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It was hard at first, moving into a project of a house like this one on my own, but I decided to start as I meant to go on, to get everything absolutely perfect and then work overtime to keep it that way. It’s actually quite easy to keep up with, when you have pride in what you’ve done, and you can feel the benefit of keeping the place tidy. I clean up as I go along, I have all the gadgets and potions recommended to me by ‘cleanfluencers’, and I have a place for everything. One of the best things about renovating this house from scratch is that I’ve been able to create spaces for everything, inside and out, to better organise my day-to-day life. Do I think that in suddenly losing my relationship and not having much else going on I have potentially gone all in on house stuff, making it my entire personality, the thing that I focus on? Yes, probably, but it’s given me something to throw myself into over the last year, something to care about – and I feel like I’m good at it. I have a well-organised pantry, colour-coded cleaning products, and I’m even our street’s binfluencer. Now it’s time to enjoy it.
I follow my nose into the open-plan living space. A wood-burning stove is all that separates the lounge from the dining room, and a long kitchen island does the same for the dining room and the kitchen. The long room is in three sections, but still one big open space, which is exactly what I wanted. The wood burner is the only thing that remains from when we viewed the place. Knocking down walls and modernising the space was the first thing I thought to do, and I couldn’t be happier with the result.
Of course, having an open-plan space means that I can see the kitchen the second I step into the room, and the first thing that catches my eye is Mum, chaotically dashing around like she’s in a hurricane.
‘Chicken stew and dumplings,’ Mum announces.
My God, that sounds good. I could definitely get used to home cooking waiting for me when I get in.
Mum might be a blur, but the kitchen around her is in focus and, wow, it looks like a bomb has hit it. There are pans on the hob, vegetable peelings all over the island, various dishes and pieces of cutlery everywhere.
I feel my face drop and my heart sink.
‘And there’s wine, by the fridge,’ Mum adds as she begins violently mashing the potatoes. ‘I hope you don’t mind, I already got started on that.’
‘Wow, Mum, the food smells amazing,’ I tell her sincerely. It really does, and it’s so nice of her to cook for me, but genuinely this room was less of a mess when we knocked the wall out. But I just need to look at it for what it is – a genuine gesture from someone who loves me, and an amazing-smelling meal that I can’t wait to get stuck into. And if Mum cooked then I am more than happy to clean up after dinner. Nothing I can’t fix.
‘I just wanted to do my bit, to say thank you for letting me move in for a few weeks,’ she says. ‘Even though I did let you live with me for most of your life.’
I laugh. I love my mum’s sense of humour. I like to think I inherited it from her, even if I have been a bit uptight recently. It’s just the stress with work, and the anniversary of Declan walking out on me, and all the blood, sweat and tears (and basically every penny I had) that I’ve put into this place over the last twelve months.
‘Are you settled into your room now?’ I ask her.
‘Yes, all unpacked,’ she replies. ‘It’s such a beautiful guestroom – nicer than any bedroom I’ve ever had.’
‘Well, we can change that with your new house, if you like,’ I suggest. ‘I’m an expert at panelling now.’
‘Oh, that would be wonderful,’ she replies. ‘Nip upstairs and get washed up and changed. Dinner will be on the table by the time you get back down.’
‘Okay, will do,’ I reply. ‘The table mats are—’
‘Just go and get changed,’ Mum demands.
I think she can tell that I’m worrying about my table.
Clearly this is all about so much more than mess and the surface of the table. I’ve made this place my fortress, my world, I need to try to loosen up a little. It’s just my mum, she’s just trying to help.
‘Okay, sorry,’ I reply, with a slight laugh. ‘I’ll go get changed.’
‘Oh, but where are the table mats?’ she calls after me.
‘In the sideboard, under the window,’ I reply, smiling to myself as I head up the stairs.
The house has four bedrooms. There’s my room, the guest room Mum is staying in, a third room that is set up as another guest room, and then finally there is the smallest bedroom, which is an office space, but with a sofa bed in there. I loved the idea of my friends being able to stay over, if they came here for dinner parties or if it got too late and they’d had too much to drink. That was the idea with downstairs too, to make it a social space, although granted, I’m seeming relatively anti-social at the moment, but this was supposed to be a quiet Christmas. I was mentally on track for peace and tidiness and doing my own thing. I can make space for the stew and dumplings, though, and the woman who gave me life, of course.
Mum used to wear her dark curly hair on the shorter side. She was never one for taking her time with her make-up, despite Jess’s and my best efforts with her when we were younger (and we obviously thought we were the teenage UK answer to Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie). I in no way mean this offensively, but she had quite a mumsy sense of style. Function over fashion. Substance over style. Bold looks and bright colours really weren’t her sort of thing at all.
You know the paradox, about the Ship of Theseus, that questions whether or not a ship is still the same ship if you replace enough parts? My mum is genuinely a whole new woman. She looks so different, she has sleek, straight, blonde shoulder-length hair, and her fashion sense is less cardigans and more Kardashian but, honestly, she’s so classy with it. I know it sounds like a strange thing for a daughter to say, but breaking up with my dad has been the absolute making of her. She’s a much happier person, and a constant reminder to me that it’s never too late to turn it around. I think that’s why I try not to fret about being suddenly single. It rattled me at first but there’s plenty of time for me to meet someone new. For now, all I can think about is my nice, quiet Christmas. I’ll worry about finding a new love in the new year.
‘Here you go, my darling, dinner is served, just the way you like it,’ Mum says as I join her at the dining table. ‘Chicken stew, because I know you prefer chicken to beef, dumplings, and rosemary mash. And don’t worry, I’ll clean and tidy the kitchen once we’ve eaten – I saw your face when you walked in.’
She smiles, acknowledging that this is just classic me and that I don’t mean anything by it. I – confusingly and ironically – relax about my uptightness, just a little.
‘Sorry, I’m just coming down from a seriously hectic term,’ I tell her. ‘But obviously I will do the cleaning up. You cooked, let me clean.’
‘I like to earn my keep,’ Mum tells me. ‘Can I give you a piece of advice that someone gave me that I’ve found invaluable in recent years?’
I freeze, my fork hovering just in front of my lips. I wasn’t expecting her sentence to take such a drastic detour.
