyway, Nick
Mum! Seriously, I could get annoyed I know Im supposedly bad, but let me be good for oncelets just take a break, Im begging you
On Monday at work, the ladies lament how exhausting their ‘restful’ weekends were. Lucy gives a sly smile, everyone knows Lucys bad, yet she saunters about, smiling at some secret only she knows.
And of course, theyre all convinced that Lucys thoughts must be wickedbecause thats just how Lucy is.
