Page 78 of Head Over Skis

‘What was the family business?’

‘We manufactured construction equipment.’

‘Oh, that’s…’ I hesitate, trying to match up the image I have of Penny with someone who runs a construction equipment company.

‘Boring?’ Penny supplies, and I feel bad that was what I was thinking.

‘Don’t worry, you won’t offend me because that’s exactly what it was for ten years. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I took on that role because I knew it would make my dad happy, and because I thought Charlie deserved a shot at going after his dream. But god knows, I didn’t want to work in construction manufacturing!’ She shakes her head, laughing to herself at that thought. ‘And even though I knew that, it took me far too long to let myself leave. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

She leans towards me, giving my shoulder a little squeeze as she looks me in the eye. ‘It’s a lesson I learnt too late, and I’ve been trying to make up for the lost time ever since. And I fear, my dear, you are falling into that same trap I did. It’s your one life. It’s wonderful you care so much about your family, but they wouldn’t want you living your life for them. Do it for you. Otherwise, you’ll be in your late sixties, finally doing the things you now know you love when you’re a little bit too old, and not knowing when the chance might be taken away from you.’

She looks down at the tube that’s connected to the top of her left hand, and I’m so angry at the world for doing this to her. I say exactly what I said to Adam in the après bar before this awful detour.

‘Now I really need to call my mum.’

It only rings a few times before I hear my mum’s voice on the other end of the line.

‘Everything okay, sweetie, good day on the slopes?’

‘An eventful one, that’s for sure,’ I say, not wanting to go into the details, which will make me cry again. ‘Mum, can I ask you something?’

‘Of course, darling, anything.’

I can hear her opening a cupboard and the muffled hiss of the kettle.

I picture her in the kitchen, picking between the dozens of mugs she’s accumulated over the years even though she always goes for the same one. The one I painted when I was five years old with ‘MUM’ written in big blue letters.

‘Are you and Dad happy? As in, do you ever regret trying to pursue acting, especially when things are hard?’

She doesn’t answer right away, and I can hear the sound of her pouring the water and the clink of a spoon hitting the sides of the mug as she stirs. I wait as she considers her answer, wondering what she might say.

‘No, I’ve never regretted it.’ She answers without a hint of uncertainty. ‘Sure, sometimes it’s hard, especially when you were younger and my doing so meant I had to deny you some of the things I knew your other friends had. But if I’d never tried it, I would’ve spent my whole life wondering what could’ve been. Why do you ask, honey?’

I look down at my feet, scuffing the tops of my boots on the floor and stalling admitting the truth. ‘Because I think maybe I have a dream too, but I’ve been too scared to give it a real chance.’

‘Is this about your art?’

The silence on my end is enough confirmation, and I hear a wistful sigh through the phone.

‘I always thought it was a shame when you said you didn’t want to try out for art schools. You’ve always been so talented.’

‘How did you know?’ I say, but I don’t need her answer. She’s my mum, and she’s kept every picture I’ve ever drawn up in the hallway. ‘It doesn’t matter, but it is about that. I keep asking myself, how am I supposed throw myself into my art when I have no guarantee it’ll work out? And I know money’s always been hard for you and Dad, and I want to be able to help you when you need it. Like with getting Dad’s show to Edinburgh.’

‘Darling, we’re the parents, not you. I never want you to feel like you need to look after us. And I’m so sorry if that’s been the case.’

‘No, you have nothing to apologise for.’ I rush to reassure her. ‘I think I used it as an excuse too, the money thing. Because I was so scared of giving my art a chance and ending up failing.’

‘But is fear of failure worth missing out on the possible joy of success?’

‘I think I’m starting to realise that’s been my problem all along,’ I chuckle, but it comes out strangled and I realise it’s because my eyes are watering.

A fresh surge of emotions rolls through me, but at the end of it is only relief, and finally some clarity.

We talk some more, until David gestures me over as everyone gets ready to head home. I say my goodbyes, but my mum’s voice catches me before I hang up.

‘I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You’ll always be my beautiful little girl, but you’re also a strong, intelligent woman of your own. You have so much life ahead of you, don’t be afraid to live it.’

‘I love you, Mum,’ I say in response, feeling like she’s right here at my side.