Page 3 of You Had Me at Chateau
I’m not expecting her to only wear twinsets and pearls and spend her days knitting – or any other silly stereotypes – it’s just that her power suits and her girl-boss bobbed hairdo aren’t as necessary as they used to be. I wish I could get her to relax a little.
‘It’s been a long time coming,’ Dad admits, offering us one of his trademark friendly smiles. ‘But hopefully you understand.’
Johnny Page, my goofy, fun-loving dad, is in his early sixties as well. He has kind eyes behind his glasses, and a sense of style that matches his demeanour – he’s so laid-back, he’s horizontal. Unlike my retired mum, Dad is still working as a tree surgeon. He always jokes about never retiring, claiming he’ll only hang up his boots when he falls out of a tree or when the world runs out of greenery. He’s a huge sci-fi nerd whereas Mum much prefers a cosy romance, and that’s just the start of how polar opposite their personalities and tastes are. When you think about it, it’s a miracle they’ve lasted this long.
‘What your dad and I need is for the two of you to be really brave, okay?’ Mum says, her tone as determined as it is sad. ‘We can all get through this, but you kids need to be strong. Do you think you can do that?’
‘Mum, we’re both in our thirties,’ I reply, deadpan, because I’m starting to think that she thinks we’re ten and thirteen, when in reality I’m thirty, Tom is thirty-three, and we’re both fully grown adults who flew the nest over a decade ago.
‘I know,’ she says softly as reality catches up with her. ‘But it still must be hard for you both.’
‘Can’t you work it out?’ Tom asks optimistically. ‘If this is only a pre thing. Maybe give things another go, for old times’ sake?’
Dad shakes his head sadly.
‘We’ve tried, mate,’ he says, and there is just something about Dad being serious that makes things seem genuinely terrifying. When Dad isn’t joking, things are bad. Honestly, even when he did the eulogy at Grandad’s funeral, he was getting laughs.
‘This seems out of nowhere,’ I point out, my mind racing to make sense of it all. ‘And Christmas sounds like it’s going to be super awkward.’
‘Just to confirm, the actual Christmas dinner will be unaffected, right?’ Tom checks.
His priorities are just fantastic, aren’t they? I’m not sure he’s taking this seriously. I’m not sure I am either, to be honest, because I’m still not sure what ‘pre-divorcing’ actually means.
Mum’s shocked expression speaks volumes.
‘I thought you two would be more distraught,’ she admits – she almost sounds disappointed.
Tom shrugs in a way that shows the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.
‘We’re all adults,’ he says simply. ‘You guys can do whatever you want. Or pre do whatever you want, or… whatever.’
‘Amber?’ Mum prompts me. ‘What do you have to say about all of this?’
‘Assuming Christmas dinner is unaffected,’ Tom reminds me, as though it makes a difference.
‘Yes, can we all shut up about Christmas bloody dinner,’ Mum snaps.
I can see the corners of my dad’s mouth twitching, as though he’s dying to laugh at Tom, but he knows it isn’t the time.
I swallow hard, to try to shift the knot that has taken up residence in my throat.
‘Obviously, I’m upset,’ I begin, becauseobviouslyI am – no matter what’s going on, I hate to hear that they’re unhappy. I just need to make sure that I say the right things. ‘And I don’t fully understand why it’s over. And of course I would rather you stay together… but I respect your decision.’
Deep down, I’m clinging to the hope that maybe they haven’t fully thought this through yet, and that when they do, they’ll change their minds. After all, they’ve been married for over thirty years, and they’ve made it this far. What a shame it would be to throw it all away now.
Mum’s expression softens, although she still seems unsatisfied.
‘It’s important to me – tous– that you kids understand that it’s nothing to do with you,’ she continues, getting the conversation back on track. ‘This is grown-up stuff.’
I try to suppress a smile, knowing all too well that it wouldn’t be appropriate given the circumstances. It’s just jarringly funny, and kind of cute, that Mum is telling us in the same way she would have done twenty years ago.
‘How about I take you both out for ice cream,’ Dad jokes, lightening the mood. ‘You’ve taken the news like good kids.’
I see something shift in Mum’s eyes. This surge of something that looks like it’s bubbling to the surface.
‘Everything’s a joke to you, Johnny,’ she snaps, as whatever it is finally boils over. ‘Andthat’swhy we’re splitting up.’
Mum practically jumps from her seat and storms out of the living room, leaving the three of us sitting around the coffee table on our own.
