‘School of life,’ her editor had shot back without looking up from the pages she was checking.
Despite Laura’s reservations about her ability to dispense sage advice, being an agony aunt had quickly become her favourite part of her job. She spent way longer than she should reading the emails and letters that came in and carefully crafting her replies. She’d even insisted on doing this week’s column despite being on compassionate leave. (The rest of her work they could split between the team. She wasn’t going to fight anyone for the chance to interview the woman who was in love with her father-in-law.)
‘Mummy,’ Billy said, appearing in the doorway. ‘I can’t sleep.’
Every now and again Billy had a certain expression, a sort of hesitant half-smile that reminded Laura very much of her dad. Once, when Billy was about three, Laura had made the mistake of pointing this out to her mother and been amazed by her mother not only disagreeing but disagreeing in a way that suggested the comparison irked her. ‘Oh, I don’t see that at all.’ Laura hadn’t said anything but she was hurt by the realization that Evie wouldn’t cherish the likeness.
Laura got up from the table and picked Billy up, burying her face in his warm, yeasty-smelling neck. ‘How about Mummy lies down with you? Just for five minutes though.’
Billy nodded approvingly.
She tucked him under his dinosaur duvet and lay down next to him.
‘Grandma is dead!’ Billy trilled.
Laura held her breath. Objectively she knew that when you’re not even five yet, you have no frame of reference for death. That Billy might well be expecting her mother to pop back up like one of his cartoon characters, but his sing-songy tone was still a little disconcerting.
‘Dead, dead, dead,’ Billy continued.
‘Yes, sweetheart. And we are very sad about it. But Grandma is in heaven.’ Probably.
‘With Roger?’ Billy asked.
‘Roger?’
‘Dorothy’s goldfish,’ Billy said, as if he couldn’t believe Laura didn’t know that.
‘Yes, with Roger.’
‘Can you read me a story?’
‘Sweetheart, it’s really late already. You ought to be asleep.’
‘Pleeeeeeeeeease. Just a little story.’
Laura sighed. ‘Just one.’
Chapter Six
The to-do list was going to have to be put off a bit longer because Laura had to pull together this week’s Dear Laura column (suddenly her insistence that she wouldn’t hand it over to a colleague despite being on compassionate leave didn’t seem quite so smart after all).
She leaned back in her chair. As she’d walked Billy to school this morning, he’d been hopping up and down and talking animatedly about what Grandma and Roger the goldfish might be doing together in heaven. He thought they might be eating ice cream, only goldfish weren’t allowed ice cream. But maybe they were when they were dead? Laura knew he was only little but still wondered if his unbridled enthusiasm about his grandma’s death was a little odd. Not for the first time it crossed her mind that she ought to be writing in to Dear Laura instead of being the person dishing out the ‘wisdom’. She’d certainly have lots to ask: Dear Laura, Is my four-year-old normal? Dear Laura, Am I sad enough about my mother’s death? Dear Laura, My bossy sister drives me bananas.
She turned to her real letters and emails. When she’d first taken on the role, Laura had expected that hardly anyone would write to her. In the internet age, the idea of an agony aunt felt anachronistic. And, even if you were going to pour your heart out to one, well, why make it Laura, whose bio at the top of the page made her sound extremely hokey? Laura got her agony aunt qualifications at the School of Life (if that was how her editor justified it to her, that was how she’d justify it to the world). She’s here to answer all your personal, sexual and emotional problems. Sorry, but she can’t reply personally. Laura had been amazed by just how many letters and emails she did get, and it was always really tough to whittle them down to the three a week she could fit on the page.
Dear Laura, one email read, I am married with a beautiful two-month-old baby boy. My problem is my mother-in-law who is always telling me what to do. Why don’t I give my son formula top-ups, then he wouldn’t be so hungry all the time. Why do I rock him to sleep …
Laura decided that this problem was definitely one for this week’s page. Interfering mothers-in-law were a perennial hot topic. She popped the email into the appropriate folder on her computer, her mind already fizzing with things she would put in her reply.
She glanced down at her food-stained pyjama bottoms. It was a good thing she didn’t often work from home because honestly, if she did, she wasn’t sure she’d ever wear proper clothes again. Even bothering with a bra felt like Making An Effort. In the school playground this morning, she’d been pretty sure that people had noticed she was still in pyjamas underneath her coat and she knew they’d have been quietly horrified. Dulwich mums did not wear their nightwear to school drop off. Even the women in gym gear wore full make-up.
She scrolled through a few more emails. A woman who wanted to know whether to stay in a loveless marriage, someone who wasn’t sure what to do when her friend made racist remarks, three people in love with a colleague (not the same colleague, although how intriguing that would have been).
There was a heartbreaking letter from a nineteen-year-old who said she felt desperately lonely and desperately ashamed of admitting that. Laura decided that not only would she make sure an answer was included in this week’s column, but also that she’d call a trained therapist to ask for their take on this. She often did this if she felt a problem was serious and beyond her (let’s face it, limited) skill set, and even though her editor Dani had challenged her on why she was wasting time, she allowed Laura to do it as long as she didn’t pay the therapists. Which meant Laura was left feeling bad about not paying the therapists but less bad than she would have done if she hadn’t got their steer. She just hoped the namechecks the therapists got helped them sell their books or promote their private practices.
Right, so she had the woman with the interfering mother-in-law and the woman who was lonely. What would balance those nicely on the page? One of the people who’d fallen for a colleague, perhaps? Yes, that would work.
She set about drafting her answers.
Maybe you could get your husband to have a gentle word with his mum …
I am so sorry to hear you feel lonely …
An office romance creates all kinds of issues …
When she finished, Laura read back her replies. She still wanted a therapist’s input into ‘lonely’ but, that aside, she was pretty pleased with what she’d written. Other people’s problems are always so much easier than your own.
Chapter Seven
‘Grandma’s dead!’ Billy said, opening the door to Laura’s sister and her two daughters, much like one would say, ‘Happy Christmas!’
To Jess’ credit she managed to mask any shock, unlike Lola and Hannah, who were staring at Billy with the cold condescension that eight- and ten-year-old girls are so good at.
‘We were just passing,’ Jess said to Laura. ‘So I thought as we had so much to discuss, we may as well pop in.’