‘Come on, love. It’ll be a great night,’ my mum insists.
‘I don’t know …’ I squirm. The fundraiser did used to be a laugh and I do want to show my support for Mick, but I only just finished working and I was looking forward to snuggling up on the sofa and watching the next episode of the latest sitcom I’m addicted to.
‘Brian will be there,’ my mum adds with a wink.
‘Oh God!’ I groan. Brian is a bicycle repair man who’s tried it on with every woman with a pulse in the village, yet that hasn’t stopped my mum trying to set me up with him ever since I moved back home. He’s got weird googly eyes and an insanely annoying habit of saying ‘do you know what I mean?’ at the end of every sentence. You’ll run into him in town and comment on the weather and he’ll respond, ‘Yeah, it’s really cold. Do you know what I mean?’ or he’ll be talking about the latest bike he’s been fixing and comment, ‘It’s got a really good gear suspension, do you know what I mean?’ My brain just switches off every time I talk to him. I’ve told my mum a million times I don’t fancy him, but she acts like I’m overlooking Prince Charming. I shudder to think of what it would be like to be with Brian. Can you imagine – ‘I love you, do you know what I mean?’
‘Mum, I’m not going to date Brian!’ I remind her.
‘He’s a lovely lad,’ my mum huffs defensively.
‘Mum, seriously …’
‘Alright, alright.’ My mum throws her hands up in mock surrender. ‘I’ll stop trying to set you up with Brian, but I still think you should come. Mick knows you’re back. He’d love to see you there. Just a few hours, for Maggie.’ She eyes me imploringly.
How can I say no to the memory of Mick’s dead wife?
‘Okay, fine,’ I relent. ‘I wish you’d told me earlier though. What am I going to wear?’
I give Hera the last piece of cracker, before brushing the crumbs from my hands.
‘I’m sure you’ll find something!’
‘Hope so! Keep an eye on Hera while I look?’
My mum nods as she nibbles on another cracker and cheese.
I race upstairs. She’s right, I will find something. I have a ton of clothes. They wouldn’t fit in my old wardrobe, so I had to buy two rails to put them on. I try to pass my clothes addiction off as an occupational hazard of working in fashion and beauty PR. When I lived in London, I used to go to meetings, product launches and networking events all the time and I’d be expected to look the part. I needed to show our clients that I had my finger on the pulse and knew about the latest trends, which meant buying into the coolest looks every season. But it’s not like it was a chore, I do genuinely love fashion and I love getting stuff that isn’t on trend too, whether that’s a nice charity shop dress, a comfy pair of boyfriend jeans or a slouchy oversized T-shirt.
I rifle through my clothes racks a few times until I find a short-sleeved purple jumpsuit I bought six months ago and never got around to wearing. It’s tailored and smart, but its purple shade and gold drawstring waist give it a playful edge. It’s perfect. I pull off the leggings and T-shirt combo I’ve been living in recently, swap my sports bra for a regular one and slip into the jumpsuit. I check my reflection in my bedroom mirror. The jumpsuit looks good on, but it’s too dressy to wear without make-up. I don’t have time to do a full face of make-up, so I smooth a bit of BB cream onto my skin, add a touch of blusher, some tinted lip balm and a slick of mascara. That’ll do. I pull my hair out of its messy bun and run a comb through it. I take in its slightly frizzy appearance and wonder whether I have time to use my straighteners.
‘Natalie! Hurry up!’ my mum bellows up the stairs.
‘Okay! Okay!’ I call back, abandoning all thoughts of straightening my hair. I grab a hairclip from the dish on my dressing table and attempt to pin my hair to the side, but it looks weird, so I just let it down again. It looks a bit scruffy, but it will do. It’s only a fundraiser at the village hall, after all.
I grab my wallet and phone, shove them into a handbag and head downstairs.
‘I’m ready!’ I say as I walk back into the kitchen.
My mum’s put away the crackers and cheese and is now playing with Hera, who is back in her highchair. She looks over her shoulder.
‘Oh, lovely outfit you’ve got on,’ she says, clocking my jumpsuit.
‘Thanks Mum,’ I reply, walking over to her and Hera.
‘How’s my gorgeous girl doing?’ I ask.
‘I’m good,’ my mum replies, with a grin, as she waves Mr Bear around for Hera.
I roll my eyes. ‘I meant Hera, Mum!’
‘I know!’ She laughs as Hera reaches out and grabs Mr Bear, before clutching him close to her chest. She starts blinking sleepily and her head drops forward a little.
‘Oh no, she’s tired!’ I say. ‘Maybe she needs to go to bed.’
‘We’ll put her in her carrier, and she can have a little nap on the way. Relax love. An hour at the village hall isn’t going to kill her.’
Hera’s eyes droop closed, and I begin to have serious doubts over whether going to this fundraiser is a good idea. ‘Look at her!’
‘Well, let her have a nap in her carrier then. That baby sleeps like a log. She’ll be fine. We’ll only be out for a bit anyway,’ my mum says impatiently. ‘I just want to see if I win anything in the raffle. Mick’s worked really hard on this year’s draw. The top prize is a romantic getaway to Marrakech!’
‘A romantic getaway to Marrakech!? Seriously?’ I balk. ‘I could swear the last time I went to Mick’s fundraiser the top prize was a picnic hamper.’
‘Well, it’s come a long way since then! Mick’s been pulling some strings.’
I raise an eyebrow. Mick, pulling strings? He’s a retired office administrator whose social life revolves around the local bridge club, how many strings can he pull?
‘A trip to Marrakech could be just the thing for you!’ my mum says with a twinkle in her eye.
‘Didn’t you say it was a romantic getaway? Who am I going to take?’
It’s a bit tragic to admit, but I haven’t so much as held hands with another man since things ended with Leroy. I’ve been so preoccupied with trying to be a good mum and keeping my business running smoothly that I haven’t had any time to go on dates. It’s not like I meet anyone now that I’m a homebody. The only men I encounter in my daily life these days are the postman and takeaway delivery men (and unfortunately neither are sexy).
‘You could go with Lauren. I’ll take Hera for a few days. And anyway, you could always make it romantic,’ she suggests with a wink.
I frown. ‘Huh? Mum, are you suggesting that I seduce my best friend?!’
‘No!’ I’m suggesting that you might meet a nice man while you’re there. Have a little holiday romance!’
‘Oh God,’ I grumble. ‘Are you serious, Mum?’
‘What?’ She shrugs exaggeratedly with a cheeky wink. ‘It wouldn’t hurt!’
I stare back at her, deadpan. ‘Somehow, I doubt a dodgy holiday romance in Marrakech would be a great move right now and secondly, I find your concern for my sex life a little disturbing!’
‘I’m not concerned. I’m just saying, a little