4. Julie

I drove into the school car park and squeezed my electric car between two oversized brand-new Range Rovers. I got out, opened the boot and heaved out the boys’ backpacks and sports kits. Plonking the bags on the ground, I looked around for the triplets. No sign of them.

I wrenched the back door of the car open. Heads bent together, they were looking at some TikTok video.

‘GET OUT!’ I roared. ‘You lazy, ungrateful, useless lot.’

‘Jeez, Mum, calm down,’ Leo grumbled.

‘Why are you going mental?’ Luke asked.

‘You’re always narky these days,’ Liam added.

‘Leave Mum alone. She’s sad about Granny,’ Tom, my little pet, said.

‘Still?’ Liam seemed surprised.

Apparently there was a time limit to grief.

‘In fairness, Mum, it’s been a while. I know it’s hard, but I’m just wondering how long you think you’re going to be narky for,’ Luke said.

‘Are we talking days, weeks or months?’ Leo was all about the details.

‘I don’t bloody know,’ I hissed. ‘But I’d be a lot less grumpy if you all helped a bit more. I’d be less irritated if you took your faces out of your bloody phones and got your own bags out of the boot.’

‘No one asked you to do it,’ Liam said.

‘Yeah, like, if you’d waited ten seconds, we’d have done it.’

‘It’s not a big deal, Mum, chill.’

‘Chill? Chill? My mother died five weeks ago and everyone seems to expect me to put it behind me and move on. I will not chill now, or probably for a long time, so get your lazy arses out of the car and go to school.’

‘Jeez, okay.’

‘No need to freak out.’

‘No need to rip our heads off.’

The triplets picked up their backpacks and kitbags and headed into the senior school building. Tom picked up his bag and headed in the other direction, to the junior school. But then he turned and ran back towards me. He hugged me.

‘I know you’re still sad about Granny. I’m sorry, Mum. I’ll try to help you more.’

I crouched down. ‘Tom, you are always sweet and helpful. I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ he whispered quietly into my ear, making sure no one could hear him.

As he walked off, I began to cry again. I was like a tap. Once I started crying, I couldn’t stop, and I cried a lot. I was still feeling hurt that the boys weren’t more upset about Mum. Sophie and Louise kept saying how their daughters were heartbroken, whereas my lot were fine. I wished they’d known her better. I wished she’d spent more time with them, but it was too late now. She’d never know them and, although they drove me absolutely nuts, they were my pride and joy. They were growing into fine young men and she was missing it all.

I fumbled in my bag for my keys.

‘Julie?’

Oh, for the love of Jesus, no. Not her. Not now. I ignored her.

‘Julie.’ She tapped me on the shoulder.

I roughly wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie and turned to face an immaculately groomed Victoria Carter-Mills. Perfectly applied subtle make-up, glossy blow-dried hair and a beige cashmere coat that I wanted to wrap around me, like a soft hug.

‘Yes?’ I wasn’t in the mood for small-talk or any of Victoria’s usual digs about the triplets being rowdy hooligans who were unfit for this posh school. She was a poisonous snake and the last person I wanted to see right now.

‘Have you heard anything about when the Junior Cup team is being picked? With three boys involved, I thought you might have some insight. Sebastian says he doesn’t know and Mr Long isn’t returning my calls or replying to my texts.’

Mr Long, the rugby coach, was like a brick wall. He gave nothing away. Even the formidable Victoria couldn’t harass him into giving her any information. Go, Mr Long, I thought, mentally high-fiving him.

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Well, could you call him and see if you can get any insight?’

‘No.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘No, I will not call him. He’ll tell us when he’s ready to tell us.’

Victoria tried to frown, but because of the Botox and fillers, her eyes just squinted a bit. ‘There’s no need to be so curt about it. It’s just one phone call. Really and truly, I’m not asking you to climb Mount Everest.’

Unfortunately for Victoria, she was the straw that finally broke the camel’s back. All the pushed-down rage and grief and exhaustion I’d been desperately trying to work around in order to be ‘normal’ rose up and spurted out of me.

