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‘Where did I go so wrong?’
‘He’s growing up, that’s all.’ She pulls me to her, her arms enclosing me, my head resting on the soft cushion of her breasts. My body caves into the comfort, and I let the sobs come as she rubs my back. Gethin, my Gethin, what have I done to you?
Karen hands me a tissue as I emerge dripping. I laugh at myself as I fill it in one blow.
‘I was worried about you, Pat. I was going to ring, but I didn’t want to give you a chance to turn me away, plus I hoped some of my famous cake might help.’ Karen hands me my plate and I take a mouthful of its creamy sweetness.
‘Thanks,’ I say, licking my fork. ‘I’m so sorry I was angry with you, none of this is your fault.’
‘Shh, I know you well enough. Not as if it were the first time, is it?’
I purse my lips, not really wanting to think of all our arguments about Gethin before we split up.
‘I wanted someone to blame. And I was sitting out there just now blaming my mum for the idea of me having a child,’ I say with a half laugh.
‘At last, something to thank her for!’
‘It was a reaction to her disgust at the concept of lesbian motherhood. What kind of reason is that?’
‘No way was that the main thing. You talked about it for weeks, questioning the old feminist line that children simply tie women to domesticity.’
‘Yes, some of the Greenham women’s dilemmas about whether to leave their children and live at the camp or settle for a less radical lifestyle with them. Heartrending. But after that exchange with Mum the other argument surfaced: that having children was a chance to raise a new generation with the principles of equality and freedom.’
‘There you go – a thoroughly considered decision.’
‘So, I had Gethin to give my life purpose, with the added bonus of pissing off my mum. And even that didn’t work once he came along and entranced her.’
‘Ah, there are worse reasons for wanting children.’ Karen sounds impatient. ‘Look at how you were with Gethin: the constant hugs and laughter, the daily I love yous. Where was that with your mother?’
She’s right, but that doesn’t change how things are now.
Karen tops up our tea, sits back to drink some more.
‘It hasn’t been like that for a few years,’ I say eventually. ‘Really, the only way I can get him to engage is to provoke an argument. Like when we spent half his GCSE year rowing about whether he could have a laptop, which he won by getting backing from my parents. Then we argued when he predictably played games on said laptop half the night. I tried reconciliation, taking him to London, the Planetarium, and a nice meal out. And then we did talk, it felt good at the time, him encouraging me to take on the studio. But somehow, we never addressed what was going on for him and it soon blew up again. Over and over.’
‘You’re too hard on yourself, teenage boys aren’t easy. You could be one of a dozen people I see at parents’ evenings. And that’s just the ones who give a shit.’ She gives a little half smile.
I try to smile back to cover the stab of pain as I remember what troubles me the most. ‘You know, I saw my parents the other day and it somehow turned into them laying into me, the failure of my life as they see it.’
‘No change there. Is it any wonder you blame yourself for everything?’
‘But Karen, it made me realise I’ve been doing the same with Gethin. Putting him under pressure to achieve, not valuing him for who he is.’
‘Well, he wanted to be an Astrophysicist, didn’t he?’
‘He liked mapping stars, and he read bits of Stephen Hawking. But I got carried away, buying him books he never read, pushing him to do science A levels when even the teacher said he lacked the commitment.’
Karen raises her eyebrows. ‘Like I said, he won’t be the first.’
‘But I wasn’t even listening to his doubts, asking what he wanted for himself, you know?’ My voice rises with exasperation. I don’t want to hear that this is commonplace. ‘Seeing my parents brought home what a sham my so-called radical parenting has been. Living vicariously through my son, and then being disappointed with him.’
I pause to swallow the swelling emotion. My Gethin is a disappointment. I have said it.
‘Now it’s too late, I’ve lost him, Karen.’ I reach for my tea, give my eyes a surreptitious wipe with the back of my hand.
Karen passes me another tissue. ‘Pat, believe me, he won’t forget all that you gave him.’
I shake my head, unable to speak.
