chapter 3 pt 2 - concrete

‘But, love, Charlie Potts is gay. That’s not even remotely the same.’

The younger woman speaks into the table, ‘Not the same, but not all that different either.’

‘It’s completely different!’ says the older woman, forcefully.

The younger woman lets out a long sigh, raises her head. ‘Not gay, mum. But, mum, you know how some people are into, well, fuck, how do I put this? They’re into unconventional…’ she waves her hands beneath her chin, looks around the room, searching for words, ‘...into….weird...bedroom stuff?’

The older lady, awkwardly, ‘Oh. I...yes...I suppose.’

‘Like, I don’t know, whips and leather and handcuffs and concrete and that sort of not gay, but stuff that might have implications that extend beyond the actual bedroom stuff?’

‘Yes, love, yes. Concrete?’

‘Yes. Concrete. Don’t fixate on concrete. I don’t want you to have a stroke. But you get my point? Yes? Right, well,’ she sighs, sharply, ‘this is my weird bedroom stuff.’

The older woman swallows a mouthfull of tea.

‘You have a fetish for being fat?’ says the older woman, her voice brightening in the sudden glow of a cranial lightbulb.

The younger woman lets out a long ‘Jeeeeeeeeeeeesuuuuus. Jesus Christ. Jesus absolute fucking Christ. I can’t believe I just heard you say those words. You really just said those words...’

‘But-’

‘No...no. ..it’s just too fucking weird. Dear Jesus god Jesus fuck...’

‘Is that not what you meant?’

‘Oh fucking actual hell and all that I imagined it to be. I mean, yes, it’s exactly what I meant. But I just want the fucking ground to swallow me up. It’s so-’

‘Then why did you tell me?’ says the older woman, sounding chafed.

‘Mum, it’s just, god…I still can’t believe it.’ She places her head back into her hands.

‘But why did you tell me? Why are you telling me any of this? It’s all a bit…..personal.’

‘I know, mum, sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just that your daughter is a bit weird. A bit weirder than you knew already. I’m sorry. But I needed to tell you because, well, a bit because I don’t want you to worry. And I know you’re going to worry anyway, but I want you to worry about the right thing. I don’t want you to worry that I’m miserable. I don’t want you to worry that I’m not looking after myself. Again, I know it’s a weird thing to try to wrap your head around, but this [i]is[/i] looking after myself. This, honestly, is what me looking after myself looks like. But, listen, mum, there’s something I need from you, please.’

‘What’s that?’ says the older woman, gently.

‘I need you, please, this is really important. I need you not ever to mention my weight. Not nag me about it or offer me diet books. I know you’ve always mean well, but the pressure to diet always feels like...like judgment.’

‘I see.’

‘I need you to understand that, in all likelihood, I’m going to put on more weight, not lose it. And I know you’re just concerned for my health. But I’m taking care of myself, I promise. I eat my greens and I still go to the gym. I know there are risks, but this is who I am and I need to acknowledge it. I’ve been miserable for too long.’

‘Right.’ says the older woman. ‘Listen, love, what matters most to me is that you’re happy. I’m sorry if I’ve put pressure on you. I thought I was helping...’

‘I know mum. I know. Now, please, can we never, ever mention this again? Ever.’

‘It’s ok, love.’

‘It’s just really a bit weirding me out. I just needed to get it off my chest.

‘Fine. That’s fine love.’ she says. She looks around the room, hoping for her eye to catch something that might lead to a change of subject.

A hand darkens the camera. The room spins, blurs. Briefly we are looking at an oak table, a vase with dried flowers, then darkness.

----

Whatsapp message:

November 9th, 18:20
RB: Call off the dogs. Mum’s in therapy now.

18:31
PN: Working now. Acknowledged. Msg you later.

November 10th
00:03
PN: How’d she take it?

00:04
RB: She thinks I’m insane.

00:04
PN: You ok?

00:06
RB: Gin says yes.
RB: Weirdly, feel sort of liberated.

00:06
PN: That's why I made you do it. Set you free.

00:07
RB: Bit risky, though?

00:07
PN: Paid off. Speaking of which…

00:07
RB: I’ll send payment tomorrow. Thanks.
RB: It’s been weird.

00:09
PN: Gotta confess, not my usual escort gig.

00:09
RB: Delete every last trace of those videos.
RB: Please.
RB: Please.

00:10
PN: Send me the video evidence of your confession to your mum and I will.

00:10
RB: Thanks.
RB: I've sent it via iCloud.
RB: Night.

00:10
PN: Night.

01:21
RB: Would you have really sent it?
RB: To everyone?

01:21
PN: I might still.

01:21
RB: Don’t even joke. Don’t you dare.

01:21
PN: Another 60lbs?

01:21
RB: If you want to get paid you’d better
delete those videos right now.

01:25
RB: Please.

01:27
PN: 60lbs by May next year.

01:33
PN: Are you turned on?

01:33
RB: Extremely. I’m in. Make me do this. Please.