‘Let me put it this way, Victoria. First, I wouldn’t call Mr Long if you paid me a million euro because he doesn’t need pathetic, overambitious, delusional parents hounding him to find out if their kid is on the team. He will tell us when he’s good and ready. Harassing him before then is only going to piss him off. Second, my mother died a few weeks ago and I’m still reeling. I’m barely holding it together. So can you please get the hell out of my face? I strongly suggest you step away or I may accidentally run you over.’

Victoria’s face darkened. ‘You are the rudest woman. No wonder your children are feral. I’m sorry about your mother, but that does not give you the right to be so uncouth.’

Ignoring her, I got into the car, slammed the door and hurtled out of the car-park space. Victoria had to jump sideways to avoid being run over. But instead of feeling victorious and delighted that I’d stood up to the viper, I was crying again. I felt lost, at sea and guilty. I was shouting at my kids because I was so sad and they weren’t sad enough – it was completely unreasonable. I had barely cooked since Mum died and kept ordering in family dinners. I didn’t work: being a mum was my job and I wasn’t even doing that. I could barely drag myself out of bed in the mornings. All I wanted to do was stay in bed, look at old family photos and cry. I knew I should be moving on: five weeks was quite a long time. The sympathy cards had stopped arriving, the flowers had long since shrivelled up, but I seemed to be getting worse. My emotions were all over the place. How long did grief last? Was there a finite timeline? Was I just weak and overemotional?

I got home, crawled back into bed, watched videos of Mum last Christmas, in the full of her health, and sobbed.

That Sunday Louise had summoned us all to the house. She had decided that it was time to clear out Mum’s things and not leave it to Dad.

I was sitting in my kitchen, at the marble counter, which still made me feel slightly nauseous when I thought how much it had cost, drinking a strong coffee and trying to psych myself up for the day ahead. I was dreading going through Mum’s things. I knew it would bring up so many emotions. Sophie, Gavin and I wanted to wait, but Louise was adamant that we do it this weekend. My big sister was channelling her grief via spreadsheets, rotas and clear-outs, and none of us had the energy to fight her.

Harry was reading Winning! by Clive Woodward. He was some English rugby coach who had won a rugby World Cup or something and Harry was obsessed with the book. He had a highlighter pen and kept underlining passages and reading them out to me, which made me want to poke my eyes out.

‘Julie, listen to this.’ Harry’s eyes were shining. ‘“Concentrate on measuring performance and winning will take care of itself.” The man is a genius.’

It seemed like a pretty obvious statement to me, but I just nodded. If I showed a modicum of interest, Harry would probably start reading out chapters and I couldn’t take it. He was keen to learn as much technical detail as he could about rugby – playing, strategy, skills, training techniques – so he could chat to the other dads on the sidelines with confidence. In typical Harry fashion, he didn’t just leaf through The Idiot’s Guide to Rugby , he immersed himself in the entire subject. He had spent the past few months reading about the game, watching matches and, frankly, becoming a bit of a rugby bore.

At the matches, while Harry banged on about whatever statistic he’d just done a degree in, I usually tuned him out. When we went to watch the boys play, the only thing I cared about was the triplets’ safety. I spent my time holding my breath in case they got injured. In the last twelve months alone, we’d had two broken arms, one fractured foot, three concussions and endless black eyes, cuts and bruises. I’d tried to persuade the triplets to play tennis instead, but they’d laughed at me and said tennis was for losers.

This was going to be a big year for them as they were all hoping to get onto the Junior Cup rugby team. So now, as well as praying they didn’t get injured, I was also praying that they all got picked for the team. Leo was the one who was the least sure to get on as another guy played the same position and was as good as, if not better than, him. If the other two got picked and he didn’t, he’d be crushed. I’d rather none of them were picked than just two. I felt sick thinking of poor Leo on the sideline while the others played.

