Crazy – I’ve only just realised the irony. Tea parties. Mad Hatters. It’s how my whole life feels right now. Down a stupid rabbit hole.
It’s as if I’ve gone mad myself. What I get now, way too late, is that I should have trusted my first instinct. I should have cancelled the birthday celebration; I should have told Mum the truth. Most important of all, I should have told Alex straight up that we needed a break. Instead? Typical disastrous me; I was too confused. I went for the easiest and most cowardly option which was to do nothing. To go with the flow.
It’s a Mum thing really. ‘Why don’t we all just go with the flow? Lighten up.’ I used to think it was so good – that my mum hates arguments so much, that she works so hard to avoid them. It was only when I hit my teens and had friends round that I realised, through them, that it was a bit weird. Unusual.
She sort of goes into this zone, my mother, any time anyone in the family gets upset. She says things like, ‘I absolutely will not let this build into something silly. No. No. I’m not listening to you. I’m walking away. You can talk to me when you’ve calmed down.’
She would go into the kitchen and bake something. Later she’d present the cakes or flapjacks or whatever and I’d think – here we go. And of course, I’d feel a bit better; cake always makes you feel better. But as I got older, I sort of wished I’d been able to stand my ground sometimes, because I think what I’m realising now is that I don’t have the courage to tell my mum any stuff that will upset her.
I remember I did push it once when I was doing my A levels. I got really mad at her – some argument over how much revision I was doing – and when she was walking away – you need to calm down, Gemma – I started shouting. I wanted her to listen. I wanted her to thrash it out with me for once. She retreated as she always does – to the kitchen. I shouted down the stairs at her. I said she was a coward. That I hated her stupid cakes. And then I went down and found her sitting on the kitchen floor with her back to the cupboards, sobbing.
She claimed she’d tripped and that was why she was crying but I didn’t believe her. She wouldn’t say what it was. She wouldn’t even look at me and her whole body was like, trembling. I felt so, so guilty. It freaked me out. So from that day, whenever Mum gave me her ‘look’， I just backed down. Piped down.
That’s why I didn’t tell her about Alex scaring me. It would have upset her so badly. And I just didn’t want any of that.
You see, Mum had booked two treats for my twenty-first – a trip to Paris, just her and me in a month’s time, and the family weekend thing with Alex, including champagne afternoon tea at this posh hotel. She’d gone to so much trouble, I didn’t want to prick her balloon. I didn’t want to upset her.
Alex had been so sorry after his meltdown – so calm and apologetic and considerate – that I started to think I had overreacted. I decided to go along with the visit home, just because it was simpler. For Mum. For me. For everyone. And do you know what? He was great. Perfect company. The textbook boyfriend.
On the train home, he fetched my favourite snacks from the buffet. He backed off; let me read my book without interrupting. He caught my gaze now and again and gave me his little wink and smile and it felt just like it did right at the beginning. As if the argument and all the stuff with social media had never happened.
He brought a lovely gift for my mum without even telling me. She collects ceramic jugs and he’d found a small, very unusual one in a gallery. You should have seen her face. Well, goodness me, how very thoughtful of you, Alex.
And the afternoon tea was fab. Dad ordered a tea he’d never tried – silver leaf, which made super pale tea. We thought it would have no flavour but it was divine. There was champagne too and the food was incredible. I had to take so many photos. Little spiced crab things. These amazing little treats on edible soil. And the cakes! More like works of art. We were absolute pigs, all of us. The waiter brought us a box for the leftovers, but we were embarrassed that there was hardly anything to go in it.
I am writing all the detail because I want to hang on to it. The memory of it. I honestly can’t believe that was just three weeks ago and so much has changed.
I feel so ashamed and confused, and disappointed with myself. I want to go back to that tea. I want to be sitting there again with the crab things and the beautiful cakes and I want to take my mum home and quietly and secretly tell her the truth about me and Alex. My doubts. My worries. I want to go back and do that, without making her sit on the floor and cry . . .