Nell, tracing their names in the worn stone with my finger. I wondered if people were happier then than they were now, now they supposedly had ‘more’, more choices, more possibilities. More freedom. And, it felt to me, so many more complexities in their lives.
I wandered back to cook a proper fry-up for Victor to give him some ballast to get through his rugby game that afternoon. I called him down, and Patrick followed, with a sheaf of newspapers under his arm.
‘Wow, things are looking up since you came to live with us, Victor. Beats the cheese sandwich that I usually get.’
There was something lovely about having a boy who enjoyed his food, a stark contrast to Phoebe, swinging between the vast fads that I just about mastered before she moved onto the next no carbs/no dairy/‘For God’s sake, I told you I was a pescatarian’ stage. It was so relaxing to serve up a plate of sausage, bacon and eggs without the microscopic inspection of ‘Is this egg from a battery hen?’
Phoebe slid in, turned her nose up at the fry-up and fiddled about with a pot of cottage cheese for the whole time it took Patrick and Victor to polish off lunch and have a second bacon butty.
‘Are you coming down to watch Victor play rugby?’ I asked her.
‘Dunno. Let me see what’s happening.’ And off she went into that world, the one of secret smiles, frantic typing and finally an aggressive silencing of the phone. Which all amounted to ‘I’ll come down for a bit.’
I still felt strangely nervous as I walked onto the rugby fields, a bit like I did when Phoebe was a tiny baby and I was around my friends who’d already had children. That curious pride, of wanting them to think she was the most gorgeous, best-behaved, ahead-of-the-curve baby ever. And, alongside, the fear of judgement from those more experienced in child-rearing that I was a bumbling idiot who made such a palaver out of breastfeeding. And now, just like I did then, I felt a novice at boy-rearing. And rugby watching.
Victor, on the other hand, was always at his most confident. I watched him walk over to the group and immediately get stuck in with the warm-up, snatching a ball, and hurling it at a boy who was standing with his hands in his pockets. There was something so primeval and animalistic about all those young men pitching their strength and speed against each other. I wondered if I’d ever relax into the game instead of wishing for it to be over before he hurt himself.
I whispered as much to Patrick, who tucked my arm under his and said, ‘He’ll get the odd knock, but that’s all part of the game. I played for ten years and never got seriously injured. Well, apart from breaking my collarbone.’
The worst injury Phoebe had ever had was getting a piece of Lego stuck up her nose and that had turned me into a panicking idiot.
As the match kicked off, Faye arrived. I gave her a big hug and pretended to myself that she’d embraced me just as she always did, that the slight stiffness, the holding back, was all in my head.
Phoebe scanned the field. ‘Is Georgia coming down?’
Faye shook her head. ‘She’s stayed at home to get on top of her homework. I think she’s realised that partying and homework aren’t a great combination. She’s really decided to knuckle down this year – she doesn’t want to miss any coursework deadlines.’ I wondered if Faye knew that Phoebe was already two weeks behind with her English essays and the teacher had completely lost the plot in front of everyone. I tried not to take her comments as a criticism of my own attempts to get Phoebe to focus. I wanted to explain that I was doing my best, that the more I nagged and clamped down on Phoebe, the more rebellious and difficult she became until I was frightened to push any more in case she dropped out of the sixth form completely.
Phoebe glared at me as though I’d been telling tales and said, ‘See you later. I’m going to find Mia and Beth.’
As soon as she’d gone, I asked Faye if Georgia had had any ill effects from the party. ‘No, she seems fine. Hopefully she’s learnt her lesson.’
‘Did she mention there being any drugs there?’
The image of that bag of weed burned brightly in my mind.