‘You don’t?’ Her hand reaches into my pocket for another cigarette.
‘We’re only twenty-nine, Gubba! I’ve got so much more that I want to achieve before I have to give everything up.’
Gubba frowns, lighting her second cig. ‘You really think having a family means you have to give everything up?’
‘Well, doesn’t it? Mum gave up everything for me.’
We’ve already walked to the end of the lane. She pauses for amoment before turning around to head back home.
‘Kate, if you think you’ll end up like your mother, you’re mistaken– because your mother has worked hard and sacrificed to ensure that won’t happen.’
‘No, I didn’t mean—’
‘You did,’ she interrupts, stubbing out her cigarette. ‘And that’s OK. No woman wants to end up like their mother, but every mother wants their child to do better than they did. . . that’s the one part I thought I’d failed at. But when I see you and little Tom, I know that I haven’t failed at all. Do you need a hanky?’
I nod, feeling warm tears streaming down my cold face. Like all good Gubbas, she produces a handkerchief from her coat pocket.
‘I just thought there would be more to life than working in a job I hate and living with a man who seems to have settled for less than he’s capable of.’
‘There is,’ she replies. ‘Find a new job. If you’re lucky, then life is bloody long, Kate. Don’t waste it being miserable.’
‘And Ed? What should I do?’
‘Well, only you can decide that. But don’t punish or nag him for not pushing himself.’
I wipe my nose and stuff the hanky back in my pocket, just as we reach the garden gate.
‘He wasn’t wrong about the kitchen remark, though,’ she says. ‘Even lawyers need to know how to peel a spud.’
And with that she marches on up the path. Damn, Gubba doesn’t pull any punches.
We arrive back, just in time for me to help Gary bring the dishes through from the kitchen, while Gubba is shown to her seat by Mum.
The table looks incredible. As usual, Mum’s outdone herself with a bright red cloth and a green runner along the length of the table, displaying oversized pine cones, holly shrubs and chunky red candles.
‘I can carry a bloody gravy boat or something, Paula,’ Gubba mumbles. ‘Let me help. I’m not an invalid.’
‘I know,’ Mum replies. ‘I just don’t. . . what’s that smell?’ She sniffs Gubba’s hair like a police-detection dog. ‘Have you been smoking?’
Gubba and I exchange glances. She sighs, knowing that Mum’s about to give her an earful.
‘Just the one,’ she replies. ‘One of those great big wacky-baccy cigarettes, like we had in the sixties, wooo!’
Mum frowns as Gubba makes peace signs. ‘This is not a joke. The doctor insisted you stop. You promised me! I cannot believe—’
‘It was me,’ I interrupt, putting the carrots on the table. ‘I was smoking, Gubba just caught the backdraft. Sorry.’
I see the corners of Gubba’s mouth turn upwards, though she tries not to make it obvious.
‘Well, that’s disappointing,’ Mum says, stepping away from my chain-smoking grandmother. ‘I’m really not sure that’s any example to set your brother, and your grandma has bad lungs. What were you thinking?’
‘I was thinking that I’m twenty-nine and I wanted a fag,’ I reply. ‘But you’re right, I should have been more considerate. Tom– never smoke. It’ll stunt your growth. I should be six foot instead of five foot five. And sorry, Gubba, for dragging you into all this.’
Gubba nods. ‘Your mother’s right, Kate. It’s really very disappointing.’
Wow. My grandmother is kind of a dick. I try not to laugh, disappearing back into the kitchen to retrieve some more veg. Ed follows behind me, grabbing some serving utensils for the table.
‘She was smoking too, right?’ he whispers, leaning in as he reaches across for the tongs.
