Chapter Six

It isn’t an extensive list I’ve come up with, especially as it’s now Thursday, five days after my light-bulb moment, but I’m finding it difficult to pinpoint exactly what makes you a proper grown-up. I’ve asked around – Mum said she felt like a grown-up when the midwife handed me over, all gooey and screaming my little head off, but I don’t want to go as far as having a baby. That’s quite a drastic move. Besides, I only have eighty-six days until Paul’s back in Clifton-on-Sea, and I’m not sure being knocked up by someone else would be all that enticing for him.

Dad said he still feels like a kid (and Mum said this is a Man Thing while giving the biggest eye-roll I have ever seen) which doesn’t help me in the slightest. Gran said she felt like a grown-up the day her mum died and she held her sobbing father before making him a cup of tea. She was seven , and I can’t quite shake off the sombre feeling her contribution left me with.

‘When did you start to feel like a proper grown-up?’ Gran asked James the question while I died a little inside after the grieving father story. We were sitting in front of the telly, waiting for our favourite daytime soap to start. It was a recording, so we could have fast-forwarded to the start, but Gran likes to watch the ads, old-school style. James hadn’t actually been invited to join us in the viewing, but he’d plonked himself on the armchair, sneering with derision when Gran told him our plan for the evening. Yes, James, we do watch ‘that garbage’, because we enjoy it, you massive bellend.

James had contemplated Gran’s query as though it was the final question on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? , his brow furrowed, his lips twisted up to one side as he tapped a finger on the arm of the chair. I expected to see a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Did he want to phone a friend?

‘I suppose it was when my divorce came through.’

I have to admit his answer gave me an unexpected jolt. Divorce? But he’s only three years older than I am. I haven’t been in a relationship that spanned more than five seasons, yet James has not only been married, he’s had enough time to allow the relationship to grow so sour they’ve split up and divorced? How is that even possible at the age of twenty-eight? Obviously I discounted James’ contribution (and not just because he’s a massive bellend). Eighty-six days isn’t nearly enough time to squeeze in a marriage and a bitter divorce.

So I asked my bosses the question, hoping for better insight. Jed said he felt like a proper grown-up when he came out to his parents at the age of thirty-two, because he felt like he’d finally accepted himself for who he was. It was a rather sweet answer, but unhelpful for my cause, and Russell’s participation wasn’t any more beneficial.

‘Growing up is for losers. Live, love and dance the night away and you’ll be a happy chap. No growing up involved.’

Jed had shaken his head and given a little sigh. ‘Russell has Peter Pan symptoms.’

‘It’s Peter Pan syndrome , you turnip.’ Jed has a habit of getting sayings slightly wrong. I’m not convinced it’s accidental, myself. I turned back to Russell. ‘Didn’t you feel like a grown-up when you married Jed?’

Russell had tipped his head back to look up at the ceiling for a moment before he shrugged. ‘I felt hung-over. Very, very hung-over. That was one hell of a stag night.’

So I’ve only got three items on my list, which isn’t a bad thing if you think about it. Three items to tick off is easier than a dozen, right?

‘When did you feel like a grown-up?’ Claire has finally arrived for work. She isn’t late, but I’ve been desperate to talk to her about my list and I haven’t seen her since we shared that shift on Saturday. We’ve texted, but mostly about her date at the weekend and when we think he’ll phone her. Very soon we’ll start to call him a bastard and try to work out why he never called. It’s a weekly routine we have.

‘When I found out I was pregnant with Arlo, I guess.’ Claire heads into the little room at the back of the shop, where there’s an old, splintered table and two wonky chairs, and I follow, bringing my bullet journal and its paltry list with me. ‘You have to grow up pretty quickly when you see those two blue lines. Why?’

I sit down at the table, my heart leaping when the chair shifts sideways, even though I should be used to its wobble by now. ‘I’m making a grown-up to-do list, so I can present the best possible me to Paul when he comes back.’ I place my journal down on the table and turn it to face Claire. ‘I haven’t got very much so far.’

‘You don’t say.’ Claire sits down opposite me, her hands slapping down onto the tabletop in a panic. She isn’t accustomed to the wobble yet either. She reads the list (it doesn’t take long) and nods. ‘Start a career. Good start. So, what do you want to do?’

That’s a good question. A very good question indeed. It’s a pity I don’t have an answer to it. ‘I wanted to be a journalist when I was younger.’

‘Do you still want to be a journalist?’

I pick up my pen and click the nib in and out while I think about it. I wanted to be a journalist so I could unearth juicy celeb gossip, but it’s much easier to just buy a trashy mag and read about it, to be honest. ‘Not really.’ I scrunch up my nose. ‘Not at all, actually.’

‘What do you want to do?’

I click the pen in and out, again and again until Claire snatches it from me. ‘I have no idea, but there has to be something better out there than serving fish and chips. Something more fulfilling. Something less greasy.’

‘Then that should be the first item on your to-do list.’ Claire hands the pen back. ‘ Decide on a career, because you can’t start one without knowing what you want to do first.’

‘Smarty pants.’ I squeeze in ‘decide on a career’ at the top of the list. ‘You’re wasted here.’

‘This is just temporary. Once I have my degree, I’m out of here.’

Claire didn’t get the chance to go to university with her peers; she found out she was pregnant a couple of months before her A levels, and though she sat her exams, she didn’t take the next step in her life plan, which had been torn up around the time she clapped tearful eyes on those double blue lines. Her life plan may have veered off course, but Claire is still determined to reach her goals. She’s taking a different, slower path – part-time job working in a chippy while her son is at school and long-distance studying while he’s in bed – and I have every faith she’ll get there.

‘Right.’ I sit back, my heart leaping as the chair wobbles. ‘Done.’

‘You know that’s the easy bit, don’t you? You’ve now actually got to decide on a career .’

Claire is such a Debbie Downer as Gran might say (or a Donna Downer, as Jed might say).

‘How do I do that?’

Claire shrugs. ‘No idea. I’ve known what I’ve wanted to do for years. I’ve always loved sports, so it makes sense to have a career based on something I enjoy doing. What do you enjoy doing, apart from doodling while people are trying to help you?’

I drop my pen and flash Claire a sheepish look. ‘Sorry. It helps me think.’ And the sunglasses-wearing pig is pretty cute. ‘I don’t know what I enjoy doing. Drinking coffee? Can you get paid for that?’

‘You must have a hobby.’

I think about it. Hard. ‘I like watching telly, and you can get paid for that.’ Gran and I like watching Gogglebox almost as much as Waiting on You .

‘But it’s extremely rare.’ Claire stands, clinging on to the table when the movement causes another chair wobble. Jed and Russell really need to replace this furniture. ‘You don’t have any hobbies at all?’

‘Nope.’ I’m not like Claire, who somehow has time to squeeze boxing into her busy schedule of parenting, working and studying. Or Gran, who likes to sew and crochet and do crosswords when she isn’t volunteering for a squillion organisations. Or Jed, who became obsessed with curling during the last Winter Olympics and joined a team in Preston. Or Russell and his golf and Seventies music. Or Mum and Dad with their car boot sales and gardening. Does everyone have a hobby, apart from me? Would having a pastime other than watching reality TV and listening to true crime podcasts make me more mature? I think about my old childhood friends, who all seem to have stuff going on in their lives that doesn’t revolve around work, like community choirs, netball coaching, belly dancing.

I add ‘Find a hobby’ to my list.

Five items to tick off now. This thing is starting to snowball.