Another weekend, another Saturday looking after my baby girl – I know she’s a teenager but still. As per usual, her mother has gone to town as is her want on the weekend, this time gone for seven hours; even my daughter asked whilst supping on some delicious homemade minestrone; “where does she go all day?”
“Who knows?” I reply, all the while thinking: where does she go? What on earth does one do all day in a suburban town? All week, she has been coming home after 8.30pm leaving around that time in the morning, sometimes a little later, on two occasions not even bothering to get out of bed to see her daughter off to school.
It is a quandary as to what point she is making if any and what does my daughter actually think of such behaviour? I cannot openly criticise her mother as that is bad form really. My daughter has to formulate her own opinions and hopefully, she is beginning if not already done so.
On Friday, my daughter attends piano lessons and then waits for her friend who she then brings home until her mother comes around later in the evening on the way home from work. I have known this friend since she was five or six and regard her – jokingly – as one of my adopted daughters, although in truth. I probably really do regard her as a daughter.
Piano lessons had not gone quite according to plan as it is coming up to exam time – grade 5 – and as usual, the tutor is becoming quite agitated/concerned/overbearing/stressed. My daughter on the other hand, is quite sanguine and is doing her best: several hours a week minimum of an hour a day of practice, so its not for the want of trying: you can’t ask for much more.
However, the tutor is apparently texting ‘Ms Brodie’ and the two of them are exchanging frank views over the phone. I’m not certain of the veracity of the sequence of events leading to the phone conversations but have to take it at face value., whilst not really getting to vexed about it.
Unlike Ms Brodie, who comes home close to 9pm and feigns her disapproval at being constantly interrupted at work by these phone calls. I more or less shrug my shoulders saying something akin to “oh well” whilst the mother of my daughter’s friend, who enjoying her supper with a glass of wine, tried to placate her by trying to change the subject asking quite innocently – I think – ’how was work?’ I thought, ’this might be interesting. Yes, how was work? What is it you do exactly?’
“Work? Well, you know…fine until these phone calls started…” and off she went again avoiding the question altogether…perhaps? I laughed to myself, thinking you’ve avoided the subject of your work yet again. I have to hand it to her. She’s no mug and can talk her way out of anything that one.
Anyhow, its Saturday evening, and I expect my daughter’s mother to go out again tomorrow for who knows how long. Exactly how many hours she has spent in her daughter’s company in the same room this week can probably be counted on one hand. I really don’t know what to make of it.