The next three weeks were somehow the hardest, and yet the most encouraging time since those first few days after I’d moved. The day after Joan and Leanne left, I went to the Buttonhole as arranged, and lost myself in embroidery for a while, the delicate stitching requiring all of my concentration. Aunty Linda confirmed that Mum seemed to be making progress. She’d had lunch with the manager of the bakery next to the Buttonhole, and when he confessed that he’d not spoken to his son since his bitter divorce, it hit home.
‘Karina and I have co-ordinated a two-pronged attack,’ Aunty Linda told me. ‘We’ve been explaining on repeat about how trying to keep you to herself ended up driving you away, and any hope of a reconciliation has to be based on mutual respect and trust. At the same time, we’ve been giving her plenty of opportunities to find some purpose and enjoyment in other things, so that she doesn’t depend on you quite so much.’
‘I can’t imagine ever being able to trust her. Not having that sense of dread that she’ll suddenly get ill or flip out or do something else to force her own way.’
Aunty Linda sighed. ‘I don’t expect it will come easily to either of you. Your mother’s also wondering about trust. How she can open herself up to reconnecting without constantly living under the threat of you cutting her off again if she doesn’t play by your rules.’
I sat back, a wave of nauseous anger churning in my stomach. ‘I didn’t cut off contact because she wouldn’t play by my rules.’ I shook my head, disgusted at the thought. ‘I had no rules. Or rather, my only rule was to try to keep her happy!’
‘I know.’ Aunty Linda placed her hand on mine. ‘I know. But she doesn’t understand this new Ollie, who does lay down some boundaries. I’m not criticising, darling. You asked where she was at. I’m telling you that she’s scared and confused and also navigating enormous change while wondering how she can make things better. I suppose what I mean to say is that it’s complicated. It’s going to take patience and proper communication on both sides.’
‘I don’t want to lose her. But I won’t risk losing myself, now I’ve finally found me,’ I said, my voice breaking. ‘I like me a lot more than her.’
‘No comment,’ Aunty Linda replied, before offering me another brownie.
So, with no small sense of trepidation, on full alert for any sign of her old tricks and more than ready to implement a swift retreat if required, I began texting every few days. Keeping it light and simple, I asked her for a recipe, sent a photograph of a deer I spotted in the forest, had a brief conversation about my cousin’s engagement to a woman he’d met online six weeks earlier. Mum sometimes replied immediately; other times it was several hours before an answer pinged through. Her messages were polite and cautious, which made me grateful and relieved yet at the same time peeved and lonely.
Aunty Linda wasn’t wrong when she said it would be complicated.
But it was a start.
In between these messages I welcomed some new ReadUp clients to replace Yasmin and Trev and managed various issues cropping up in my coaching team. I sat in on the Business Builders meetings, which only grew more bizarre each week. I coerced Irene into chatting with me and met Yasmin in the park so she could train me and play with Nesbit. On one sunny Saturday I ate breakfast with Steph and took Nicky on a bike ride through the forest.
I tried to organise a party that was worthy of the Dream List – the kind of party I would have wanted a man who was deliriously in love with me to arrange – even as I fought the urge to cancel, wrestling with feeling overwhelmed and deciding that I hated parties, so why should I be forced to have one for my own birthday.
I rattled around my empty house, and nursed my emotional bruises with dog walks and long-drawn-out nights staring at the ceiling forcing myself to count my blessings, of which I knew there must be many. I sent Joan updates about Nesbit, as promised, and snippets of trivia about how the forest was getting ready for autumn. She replied with streams of follow-up questions, while ignoring all mine about how she was settling in. I tried not to worry, reminded myself that she was with a family who loved her and got back to organising my party. Around ten days after they’d left, Carole phoned to say that she didn’t think they’d be coming back for my birthday. At first she blamed it on Leanne’s health, but when I offered to come and see them instead, she admitted that Joan was still struggling to adjust and she thought it best to wait. I was tempted to cancel the party altogether.
On top of all this, I seemed to have messed up with Sam, despite thinking that I’d handled things maturely and sensibly enough to avoid this from happening. On the two occasions I hiked far enough around the forest to eventually bump into him, he was polite rather than friendly. He didn’t pick up on my hints to have a drink or a walk, and acted distracted – almost dismissive – as though he was far too busy to chat. This was so unexpected that on top of all my other jumbled emotions, I had no idea how to interpret it, despite analysing every comment and gesture for torturous hours on end.
‘He must have only been interested in a potential hook-up all along,’ I bemoaned to Steph, who was surely fed up with this topic of conversation by now, but was kind enough to act like this was the first time she’d heard me droning on about it. ‘Did he just want the challenge of getting me to crack? Like, as some sort of ego boost.’
‘What if that whole story about his ex, and how he’s a sworn singleton is all a line to reel you in?’ she suggested, causing my innards to shrivel like slugs in salt. ‘Maybe he didn’t leave the family firm because he hated it and had a nervous breakdown, he was just crap so they kicked him out. It’s all part of the sob-story to get you into bed.’
‘Ugh, don’t even say that!’ I cried. ‘Firstly, why would someone go to all that effort to get me of all people into bed? And secondly, if I’m still that vulnerable to being manipulated then all my fears about moving out have come true, and I might as well go back home where at least I know what’s happening.’
‘Alternatively, you chalk it up to experience, then congratulate yourself for communicating a clear boundary, meaning that whatever his reason for backing off, you’ve no horrible regrets. This proves that you are, in fact, the kick-ass woman I knew you were all along. Plus, you can breathe a big sigh of relief that he’s got the message and moved on.’ Steph huffed noisily down the phone. ‘This was a win, Ollie.’