The Last Anniversary

‘You always said your lasagnes were better fresh.’ Her mother pauses and pokes a manicured finger at the offending sandwich and says, ‘Did you deliberately eat that samosa last night?’

Grace pleats the thin white hospital blanket between her fingers and breathes. In. Out. In. Out. She doesn’t want to think about the failure of the Plan. She just wants to enjoy breathing.

‘You’re just normally so careful,’ says Laura.

Grace manages to speak. ‘I forgot. I was distracted.’

‘Distracted,’ repeats Laura. ‘Distracted by what?’

Grace says, ‘Do you remember that day when I nearly ate a sesame bar in front of you?’

Laura smiles, as if pleased to be reminded of a favourite joke. ‘Of course I do. You were a little minx at that age.’

‘I thought you were going to let me die.’

‘I sure called your bluff.’

‘I seriously thought you were going to let me die.’

‘Oh.’ Laura rolls her eyes. ‘So, what, did I psychologically damage you or something? Is that what you’re saying? Because life wasn’t easy for me after your father left. All very well for Margie to be the perfect mummy. She had a husband!’

‘She had Ron!’ Grace is talking in her normal voice. She feels invigorated. ‘She wasn’t exactly blissfully happy!’

‘She wasn’t a deserted wife like me.’ Laura examines her nails critically and takes some hand-cream out of her handbag.

‘Anyway, the fact is, I was never motherly like Margie. She played with dolls while I played with Mum’s make-up. So, I’m sorry, OK? Some people just aren’t motherly. I’ve been thinking a lot while I was travelling and I’ve come to realise that. I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I didn’t even especially want to be a mother, it was your father who wanted a baby! I hope that’s not traumatising for you to hear, but it’s the truth, and it’s about time we all started telling the truth in this family. And then, when he left us for that bitch who was a size fourteen and couldn’t cook to save her life! I never dealt with it, you see. I let it fester like an abscess. I haven’t been happy for years. I’ve wasted my entire life mourning a dentist, for heaven’s sake. It hit me while I was looking at the Mona Lisa. I had an epiphany. It was something about that knowing smirk of hers. She’s thinking, Yep, all men are bastards but we women just have to knuckle down and get on with it. I decided I needed to make some fundamental changes in my life. I’m going to start by having a chemical peel because my skin is just dreadful–what?’

‘You had an epiphany while looking at the Mona Lisa and decided to have a chemical peel?’ Grace laughs and it feels like the first taste of fizzy champagne after a long period of non-drinking.

‘Well, the chemical peel was just about regaining confidence in my looks. I’m going to start from the outside in. I also want to do a course. In art history, perhaps. Or ceramics. You’re not the only arty one in the family, you know. You certainly didn’t get your talent from your father’s side of the family! And I am going to try and be a good grandmother to Jake. Not a snuggly, cuddly nana but an interested, involved, stylish sort of grandmother. You know, I’ll take him to museums. That sort of thing. When he’s older, of course. Not now. I won’t be so much help with him now. To be honest, I find babies quite terrifying.’

Well, so do I, thinks Grace.

‘Of course, you’ve got Margie to help you.’ Laura finishes massaging the cream into her hands and offers the tube to Grace, who shakes her head. She replaces the lid and takes a deep, brave breath. ‘Is there something the matter, Grace? Have you been finding it hard coping with Jake? Callum mentioned one of the doctors thought you might have postnatal depression. Look, you don’t need to tell me if you don’t feel comfortable talking about it. You’d better see a psychiatrist, don’t you think? You can tell him. Or her. Which would you prefer? A woman would be more intelligent, obviously.’

Grace says, ‘I didn’t know you carried around an EpiPen. Callum said you were so calm when you used it.’

‘When you were younger I used to practise giving injections to a banana. I was a nervous wreck at the thought. It’s not that difficult, of course. Any fool could do it. You should have had your own in your handbag! But then, I suppose if you were trying to kill yourself, that was the point.’ Laura’s face crumbles slightly and Grace notices spidery wrinkles above her mother’s upper lip. They make her feel protective towards her–big-sisterly.

Laura says, ‘You’re not going to try and do it again, are you?’

‘I forgot the samosas had walnuts in them,’ insists Grace.

‘Really?’ asks her mother.

‘Really.’

Laura looks at her fingernails again and says, ‘Grace, I wasn’t going to let you kill yourself when you were thirteen. I had my hand hovering over my bread roll ready to throw it at you and knock the sesame bar from your hand. I can assure you it was never even going to get close to your mouth.’

‘Oh.’ Grace’s voice sounds hoarse.

‘I know I don’t exactly qualify as mother-of-the-year material and I know I made some silly mistakes, but you’re my daughter. I would have died for you, for heaven’s sake.’

Grace examines her own fingernails.

‘I still would. That’s just, you know, the way it is.’

Grace looks up and meets her mother’s eyes. Laura smiles uneasily and then brightens, peering closer at Grace’s face. ‘Your eyebrows look like they could do with a wax. We could get Margie to mind Jake one day and you and I could go and have facials done. Would you like that?’

‘That would be nice.’

It would be awful. Grace hates facials, they make her feel claustrophobic, but still, the principle of the idea is nice.

They lapse into silence. Grace watches her mother twiddling the red stone on her new necklace, glancing around the room with that familiar mix of tension and disdain. She imagines Laura, about the same age that Grace is now, sitting alone in the kitchen, jamming the EpiPen into a banana, two lines of fear etched between her eyes. Grace breathes in and out, in and out. Oxygen flows in through her nostrils and expands her chest. There is a vase of flowers sitting on the windowsill. The flowers are a deep grape colour, similar to the colour of Aunt Rose’s new jumper. She’d like to paint them and discuss mixing the right colour with Rose. She would quite like a cup of tea. She is looking forward to having a shower and washing her hair when she gets home.