with her hair self-consciously.
‘Sorry, girl,’ Barry said, clearly not meaning it. Fiona patted his hand, forgiving him without a moment’s hesitation. Like me, she let Barry get away with basically anything. ‘You’re just jealous that you stayed in economy class and didn’t get to pull fit blokes at the bar like me.’
Barry started to say something about Fiona hitting on dark times if she thought that snogging a twat on a plane was something to be jealous of, but I interrupted. She could only be pushed so far. ‘Well, as long as you’re happy,’ I said firmly.
She looked grateful. ‘Thanks, Sally.’
Then something tricky started to take shape in her face. ‘Um,’ she began. ‘Sally, I want to talk to you about something. I …’
I blanched. Please, no trouble. I was enjoying myself so much …
‘Actually, Bazzer, can you give us some privacy?’ she asked, after a meaty pause.
Barry laughed out loud and said lots of things like ‘What next?’ and ‘Priceless.’ He kissed us both on the cheek andsaid it was time for bed. ‘See you tomorrow, you weird family of weird people from a weird part of England.’
‘Night, you Welsh wazzock,’ I replied.
Fiona smiled faintly and composed herself. ‘I’ve been wanting for a few weeks to say sorry to you,’ she began carefully. ‘For … well … for being a nightmare. I know I’ve been even worse in the last year. I’m sorry, Sally, I really am.’
I was too surprised to speak, so I finished my Manhattan and signalled to the waitress for another. Fiona usually apologized quickly for her indiscretions but had never, in her whole life, acknowledged how difficult she was to live with.
This would be a good time to get honest. To tell her that I
was
tired of the way she behaved; that I was fed up of having to be responsible for her. And that actually, yes, she
had
been more difficult than ever. The drinking had worsened and it had been a dreadful shock to find her with a bloody silver straw up her nose.
But she knew. ‘I know,’ she said quietly, before I was able to say a word. ‘I really do know. I see what I do to you and I detest myself for it. I’m just a bit mental, you see. Ha, ha. You know. Abandonment issues. Tragic orphan stuff.’
We both smiled tiredly; I was on the edge of tears. My heart ached for Fiona, all the loss and loneliness in her life, yet I knew I was approaching the end of my capabilities as her carer. I couldn’t do it any more. I needed to focus on
me
and my life. New York had infused me with an energy and bravery I hadn’t known I had; I wanted to invest in that little spark. I wanted to nurture and grow it.Not run round after Fiona, her unpaid bills and neurotic outbursts.
‘I’m not sure I want to be your mum any more,’ I heard myself say. My voice was full of nervous splinters but it held. ‘I worry about you so much I feel sick at times.’
There was a long silence. She looked upset but I didn’t crumble. I had a duty to myself that I’d been neglecting for a long time.
‘I just want to be your friend. Your cousin,’ I told her.
She nodded, processing this. ‘God,’ she muttered. ‘I really am awful.’
A further silence.
‘You do know that it’s all because I hate myself?’ she asked.
I winced painfully. I didn’t want to hear this, largely because I couldn’t bear it.
‘Difficult, arrogant people,’ she continued, ‘like me, they always hate themselves. Deep down.’
‘You shouldn’t hate yourself,’ I muttered. She looked so lost and tiny. ‘You really have nothing to hate. Look at you, Freckle. You’re beautiful. You’re funny. Clever. And you’re a mesmerizing, glorious ballet dancer. Aunty Mandy would have been so proud to see you on this stage. She …’ I ran out of words. The sadness and injustice of Fiona’s circumstances were as raw now as they had been twenty-one years ago.
Aunty Mandy
would
have burst with pride seeing her daughter dancing at the
‘Sorry, girl,’ Barry said, clearly not meaning it. Fiona patted his hand, forgiving him without a moment’s hesitation. Like me, she let Barry get away with basically anything. ‘You’re just jealous that you stayed in economy class and didn’t get to pull fit blokes at the bar like me.’
Barry started to say something about Fiona hitting on dark times if she thought that snogging a twat on a plane was something to be jealous of, but I interrupted. She could only be pushed so far. ‘Well, as long as you’re happy,’ I said firmly.
She looked grateful. ‘Thanks, Sally.’
Then something tricky started to take shape in her face. ‘Um,’ she began. ‘Sally, I want to talk to you about something. I …’
I blanched. Please, no trouble. I was enjoying myself so much …
‘Actually, Bazzer, can you give us some privacy?’ she asked, after a meaty pause.
Barry laughed out loud and said lots of things like ‘What next?’ and ‘Priceless.’ He kissed us both on the cheek andsaid it was time for bed. ‘See you tomorrow, you weird family of weird people from a weird part of England.’
‘Night, you Welsh wazzock,’ I replied.
Fiona smiled faintly and composed herself. ‘I’ve been wanting for a few weeks to say sorry to you,’ she began carefully. ‘For … well … for being a nightmare. I know I’ve been even worse in the last year. I’m sorry, Sally, I really am.’
I was too surprised to speak, so I finished my Manhattan and signalled to the waitress for another. Fiona usually apologized quickly for her indiscretions but had never, in her whole life, acknowledged how difficult she was to live with.
This would be a good time to get honest. To tell her that I
was
tired of the way she behaved; that I was fed up of having to be responsible for her. And that actually, yes, she
had
been more difficult than ever. The drinking had worsened and it had been a dreadful shock to find her with a bloody silver straw up her nose.
But she knew. ‘I know,’ she said quietly, before I was able to say a word. ‘I really do know. I see what I do to you and I detest myself for it. I’m just a bit mental, you see. Ha, ha. You know. Abandonment issues. Tragic orphan stuff.’
We both smiled tiredly; I was on the edge of tears. My heart ached for Fiona, all the loss and loneliness in her life, yet I knew I was approaching the end of my capabilities as her carer. I couldn’t do it any more. I needed to focus on
me
and my life. New York had infused me with an energy and bravery I hadn’t known I had; I wanted to invest in that little spark. I wanted to nurture and grow it.Not run round after Fiona, her unpaid bills and neurotic outbursts.
‘I’m not sure I want to be your mum any more,’ I heard myself say. My voice was full of nervous splinters but it held. ‘I worry about you so much I feel sick at times.’
There was a long silence. She looked upset but I didn’t crumble. I had a duty to myself that I’d been neglecting for a long time.
‘I just want to be your friend. Your cousin,’ I told her.
She nodded, processing this. ‘God,’ she muttered. ‘I really am awful.’
A further silence.
‘You do know that it’s all because I hate myself?’ she asked.
I winced painfully. I didn’t want to hear this, largely because I couldn’t bear it.
‘Difficult, arrogant people,’ she continued, ‘like me, they always hate themselves. Deep down.’
‘You shouldn’t hate yourself,’ I muttered. She looked so lost and tiny. ‘You really have nothing to hate. Look at you, Freckle. You’re beautiful. You’re funny. Clever. And you’re a mesmerizing, glorious ballet dancer. Aunty Mandy would have been so proud to see you on this stage. She …’ I ran out of words. The sadness and injustice of Fiona’s circumstances were as raw now as they had been twenty-one years ago.
Aunty Mandy
would
have burst with pride seeing her daughter dancing at the
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