The Mum Who Got Her Life Back. Fiona Gibson

cut from black fabric and stuck onto the face.

      ‘Wow,’ is all I can say.

      ‘I know,’ Lori murmurs, continuing to scroll through her friend’s pictures.

      ‘Those lips,’ I exclaim at one point.

      ‘They’re fillers,’ she says sagely, and I notice she’s edged her chair closer to mine.

      ‘Lip fillers? I mean … how old is she?’

      ‘Fourteen, same as me. And yeah – loads of girls are having them …’

      ‘But … how much do they cost?’

      Lori shrugs. ‘About three hundred quid.’

      ‘Three hundred quid?’ I exclaim, hoping I don’t sound like some buttoned-up aunt.

      Lori nods, and she and her father start laughing, clearly enjoying some shared joke. ‘She had them done for an audition,’ Jack tells me.

      ‘Oliver,’ Lori adds. ‘She’s into musical theatre. Wants to go to London …’

      ‘Or work on cruise ships,’ Jack cuts in.

      ‘Right,’ I say. ‘And how about you?’ I catch myself. ‘Sorry. I know people always do that, ask what you’d like to be—’

      ‘… when I grow up,’ Lori says with a grin. ‘Don’t know really. I just like my drama club. We do improv, we write little plays – it’s just … good.’ She shrugs and smiles. ‘I don’t want to be up on some stage, belting out ballads, doing the big-eyes-and-teeth thing …’

      I nod, and because it seems okay to do so, I tell her all about Danny, and how some of the actors in his films were discovered working in cafés, or in school plays. She’s vaguely aware of his better-known films, and I’m happy to share what I know about the film-making process. Then once again I am privy to her Instagram feed – specifically pictures of Lori and her drama club friends involved in various acting workshops.

      ‘That’s Shannon?’ I ask, picking her out from a group picture, and Lori nods.

      ‘Lor,’ Jack says as he clears away our bowls, ‘tell Nadia what happened last time the two of you were left alone at your mum’s …’

      ‘Dad,’ she groans, feigning horror, although I suspect she wants me to know. She turns to me. ‘Shannon threw up all over the living room carpet.’

      ‘Oh no!’

      ‘Orange sick,’ Jack adds with a grimace. ‘Lori’s adamant that Shannon brought the booze …’

      ‘She did, Dad! Where else would it’ve come from?’

      Jack eye-rolls, clearly enjoying playing the part of the disapproving dad.

      ‘She has a fake ID,’ Lori tells me, ‘so she can buy anything …’

      ‘Plus, she looks way older than she is,’ Jack remarks, at which Lori nods.

      ‘I’d never get away with it, even with a fake ID. I don’t drink anyway. I don’t like it.’

      ‘Well, you’re only fourteen,’ I remark, hoping that doesn’t sound patronising – and I’m fully aware that lots of kids of that age do drink. There were certainly a few incidences where both Alfie and Molly had tottered in, clearly tipsy well under-age.

      ‘I don’t think I ever will,’ she adds lightly, and I catch a quick look between her and her dad, before she blurts out, ‘I forgot! I made brownies for you coming.’

      ‘Really?’ I am extremely touched by this. Without wishing to read too much into the gesture – perhaps she just enjoys baking, like Alfie used to? – I decide to interpret it as a sign that she really was looking forward to meeting me today.

      The afternoon flies by, and when it’s time to leave I am almost sorry to go.

      ‘Great to meet you, Lori,’ I say, as I pull on my jacket.

      ‘You too,’ she says with a smile.

      Jack sees me out. ‘Did that go okay?’ I ask.

      ‘What do you think?’ He pulls me closer and kisses my hair.

      ‘I think she’s lovely. She’s a real credit to you.’

      He smiles and shrugs off the compliment. ‘She’s very much her own person. But thanks, darling. We, um, had a quick word, when you were in the loo …’

      I feign a terrified face. ‘What about?’

      He laughs now, brushing away a strand of hair from my face, the way he does sometimes. ‘She just said you were lovely too. And normal!’

      ‘She said I’m normal?’ I remark, laughing now.

      ‘Yeah. “Not weird”, she said. You know how everything’s “weird” these days? I mean, someone only has to scratch their ear in public to be classed as “weird”. She said I was weird, the other day, for singing while I was cooking—’

      ‘Did she? Christ – I sing all the time …’

      ‘Apparently you’re not weird, though,’ he says, kissing my lips. ‘But you are very gorgeous.’

      I smile, fizzling with happiness. So I’ve passed the test, I reflect, as I stride towards the subway. I am filled with the most delicious, chewy brownies (top marks to Lori), and a feeling that Jack and I have somehow moved along another small but significant step.

      So his daughter thinks I am actually all right. I know I am grinning madly – I literally cannot stop – as I descend the escalator to the train. And I also know that if Lori could see me now, she’d think I was far too weird for her beloved dad.

       Chapter Nine

      It’s Jack’s turn to be vetted a couple of weeks later, when my sister invites us for Sunday lunch. Jack offers to drive us to her renovated farm on the Ayrshire coast. I glance at him as we near her place, reflecting that a newish relationship presents a series of these ‘firsts’, these meetings during which everyone pretends there’s no ‘checking out’ going on (when of course there is). Anyone who cares about you wants to appraise the person you’ve fallen in love with.

      Jack and I have already had drinks with a couple of old schoolmates of mine, plus other friends I’ve got to know through the children, their various activities and the life modelling circuit. He’s handled it well, being his natural, extremely likeable self, despite his slight shyness and the fact that he might have started to feel like a new puppy being given his first tour of the park.

      Naturally, he met Corinne and Gus early on. Corinne enjoys referring to him as Mr Lush, even to his face, which Jack always takes in extremely good spirit. A terrible flirt, she made a huge fuss over him that first time we all went out, and insisted on a selfie with him, crammed into the corner of our booth in the pub, later to be captioned: ‘Stole Nadia’s new boyfriend for five minutes, took him round back of pub and God he was GOOD.’

      Jack pretended to be mortified when I showed him her Instagram post, but I could tell he was secretly amused. ‘Always nice to get a positive review,’ he chuckled. Meanwhile Gus, who seems to find it hilarious that Jack is all of two years younger than me, refers to him as my ‘toyboy’, a term I’d assumed had fallen into obscurity a long time ago. One lunchtime, when we nipped out for a sandwich together, Gus spotted a portly young man sauntering towards us wearing a T-shirt bearing the charming slogan: ‘MILF-CHASER.’

      ‘Get one for Jack?’ he whispered, swerving to avoid my punch to his arm. Later, we spotted another guy – bearded and lanky, sporting a wiry man-bun – whose T-shirt read: I’M RAISING A TRIBE. And that, we concluded, was far more offensive as slogans