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‘Don’t. You may not be in your twenties any more, but you’re still an attractive woman. Who was that man you were talking to, by the way?’
It takes me a moment to register her question because I’m still digesting the very back-handed compliment.
‘Trevor. We were at school together.’
‘Married?’
‘Stop it, Mum.’
There’s an exaggerated sigh from the cubicle before the flusher sounds and she comes out.
‘You can’t blame me for wanting to see you as happy as Hebe is,’ she says as she turns on the taps to wash her hands. ‘You’d make a stunning bride.’
‘OK, back off, old lady,’ I tell her firmly.
‘I’ll have less of the “old”, thank you, Athena,’ she replies archly before softening her voice again. ‘Just think about it, will you? I know you have high standards, but maybe it’s time to aim a little lower. You can’t keep jetting around the world forever.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, love, you’re running away.’
‘From what? Have you been listening to those psychology podcasts again?’
‘It’s avoidant behaviour,’ she continues, ignoring my jibe. ‘All the time you immerse yourself in your job, you’re avoiding the truth of your situation.’
‘Wow, tell it like it is, Mum. And what is the truth of my situation?’
‘I think you want love just as much as Hebe does. Just as much as everyone does. You’re just too scared to admit it, because you think it somehow makes you weak. Love doesn’t make you weak, Athena. It takes courage. Look at your father. He’s possibly one of the most exasperating men I know, but I love him as fiercely today as the day I married him, and I know he loves me too. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that the perfect man doesn’t exist. Find one with imperfections you can put up with and be brave.’ She pats my arm affectionately. ‘I know you’ll probably write all this off as your mum having a drunken moment, but think about what I’ve said, will you? You may think you’re fulfilled now, but we aren’t designed to go through life alone.’
‘I’m not alone. I have friends.’
‘And how many of your friends are single?’
She may have had a few glasses of wine but, rather than dulling her, they seem to have focused Mum’s mind on me. Talking to Trevor some more about his executive coaching suddenly seems quite attractive, assuming he hasn’t found someone more interesting to talk to, we steer clear of his personal life and he realises that hell will freeze over before I go to bed with him.
‘All I’m saying,’ Mum continues soothingly, ‘is be open to the possibilities, OK?’
‘Fine,’ I tell her, keen to shut this down as quickly as possible.
Today just keeps bringing the punches.
* * *
Trevor is sitting exactly where I left him, although the level in the bottle would indicate he hasn’t wasted the time while I’ve been in the loo being lectured on love by my mother.
‘Everything OK?’ he asks as I sit back down next to him. ‘I took the liberty of topping up your glass while you were gone.’
‘Yes, thank you. Sorry I was so long, I bumped into my mum, who typically wanted to dish out some maternal advice.’
I can almost see the hunger in his eyes. He’s desperate to know what Mum might have said about him. Well, sorry, Trevor, but your definition of young, free and single isn’t the same as mine, particularly as you have a child together. Thinking of which…
‘Your child,’ I ask him. ‘Son or daughter?’
‘A son. Dylan.’ As I’d hoped, his expression softens as his mind is diverted. He pulls out his phone and, after a few taps, hands it over. ‘He’s just started school. That’s him on his first day.’
I look at the picture, which shows a small boy in a slightly oversized uniform, holding hands with a woman. Jenny may not have been anywhere near a netball court for a while, as Trevor rather rudely put it but, if anything, I’d say she looks better now than she did at school. Dylan is instantly recognisable as Trevor’s son. He has the same watery blue eyes and round face that Trevor did before his transformation.
‘He’s a handsome boy,’ I tell Trevor, handing back the phone.
