Dad gave me a weak smile from behind his glasses. Every facial expression he made was weak. A side-effect from working sixty hours a week. It also didn’t make for a very patient person. I still remember the day I tied myself to the bed with a skipping rope so they wouldn’t make me go to school. Mum had tried pleading, crying, begging, dragging in Rose to make me feel guilty.
Dad had just come in with a bucket of water, yelled, “If you wanna be so clean, I’ll make you clean,” and chucked it all over me.
Afterwards, in our family therapy sessions, he’d said he’d thought it would shock me out of it. But I’d stayed on the bed, my teeth clanging together, until Mum caved and promised I didn’t have to go in. It took a two-hour bath to get warm again.
Now, both of them sat at the head of the kitchen table, business looks on their faces.
“It’s nice your friends are here,” Mum said. “Though I do wish you’d asked me first.”
I tried not to pull a face. “We’re just chatting in my room.”
“Still though, it’s my house. I like to know what’s going on. You know that.”
“Well I’ll ask them to leave then.”
My parents gave each other the look they’d honed to perfection, the one they use when I’m being difficult.
“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” Dad said, sounding resigned.
I sighed. “Like what?”
“Like that, with the attitude.”
“Should I ask them to leave or not?”
“There’s no need for that, just ask next time.”
“All right, I will.” I walked past them to the kettle and brought it to the sink to fill with water. As it boiled, I noticed them both staring at me.
“What is it?”
“We had our catch-up with Sarah today,” Dad said, not looking me in the eyes, the way he always did when he mentioned Sarah.
“Oh…”
I’d agreed confidentiality-wise for my parents to have regular meetings with Sarah, so they could be kept up to date on my goals and strategies.
“She told us about the sandwich,” Dad said.
“We’re really proud of you, Evelyn.” Mum gave me her first smile of the day, like I’d just got an A in a test or something. I guess I had, an A in “Undercover Normal”. Although no one normal would eat that sandwich.
“Thanks.” I got out the cocoa powder and heaped it into three mugs. Whenever I glanced over, they were watching me…
“Now, she wanted us to discuss your medication some more…” Dad said loudly.
“Shh,” I interrupted, somewhat desperately, pointing to my bedroom directly above. Dad’s voice had always been rather boomy. “My friends are upstairs, they might hear you.”
Dad looked nonplussed. He turned to Mum who shrugged. “So?” he asked.
“So…” I said, pouring the now-boiled water on top of the chocolate. “They don’t know about stuff…”
“Why not? Why haven’t you told them?”
“Just because…”
There was an awkward pause.
“I came home especially early to talk all this through with you,” Dad said. “I was really hoping we could put a plan together.” He put his wine glass down and it clanked.
“But you didn’t tell me about it!” I protested.
“Well you didn’t tell us you were having friends round.”
“Ergh!” I poured too much milk into a cup and spilled some onto the counter. I grabbed a kitchen towel to mop it up. Both of them looked shocked by my yelling. “When I was really sick, when I never left the house, didn’t you guys dream of me bringing friends back from school? Didn’t you worry that would never happen? That I’d never even go back to school, let alone make nice normal friends? Now I’ve done it, your wish has come true, and all you wanna talk about is me being sick!” I dumped the soggy towel in the bin and stared both of them down. We stayed like that for a moment, standing off, then Dad crumbled, screeched back his chair and stood to give me another hug.
“You’re right, darling.” He squeezed so hard it hurt my ribs. “Go back upstairs, have a good time with your friends.”
I looked at Mum over his shoulder. “Mum?”
Mum softened too. Not quite as much though. It had been so long since I’d had anyone round, I’d forgotten what an issue it was.
“Have a good time, dear. Dinner’s at eight though, so can you have them out by the time I start cooking? And you still should’ve asked.”
“I know, I know.”
I came back to my room brandishing hot drinks.
“You were aaaaaages, Evie,” Lottie said, the most bright and cheerful I’d seen her all day. “We’ve put Thelma and Louise on, rather fitting for our first meeting I thought.”
BAD THOUGHT
You’ve not put the film that was in the player back into its case. Now it’s going to get scratched. What sort of person would do such a thing?
I smiled, “Great thinking.”
Amber was sprawled out on the floor as was her custom, her long legs taking up half the rug. “I’ve never seen this movie,” she admitted sheepishly.
Lottie chucked a cushion at her. “What? You haven’t seen Thelma and Louise. It’s like… the Bible.”
“The Bible’s a book,” I pointed out. “And religious.”
“Whatever, it’s like the film version of the Bible. The Bible for strong women.”
Amber ducked from the cushion. “My little brother always chooses our films,” she said. “You don’t want to know how many times I’ve sat through Star Wars.”
I pulled a face. “Kids still watch Star Wars?”
“What can I say, my brother’s a moron.”
“AMBER,” both Lottie and I yelled.
She shrugged. “I’m not even sorry.”
I carefully picked my way over my friends’ bodies, dispersing their drinks, before tucking myself up on the bed and wedging myself in the corner. We half watched, half slurped as Thelma and Louise got drunk at a bar. When it got to the rape scene, Lottie chucked another cushion at the screen. “Aww, man, I forgot about this bit.”
“What bit? The entire motivation for the characters’ actions?” I asked.
“Yes, oh, can we talk through it? I’m down on men enough at the moment.”
“Hey,” Amber said, “I’ve not seen it.”
“That bloke attempts to rape Thelma so Louise shoots him.” Lottie told her.
Just as she said it, Susan Sarandon arrived on the telly and shot the guy dead.
“Well, thanks for ruining it for me.”
“You’ll live.” Lottie turned away from the screen. “I feel bad,” she announced. “It’s our first meeting as spinsters and I want to be empowered and talk about the glass ceiling or whatever, but I can’t stop thinking about Tim. It’s like he’s dancing on my brain.” She stopped and thought about it. “Dancing on my brain, and pissing on my heart.”
I gave her a sad smile. “With metaphors like that, Cambridge is going to let you right in.”
She returned my smile with a sadder one. “I know, right? Well, there’s never been more potent a creative force than heartbreak.”
I budged nearer on the bed. “Is your heart really broken?”
“I dunno. Yes, maybe. Maybe it’s just been maimed. Really horribly maimed.”
Amber twisted around and patted her leg. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yes, maybe…no. Ahhh, I’m not a very good spinster, am I?”
“Spinsters don’t judge other spinsters,” I said, surprised by how wise my voice sounded. “You’re allowed to talk about what you’re going through – it’s what friends are for.”