Page 59 of Broken Heart Syndrome
‘It’s just that you’re a very attractive girl and it can … um, how can I put this … it can muddy the waters with men.’
‘That’s enough, Mum,’ Tom snapped.
I had no idea what she was implying, or how to reassure her that I wasn’t leading Tom on or something. If anyone was doing the leading around here, it most definitely was not me. Luckily Sarah came to my rescue.
‘This cake is lush, Frankie,’ she said through a mouth stuffed with it. ‘Tom tells us you have your own business. He’s says you’re like the next Mary Berry or something. Well, he didn’t exactly say Mary Berry because I haven’t been able to convert him toThe Great British Bake Offbut he did say your cakes were “the dog’s”... um …’ she glanced at the boys who were all staring up at her with rapt expressions, as if they could sense the impending swear word, ‘ “… equipment”. ’ It might not be the most flowery of compliments, but learning that Tom had called my cakes the dog’s bollocks made me feel significantly more cheerful despite the awkward situation.
As uncomfortable as I found talking about myself, I was happy to be in safer conversational waters, and I decided that I liked Sarah despite her slight air of craziness.
‘I don’t think anyone’s ever called them “the dog’s equipment” before,’ I said through a smile. ‘Maybe I should put that on the website.’
After we’d eaten the cakes, and Sarah had mopped up after the kids, we all headed out. I couldn’t get Tom on his own to tell him my decision. In fact I was barely given a minute to get my coat.
We drove out of town to a country pub in convoy. I couldn’t talk to Tom on the drive either, as Benji had muscled his way into the middle seat between us, and I thought it might be inappropriate to finish things in front of his nephew. All the others were crammed into Sarah’s seven-seater people-carrier.
Once we arrived en mass at the pub, the bar staff (obviously having assessed the level of chaos amongst the boys) ushered us all into a back room, leaving the other patrons in relative safety.
I was given Baby Thomas to hold whilst everyone got settled. I hadn’t had much to do with babies before, not having any siblings for nieces and nephews. Once he was handed over I froze, holding him in front of me much like I imagined you would hold an unexploded bomb, and unsure what to do. Of course he started crying instantly, and I continued to just stare at him. I could see Mary looking at me from the corner of my eye and she seemed disappointed, like I had failed some sort of test. I began to sweat.
‘Um, Sarah,’ I said nervously, still staring at Baby Thomas, who was turning an alarming shade of red, ‘I’m not sure …’
‘What’s he doing?’ Sarah called from the highchair that she was fiddling with for Finlay.
‘Well,’ I said, looking into Thomas’s angry little face, ‘he’s screaming.’
‘I know that,’ Sarah said with a hint of impatience, losing the battle with the straps of the high chair. ‘Is he rooting?’
‘Rooting?’ I asked, feeling inept.
‘Yes, you know, looking for boobs.’
‘He looks like he’s fighting an invisible foe,’ I answered quickly, and he did: his little fists were pummelling the air and he looked furious. Was this normal?
‘Oh he’s tired then,’ Sarah replied confidently, finally finishing with Finlay and coming over. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take him now.’ Of course, as soon as she took him and held him effortlessly and firmly against her chest, he stopped crying and fell asleep. Tom gave me an encouraging smile but I saw that Mary’s mouth was tight.
I felt myself retreating further into my shell during the meal. Thankfully the kids were loud and the family banter didn’t really require my input. Towards the end I gratefully escaped to the loo. On my way out I was passing by the bar to get back to the room when I overheard Mary talking to Tom whilst they were waiting for another load of drinks.
‘I just don’t know why you can’t find a nice homely, friendly girl, Tom,’ she hissed.
‘Mum,’ Tom snapped. ‘You don’t know her and you aren’t helping her to relax. She’s shy.’ Mary snorted in disbelief. ‘No really, Mum, don’t be swayed by the way she looks, she’sisshy.’
‘She’s got you totally fooled Tom,’ Mary retorted. ‘The last thing we need is a girl like that in the family.’
I quickly hurried away, rushing past the door to the back room and escaping outside. Leaning up against the wall of the pub, I took a deep breath and fought back the tears stinging my eyes. I felt her words like a knife twisting in my gut.
Of course she didn’t think I was good enough for her son. Of course she didn’t want a girl like me near her family. Even without knowing my background, she knew what Tom seemed blinded to: that I was not PLU (people like us). My mamma hadn’t had one single sensible Marks-and-Spencer-wearing bone in her crazy, extravagant, Italian body; and Papa … well, I loved him but there was no question of him fitting in with these people. The very idea of him even meeting them made me want to throw up.
When I finally got up the courage to go back in, Tom was looking a little panicked, obviously just about to go in search of me. One glance at his mum and I could tell she knew that I’d heard. I must have had the hurt written all over my face, despite taking the time to try and mask it. I smiled politely and nodded when Tom asked if I was okay. All I wanted was to get out of there and go home.
Eventually, thank God, the bill came. Jack, Mary and Tom crowded round arguing over who was going to pay, and Sarah was breastfeeding Baby Thomas at the table. The older boys were clambering up onto the deep window-sill next to where I was sitting and jumping off, occasionally sending chairs flying.
Finlay struggled unsuccessful to get up onto the high ledge, and then, to my surprise, he decided to crawl up onto my lap and play with my necklace instead. Luckily (unlike a newborn baby) Finlay seemed to know exactly how he wanted to be held, and snuggled into my neck. My arms seemed to naturally come around him as I felt his warm weight settle further into me.
‘I don’t know why he cried,’ Benji shouted at Jack whilst engaged in the slightly risky activity of jumping over the two chairs they had lined up underneath the window-sill. ‘All I did was call him a baby. He’s so stupid.’
‘Well, Dad’s gonna be cross when he finds out you’re in the naughty book again at school,’ Jack told him smugly as he clambered back up.
‘It’s all Gavin’s fault, he shouldn’t have cried,’ Benji complained. ‘I didn’t even hit him.’
