Faking It

‘You should,’ she agrees, kindly ignoring my random complaint.

‘It shouldn’t be this hard.’ I bang my fist on the table. ‘And I’m bloody sick and tired of pretending that I know what I’m doing all the time. Would it be so awful just to admit that I don’t actually possess all the answers in the universe?’

Cassie leans forward and gives me a firm look. ‘Yes. Yes it would. We are women, Hannah and our one superpower is knowing everything about everything. If we let them suspect, for even one second, that we aren’t fully in control then we’ll be left with nothing. Do you understand me?’

I nod my head wearily but I don’t actually think I do understand. I just know that it all feels wrong right now.

‘What’s this actually about, Hannah?’ Cassie softens her grimace and gives me a concerned look. ‘Is it Nick? Or the kids?’

‘Yes.’ I slump back into my chair. ‘No. Oh god, I don’t know. I just know that I’m tired all the time and it feels like I’ve been breaking bits off myself to give to everyone else for so long that I didn’t even realise there was nothing left for me. Never mind time to focus on my actual marriage.’

Cassie smiles. ‘What you need is a date night,’ she tells me. ‘Go somewhere nice with Nick. Just the two of you.’

I suppress a howl. I’ve barely seen Nick properly in the last few weeks. He’s constantly busy either at work or fixing his bloody Land Rover and even when we are together, we’re both either utterly exhausted or end up talking about money and how the hell we’re going to pay for everything that needs paying for.

Plus it feels like our family is in some kind of strange limbo, waiting for Dylan to go to university. None of us quite know how we’re supposed to be feeling and there’s nothing that I can do to ‘fix’ it because it’s supposed to be this way. We were never going to stay being the five of us forever, I know that. It’s making me feel like everything is layered with a thin sprinkling of sadness and I just don’t know if Nick feels the same way that I do. I’d ask him but I’m scared that I won’t like the answer.

‘I don’t think that’s going to help,’ I say. ‘A meal out is not going to solve my problems.’

A concerned look passes over Cassie’s face.

‘Are you guys having trouble?’ she asks quietly, glancing around to make sure that nobody can overhear. ‘You can talk to me about it if you are, Hannah. God knows if anyone will understand man trouble then it’s me. And men can get very challenging in their middle years, believe me.’

I shake my head. ‘It’s not really man trouble though. It’s woman trouble. It’s me.’

Cassie frowns and I elaborate.

‘I’m just feeling a bit – well, a bit boring.’

I pause, unsure how much to tell her but then decide that if I can’t talk to Cassie then the only other option is my mother and that is never happening, no matter how happy it would make her.

‘And it’s not just my life and who I am that’s a bit dull,’ I whisper, even though the staffroom is still empty. ‘It’s more than that. I think I’m maybe a bit boring in the bedroom. You know. When it comes to being sexy?’

Cassie starts to laugh but then sees my face and quickly stops.

‘What do you mean? Why would you think that? Has Nick said something to you?’

‘No!’ I shudder. ‘Of course he hasn’t. He’d never be so insensitive. No – I just think that I’m not very imaginative. I’ve been desperately trying to write some erotic scenes for Bella Rose and Daxx but I can’t get it right.’

‘I think you’re super sexy,’ says Cassie loyally, but I can see her mouth twitching. I shouldn’t have expected her to understand. The woman gets a facial twice a month and has a gym membership that she actually uses, plus a very active Tinder account. Her life is way more exciting than mine can ever hope to be. ‘You’re just having a bad day.’

‘It’s not just that though,’ I tell her. ‘Scarlet keeps banging on about me being middle-aged and I’m usually able to ignore her but lately it’s been getting harder and harder.’

Cassie shrugs her shoulders. ‘What’s the definition of middle-age?’ she asks me. ‘Is it a number or a state of mind? And as much as I love her, Scarlet can be a bit much sometimes, Hannah. Don’t let her get to you.’

‘That’s easy for you to say,’ I retort, sniffing loudly. ‘You don’t have to deal with her every day. And anyway, I’m starting to think that she might be right. I’ve looked online and I’m definitely displaying some of the symptoms of aging.’

‘We’re all aging, Hannah.’ Cassie sounds amused. ‘But go on – I’ll bite. Which ones?’