As Harry was about to read out another golden nugget from his book, the kitchen door burst open. ‘Water! I think I’m dying.’ Marion stumbled in, hair all over the place and mascara streaks down her cheeks.

‘You look rough.’ I grinned.

‘I got in at four. I’m too old for this shit. Dating is a fucking nightmare.’

‘Morning, Marion, language, please,’ Harry said, gesturing towards Tom, who was in the corner quietly finishing a huge bowl of Cheerios.

‘Sorry, I can’t help it. I’ve always sworn like a drunken sailor.’

‘Try harder,’ Harry said.

I handed her a large glass of water and two paracetamol.

‘You’re an angel. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you. You house me and you give me drugs.’ Marion swallowed the tablets.

Marion had been staying with us one weekend a month, when her ex-husband, Greg, flew back from Dubai to see the kids. Harry wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about this arrangement. Even when we used to live next door to her, Harry had found Marion ‘a lot to take’. But she had been there for me. When the boys were small and I was struggling, Marion had been a lifeline. With four kids of her own, she understood the long days and the feeling of being completely overwhelmed. We had been each other’s support network and had become firm friends. I had insisted we help her out after her separation.

Besides, since we’d bought this huge house with the money Harry’s aunt had left him, we’d converted the basement into a two-bedroom apartment for Christelle. She was happy for Marion to stay in the second bedroom once a month. Christelle thought Marion was nuts, but in a good way, and besides, Christelle was going travelling soon so the place would be empty.

‘It was your daughter and Kelly who led me astray last night,’ Marion told Harry.

‘What?’ Harry looked up from his book.

I saw Tom slip out of the room. Thank goodness: Marion’s stories tended to be X-rated.

‘Well, my date was a fucking disaster. Oops, sorry, a disaster. The guy did a runner when the bill came.’

‘No!’ Poor Marion.

‘Yes. He went to the toilets and never came back. So I got lumped paying for everything and, let’s be honest, it was pretty fucking humiliating. I waited for ages for the prick to reappear. Then I started to worry he’d had a heart attack or a stroke or something. So there I am, standing outside the door of the men’s loo, shouting, “Jason … Jason, are you all right?” Next thing, the waiter appears behind me and says he thinks he saw the man I was with leaving the restaurant. I wanted to die. The poor young waiter was so embarrassed for me, he couldn’t look me in the eye as I was paying for Jason, the fucking road-runner’s, steak.

‘So I’m leaving the restaurant, feeling like a piece of shit, and who do I bump into? Only Christelle and Kelly. I tell them my tale of woe and they insist I come out with them and not go home to either kill myself or track Jason down online and go and cut his knob off. So we go to this gay bar they like and, I swear to God, I had the best night ever. Gay women rock. I was propositioned twice and, I’m not gonna lie, I was tempted. I may forget men and just go for a woman. No snoring, no hairy arses, no blow-jobs, no dick poking you in the back in bed, no soggy condoms and no beard rash.’

‘Jesus, Marion!’ Harry shuffled in his stool. ‘I’m still on my first coffee of the day. I’m not able for this.’

‘I’m just being honest. Dating at fifty-one is a shit show. After last night, I think gay women have a better time. Your gay daughter has a fantastic girlfriend and their whole scene is amazing.’

‘Well, I’m sure it’s just as hard to meet the right person whether you’re gay or straight,’ I said, trying to steer the conversation towards safer territory before Marion gave Harry a coronary.

‘Maybe, but there seem to be a lot of dickhead men out there. Look, I just had fun with them, and they and their friends were a tonic after I’d paid a hundred and fifty euros for a rubbish meal with Harry fucking Houdini. It’s also nice to be with two people who are so in love. They’re very cute together.’

‘So loved up, aren’t they? I’m so glad Christelle met Kelly. I love Kelly,’ I gushed. I did. She was such a gorgeous girl and perfect for Christelle. While Christelle was all piercings and ‘don’t mess with me’ on the outside, she was such a kind, generous and giving person. Kelly was soft and affectionate on the outside, but tough too. They complemented each other.

