Page 35 of When We Are Old

“Night, darling.”

“Ma...”

She sighed and turned around. “I’m going to be late for the sun salutations.”

“Hannah has already asked you about the party, hasn’t she?”

She graced me with a rare bright smile and a cheery wave. “Night, darling, don’t wait up.”

After she left, I walked into the hallways and shouted, “Traitor,” up the stairs at Hannah’s closed bedroom door. “Maximum ten people and no boys!”

Her door opened. “Eight people, and some boys.”

“Hannah! I’m the par—”

“Yes, yes, you’re the parent, but you want me to have friends, don’t you, and be popular?” She reeled me in with the number one parenting guilt trip.

“Well, yes, but…”

“How about…” She sat on the top step. One half of her hair was dead straight, the other still naturally waved. Her lips were purple. “You invite Matthew down?”

Oh, the girl had brains. “So I’m distracted?” I lifted an eyebrow. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“I know. You’re ancient. Just so you have someone here, unless Ange is coming?”

“We’ll see.” I couldn’t see there being much chance of Ange and Matthew being in the same room anytime soon—or ever.

“Can I invite people then?”

“Jackson?”

She giggled, her eyes scrunching up as she tried not to smile. Oh. It was bad. “And other people.”

I gave a gentle shake of my head. “Okay.”

“Oh my god, you’re amazing. The best mum ever, I swear. Annabelle’s going to be so pleased. Her mum wouldn’t let us have a party at her house.” She scrambled up from the top stair.

“What?” Why…?” I called after her retreating form, just hearing the word, “Mess,” shouted back in response before the door slammed closed again.

Once I’d bleached the kitchen and washed the floors, just to make sure I left it exactly as my mother had, I sat down in the lounge with my wine. My Friday night treat, albeit a bit odd without Ma providing a running commentary on EastEnders.

My phone was balanced on my knee and I unlocked the screen and swiped for Ange’s contact details. I hated this. Eighteen years we’d been friends. I couldn’t believe that she’d been lying to me. It hurt. It cut in a different way to the absence from Matthew all these years. I mean for God’s sake, Angela had been with me while I’d given birth to Hannah. Her and Paul, they’d both been in there, Ange slipping sarcastic and detrimental comments so I’d get angry and really push the bloody baby out. It had worked.

I’d seen her face when Paul had handed over Hannah. She’d pretended that she was disgusting, but her hands had trembled as she clutched her against her chest. Paul had winked at me.

All of that. Every single bit of the last fifteen years had been… what? A lie?

Emptiness seeped its way through my limbs.

Having Matthew back was a dream come true; more than a dream, it was everything I’d childishly and foolishly held onto for a lifetime. Having Ange lie? It hurt as much as Matthew’s 'Fuck off', to me in that club all those years ago, except this time the tang of bitterness left a nasty aftertaste.

I scrolled to the new entry under Matthew Carling (Boyfriend) and hit dial. My heartbeat kicked up as I listened to the rings. He was probably busy. He’d seen me today; he probably didn’t need to speak to me again…

“Hey.”

“Oh, hey.” I relaxed back with my greeting, my body melting from its uptight hold. “You got home okay?”

“Yes.” He chuckled and it made my insides warm. “That was intense. Scotland to London is a long way for lunch.”