‘Well, I forgot all about Benji needing to take cakes in for the school cake sale the other day,’ I tell her. ‘Which was mortifying because the PTA specifically tasked me with providing sugar-free flapjacks for those children whose parents actually care about their teeth. And so now, if any of the little cherubs require any kind of dental work in the next six months, then I am going to be held solely responsible.’

Cassie tuts. ‘You’re always forgetting stuff for Benji’s school,’ she says, clearly unmoved. ‘That’s down to your organizational skills, Hannah – not getting old and past it.’

‘Fine!’ I lean towards her. ‘I didn’t want to have to share this with you because I don’t want to gross you out, but you obviously aren’t taking me seriously. It’s not just aging that I’m showing signs of. It’s the peri-menopause too.’ I lower my voice further. ‘I’m fairly sure that I have a reduced libido.’

I sit back, smug. There’s no way she can minimise that little nugget of information.

‘And you are basing this on what, exactly?’ Cassie does not look grossed out. She looks highly entertained.

I hold my hand up and start counting off on my fingers.

‘One: If we watch a film then I’m always asleep before it’s even halfway through. Two: Sometimes, if I had to choose, I’d rather have a hot bath and read my book than engage in any other nocturnal activity. Three: If we do actually have you-know-what then it’s not unheard of for my mind to start roaming onto other things and I’m not talking about sexy things – I’m talking about what food there is in the fridge and when the car is due for its next service and whether Dogger needs a top-up of worming pills. And four: As previously mentioned, I am struggling to write about anything that could be classed as even a bit sexually adventurous which is a problem when I’m supposed to be a writer of erotica and I’m currently attempting to write Book Two, which so far doesn’t even have a bloody title.’

I take a deep breath and blink hard. ‘I just don’t think I’m a very sexual person and that makes me want to cry. Quite a lot.’

Cassie jumps out of her seat and comes around the table, enveloping me in a big hug.

‘Hannah. My lovely but ever-so-slightly ridiculous friend. There is nothing wrong with you, okay?’

I pull away. ‘Did you not just hear the list of woe that I am dealing with? I’m only two steps away from needing to book into a retirement home.’

Cassie laughs. ‘I didn’t hear anything that any woman hasn’t felt at some time. I happen to do some of my best problem-solving during sex – it’s the only time that I’m not distracted.’

Relatable.

‘So you don’t think I’m menopausal?’ I ask, as Cassie heads back to her side of the table. ‘Or getting old?’

She shrugs again. ‘Who knows? I’m not a doctor. You might be menopausal but so what? Gone are the days when that meant a woman was all dried up and written off. We’ve got to own that shit now.’

I suppress a groan. I do not want to own the menopause. I only mentioned it in the first place because I wanted her to tell me that I’m being ridiculous and that there’s no way I can possibly be at that stage of life.

‘I mean, you’re getting older but you’re definitely not getting old,’ muses my so-called best friend. ‘What I do know is that you’re tired and over-worked and that’s making you a tiny bit stressed out right now.’

I nod in agreement. ‘I am all of those things.’

‘You need to take a chill pill, Hannah.’ Cassie flops back onto her chair. ‘Stop taking everything so seriously. Chill out. Do something just for you. And lighten up.’

Chapter Seven

My phone beeps just as I’m debating what to cook for supper.

‘I suppose I’m going to have to collect him,’ I say to Nick, eyeing the can of beer in his hand as I tip some fish fingers onto a baking tray. ‘Seeing as you’ve already started the weekend.’

‘You snooze, you lose,’ he tells me, stretching his legs out in front of him and sighing in pleasure. ‘I offered you a glass of wine, remember?’

I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Not today, Satan. Some of us have self-control and willpower.’

I pick up my phone and swipe the screen, suddenly keen to jump in the car and spend some quality time with my oldest child before he flies the nest and does whatever baby birds do when they’re ready to spread their wings and leave their mummies, which hopefully won’t involve too many failed attempts at flying or any lurking cats. But instead of the text that I am expecting from Dylan, requesting a lift home from his girlfriend’s house, the green WhatsApp icon shows a notification and a very tiny part of me dies inside.

I didn’t even want to be on WhatsApp in the first place. If the kids need me and I’m not within screeching distance then they text like every other normal person. But the Parent Teacher Association at Benji’s school decided that every class should have a private messaging group and Allegra, our terrifyingly efficient class representative and Chair of the PTA, made me join. I suppose that in some ways it’s quite useful – if I’d been part of the group chat last year then I’d at least have had a heads-up about bastarding World Book Day.

