Page 7 of The Three of Us
‘Of course.’
‘I’m not sure I’d want to share with a stranger.’
‘Fran is hardly a stranger, Mum. She’s Suze’s sister.’
‘Not family though. I still don’t understand why you moved out, love. Your brother’s happy enough to stop here.’
‘Of course he is. He’s twenty-three. You cook all his meals and do all his washing!’ I smile to myself. What had I just been thinking about the two of us looking after ourselves these days? In my little brother Sam’s case, that level of independent living only kicks in when Mum goes away somewhere for a day or two and he really has no other choice.
‘And I’d happily do the same for you, if you’d let me. Your bedroom here is so much nicer than that pokey little flat, and you don’t even have a garden.’
‘When I want to sit outside, I go to the park. Or come here!’
‘And all that rent you’re paying! You could be saving it up, for your future. Your wedding…’
I laugh at that. ‘What wedding?’
‘Well, it will happen one day, and they don’t come cheap, you know. If you came back home, you could be building up a nice little nest egg by now.’
‘And if I did, I’d probably spend it on a nice little car, not a fancy wedding dress and a set of posh dinner plates,’ I tease her, shaking my head. ‘Anyway, what’s with all the financial advice all of a sudden? I thought Dad was the bank manager in this family, not you!’
‘Well, he’s not here anymore, is he? And there’s nothing wrong with thinking about money, Carly. Or the future. And, besides, I have no idea why you’d want to spend your money on a car when you can’t even drive.’
‘I’m thinking of learning.’
‘I could teach you. I’m a bit out of practice, I admit, since we sold your dad’s Rover, but it’s not something you ever really forget, is it? Like riding a bike. And it would save you paying for all those expensive lessons. And, as for rent, I’ve only ever asked you for enough to cover your keep, you know that.’
‘I’ve seen your driving, Mum! And I don’t want to be kept. I like living closer to work, making my own meals, coming and going without you waiting up for me and looking at your watch if I’m not back by midnight. Anyone would think I’m going to turn into a pumpkin or something.’
‘It’s that Frances of yours who’s turning into a pumpkin, Carly,’ she says, giving up on the pleas for me to come home and changing the subject. ‘The size of that girl! It’s all very well looking after yourselves, but not if that means living on cream cakes and doughnuts.’
‘Crunchies, actually.’
‘What?’
‘She works in a sweet shop, Mum, and she likes to sample the stock.’
‘Well, thank God you work in an office then, and not the McVities factory, the way you’re putting those cookies away. At least the only samples you’re likely to take home from work are a few nicked pens from the stationery cupboard.’
She can be very blunt, my mum. And a bit too judgemental.
‘Fran’s all right. And she can eat what she likes. I’m not her keeper.’
‘I can’t imagine what her mother must think.’
‘About what?’
‘Letting herself go like that. She’s got quite a pretty face too. But what man is going to look twice while she’s so huge? It’s such a shame…’
I try not to let her get to me, but she always does.
‘I don’t think she’s particularly bothered. About catching a man, I mean. In fact, I suspect her interests might lie in the other direction.’
Mum tilts her head and peers at me inquisitively. ‘What direction? I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.’
‘Girls, Mum. She’s never actually said it out loud, not to me anyway, but I think Fran likes girls.’
I watch her face contort as she lets this information slowly sink in. ‘You mean she’s… a lesbian?’