Mum is the living definition of a pushy stage mum, or at least she is when it comes to Hayley. In fact, if you were to look up pushy stage mum in the dictionary you might find a picture of her with a frenzied look in her eye, which is the look she gets whenever Hayley opens her mouth to strangle a tune. Ideally it would be an animated picture so you could also see her mouthing the lyrics without realising she’s doing so.
Mum and Martin sent Hayley to stage school when she was about thirteen. At the time they did ask me if I wanted to go too, but fairly half-heartedly and I can still remember the relief on their faces when I declined. They simply couldn’t have afforded two sets of fees and that was fine. I’d never been interested in singing or dancing, only violin, so it probably wouldn’t have been the place for me anyway, although I did sometimes wonder why they never encouraged my passion as much. Maybe if they had, I would have got further with it? Who knows?
Now Hayley’s ‘career’ is pretty much Mum’s reason for being, which is a shame for a few reasons. Firstly, because I strongly suspect Hayley only goes along with Mum’s obsession because she’s never been allowed to consider for a moment what it is she might actually like to do herself, and secondly because even if she did want to be a star I can’t see how it would ever happen because she’s simply not that good. She’s already thirty-three and all her showbiz ‘career’ amounts to so far is one fleeting appearance in an advert for a cruise company, a few shit modelling jobs, panto, and wearing hot-pants at events where she gives out leaflets. It doesn’t help that other people egg Mum on because Hayley’s so beautiful. Though just because someone’s beautiful doesn’t mean they have what it takes to become the next Elaine Paige. Singing in tune helps for a start. Still, this small detail has never bothered Mum or Hayley, or at least it hadn’t until a few years ago when Hayley grew utterly sick of never having Christmas off because of panto. She’d had enough. She was starting to get too old to play one of the villagers anyway and was sick of failing every audition she went to. By now she was settled and married to Gary, so shifted her focus from becoming a star, to bearing his children, which personally I think is wonderful. When she told me she wanted to try for a baby it was the first time I’d ever seen Hayley speak truly passionately about anything. Her entire face lit up in a way it never does when talking about performing. I could see then how caring for someone else could be the making of her. Plus, becoming a parent would take the pressure off as Mum would surely, finally, have to back off.
‘Guess who I bumped into last night?’ I said now, determined to avoid a row, so deciding to change the subject.
‘Who?’ she asked, still looking huffy.
‘Teresa.’
‘Oh did you?’ she exclaimed. ‘How is she?’
‘All right,’ I replied. ‘It was really nice to see her actually.’
‘Well of course it was,’ said Mum. ‘You two were such good friends.’ She looked at me with a knowing expression. ‘Didn’t I tell you something significant would be happening now that Mercury’s in retrograde?’
‘Er, I don’t know, did you?’
‘Yes,’ she insisted. ‘I did. It’s also the reason you’re being so bloody bolshy. Still, don’t worry, Venus will be rising soon and things will start going your way. Now, get the bowls out for the crisps and nuts will you? Then, when you’ve filled them up, take them through to the lounge.’
Being treated like a child makes you feel like a child. I wished I could go to bed and fester there for the remainder of the day but got up wearily to do her bidding.
‘How was work today anyway? Nice little kiddies were they?’
‘All right,’ I muttered, not wanting to talk about it.
‘Ah there you are,’ said Mum through the hatch as Martin walked into the lounge, laden with bags from the off-licence. ‘I was starting to think you’d run off and left me.’
On the left of our lounge is an enormous leather suite that rests against a wall, which acts as a partition between the lounge and the kitchen. This wall has a hatch in it, meaning if someone’s busy cooking in the kitchen, by opening it they can still keep an eye on the telly. Quite often I’ll be fully engrossed in a programme when suddenly I’ll glance up only to find Mum’s head hanging out of the hatch directly above me. This can be quite disconcerting.
‘As if,’ said Martin, rounding the partition to enter the kitchen and sidling up behind Mum as she re-wiped the surfaces for the thousandth time.
Mum met Martin when I was ten and Hayley was twelve. Their eyes had met across the big McDonald’s in Romford. I remember it clearly because we’d gone there for my birthday treat and they’d got chatting in the queue. It was a chat that had descended pretty quickly into saucy innuendo about whoppers, which were easy even for a child to decipher. Still, I hadn’t minded too much because I remember it was the first time in ages I’d seen Mum smiling. When we’d left, Martin had taken Mum’s number, and Mum had continued to be in a perky mood for the rest of that evening. Seeing her spirits lift that day was the best birthday present she could have given me.
Dad had left six years previously, which was when we’d had to move out of our house in Hackney and into a damp council flat in Romford. My memories of that time are grim. Mum was depressed and totally unmotivated to find work, as a job would have meant losing her benefits. It was weird though. We were so poor, yet she still owned fur coats and jewellery, left over from her old life with Dad. When she wore them they used to look quite grotesque against the backdrop of our life of penury.
As awful and heart breaking as this period was, looking back, I think it was the last time Hayley and I were really close. Our grief united us for a while I suppose. And I don’t think grief is too strong a word. To have your father in your life one day, a man who adored us and who was, as far as I can remember, a safe, big bear of a figure, our protector, to have him just up and leave was beyond devastating. All I know is that he was a pilot and one day he simply flew to Australia and never returned, abandoning his family without so much as leaving a note. The pain is less raw but I don’t think it will ever truly go away. Then Martin came along, Martin who was as working class as us, but who had done well for himself and had his own business. The only thing missing in his life at that time was someone to share it all with.
Mum and Martin had only been seeing each other for a few months when he asked us all to move into his house in posh Chigwell, the one he had before buying this place, and I don’t think Mum needed long to make up her mind. I believe he saved her in many ways, and Hayley and me for that matter. We’re very different but he’s very kind and the closest thing I’ve had to a dad since mine left. In fact, often I’ve wished he’d made more of his role as ‘stepdad’ but his nature means he prefers to stay in the background and not to interfere, so my mum’s always been in charge of the important stuff. Still, I’m not knocking him, any man who takes on a woman who comes complete with two young daughters has got to be not only reasonably kind but brave, too.
He still gets on my nerves sometimes though.
I watched now as he grabbed Mum’s love handles and gave them a good squeeze.
‘Oi you, don’t grab my extra bits, makes me feel fat,’ she squealed.
‘You are not fat my angel,’ said Martin predictably. ‘You’re built as a woman should be and besides, it just gives me more to love.’
I tried not to shudder and, as Mum untangled herself from Martin’s grip, concentrated on putting crisps into bowls. My hangover was so bad my hands were shaking, so half of them ended up on the floor. Mum frowned at me on her way to the fridge where she got out a bowl of tuna mix, which she handed to me along with a tray of pastry cases.
‘What time are they coming?’ I asked, removing the cellophane and getting to work spooning the gunky mixture into them. I was starting to feel quite