chapter 3 pt 1- charlie potts’s dad.

An unpleasantly loud bang and the screen momentarily shears with greys and creams. The phone camera fishes for focus, which it eventually finds, settling on a modest brass chandelier light fitting. We’re looking straight up. There is talking. One voice is clear, female, near to the camera, raised in a near shout. The other distant, also female, in another room perhaps, unintelligible.

‘No thanks’, the closer voice calls, ‘I had lunch in town. I can’t stay for long, anyway.’

A mumbled reply and the tinkling of cutlery and china followed by more distant mumbling.
The near voice replies

‘Gino’s. The pasta place on Gloucester Green. One of my PhD students is back from fieldwork.’

Some more mumbling.

‘Carbonara.’ she half-shouts. Then ‘...and maybe a bottle of Pinot Grigio.’ under her breath.

The the distant mumbling begins to transform, becoming louder, closer, clearer, and we begin to be able to discern words...

‘...and they’re in Tuscany until the end of March. They’ve invited me over.’

At the left of the image, a lady. Looks to be in her sixties. Well dressed. She reaches over the camera and places a cup and saucer beside it, making a loud bang that causes the microphone to go momentarily silent, then rise again, like an awakening.

‘...and he’s been thinking of buying over there for a while now.’ finished the older lady.

‘Will you go?’

‘Oh god no. They’re both pleasant enough, but the thought of spending a week listening to Victoria drone on about all that ails her is enough to make me want to dispatch myself. And he can be such hard work. Refuses to acknowledge the hypocrisy of voting to leave and then buying property in Pisa.’

Tea is poured and stirred.

‘Look mum,’ says the younger voice, ‘I can’t stay long, I’ve got a faculty meeting at three. But I just needed to talk. Someone to talk to. About something.’

Her arm covers the camera, she lifts the cup and saucer, takes a sip. We hear her swallow.

‘Is everything alright?’ says the older lady.

‘Yes, it’s fine, I’m fine. Mostly. Look...’ She pauses, sighs nervously, then exhales to a hard stop, composing herself.

‘You remember the other weekend, when we were at Aunty Maggie’s garden party?’

‘Yes love.’

‘You remember the other weekend when we were at Aunty Maggie’s stupid garden party and Uncle David came over and said ‘Bloody hell Rebecca, you’ve piled it on, I’m glad the garden furniture’s insured’?’ she takes another sip of tea.

The older woman leans across the camera. ‘I’m sorry dear. He was just drunk. He didn’t mean it. And he did apologise.’

‘He bloody well did mean it, mother. I [i]have[/i] piled it on, and he only apologised because everyone in earshot was stunned into silence.’

‘Yes. Your uncle David is not a master of tact.’

‘He’s an acoholic, gammon-faced prick, mum.’

The older lady laughs.

‘Anyway, you know how afterward, in the car, you asked me if everything was alright, and did I want to borrow your Lean in Fifteen book by that what’s-his-name, Instagram curly-haired wanker-’

‘Joe Wicks? He’s really good. I don’t think he’s a wanker at all.’ interrupts the older lady.

‘He’s mates with Jamie Oliver. That’s all you need to know, right there.’

‘I like Jamie Oliver.’

‘I know you do. Anyway. The thing is, I do realise I’ve put on a lot of weight recently.’

‘It’s a shame. You’ve such a lovely figure when you...’

‘Mum!’ cries the younger woman, half embarrassed, half cross.

‘I’m just saying. I do worry, love.’

‘I know mum, but there’s really nothing for you to worry about.’

‘The older we get, the harder it is to maintain our figure.’ she says. ‘You have to work harder with age.’

‘I’m only thirty two, mum.’

‘Even so. You’re not getting any younger. Look, I know things have been difficult since you and Daniel broke up. I saw him recently, by the way. In Tesco.’ says the older woman.

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘No.’ she says, reflexively.

‘You are allowed, you know.’

‘I know. I didn’t want to. I’ve still not forgiven him. But darling, you’ve been through a lot. It’s put you through a lot of stress. It’s no surprise you’ve put on a bit of weight.’

