They watched a terrible action movie in which the hero repeatedly overlooked a clever female scientist who kept saving his arse, only to hook up with the idiotic waif he’d had to rescue. High on sugary snacks, Rachel and Anna threw popcorn at the screen during the big finale kiss, decried the whole thing as risible nonsense all the way home, and had more raucous fun than they had in a really long time.
The following morning, feeling almost hung-over from the after-effects of an avalanche of junk food, Rachel found herself scrambling to turn down the volume on her mobile phone.
‘Twins!’ her mum was shrieking at her. ‘Twins, for goodness’ sake! Helen’s only been married twelve months and she already has TWO babies. Her mother is going to beunbearable,’ Jean Ryan went on. ‘She’ll be on about them morning, noon and night … I bumped into her at Costcutter earlier and I’ve already had chapter and verse on tandem feeding – plus far more information than I needed on the size of Helen’s engorged breasts.’
Rachel laughed and said, ‘Good morning to you too, Mum. I wonder if Helen knows Mrs O’Shea is going around telling people from church about the state of her mammaries.’
‘Rachel Margaret Ryan, do NOT use that word! It’scrass.’
‘You’re the one who started talking about them!’ Rachel protested. ‘I was sitting having a nice peaceful coffee until five minutes ago – but now here I am listening to you rant on about other people’s newborns and their milk-swollen boobs.’
She dipped an oatmeal biscuit into her machine-made cappuccino, then bit off a huge chunk before it could collapse into her cup. As she chewed, Rachel readied herself for the inevitable shift in the conversation. News of Mrs O’Shea’s latest grandchildren was surely just the opening gambit in a lecture about Rachel’s lack of partner and increasingly slim chances of procreating.
‘Does it notbotheryou?’ her mum asked, as predicted. Her tone hovered somewhere between anxious and irritated.
‘Mum, why should it bother me what Helen does? I haven’t seen her since we left school. I don’t even know what her last name is since she got married. I mean, I wish her well and everything – but I can’t say I feel personally affected by her decision to reproduce.’
‘Lovey, you know what I mean.’
In her mind’s eye, Rachel could see her mother’s face: the wounded eyes and disapproving frown that always accompanied sermons on her daughter’s single status.
The doublethink Mum was capable of was sort of spectacular, Rachel had to admit. Rachel was supposed to tolerate being criticised, yet also feel guilty for putting her mother in the position where such needling was necessary – as if it were a valuable service Mum was providing at great personal cost, rather than a well-worn routine that simply made her daughter feel shitty.
‘Please,pleasecan we not do this?’ Rachel begged. ‘You can’t seriously have rung me just to tell me about Helen’s babies, then pivot to a lecture about the viability of my remaining eggs. It’s Saturday morning. Have some pity! And you haven’t actuallysaidanything about the babies, by the way – I don’t even know if they’re boys or girls.’
‘Oh, who even cares!’ Mum blustered. ‘Girls, I think, God help her … And honestly, Rachel, I wouldn’t mention any of this if I felt like you were listening or taking it seriously.’
‘Takingwhatseriously?!’ Rachel cried. It was only 10 a.m. Surely she’d done nothing to deserve this?
‘You can’t have children forever, you know – your body just won’t be capable,’ her mother intoned sagely. ‘But you’ll find the urge to have a baby just hits you one day, and it’ll be powerful –irresistible. If you’re not already with someone, let me tell you: you’ll want to mate with the next man who makes you a decent cuppa.’
Rachel considered the truly terrible cup of tea Jack had made her at work last week: too milky by miles, and strangely sickly – like he’d stirred it with a second-hand spoon, crusty with someone else’s sugar. The memory was oddly reassuring.
‘As always, Mum, I’m amazed that with skills like these you haven’t made a name for yourself as a motivational speaker,’ Rachel said. ‘I promise you, I’mfine. I am neither desperate to be pregnant nor spurning potential partners just to piss you off. And for God’s sake, don’t start up about Laurence again because – while it seems the two of you agree on certain things – I had a very unpleasant run-in with him this week. He and I are beyond over.’
‘Don’t saypiss,’ Mum said. ‘And I won’t defend Laurence for being rude – but if he wasn’t nice to you, it’s probably because he’s heartbroken.’
Rachel snorted. ‘Based on what he said the other night, I’m not sure Laurencehasa heart. If you X-rayed him, you’d probably find an adding machine where his heart should be. Thanks for being on my side, though, Mum. It means a lot.’
‘Iamon your side! You know that, you daft girl. I love you. I just worry about the future.’
‘Right.’
Rachel drummed her fingertips on the kitchen tabletop, praying for this phone call to end – cursing herself for answering it in the first place.
‘Have you made any plans for Valentine’s Day?’ her mum asked, as if this were the ideal topic to move on to.She really was on top form today.
Rachel groaned. ‘No, but why would I? I’ve always hated it, even when I’ve been with someone. It’s a commercial crap-fest – just a load of virtue-signalling from men who, for the rest of the year, can’t be arsed to do the washing-up or bleach the toilet bowl.’
‘Oh, don’t get so angry! I just thought it was worth mentioning. It can be a depressing event if you end up home alone.’
‘Mum, there’s nothing special about the fourteenth of February. It isn’t anevent– it’s a day like any other. If Anna goes out and I have the flat to myself, I’ll do what I always do: microwave some leftovers for dinner and watch telly in my pyjamas.’
Her mother sighed and said, ‘See?Thisis what concerns me. I give up … Do you want to speak to your father?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Hi, pet,’ Rachel’s dad said a moment later. ‘Are you okay there?’