after his degree, Adam scarpered off to work in Texas as a petroleum engineer, at least it was better than the job in the Middle East that had also been on the table
Sarah became an actor’s agent in a big agency in the West End, complained about stars who treated her like the hired help
it’s a lot less glamorous than you think, Mum
she came home for lunch every other Saturday from her house-share in Whitechapel (why she chose to live in the grotty East End was beyond Penelope, who still associated it with Victorian slums and Jack the Ripper)
Sarah’s housemates were young professionals, half of whom were Asian
well-educated and well-spoken
so hardly Asian at all
in winter Penelope usually made Sarah’s favourite broccoli and parsnip soup
with crusty rolls
in summer, it was her favourite salad of greens, tomatoes, figs, edible flowers and goat’s cheese
with crusty rolls
Penelope preferred heavy food such as pasta and potatoes, thick stews, rich curries and the most gooey of saccharine desserts like sticky toffee pudding
she liked to feel completely stuffed after a meal
her stomach stretched to bursting
or she felt emotionally empty
Sarah would gossip indiscreetly about her clients, which Penelope loved
it was as close as she’d ever get to the people who appeared in the celebrity magazines she read that transported her from the miserable reality of her own existence into a fantasy world of glossy people with their perfect lives
even though she knew it was a feel-good panacea for the gullible masses, it still soothed rather than induced envy
Sarah said the more successful actors blamed her if they didn’t get seen for a coveted part, or if they did and it all backfired and their career went tits-up, she got blamed for that too
while the non-famous actors blamed her for not being famous
most of her gay actor clients pretended to be otherwise, while the married ones got up to all sorts of stuff, you won’t believe what I hear, Mum, like the famous married actor whose thing is to crouch on top of a glass table and crap on it while a pretty young woman is lying underneath it
trust me, showbiz folk are more fucked up than most people, you’d pale in comparison, I mean I didn’t actually mean it that way, I’m not saying you’re fucked up, hey, we’re all fucked up, aren’t we?
she said
dipping her bread so far into her soup it drowned
and couldn’t easily be rescued.
6
A few years later and the front door bell rings
Penelope can see the blurry outline of Sarah and Craig
and hear the excited giggles of Matty and Molly, their small twins
she opens the door, they pile in, the children jumping up at her, Humperdinck jumping up at everyone, Sarah pecking her on the cheek, Craig gives her his usual Australian hug
he works in cinematic sound production, met Sarah at a premiere where he was in control of the acoustics and she was chaperoning a newly-signed starlet
for lunch Penelope has made a crusty pizza piled high with pastrami, tomatoes, cheese (no olives or peppers, which the little ones hate)
and a green salad, which they won’t touch either (nor will she)
she loves it when Sarah and her gang arrive, for the duration of their visit she forgets all her usual self-pitying (be honest, Pen) preoccupations
after lunch, the children become even more rumbustious as carbohydrates turn into sugar and they start racing around her living room
Craig, whose father was a mine geologist, grew up running barefoot in Queensland with his aboriginal friends, believes children should be raised as free spirits, including in her lounge, apparently, where they knock over a cup of coffee, throw cushions at each other, jump on to the window ledge to try and swing from the curtains and it’s only when Molly almost plugs a finger into an electrical socket that Craig bellows at her to get away from there, Molly!
Sarah smiles apologetically at her mother, but doesn’t tell them off for fear of being called a spoilsport by Craig
her grandchildren need a few slaps when they get out of control, which Penelope is quite willing to administer – it’s child abuse, according to Craig
instead
she cajoles them on to the sofa by holding two lollipops in her hands and once they’ve fallen for it, snuggles them under an arm each (without obviously throttling them), and proceeds to read them a story about a talking train
Sarah’s gang live in a second-floor flat in Brixton, which Penelope only visits when it’s unavoidable, such as the twins’ (unfortunately annual) birthday party
the white walls are covered with the children’s cave drawings and the furnishings are stained with their paints, felt-tip pens and remnants of food, regurgitated or otherwise, including squashed peas and melted chocolate
Penelope tries to sit on the edge of her seat while avoiding touching anything as she ends up with sticky or, more worryingly, wet hands
once Penelope has lulled the twins to sleep with her special soporific storytelling voice, and they’re dozing off under an armpit each, Sarah decides to tell her, because there never will be a right time for this, Mum, that they’re moving to Sydney where Craig has been offered a job to head Dolby Audio
Penelope’s response is immediate, emotional, extreme and uncontrollable
soon after, she’s face down on her double bed, hears her bedroom door creak open and Sarah’s voice urging the twins to go on, go on
their warm (and heavy) little bodies are soon crawling all over her, digging their knees into her back, sitting on her head, wiping her wet cheeks with their sticky little paws
s’all right, grammy, s’all right, don’t be sad, grammy
one of them decides it’s more fun to blow raspberries down her ear, while the other treats her ample posterior as a trampoline
it dawns on her how much she’s going to miss seeing these two little monkeys grow up.
Chapter Four
Megan/Morgan
1
It’s absurd that Megan’s mother Julie treated her like it was the nineteenth century and not the nineteen-nineties into which she’d been born
as Megan reflected with hindsight when she could articulate the unfairness of her problematic childhood to herself
and analyse it once her eyes were opened by Bibi who came into her life to make it all right
her mother was unthinkingly repeating patterns of oppression based on gender, one example was that Megan preferred wearing trousers as a child, which she found more comfortable than dresses, she liked the look of them, liked having pockets to put her hands and other things into, liked looking like her brother Mark who was three years older
wearing trousers really shouldn’t have been an issue for a girl born in her time, but her mother wanted her to look cuter than she already was
like the cutest of the cutest cutie-pies
she was determined to dress Megan up for the approval of society at large, usually other females who commented on her looks from as early as she can remember
it was the defining aspect of Megan’s early childhood, she didn’t actually have to do or say anything except be cute – an end in itself
which reflected well on Mum, who could bask in the glory of the compliments that poured forth as a validation of her love of an African man
between them they’d produced such an admired kid
and made the world a better place
Megan should have been grateful and accepted her cute status, what girl doesn’t want to be told how lovely she is, how special?