‘Well, great.Thanks.’ I’d moved my hands to my hips now. ‘Congratulations on completely abdicating all responsibility. That’s impressive.’
‘I’m not saying it’syour fault, I just think that…’
‘She’s your daughter too, Joe. Maybe if you took more of an active interest in how she’s getting on she wouldn’t have felt so abandoned and, and rudderless! To the point where she feels she needs to be physicallyherein order to feel secure!’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ he said, assuming a more defensive posture. ‘She knows I’m here for her whenever she needs me. But she also knows that I don’t need to hear her voice every hour of the day, that I’m not hunched over my phone waiting for a reassuring text message to ping up every fifteen seconds. Her reasons for being in such close contact with you are driven by guilt as much as anything. It’s like when you were booking her train ticket for her journey back. You know she saw you crying? How do you think that makes her feel?’
‘I am not hunched over my phone waiting for contact, Joe! That’sreallyunfair!’ I could feel tears pricking the back of my eyes. ‘I’ve beensomuch better since starting the job at the library. So much more relaxed about things. I’ve tried really hard.’ My voice was getting a bit pitchy and hysterical, every sentence accompanied by emphatic hand gestures. ‘And I’m sorry if she saw me crying when I was on that booking website. I just kept picturing her stepping onto that train back to university, trying to be brave, trying to pretend that everything was alright and that she was excited about going back because she knew it’s whatyouwould have wanted, and she didn’t want you to be disappointed in her. If there’s guilt there, then someof it is aboutyouas well, the weight of your expectation and her failure to live up to it.’
He opened his mouth, on the verge of an angry retort but then stopped. He could see he’d upset me. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, slumping down into a chair. ‘I just don’t know what to do. Every time I try and talk to her, she gets that weird impassive expression on her face and tells me I don’t understand.’ He extended his arm out to me and I begrudgingly shuffled nearer the chair so he could draw me in.
‘I’m really sorry, Hats. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Of course, it’s not your fault. I’m just really worried she is making a mistake and missing out on something that could be amazing for her. And if it’s any consolation, using Trainbooking.com often makes me feel like crying too, but that’s mainly because the website’s so glitchy.’
‘It really is,’ I agreed, resting a hand on his shoulder as we cuddled in that awkward him half-seated, me half-standing way. ‘And the way it always asks if you want to book a five-star hotel in Solihull or tickets to watch the quarter final of UK’s Strongest Man while you book your off-peak return to Birmingham is particularly confusing.’ I switched to a tone of noble forbearance. ‘But seriously, Joe, I don’t think apportioning blame is particularly useful in this situation. We just need to work out how to change her mind.’
He nodded, his head against my waist.
‘And I think as you’ve already had a try, it probably needs to be me having that conversation with her,’ I said.
He looked up at me. ‘Do you really think you can sound convincing though?’ he said. ‘I’m not meaning to doubt you, but it’s maybe going to be a bit of a challenge persuading her back when in reality a part of you wants her to stay?’
‘I will always do what is best for Layla,’ I said, more firmly than I felt. ‘And besides. You underestimate my acting skills. I’malready doing a pretty good job of pretending I’ve forgiven you for some of those earlier comments.’
He laughed nervously, neither of us sure whether I was joking or not.
The following day I was at work, trying to decide how to broach the subject of university with my daughter, who was still fast asleep in bed by the time I’d left that morning. She hadn’t booked any more shifts at the supermarket since the official start of spring term and I didn’t know whether this was a good sign, that subconsciously she thought she wouldn’t be around to do them, or whether it was just a sign of the inertia that’s surrounded her since her decision not to return to student life. Either way, tonight was the night. Joe was going over to the golf club (to avoid a scenario where he felt unable to stop himself interjecting, which at least shows some insight) and I was going to cook Layla’s favourite supper and speak logically and dispassionately about the importance of higher education, goal setting and perseverance. I was just debating a few phrases I might use, turning them over in my mind, when David gave a loud snort of annoyance beside me.
‘Shit,’ he said, staring at the computer screen.
I’d never heard him swear before. Colin and I exchanged an anxious look.
‘Everything okay?’ I said, watching in concern as David lifted his hand to his face, his shoulders slumping forward.
He inhaled sharply and turned to me, his eyes briefly closing as if he was about to deliver a death sentence.
‘Our funding’s being cut,’ he said. ‘Again.’
‘What? Council funding? As of…?’
‘April,’ he said. ‘New financial year. I suppose we’re lucky to get six weeks’ notice. Last year I had a variation of this email on March the twentieth. But god knows how we’re going to manage this time around.’ He returned his attention to the computer screen as if hoping that by staring at it for long enough the figures might change.
A cold weight settled in my stomach. I knew what this meant; it was less than six months since I’d received my ‘restructuring to cut costs’ email. It meant job losses. And I was the last one in, so it made sense for me to be first one out. But much as part of me was selfishly calculating how this would affect our household income, the greater part was moved by David, whose sole concern was the library and the community it served.
‘They’re saying that we need to reduce our opening times,’ he said. ‘Although they’re implying that the decision is up to us.’ He turned the screen so I could see the email. ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘It’s not their fault. Council budgets have been slashed to the bone this past decade. All these little unseen effects of austerity trickling down through the years.’ He sounded furious. ‘There’ll be some poor soul behind this email who has been charged with finding some money down the back of the sofa so that the county council can continue paying for social care or breakfast clubs at school or something equally important… It’s just such a shame.’
‘What kind of schedule are they suggesting?’ I said, peering at the screen. ‘Oh.’
He shook his head. ‘Completely stripping it back. No weekends. No early starts, no evenings.’ He pointed to the final sentence. ‘Basically, reducing our opening hours by half.’
‘But if we’re not open at weekends or evenings, and we’re not open until ten in the morning then how are school kids going to access the library during term time?’
‘I know.’
‘And what are we going to do about the dementia book club, and the local history group, and the crossword club, and the board game sessions?’
‘I know, Hattie,’ he said with another deep sigh.
‘And what about Akil? His Saturday shifts are just going to vanish. All the teenagers who come in over the weekend to revise and get a bit of peace and quiet. Malia’s afternoons reduced by half…’ I didn’t say,and two of my days would completely disappear as well.
