‘That’s because we are,’ I tell him. ‘Treacherous, cowardly, disloyal parents who care more about what other people think about us than the moral high ground.’
‘It’s for the best though, isn’t it?’ He pulls another can of beer from the fridge and pops the top open. ‘It would be more damaging for Benji to see me prancing around as Father Christmas than it is to be considered a bit rude, surely?’
‘Absolutely,’ I agree. ‘Although I might have quite enjoyed the performance.’
Nick grins. ‘Maybe we can have our own Festive Fete. You could dress up as a sexy fairy with glittery wings and a fairy wand.’
My phone beeps again, saving me from telling him exactly where he can stick his fairy wand – this time with a message from someone I’m actually happy to hear from.
‘Dylan wants collecting,’ I say, standing up. ‘Can you finish cooking the fish fingers?’
‘If by finish, you actually mean can I start cooking the fish fingers, then yes, I can.’ He takes a swig of beer and gestures at the still-cold oven.
‘That’s the spirit,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. And maybe you can get Scarlet to run her Head Girl speech for the new pupils past you while I’m gone? I heard it the other day and it needs a bit of toning down.’
Our daughter has obviously confused our school with a totalitarian dictatorship, if her welcome address is anything to go by. Not that Miriam would necessarily disagree with her. I’m torn between being impressed and alarmed by her tenacity.
Outside, the air smells like autumn. The leaves are still on the trees but it won’t be long until they’re gone and Dylan will be gone with them. There’s two weeks to go before he heads off to university and it’s impossible to figure out how I’m supposed to be feeling. Part of me wants the next fourteen days to last forever but part of me wishes that we could just be at that point already because the anticipation and waiting for him to leave is half-killing me.
I pull up outside his girlfriend’s house and think about how unprepared I am for him not to be living at home. I’m excited for him, of course I am, but I’m scared too. Scared that he’ll be lonely and unhappy. Scared that he won’t make friends or that he’ll hate his course. Scared that he’s committing to more debt than I can bring myself to calculate. And selfishly, scared that we won’t survive him going. We’ve been a family of five (well, six, with Dogger) forever and I can’t imagine it ever feeling okay with only four of us in the house.
The car door opens and my boy throws himself down onto the passenger seat.
‘Thanks for picking me up, Mum,’ he says, leaning across and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘How was your day?’
He always asks me about my day. How am I supposed to let him go when he’s so bloody lovely?
‘It was fine,’ I say, checking the mirrors and pulling away from the kerb. ‘How about you? Was it alright saying goodbye to Zoe?’
He leans forward and retrieves his phone from his back pocket. ‘Yeah, I guess? I mean, it’s a bit weird and awkward and everything but it was okay.’
His phone pings and he starts to type. I focus on the road and try to think about something else but it’s impossible – nothing feels as big as Dylan’s impending departure.
‘Is Zoe nervous about leaving so early?’ I ask, after a few minutes of silence. ‘And how are her parents doing?
I am obsessed with how other parents are handling this major life event. I’ve spent hours online looking for forums where people (mostly women) talk about how they coped with their children leaving home, looking for tactics and strategies that might help my brain to calm down, just for a bit.
‘She’s a bit anxious about meeting her flatmates,’ Dylan tells me. ‘They haven’t got a group chat like my flat has so she isn’t sure what they’re going to be like. But her parents are chill with it all, you know?’
‘Oh, they’re chill?’ I indicate and pull left onto our street. ‘Of course they are. Because why wouldn’t they be? It’s a chill thing, isn’t it? I am also chill. And cool. Totally cool. Because it’s all going to be absolutely fine and brilliant and amazing.’
Dylan gives me a look as I turn off the engine.
‘Are you doing okay, Mum?’
It’s so important that I don’t project my fears and emotions onto him. This isn’t about me. It’s about my darling, sweet, first-born child and I have got to be strong enough for both of us.
‘Me?’ I laugh in a light-hearted manner. ‘I’m absolutely fine! Why wouldn’t I be? I won’t have to wash your stinky socks or spend hours collecting dirty plates and mugs from your room or chauffer you around the place because you decided that driving lessons weren’t that interesting!’ I plaster on my chirpiest smile. ‘I should have sent you packing years ago!’
Dylan puts his hand on my arm. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m ready for the next adventure, Mum.’
‘Of course you are.’ I turn away to open the door so that he can’t see my face because I’m getting this all the wrong way round and he’s not the one who is supposed to be comforting me. ‘You’re absolutely ready.’
It’s me who isn’t ready. And I don’t think I ever will be.
Chapter Eight
The instant that we step inside the doors of Ikea, I start to regret my life choices. The place is heaving and, judging from the strained expressions on the faces of the adults in front of me, lots of them are here on the same mission as us.
‘So,’ I say, in the cheeriest tone that I can muster. ‘Here we are! I’ve got a list and if we stick to it then I think we can get this done pretty quickly.’
Scarlet snorts sarcastically. ‘I think we’re going to be lucky to get out of here before closing time.’ She nods in the direction of Dylan, who has already wandered off and is now staring at a mocked-up display of a bedroom with wide eyes.
I shake my head and start to weave my way through the assembled throng, pulling Scarlet behind me. I’ve been dreading this trip all summer. Nick half-heartedly offered to join us and I initially thought that maybe the whole thing would be more bearable if we turned it into a family day out – but then I came to my senses and remembered the last time that Nick stepped foot inside this shop. My usually mild-mannered husband morphed into a raving sociopath and there was very nearly a nasty incident when he insisted on walking the wrong way around the shop floor, despite the fact that there are clearly marked arrows. He ranted that if they wanted his money then he wasn’t going to be herded around like cattle and that if he felt like turning left instead of right then he damn well would. It was highly embarrassing and I vowed never to cross the threshold of this particular store in his presence again.
Plus, by the time we got to the checkout, the trolley was filled with a ton of useless crap that he insisted were necessary purchases and that are all, despite his protestations, still crammed into the back of the kitchen cupboard. He hasn’t cut a cucumber into a fancy spiral shape even once.
Anyway, Nick is at home with Benji and I am here, attempting to make light of the fact that today is all about helping my son to leave home. I was slightly surprised that Scarlet wanted to join us but I’m glad that she’s here. She reminds me that I’m still going to be a mum; that there are still people who need me.