However, the positives are quite hard to remember when the negatives far outweigh them.

And the missive that has just slid into my DMs is about as negative as they get.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ I read the words and then lower my phone to gape at Nick. ‘This is a new all-time low, even for Allegra.’

‘What’s wrong now?’ he asks half-heartedly. ‘Did she catch you trying to pass off shop-bought cake as your own again?’

‘It’s worse than that,’ I mutter, shaking my head. And then I read her message aloud, keeping my voice low so that I can’t be overheard.

‘Hannah. I would very much appreciate it if you would address Benji’s use of language. Auberon came home from school today and told me that Benji called him a penis. Yes. A penis. He says that Benji shouted it at him in front of the whole of Chestnut Class when they were in the playground at lunchtime, which means that we may very well have a large penis epidemic on our hands. I’m sure that you understand just how serious this is. Unfortunately, Ophelia’s ballet class had been cancelled so she heard everything and you know how impressionable six-year-olds can be. She’s now running around the house and shouting “You’re a penis” at the dog, which is upsetting for all of us. Please help – I’m at my wit’s end here.’

‘Bloody hell,’ murmurs Nick, when I’m finished. ‘That sounds like a right cock-up. What does a penis epidemic look like?’

‘She’s clearly unhinged,’ I say, putting down my phone. ‘But I can’t just ignore the situation, not if he’s going round saying rude things at school. God – what if he’s overheard us talking about the plot of More Than Sex? What if my writing is somehow corrupting him?’ I grimace and turn to face the kitchen door. ‘Benji! Can you come in here please?’

‘Is it really necessary to drag him into this?’ asks Nick. ‘It’s not a big deal, Hannah. All kids say stuff like this – and he doesn’t know anything about your book. Just calm down.’

I narrow my eyes at my husband. ‘You might not think it’s a big deal, Nick – but if we let him get away with inappropriate language now then where’s it going to end up, hey? Penis might only be the start of it.’

‘I hardly think this is a gateway to—’ starts Nick and then our youngest son appears in the doorway and the interrogation can begin.

‘Is supper ready?’ he asks, sniffing the air apprehensively. ‘I can’t smell burning.’

‘Give it time,’ says Nick.

I ignore them both and gesture Benji to sit down.

‘How was your day?’ I start. I don’t want to leap right into the gritty stuff straight away.

‘It was okay,’ Benji tells me. ‘Mrs Cowl got cross with me because Logan was talking and so I wasn’t allowed to use an iPad but I didn’t mind because I got to read a book instead.’

‘Reading a book isn’t a punishment!’ I exclaim.

‘Why did you get told off if Logan was the one talking?’ Nick asks at the same time.

Benji shrugs at both our responses and I move on.

‘Did anything happen in the playground at lunchtime?’ I prompt. ‘Maybe with Auberon? Perhaps some kind of argument that got a bit silly?’

Benji wrinkles up his forehead. ‘No. We played football for a bit until Logan kicked it over the fence.’

‘It’s just that Auberon’s mum seems to think that you said a rude word to Auberon,’ I say, pulling my sad face. ‘A not-very-nice word that has made Auberon’s mum feel quite upset.’

Benji stares at me blankly. ‘I didn’t say anything.’

I pause. I’ve never known Benji to lie to me but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t. He might just be exceptionally good at it.

‘Well, Auberon’s mum is quite sure that you said an offensive word.’ I pull out a chair and sit down opposite Benji. ‘It’s better to admit it now and then we can move on.’

Benji’s upper lip starts to tremble. ‘I didn’t say anything bad!’ he insists. ‘Honestly, Mum.’

I maintain eye contact and try to channel a calm but firm manner. ‘So you didn’t say the word penis at school, then?’

Benji bursts out laughing, which is not the reaction that I was expecting.

‘Oh that! Yeah, I said that! I thought you said that it was a not-very-nice word?’

I glance at Nick for support but he seems to be thoroughly enjoying the entertainment being laid on before him and just waves his hand nonchalantly at me, which is no help whatsoever.

‘Well, it’s not a word that should be shouted at other people,’ I tell him. ‘You know better than that.’

