Jack,’ she said. ‘Emma with you?’
‘Not today. Tea?’ I said and we headed indoors.
Mum got on with the tea while I settled myself into the living room. I liked coming home because it kept me in touch with my old self. In London, among the great unwashed masses and the hectic life that carried me along at its own pace, I felt lost at times. But there at Mum’s house on the quiet tree-lined street with the back garden and my old bedroom, I felt completely at ease. It was like going back in time. Back to when I was a teenager, still full of hopes and dreams of being a published author. Back to when I knew I was definitely going to be a writer, before the rejection letters had piled up and my dreams felt impossible.
‘Here you go,’ said Mum, putting the tray down on the coffee table.
A tray with tea, biscuits and two slices of homemade fruit cake. Mum sat down opposite and I took a moment to really look at her. She was in her sixties now and her hair was full of grey. Her face, once so beautiful, was now full of wrinkles and her skin was like old leaves and sallow. Her body, which had always been full and plump, was skinnier because without me she lived on a diet of tea, biscuits and toast. She was starting to look old. In her fifties she still had that glow of beauty, but now it was hidden behind the weary lines of a life slowing down.
‘Good cuppa, Mum.’
‘Where’s Emma then?’ she said, ignoring my comment and getting straight into the cold, hard facts. Mum was never one to beat around the bush.
‘She couldn’t make it.’
‘Did you have a fight?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Jack, dear, when it comes to relationships, there’s no such thing as sort of. You may think it was sort of an argument, but I can guarantee if I asked Emma, she’d say you had a fight.’
‘Fine, we had a fight.’
‘And are you going to tell me what it was about?’
‘It’s stupid really.’
‘Most arguments are.’
We settled into drinking our tea and eating biscuits and cake, and I explained how I felt about the film. How I was sure her success would mean the end of our relationship and Emma tucked up in bed with Rhys Connelly. Mum listened carefully without interrupting before she gave me her advice and, as usual, it was spot on.
‘Jack, I love you, but I think you know you’re in the wrong. You know it’s foolish to try and hold her back and stop her from being what she’s always wanted to be. Imagine if it was the other way around and it was you who’d achieved their dream first; how would you feel if she resented you for it?’
‘But that’s different because if I get published, I won’t suddenly be recognised in the street. I’ll be signing books at the Waterstones in Bracknell, not doing sex scenes with the best-looking bloke in Britain.’
‘So this is about your insecurities and not her success?’
‘I suppose.’
‘The thing is, Jack, at the moment she loves you. You’re engaged to be married regardless of her success, but if you keep pushing her away because you’re afraid of what might happen, then you’ll lose her. It’s ironic, but the fear of failure is often its catalyst.’
‘How did you become so wise?’
Mum looked at me with a smile, a smile that for an instant made her look young again. Her face lit up, her eyes sparkled and the wrinkles seemed to vanish just for a second and there on the sofa was my mum. The mum I’d known growing up. She looked beautiful, like an old film star from the fifties.
‘It isn’t wisdom, Jack, it’s age. When we’re young we often can’t see what’s right in front of us, but with age comes perspective. You know your dad once said something that’s always stayed with me.’
I sat forward on the sofa at the mere mention of my father. I looked up briefly at the old black-and-white photo of him and Mum on their wedding day that had pride of place above the fireplace.
‘What’s that?’
‘I was having a bad day and having a go at him
‘Not today. Tea?’ I said and we headed indoors.
Mum got on with the tea while I settled myself into the living room. I liked coming home because it kept me in touch with my old self. In London, among the great unwashed masses and the hectic life that carried me along at its own pace, I felt lost at times. But there at Mum’s house on the quiet tree-lined street with the back garden and my old bedroom, I felt completely at ease. It was like going back in time. Back to when I was a teenager, still full of hopes and dreams of being a published author. Back to when I knew I was definitely going to be a writer, before the rejection letters had piled up and my dreams felt impossible.
‘Here you go,’ said Mum, putting the tray down on the coffee table.
A tray with tea, biscuits and two slices of homemade fruit cake. Mum sat down opposite and I took a moment to really look at her. She was in her sixties now and her hair was full of grey. Her face, once so beautiful, was now full of wrinkles and her skin was like old leaves and sallow. Her body, which had always been full and plump, was skinnier because without me she lived on a diet of tea, biscuits and toast. She was starting to look old. In her fifties she still had that glow of beauty, but now it was hidden behind the weary lines of a life slowing down.
‘Good cuppa, Mum.’
‘Where’s Emma then?’ she said, ignoring my comment and getting straight into the cold, hard facts. Mum was never one to beat around the bush.
‘She couldn’t make it.’
‘Did you have a fight?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Jack, dear, when it comes to relationships, there’s no such thing as sort of. You may think it was sort of an argument, but I can guarantee if I asked Emma, she’d say you had a fight.’
‘Fine, we had a fight.’
‘And are you going to tell me what it was about?’
‘It’s stupid really.’
‘Most arguments are.’
We settled into drinking our tea and eating biscuits and cake, and I explained how I felt about the film. How I was sure her success would mean the end of our relationship and Emma tucked up in bed with Rhys Connelly. Mum listened carefully without interrupting before she gave me her advice and, as usual, it was spot on.
‘Jack, I love you, but I think you know you’re in the wrong. You know it’s foolish to try and hold her back and stop her from being what she’s always wanted to be. Imagine if it was the other way around and it was you who’d achieved their dream first; how would you feel if she resented you for it?’
‘But that’s different because if I get published, I won’t suddenly be recognised in the street. I’ll be signing books at the Waterstones in Bracknell, not doing sex scenes with the best-looking bloke in Britain.’
‘So this is about your insecurities and not her success?’
‘I suppose.’
‘The thing is, Jack, at the moment she loves you. You’re engaged to be married regardless of her success, but if you keep pushing her away because you’re afraid of what might happen, then you’ll lose her. It’s ironic, but the fear of failure is often its catalyst.’
‘How did you become so wise?’
Mum looked at me with a smile, a smile that for an instant made her look young again. Her face lit up, her eyes sparkled and the wrinkles seemed to vanish just for a second and there on the sofa was my mum. The mum I’d known growing up. She looked beautiful, like an old film star from the fifties.
‘It isn’t wisdom, Jack, it’s age. When we’re young we often can’t see what’s right in front of us, but with age comes perspective. You know your dad once said something that’s always stayed with me.’
I sat forward on the sofa at the mere mention of my father. I looked up briefly at the old black-and-white photo of him and Mum on their wedding day that had pride of place above the fireplace.
‘What’s that?’
‘I was having a bad day and having a go at him
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