I feel it as I watch Cooper – and it’s almost as if she has something to say but it won’t come out or because she can’t find the right words. I’m reminded of my session with Gary.
‘Your hotel is beautiful,’ I remark, looking back at the building, because the silence is a bit weird otherwise. A swirling black cloud looms over the rooftops, promising rain later. ‘It’s . . . it’s very well kept.’
I realise I sound like my mum, though I don’t feel nearly as confident. That said, these days it’s as though she’s a different person, retreating into her own dismal, empty world as soon as she comes home from work. Drinking too much, jumping if the phone rings, not seeing any friends. I’m not there to witness it much of the time, but when I am, it doesn’t seem healthy. Almost as unhealthy as my state of mind.
Still Susan doesn’t speak. I hear a little sigh, but it could be because she’s out of breath from her run. She’s tracking Cooper as he bounds across the lawn.
Finally she turns to look at me. Our faces are close. ‘Thank you,’ she says, really softly. ‘I have good staff.’
I give a little smile and pull a plastic bag from my pocket.
‘Frankly, I don’t know what I’d do without them,’ she continues. ‘What with Phil away so much.’
She’s still staring at me, more intently now. ‘I guess your mum would be able to relate to that, wouldn’t she?’
I smile quickly then make some kind of unintelligible noise, heading over to clean up Cooper’s mess. When I turn round, Susan is walking back across the lawn to the hotel.
‘I wish you hadn’t mentioned anything to her,’ I say to Mum, who’s nursing a bucket of coffee at our breakfast table. She looks a bit rough, and I think the early-morning swim was more to convince herself that she feels fine rather than because she wanted to.
‘Mention what to who?’
I’m about to tell her of my encounter out on the lawn, but Susan walks into the dining room.
‘Tell you later,’ I say quietly, watching as she walks past our table, chirping a quick good morning at Mum. My phone lights up on the table beside my bowl of cereal. I turn it over, the crack cutting right through the message. I don’t want to read it. They come most days.
‘You must get that screen replaced,’ Mum says. I feel the table vibrate under my elbows as another message comes in.
‘Yeah,’ I reply, thinking how easy it would have been to swap it for the expensive phone I found under the bench. But instead, I went to the lost property office the next day, only to find the desk unmanned. The next time I went back it was closed. I’d wasted enough time on the stupid thing already, so as I was cooking that evening I charged it up to see if it gave me any clues about the owner. Karen had a cable that fitted.
‘Call the last number dialled,’ Ant suggested as he tossed about his stir-fry. He’s stick thin and runs marathons. He’s studying law.
It was a good idea and thankfully the phone didn’t have a password. It somehow didn’t feel right nosing through someone’s personal life, so after I’d left my flat – late for a Drama Society event – I redialled the last number called. It rang a few times and just as I was about to give up to try another number, someone answered.
‘Oh, hi,’ I said, walking into the meeting room. I pinnedthe phone to my ear with my shoulder, glancing at my watch. I was really late for my audition. I’d never acted before, and I was doing it for Mum really. She’d said I should get involved with things, make the most of uni life. So that’s what I was doing, even though I felt really nervous and would, at that moment, have done anything to get out of it.
Everyone stared as I went in, shushing me as I stumbled through the door. The auditions were already in progress. Not a good first impression. I felt myself redden.
Dozens of eyes were on me – all except one boy, I should say. He was pushing out of the rows
‘Your hotel is beautiful,’ I remark, looking back at the building, because the silence is a bit weird otherwise. A swirling black cloud looms over the rooftops, promising rain later. ‘It’s . . . it’s very well kept.’
I realise I sound like my mum, though I don’t feel nearly as confident. That said, these days it’s as though she’s a different person, retreating into her own dismal, empty world as soon as she comes home from work. Drinking too much, jumping if the phone rings, not seeing any friends. I’m not there to witness it much of the time, but when I am, it doesn’t seem healthy. Almost as unhealthy as my state of mind.
Still Susan doesn’t speak. I hear a little sigh, but it could be because she’s out of breath from her run. She’s tracking Cooper as he bounds across the lawn.
Finally she turns to look at me. Our faces are close. ‘Thank you,’ she says, really softly. ‘I have good staff.’
I give a little smile and pull a plastic bag from my pocket.
‘Frankly, I don’t know what I’d do without them,’ she continues. ‘What with Phil away so much.’
She’s still staring at me, more intently now. ‘I guess your mum would be able to relate to that, wouldn’t she?’
I smile quickly then make some kind of unintelligible noise, heading over to clean up Cooper’s mess. When I turn round, Susan is walking back across the lawn to the hotel.
‘I wish you hadn’t mentioned anything to her,’ I say to Mum, who’s nursing a bucket of coffee at our breakfast table. She looks a bit rough, and I think the early-morning swim was more to convince herself that she feels fine rather than because she wanted to.
‘Mention what to who?’
I’m about to tell her of my encounter out on the lawn, but Susan walks into the dining room.
‘Tell you later,’ I say quietly, watching as she walks past our table, chirping a quick good morning at Mum. My phone lights up on the table beside my bowl of cereal. I turn it over, the crack cutting right through the message. I don’t want to read it. They come most days.
‘You must get that screen replaced,’ Mum says. I feel the table vibrate under my elbows as another message comes in.
‘Yeah,’ I reply, thinking how easy it would have been to swap it for the expensive phone I found under the bench. But instead, I went to the lost property office the next day, only to find the desk unmanned. The next time I went back it was closed. I’d wasted enough time on the stupid thing already, so as I was cooking that evening I charged it up to see if it gave me any clues about the owner. Karen had a cable that fitted.
‘Call the last number dialled,’ Ant suggested as he tossed about his stir-fry. He’s stick thin and runs marathons. He’s studying law.
It was a good idea and thankfully the phone didn’t have a password. It somehow didn’t feel right nosing through someone’s personal life, so after I’d left my flat – late for a Drama Society event – I redialled the last number called. It rang a few times and just as I was about to give up to try another number, someone answered.
‘Oh, hi,’ I said, walking into the meeting room. I pinnedthe phone to my ear with my shoulder, glancing at my watch. I was really late for my audition. I’d never acted before, and I was doing it for Mum really. She’d said I should get involved with things, make the most of uni life. So that’s what I was doing, even though I felt really nervous and would, at that moment, have done anything to get out of it.
Everyone stared as I went in, shushing me as I stumbled through the door. The auditions were already in progress. Not a good first impression. I felt myself redden.
Dozens of eyes were on me – all except one boy, I should say. He was pushing out of the rows
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