Benji nods. ‘I do know better than that. Which is why, when Auberon was shouting “You’re a willy” to the people who were walking their dog on the other side of the fence, I told him that you shouldn’t be embarrassed about using the proper word for things and that he should really be shouting “You’re a penis”.’ He pauses and stares at me. ‘Was that wrong? Because you’ve always told us that there’s nothing embarrassing about using the right word for body stuff.’

‘You have always told them that,’ agrees Nick, nodding seriously. I resist the urge to knock his can of beer off the table.

‘It’s clearly just a misunderstanding,’ I say. ‘I’ll let Auberon’s mum know what happened and then we can forget all about it.’

‘Why did you say that penis is a rude and offensive word?’ Benji is obviously not prepared to forget all about it. ‘I’ve got one and so does Dad and Dylan. Does that mean that we’re rude and offensive too?’

The grin on Nick’s face is large enough to house one man and his dog which is handy, because if he keeps this up then he’s certainly not sleeping under this roof tonight.

‘Only sometimes,’ I mutter. ‘But it’s not necessarily linked to your genitalia. More of a personality thing, I’d say.’

‘So can I go then?’ Benji pushes his chair back and stands up. ‘Only I’m in the middle of a game with Logan and if I’m gone for too long then he’s going to destroy my house and I’ll have to start building it again.’

I nod. ‘You’ve got twenty more minutes of screen-time and then you’ll have to come off, okay?’

Benji groans. ‘Can’t I stay on a bit longer? Logan’s Mum lets him stay on for hours.’

‘Well, I’m not Logan’s Mum,’ I retort, looking meaningfully at the kitchen clock. ‘Time is ticking, Benji – you’ve only got nineteen minutes left now.’

The kitchen door slams closed behind him as he sprints off to claim his precious allocated time on the computer. I pick up my phone and then pause.

‘What am I going to tell Allegra?’ I ask Nick.

He shrugs. ‘The truth. It’s not that complicated, Hannah.’

The laugh that pushes itself through my tightly pursed lips is as humourless as I feel.

‘Not that complicated? Are you insane?’ I lean back in my chair and stare at my husband. ‘I can hardly send Mrs Perfect Mother a WhatsApp message telling her that her perfect son was shouting abuse at complete strangers.’

‘Why not?’ Nick looks puzzled. ‘That’s what happened. Benji shouldn’t be branded as the problem here – her kid was the one doing something stupid, not him.’

‘But it doesn’t work like that,’ I tell him. ‘If I tell Allegra that Auberon was behaving in a less-than-fabulous manner then she’s going to make my life a living hell. You know the phrase “don’t shoot the messenger”? Well, Allegra won’t do anything as humane as to shoot me. That would be far too easy. She’ll spin this out and exact her own brand of torture for the rest of the school year until I’m begging her to just put me out of misery.’

Nick laughs. ‘You’re being a total drama-queen! Just tell her that Auberon was being a bit daft. What on earth can she possibly do to you?’

I lean across the table and fix him with a firm look.

‘She can do anything she likes,’ I intone. ‘Because she is in charge of the goddamned world, Nick.’

‘Really?’ Nick rolls his eyes at me. ‘The goddamned world?’

I nod. ‘If I get on the wrong side of her then the rest of the school year is going to be a complete misery. She’ll act all nice to my face and bitch about me behind my back and I’ll end up being given all the crappy jobs at every school event.’

Nick stands up and stretches his arms and I find myself hoping that he’s not about to disappear off to start working on his bloody Land Rover again. Annoying as this conversation is, it’s quite nice being here in the kitchen together.

‘I still think you’re overreacting. Tell her what happened in the playground with Auberon and Benji and then let it go. And if she tries to get you to do anything that you don’t want to do then just refuse.’

Sometimes, the extent of Nick’s naivety is hard to fathom.

‘One does not simply “say no” to Allegra,’ I snap, shaking my head. ‘It’s not a word that she understands.’

‘Come off it, Hannah.’ Nick sighs loudly. ‘Just send her a message and let’s try to enjoy the evening. I’ve had a knackering week and I’ve spent the last five days stuck halfway up a tree with a chainsaw in my hand. Right now, all I want to do is chill out for a bit.’

‘Is there any more news on that forestry contract you were going after?’ I ask. ‘It’s been ages.’

