Everything was going fine at Dad’s. We exchanged presents. He and Paula got me a really nice purple Pashmina with black designs woven in it and an expensive make-up kit with a bunch of eyeshadows and lippy. (Paula totally picked out the presents.) And I gave them their gifts. Little did I know that on the other end of the country, my Mum was being her usual nutter self.
B was back in England for Christmas, but I missed her as she returned to Italy the same day I came back from Vienna. Because we missed each other, she rang mum’s house today to wish me a Happy New Year. Obviously, she missed me as I was at Dad’s, but instead of Mum just telling her to ring my mobile, B and Mum had a bit of a chat. A chat which has totally ruined everything.
B asked Mum how my trip to Vienna went, and she asked how I got on with Goatee’s family and his grandson. Well, I’d never told Mum how old Goatee is. I was worried she’d over react, and I was right. She totally overacted.
She rang my mobile, but I’d left my phone in my bag so I didn’t hear it, so she rang Dad’s landline. Dad answered, and Mum laid into him for ‘Letting my little girl live with some pervert old enough to be a grandfather.’
Dad knew about Goatee’s age (Katie told him), but he didn’t know that Goatee and I were living together. So he went into a rage about that. I had Mum on the phone in one ear demanding that I come back to London from Glasgow, that ‘a man that age is up to no good’ and that ‘only a pervert would be with someone so young.’ Oh, and she was also having a go at me for leaving all the presents my Aunt gave me back in London. Like I was going to hoist all that tat back to Scotland.
And I had Dad in the other ear, ‘How can you live with a man you hardly know?’ ‘Why’d I send you money if you’re just going to shack up?’ ‘If you get pregnant I’m not raising the baby.’
Poor Paula was trying to smooth over the situation, but it wasn’t helping. I hung up on Mum, and I locked myself in the spare bedroom. I could kill B.
I rang Goatee; I was in tears. I told him that I wanted to come home now, and that he needed to come get me. He said that he wasn’t going to get in the middle of a ‘family row’. I told him that he WAS the family row. He said that he’d had a few beers, that he wasn’t comfortable driving all the way to Newcastle. That I’ll be fine to come home the next morning.
I’ve checked the train times. I’m out of here first thing in the morning. I’ve got Dad ranting through the door, ‘Leave Glasgow. Come live here with Paula and I. You don’t need to prostitute yourself for this bloody placement.’
God, they’re doing my head in.