have nothing on what lay ahead if Phoebe spiralled into a full-on tantrum, when we’d all be ducking the F-bombs.
For once, I just wanted to have a nice time. I wasn’t sufficiently deluded to think that Phoebe would demand a selfie with me that she’d then post with the caption: ‘Best Mum in the World!!’ provoking a plethora of ‘Gorgeous, hun!’ responses, but I was hoping for an evening of five-minute bursts without anyone sulking, which, on current performance, still seemed a lot to ask.
As we all crowded into the curry house in the village, I hung back with Phoebe. ‘I’m sorry about Nan. She’s a bit set in her ways. Who do you want to sit next to?’
Phoebe puffed out a breath of air, as though the people assembled were a collection of the biggest dullards on the planet.
‘Cory? At least he’s funny.’
As we were shown to the table, I semaphored to Cory with my eyes… ‘So, if Phoebe sits next to Cory, and Victor between Cory and Patrick…’ I took one for the team by sitting next to Mum and let Lulu take the hit on the other side on the grounds that, a) Cory would probably dump her before she ever came again, and b) she wouldn’t have heard Mum’s top five stories before.
Usually getting impatient for the drinks was Patrick’s department, but I’d already knocked back two glasses of wine before the beers for the lads had materialised. I tried to ignore Mum, who, in between clutching her orange juice, was watching every sip I took like a golden retriever following a fillet steak. ‘Did you see that piece in the paper about alcohol causing breast cancer?’
‘No I didn’t, must have missed it.’
I turned my shoulders towards Lulu, the familiar feeling of not living up to Mum’s expectations washing over me. I concentrated on Lulu, asking her about how she met Cory and how long they’d been seeing each other. Mum listened for a minute, before she felt obliged to burst into Lulu’s story about working in fashion PR in Hampstead with an anecdote about being a secretary in Willesden Green years ago, the only common link being that both locations were in London. I attempted not to adopt the responsibility of reining Mum in and sat back eating poppadoms and trying to quell the rising unease.
At the end of the table, I saw Cory whisper something to Victor and then Victor caught my eye. I had a horrid feeling I was being talked about.
‘No whispering at the table, Cory. You know better than that! Do share…’ I tried to inject lightness in my voice, but there was a flash of irritation across Cory’s face.
‘Just having a quiet chat with Victor about Ginny…’
I blushed. ‘Sorry. Carry on.’
But I’d ruined the moment.
Cory proposed a toast to Victor, who, despite smiling and clinking his glass, frowned as though he was still thinking about what Cory had been saying. The gesture was so brief, I almost missed it. Cory touched his finger to his lips in an ‘our secret’ gesture and Victor nodded in reply.
In between Patrick’s clumsy attempts to engage a reluctant Phoebe in a conversation about where she might like to go to university (‘St Andrews? Maybe Edinburgh? I’ve heard Scottish universities have a brilliant social life’) and Victor dazzling us with actual courses he hoped to study rather than just which student unions sold the cheapest beer, I didn’t get a chance to find out from Cory if there was something I should know about.
Slowly, as we ate our way through chicken tikka and even Phoebe thawed out enough to chat to Lulu about which brands were fashionable among girls her age, I felt some tension seep out of me. In fact, Phoebe sounded engaged and knowledgeable, and I smiled inwardly as she imitated Lulu’s professional speak, bandying about phrases such as consumer psychology and brand awareness as though she really knew what she was talking about. Perhaps she did. She certainly knew more than me, but I daren’t say Asos or Nike in case I pronounced them wrongly, so that wasn’t a high bar.
Just as I was having a glimmer of pride, or at least of hope, that Phoebe would one day come out of her teenage rebellion and be a daughter I could confidently introduce to anyone and know she wouldn’t let me down, Mum turned to me and said, ‘Do you think Brexit means the people who own this curry house will have