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Don’t you dare look at me like this is my fault, missy. I’ve got to be up at seven to trudge round the suburbs selling houses to keep a roof over your head.
‘This has to stop,’ she says. ‘You can’t go on like this.’
Gemma sighs.
‘Gemma, it’s just … wrong. You’re not old enough. Don’t you understand? You’re not old enough to be hanging around in nightclubs. You’ve got to get a grip.’
‘Oh, who cares?’
‘I care, Gemma!’ She realises that she’s almost shouting. ‘I care!’
‘Minding what the neighbours think isn’t caring,’ says Gemma. ‘You don’t give a fuck what I want, do you?’
‘It sort of doesn’t matter what you want. You’re underage.’
Gemma does the blah blah blah thing with her fingers. ‘And while you’re in my house you will abide by my rules,’ she mimics.
Robin’s temper rises again. ‘Yes!’ she snaps. ‘Yes, that’s right! If you want to chuck your life away, you’re not doing it on my dime! If you don’t get a grip, you’ll … ’
‘What?’ sneers Gemma. ‘I’ll end up being an estate agent?’
Ouch. That stings.
‘Yes, well.’ She tries to be dignified. ‘People make sacrifices when they have children. You might understand that one day.’
Gemma’s eyes well up with self-pity. ‘So now it’s my fault you’re a miserable old failure, is it?’
The response is out of her mouth before her brain has caught up. ‘Oh, shut up, you selfish little cow!’
Gemma’s head snaps back as though she’s been slapped, and Robin wants to shake her till her teeth rattle. Just look at you. Look at you! You’re in the wrong, and you’re behaving like I just drowned your kitten!
Breathe – one … two … three.
‘Drink your water,’ she says, sternly, ‘and let’s get you into bed. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
Three and a half hours to getting-up time. Three showings to get through before lunch. She’ll just have to leave her in bed with a bottle of water and hope for the best. Which will no doubt become another entry on the Shit Mother list.
Moments like this make Robin wonder how her life would have been if she hadn’t done the normal thing. If she hadn’t got married and had a kid. If she’d Followed Her Dreams like an inspirational meme. She sure as hell wouldn’t be in a semi-detached a thirty-minute bus ride from the tube, taking depressed millennials round studio flats where the bed’s next to the cooker.
Gemma’s defiance seems to have run out of steam. She drains the water and allows herself to be helped to her feet. She leads the way out of the room, supporting herself on her wobbly legs with the flat of her hand on the wall.
Robin can’t resist getting the last word in.
‘One thing’s for sure,’ she says. ‘You’re not seeing that Naz any more. I wonder if her parents know what she’s up to?’
Gemma whirls round. ‘No!’ she yells. ‘No! Fuck you! NO!’
‘I’ll give the Khans a ring tomorrow,’ she says, and feels childishly triumphant, even though she has no intention of following through.
‘Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare! She’s my friend!’
‘Oh, yes?’ She’s pleased to get a rise, though she knows it’s appealing to her worst self. ‘I don’t think you even know what a friend is, frankly, you go through them so fast.’
Gemma slaps her.
Robin is stunned for a moment. Her head rings and her heart thuds.
‘You didn’t,’ she says, and Gemma spits in her face.