‘Are you sending that message or not?’ replies Nick, and then my phone beeps again with another missive from Allegra, this time in the form of the praying hands emoji. She’s clearly getting desperate.

‘Fine.’ I swipe my screen and start to type. ‘As long as you’re aware that it won’t only be me who suffers. She’s currently on the search for a willing dad to dress up as Father Christmas for this year’s Festive Fete and I’ve heard a rumour that you’re in the running. This probably isn’t the time to raise your head above the parapet unless you’re prepared to spend five hours sweating in a cheap Santa suit while small children try to pull your beard off.’

‘Not a chance.’ Nick wrinkles up his nose. ‘You don’t seriously think that she’d ask me to do it?’

‘I do,’ I tell him. ‘I definitely heard her talking to one of the other mothers about how “that sexy tree surgeon” would be the perfect choice and as far as I know you’re the only parent who fits that description. Well, the tree surgeon part anyway.’

Nick scowls at me and I suppress a grin. ‘So I’ll send this message telling her that Auberon was yelling about his willy because as you said, it’s only the truth and it’s not that complicated.’

‘No!’ Nick darts across the kitchen and snatches the phone from my hands. ‘Are you insane? I’m not dressing up as sodding Father Christmas.’

I smile sweetly up at him. ‘So we’re on the same page then? We’re in this together?’

Nick grits his teeth and nods. And then we throw Benji under the metaphorical bus and write a penitent message to Allegra, apologising profusely for our son’s use of the word penis and assuring her that he will never use the correct terminology for that particular appendage ever again. And did we say how sorry we were?

‘I feel like a traitor,’ Nick says when we’ve finally pressed send.

‘That’s because we are,’ I tell him. ‘Treacherous, cowardly, disloyal parents who care more about what other people think about us than the moral high ground.’

‘It’s for the best though, isn’t it?’ He pulls another can of beer from the fridge and pops the top open. ‘It would be more damaging for Benji to see me prancing around as Father Christmas than it is to be considered a bit rude, surely?’

‘Absolutely,’ I agree. ‘Although I might have quite enjoyed the performance.’

Nick grins. ‘Maybe we can have our own Festive Fete. You could dress up as a sexy fairy with glittery wings and a fairy wand.’

My phone beeps again, saving me from telling him exactly where he can stick his fairy wand – this time with a message from someone I’m actually happy to hear from.

‘Dylan wants collecting,’ I say, standing up. ‘Can you finish cooking the fish fingers?’

‘If by finish, you actually mean can I start cooking the fish fingers, then yes, I can.’ He takes a swig of beer and gestures at the still-cold oven.

‘That’s the spirit,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. And maybe you can get Scarlet to run her Head Girl speech for the new pupils past you while I’m gone? I heard it the other day and it needs a bit of toning down.’

Our daughter has obviously confused our school with a totalitarian dictatorship, if her welcome address is anything to go by. Not that Miriam would necessarily disagree with her. I’m torn between being impressed and alarmed by her tenacity.

Outside, the air smells like autumn. The leaves are still on the trees but it won’t be long until they’re gone and Dylan will be gone with them. There’s two weeks to go before he heads off to university and it’s impossible to figure out how I’m supposed to be feeling. Part of me wants the next fourteen days to last forever but part of me wishes that we could just be at that point already because the anticipation and waiting for him to leave is half-killing me.

I pull up outside his girlfriend’s house and think about how unprepared I am for him not to be living at home. I’m excited for him, of course I am, but I’m scared too. Scared that he’ll be lonely and unhappy. Scared that he won’t make friends or that he’ll hate his course. Scared that he’s committing to more debt than I can bring myself to calculate. And selfishly, scared that we won’t survive him going. We’ve been a family of five (well, six, with Dogger) forever and I can’t imagine it ever feeling okay with only four of us in the house.

The car door opens and my boy throws himself down onto the passenger seat.

‘Thanks for picking me up, Mum,’ he says, leaning across and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘How was your day?’

He always asks me about my day. How am I supposed to let him go when he’s so bloody lovely?

‘It was fine,’ I say, checking the mirrors and pulling away from the kerb. ‘How about you? Was it alright saying goodbye to Zoe?’

He leans forward and retrieves his phone from his back pocket. ‘Yeah, I guess? I mean, it’s a bit weird and awkward and everything but it was okay.’