‘No, mum. It’s not that.’

‘What’s not what? What is it that you’re getting at?’

For a moment, we see the younger woman’s face as she leans forward, placing her forehead into her palm, her fingers stretched upward, her eyes closed.

‘God, I can’t believe I’m doing this.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Do you remember when Charlie Potts got really drunk and came out to his mum and dad, just after we did our A-Levels? Do you remember? And his dad wanted to send him for a psychiatric evaluation? Well this is probably going to turn out just like that.’

‘You’re coming out? As gay?’ her ignorance becoming near wilful.

‘No, mum, you know I’m not gay.’ leaking frustration.

‘Well then, what are you talking about?’

‘I’m not gay mum, but I do have a sort of thing that makes me different. To other girls, I mean.’

‘I’m very confused Rebecca.’

‘Well, I can’t guarantee that anything I’m about to say is going to change that. It may well be the most confusing thing you’ve ever heard, actually. Maybe we should begin at the shallow end.’

‘The shallow end?’

‘Yes. The shallow end. Which is, I’m not upset that I’ve put on weight. I actually prefer being this size.’

‘Oh.’

‘The truth is, I’ve only ever stayed slim for other people. To meet their expectations. His, in particular. And yours, in particular, too. Probably more so…’ her voice tapers.

‘Right.’ says the older woman, her eyes beginning to look as though her conscious mind is retreating to the back of her skull.

‘God Daniel could be so fucking mean. Such a fucking dick. Anyway, look, I’ve just always had this...thing.’

‘It’s great that you’re happy, dear, in yourself. And I’m happy that you’re moving on.’

‘I am. It’s time for me to put my needs first.’

‘But don’t you think you’ll find it easier to move on if you...you know...it’s going to be a lot more difficult to find a new man if you’re, well…’ the older woman nods toward her daughter.

‘Right now I’ve about as much interest in finding a new man as I have in bathing in scorpions.’ She takes another sip of tea.

‘I know. You feel like that now. But in time…’

‘I’ve no interest in getting into a relationship. Especially not with someone who doesn’t accept me as I am.’

‘Is this a new form of radical feminism?’

‘If meeting my own needs is radical feminism, we’ve not come very far, have we?’

‘It just smacks of growing underarm hair. Throwing away your razor. Bra burning. That sort of thing.’

The younger woman takes another sip of tea before placing the cup down into the saucer. Rectangles of light flash across the ceiling as passing cars reflect sunlight through a nearby, but out of view, window.

‘If you’re happy as you are, then I’m happy for you. I just think it’s a shame to lose your figure to spite your ex husband.’

‘That’s really not it, mum. I’m doing this because it’s something I want. It’s part of my identity.’

‘You sound like you’re making excuses.’ says the older woman, a touch curt.

‘What? No!’

‘Dieting is awful. But we’ve all got to face reality.’

‘Mum, it’s not an excuse. Look, I realise this is quite hard to grasp and I’m really not explaining it very well. I’m not making an excuse and I’m not doing it to spite Daniel. The smug git will be be absolutely delighted to know that I got fat.’

‘Darling you’re really not fat. You shouldn’t say that.’

‘Not yet.’ she said.

‘Oh come on love.’

‘But that’s the point. I’m doing this for me.’

‘It seems to me you’re not really doing anything. You’re just letting yourself go.’

‘Well, I am, sort of.’ said the younger woman.

‘Sort of?’

‘You see, that’s kind of the point. This wasn’t...it’s not...this hasn’t been a passive thing. It’s intentional.’

‘Intentional? You’ve put on weight on purpose?’ says the older woman. She leans back in her chair and out of the frame of the camera.

The younger woman exhales, pauses. ‘Yes.’

‘Darling, honestly, you’re making me worry. This is self-sabotage. I think you should talk to someone-’

‘Oh god I knew it.’ The younger woman again places her head in her open hand, her elbow resting by the phone. ‘It’s Charlie Potts again. You [i]are[/i] Charlie Potts’s dad.’