Page 12 of When We Were Young
Liv
Mum calls from downstairs, ‘Liv! Package for you!’
I race down the stairs and snatch the padded envelope from her.
‘What is it?’ she asks.
‘Flash cards. For revision.’
‘I’m popping to Sainsbury’s. Lock the door behind me and don’t answer the door to anyone.’ She always says that when she leaves the house.
‘Okay, bye.’ I shut the door, turn the lock, and mutter, ‘I’m not five .’
Through the window in the hall, I watch Mum get into the company car Dad lent us after the crash.
As soon as she’s gone, I tear open the package.
It’s the Yellow Feathers EP I ordered online.
There’s a small scratch on the plastic case but otherwise it’s in good condition considering it’s twenty years old.
Dad put his copy back in the cabinet, but the next time I checked, it was gone.
Well, I have my own copy now and I can look at it whenever I want. I tuck it back in the envelope.
I’ve been waiting for Mum to go out so I could look through the old photos.
It was Chloe’s idea, she thought I might find something that connects Mum to Will Bailey.
I go to the cupboard in the lounge and drag the box out.
I haven’t looked in here for years. The first wallet is filled with photos of me on my second birthday, the next contains pictures of me at the zoo when I was about four.
I go through all the packets. All the photos are of me.
My grandparents pop up and so does Dad, but there are hardly any photos of Mum.
I find one of her with me as a toddler. She’s crouched beside me in a pile of autumn leaves, beaming at me in my little red wellies with total adoration.
I lift the flap on the next packet, they’re Christmas pictures but they’re old.
When I slide them out, I don’t recognise anyone in the top photo.
Digital numerals glow in the bottom right-hand corner: ‘25/12/94’.
I flip to the next picture and there’s Mum.
She’s about the same age as in the Glastonbury video.
She’s wearing a big fluffy roll neck with a velvet mini skirt; her long legs are clad in thick black tights.
She looks elegant, like a fashion model, sitting on a sofa beside a handsome man I don’t recognise, bundles of screwed-up wrapping paper at their feet.
She extends her arm towards the camera, showing a bracelet.
Was it a gift? The man’s hand is clamped around her upper arm, pulling her towards him. Who is this guy?
I pull out my phone and play the Glastonbury video again.
I find the point where the girl is dancing in tiny denim shorts and a cool waistcoat, long strings of beads swinging at her neck.
She looks bohemian, chic. It’s obviously the same person but I don’t get it.
Mum only wears boring black jeans. I was with her the last time she went shopping.
She bought the same top in five different colours, so she wouldn’t have to decide what to wear to work every day.
I’ve never seen her wear any kind of accessory.
Chloe always borrows her mum’s clothes – I wouldn’t be seen dead in my mum’s.
I shuffle to the next photo. The couple are sitting in the same place, but this time they’re kissing.
This wider shot shows people sitting either side of them.
Everyone is smiling at the couple, except one guy.
He has longish brown hair. Could that be Will Bailey?
He looks like him but it’s a profile shot, and I can’t be sure.
I hear Mum’s key scraping in the lock. She can’t be back already. Or maybe I’ve been so engrossed I didn’t realise how long I’ve been sitting here.
Quickly, I put the pack of Christmas photos to one side and shove the box back in the cupboard. Jumping up, I scan the bookcase for an alibi.
Plastic bags rustle and the front door slams. ‘Liv!’ she calls from the hallway.
‘Yeah?’
She pauses in the doorway with three overflowing shopping bags in each hand. ‘Will you help me put this lot away?’
‘Can’t,’ I say, holding up a dictionary. ‘Revision.’
She tuts and shuffles off to the kitchen. I tuck the photos inside the envelope with the CD, grab the dictionary and head upstairs.
At my desk, I sneak another peek at the photos. It’s weird seeing my mum kissing a stranger – kissing anyone. Then it hits me: Mum has never had a boyfriend. Dad has had loads of girlfriends, but Mum has never been involved with anyone romantically.
My parents aren’t divorced or anything. They never split up because they were never together – in a relationship, I mean.
I remember when Maisy Morgan’s parents got divorced in Year Two it made me wonder if Mum and Dad were divorced too.
‘Divorce’ seemed such a scary word. I was relieved when Mum said they weren’t.
She said families come in all shapes and sizes.
I didn’t think much more of it until I was a little older and Bella Thompson suggested I was a mistake.
I didn’t really understand what that meant.
I don’t think Bella did either, but she had older twin brothers, so I guess that word cropped up a lot.
When I asked Mum about it, she said there’s a difference between ‘unplanned’ and ‘unwanted’.
Yes, I was unplanned, but it was a wonderful surprise, like getting a present when it’s not even your birthday or Christmas.
And I’ve never felt unwanted. Both my parents’ lives revolve around me, and we seem much happier than a lot of families I know. Beyond that, I didn’t question it. It’s all I’ve ever known.
But looking at these pictures, I’m curious about the whole thing again.
They obviously had sex at least once but why weren’t they ever a couple?
And why doesn’t Mum have relationships? Maybe she does, but keeps it secret?
But she never goes out. She never does anything.
The only time she does anything, she does it with me.
She’s so boring… so uninspiring . Unlike Chloe’s mum, with her high-powered solicitor job, the glamorous charity galas she organises, and her excellent taste in shoes.
I want an interesting job. I want to travel, go places, do things.
I don’t want to be one of those women whose lives revolve around their kids. I don’t want to end up like Mum.
But this woman, the one in the photograph, the one in the video at Glastonbury, the one who had her own art exhibition before she even graduated… Now, she’s interesting and I want to get to know her.