Page 103 of Under Your Spell

Serena: Hahahahahaha! Maree is such a badass. I love her.

Lil: Everyone knows Sass is the best character. I wish we could have done a spell to fill my hair with moonlight. Imagine me with MOON HAIR?? I would be unstoppable.

Lil: Clemmie, you are so clever. It is BEAUTIFUL. We are such powerful sister witches.

Serena: Agreed. You need to get this shit published ASAP so that other youngsters can learn from my/Maree’s example.

Serena: We’re shaping young minds here!!!!!

I’m planning to send the manuscript off to three or four agents who I think might like it. Maybe. I just have to go over it a bit more and dig out some extra courage first. Even in my current, emotionally shattered state, working on the book has felt like a lifeline. It’s the first work I’ve done in a long time that feels good.

I haven’t looked at my academic book, nor have I filled out any job applications. I don’t know how to come to terms with my not wanting to do either. I’m so tired of it, the precarious nature of it all. I’m tired of working so hard for so long and having nothing to show for it. I can’t summon any enthusiasm, a single spark of joy.

This is made worse by the fact that the end of the summer is in sight now, and I really need to make some sort of plan. I can’t continue to ignore this problem, because – it seems to me – having a job and somewhere to live are the sort of very basic grown-up duties I shouldn’t be failing in at thirty-three years of age. I’ve dedicated my entire adult life to academia and look where it’s got me: sitting in my pyjamas in my mum’s house, having an existential crisis.

‘If you have any time to spare, I could use some help with work,’ Mum says, coming into the kitchen to fix herself a cup of coffee. ‘We’re organizing a big fundraiser right now and I’m spread way too thin with Sandy off on maternity leave.’

‘What’s the fundraiser for?’ I ask.

‘We’re raising money for a programme we run, offering music therapy to refugees and displaced children,’ Mum says distractedly, digging around in the empty biscuit tin. (What can I say, I’m eating my feelings.)

‘Oh, that sounds interesting.’ I lift my head.

Mum hums. ‘The main thing is, I need someone to help with the organizational side of things. The vendors are all giving me a headache with their different demands.’

‘Of course, I’d be happy to help,’ I say. ‘But tell me more about the programme.’

Mum looks at me in surprise. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’ I laugh. ‘Why is that such a strange question?’

‘It’s not that.’ Mum shakes her head. ‘It’s only… you’ve never seemed that interested in my work before.’

A wave of shame washes over me. ‘It’s not that I’m not interested. It’s just… well, it’s complicated, I suppose.’

Mum pulls out a seat across from me. ‘What’s complicated about it?’ She frowns.

I could duck this conversation, but honestly, ever since I told Theo what Sam said, it’s been on my mind. ‘I…’ I take a deep breath. ‘I always felt guilty about your work, so I suppose I avoided talking to you about it,’ I say awkwardly. ‘Which I realize is really shitty of me.’

‘Guilty? Why on earth would you feel guilty?’

‘Because you had to give up your dream for me.’ I squeeze the words out, knowing that I need to say them now. ‘You gave up being a musician because you got pregnant, and I know that it’s not my fault, but I always felt bad about it.’

Mum’s face is a perfect mask of astonishment. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open. ‘Wait… what?’ She shakes her head. ‘You think I gave up singing because I got pregnant?’

It’s my turn to frown. ‘Well, yeah. You stopped when you had me because of the way the press were hounding us and you were raising me on your own. Just when you were set to be the next big thing.’ I’m explaining it but it feels weird; I mean, this stuff isn’t news to her.

Mum taps the table with her fingers, looking into the distance for a moment. There’s so much happening in her face I have no idea how she’s feeling. ‘Clemmie,’ she exhales finally. ‘I wish you had talked to me about this a long time ago.’

‘You know how great I am at avoiding anything that makes me uncomfortable.’

She smiles sadly. ‘I do know. You’re so good at keeping things bottled up. I’m your mother and I had no idea you were carrying that around.’ She takes my hand in hers, clasping it across the table. ‘Listen to me. I love you with my whole heart but I didn’t give up being a musician for you. I didn’t give up my dream. I realized that wasn’t my dream, so I quit.’

‘You… what?’ I manage.

Mum huffs out a breath. ‘I mean I didn’t love the press stuff, and it would have been more difficult having a baby with me, but musicians have babies all the time. None of that would have stopped me if it was what I wanted – as long as you were safe and happy too. But after that first record came out, I was miserable. I’d spent years thinking it was going to be everything I wanted, and then I hated it. I felt so isolated and I didn’t like all the politics that came with working with a big label. Your dad loved every minute of it; he was made for the whole scene, but I wasn’t. My heart just wasn’t in it at all.’

I’m totally stunned.