I actually cared if she’d spent it in a tent in the back garden, but because I knew she thought Phoebe was a troublemaker and I wanted to show her that it wasn’t my fault, that I was a decent, sensible person with, inexplicably, a difficult child. As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I was setting myself up for twenty minutes of hearing about her brilliant holiday waterskiing in Croatia, cycling in Provence or whatever other activity her perfect daughter had leapt out of bed to do at seven-thirty every morning. No doubt Helaina also repeated, ‘Wow, Mum, this is a great holiday, I’m loving every minute’, rather than refusing to come in the pool because it made her skin break out.
Actually, it was worse than I’d imagined: Helaina had done a cookery course in Tuscany and now had a glittering certificate that meant she wouldn’t have to volunteer in the Rabbit Rescue charity shop to fulfil her Sixth Form enrichment targets.
Andrea finally paused in the roll call of filial achievements, to say, ‘Did you have a good summer?’
I toyed with the idea of saying, ‘No, it was entirely shit, my best friend died,’ but decided I might either burst into tears and confirm her view that Phoebe’s behaviour was her unhinged mother’s fault or risk her telling me to download an app ‘because meditation is the answer, honestly, you’ll feel so much better.’
I shrugged and said, ‘Not bad, nice not to be tied to the school run.’
I pointed the fob at my car in a signal that I’d used up the crumb of interest I never had in talking to her in the first place, but she grabbed my arm conspiratorially and said, ‘I hear you’ve added to the family?’
I barely blinked at the fact that Andrea was already party to our news – gossip was the beating heart of our village. ‘I’ve got my best friend’s son living with me at the moment.’ I didn’t want to elaborate, but I wasn’t going to escape the town enquirer and font of all community knowledge that easily.
‘How long for? Is it permanent?’
‘Well, his mum died at the end of June, so…’ My voice trailed off, the doubt about whether we could make it work underpinning my words.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Crikey. That’s a big change for all of you.’
‘It certainly is.’ I tried to sound upbeat, as though we were only doing what any normal person would do, but my beat was struggling to find the up after all these weeks of Victor emerging from his room, puffy-eyed but rejecting any entreaty to talk. I was exhausted by the ‘family dinners’ when Phoebe was openly scornful of my attempts to find common ground. And Patrick was equally annoying, having switched from ‘It’s early days’ to the far more irritating, ‘I don’t know what you expected.’
Standing in front of someone who knew all about Phoebe’s suspension last term for her shenanigans by the chemistry lab did nothing for my self-esteem. I felt obliged to put into words what I was pretty sure Andrea was thinking. ‘We’re not the obvious choice as foster parents, but there wasn’t really any family that he could go to.’
Instead of doing what any normal person would do and waving my comment away with ‘He’s very lucky to have you’, Andrea did a funny little nod of agreement. Although I’d made the joke against myself, I felt the sting of insult as though she’d said, ‘You can’t bring up your own child, let alone anyone else’s.’
‘It must be quite an adjustment for Phoebe, being an only child?’
I didn’t want to discuss Phoebe with her. I felt guilty enough that I’d forced this upheaval on my daughter, I didn’t want Andrea’s opinions inserting themselves under the thin carapace of my sanity, like leaflets under the door from charismatic politicians you knew were lying but were almost tempted to vote for. But with half the school community whispering about Phoebe being a wrong ’un, I was determined to put the shiniest spin on our lives.
‘She’s doing brilliantly, though obviously it’s tricky for any teenager. I think she likes having someone closer to her own age around.’ Maybe if I peddled this image of our family out loud, it might somehow become reality.
Andrea nodded, but she failed to look entirely convinced. ‘What an incredible thing to do. How lovely of you to give him a home.’