‘Perhaps you’re going on the wrong dating sites,’ Harry said. ‘You seem to be meeting awful men. Maybe you need to join a more reputable one.’

Marion opened the fridge and took out a yogurt. ‘I’ve done Tinder, Bumble, Let’s Do Lunch, Coffee Meet-up, Two’s Company, 40s Dating, Match.com … You name it, I’ve joined it. Bottom line, men are just pricks.’

Harry cleared his throat. Uh-oh. What was he going to come out with? Harry had a habit of putting his foot in it. ‘The thing is, Marion, now don’t take this the wrong way, but you may be coming across a bit strongly, a bit too assertive for some of the men.’

Marion grinned. ‘It’s okay, Harry, I’m not a total muppet. I know I’m a fucked-up, loud-mouthed piece of work, but I believe there’s a lid for every pot. Despite my bastard ex-husband cheating on me with “nice, kind Sally”, I still believe in love. My mother shut down and spent forty years in a deep depression waiting for my dad to walk back in the door after he went AWOL. I’m not doing that. I would never do that to my kids. It was a nightmare. We didn’t just lose our dad, we lost our mum too. I want my kids to see me as strong and capable. I also believe I deserve a second chance. I think everyone does.’

‘Fair enough. I just think maybe you should consider toning down your strong personality a bit on the first date. Let the men get to know you before showing them the full force of your assertiveness,’ Harry suggested.

‘Why? Do guys tone it down on first dates? No. This is who I am. Like me or bog off.’

She had a point. Did men ever think they had to dampen themselves down to impress a woman? So, why should a woman have to do it? They’d find out soon enough who the real Marion was. Why waste time? I thought she was right: show them who you are straight up and find out quickly if you’re a good match or not.

Harry raised his hands. ‘It was just a suggestion.’ Changing the subject quickly, he asked, ‘How’s Greg, by the way?’

Marion scraped the last bit of yogurt out of the pot and licked her spoon. ‘Happy as a pig in shite. All loved up with nice, kind Sally. Tells me he can’t believe how peaceful his life in Dubai is. I’d say it is pretty fucking peaceful without four kids swinging out of him day and night. And he has the cheek to try to get out of having them for the next long weekend. Apparently nice, kind Sally isn’t so keen on having four kids thumping about their luxury two-bed apartment. Greg tried to tell me the flights were too expensive, so I booked the flights and sent his lawyer the bill.’

‘Good for you,’ I said. Greg was always trying to get out of seeing his kids and, despite Marion’s madness, she was a great mum. Having had no relationship with her own father, she was determined that her kids would have one with theirs.

‘Anyway, enough about me and my failed love life. How are you?’ she asked me.

‘Dreading today,’ I said.

‘Oh, yeah, clearing out your mother’s stuff is grim. Bring alcohol. Or weed. I have some really good stuff if you want some.’

‘Christ almighty.’ Harry groaned. ‘Marion, I do not want any drugs in the house. What if the boys found it?’

‘Don’t worry. It’s hidden in my tampon box. They’ll never in a million years look in there.’

Harry turned to me for help. I was completely on board with him – if we discovered the boys had even looked at weed, they’d be grounded for life. I’d talk to Marion about it later. I didn’t have time now. Besides, Christelle and Kelly smoked weed and, according to one of the school mums, so did a few of the boys in the triplets’ year. If they wanted weed, they’d find it, but thankfully rugby had kept them on the straight and narrow and they were obsessed with fitness and health … so far.

I glanced at the clock. Damn, I was going to be late.

‘Gotta fly.’ I picked up my bag. ‘I don’t need another lecture from Louise on my inability to be punctual.’ I kissed Harry.

‘Good luck. Call me if you need me,’ he said.

‘Thanks.’

Marion handed me tissues. ‘Hang in there.’ She hugged me.

I climbed into the car and sat for a moment. I took a deep breath. It was going to be a long day.