Lynx

Lynx smiled politely as his ma scrolled through the photos on her phone.

Those were the ones from Ibiza. Those were her and Bob’s trip to Paris. The vineyard in Tuscany. The … the … the …

His smile faltered. Just for a moment. But the crack was there.

He excused himself with an exaggerated cough, covering his mouth with his napkin.

Lincoln, love? What is it?

His Gran had noticed it. His Ma had not.

Lincoln?

Isobel finally extracted her head from her phone.

You alright, love? You've not caught anything, have you? Only… I'm supposed to be careful. Bob's immune system is compromised. Can't have him going back to the hospital.

I'm fine, Ma. Erm, Ma, who was that?

Who was what?

That kid? The girl in the photo. The one of you on the farm.

Kid?

Isobel stiffened, hastily swiping to the next child-free picture. One of them bathing in an infinity pool in the Maldives.

That's erm… that's … Oh. That's just Jade. Bob's daughter.

Bob's got a daughter?

Yeah. Yeah. I must have mentioned Jade, surely?

Nah. I don't think so. Has she, Gran?

W... well... Not ... Oooh, Lincoln, love, have you done something new with your hair? It looks much shorter ‘round the sides.

Hmm. Let’s see. You mentioned your new phone, your Dyson—both at length. Your romantic, exclusive 14-day cruise for two. Twice. That’s great, by the way. Distracts from how they mangled your tan at Tans R Us. But, funny enough, you left out the tiny, insignificant detail that Bob’s actually got a kid. Imagine that.

Well, it doesn't really concern you, doesn't it, Lincoln? She's Bob's daughter. Not mine. It’s not like you're ever going to— I mean. She’s not going to be like a step-sister or anything to you. Right?

Oh – Right.

Lincoln drank from his flute.

He can't stand the taste of whatever it was. Some posh crap that Isobel had loudly boasted was the house special. Bought and paid for by Bob's credit card with the message that it was "From Bob with love."

After all. She was celebrating, and it was, "Nothing but the best for them."

Does Bob know about me?

Ya, what now?

I said, “Does Bob know about me”?

Isobel drinks hastily.

Of course he does.

She answers quickly. Far too quickly.

Yeah?

‘Course, he knows about you. You daft sod.

What did you tell him?

What do you mean?

Well, you must have told him something when you first started seeing one another. That you had a son with your previous husband. Maybe me name? Me age? Some personal story about me? Oh, did you show him me baby bath-time pics? That's what some mothers do in films, isn't it? To lovingly embarrass their children. Or is that only for prospective partners? Either way, I doubt you even have any photos of us together, do you? Given we only spend what, a week or two a year together since I was what, six (?). All of which were spaced out too, so you can, and I quote, ”take a break from this difficult parenting melarchy.”

Lincoln. Enough. Alright?

So, what did you tell him about me?

Well, if you must know. I told him that you're my son and … and … you're … quite...  you're quite a character.

A character?

Yeah. A character.

What kind of character? Batman? Macbeth? Hedwig?

Oh, you know... a... Character.

Oh? So more like Mr Humphreys from Are You Being Served? Alec Scudder from Maurice? Bill Potts from Dr Who? That kind of character? Is that what you mean? Qu--

Christ, please don't start, Lincoln. Not today.

Start what, Ma? I'm just asking a question. Weren't that the whole point of today, to gather together on this special day? To celebrate and hear all about how hard a year you've had? How much stress you've been under thanks to Brexit limiting how often you can fucking piss off and leave your kid in the company of an abusive twat. Sorry… I mean, me Da. May he live in Hull.

Here we go. Carrying on as usual. Woe is me. Woe is me. Making it all about you. Making it the Lincoln Show. And giving strangers a front row seat as you air your dirty laundry and make a proper fool of yourself.

What's the matter, Ma? I thought you said I was a character. A proper clown?

Yes, well, no one's laughing, are they? So stop it. You're not Pavarotti.

I find it funny. I find it fucking hilarious. Ha ha ha. A big fucking joke. Pagliacci. Ha ha ha ha. Ha!

Lincoln furiously drained his flute and snatched up the bottle, pouring himself another. He offers to fill Blanche's and, once she’s topped up, drops it back into the ice bucket with a deliberate thunk. His eyes never left his mother.

Erm… should we have a toast, Lincoln love? It’s not every day you turn 18, is it?

Yeah. Why not Gran? After all, we didn't do it earlier when the bottle first came, did we, Ma? You were too busy setting up the slideshow of Sugar Daddy's greatest hits.

Hmm. Sure. We can toast. Let me just fill my glass. It seems I don't drink it quite as fast as you both, do I?

But twice as much.

His smile was razor-thin.

Hmm. Cheers.

That's a good wine, is that. What did you say it was, love?

It's a Kleine Zalze, Mam. From a lovely little vineyard in South Africa, we went to in March. Just outside of Cape Town. Always have it when we come here. It's actually made with the Méthode Champenoise.

Oh, right.

Yeah. And it's come a long way.

Yeah. From Costco, to the cellar, to the table.

— From South Africa.

Oh, it must have been a long walk to get here. From Cape Town to Oldham.

Lincoln smirked at Blanche's slightly questionable attempt at a joke and clinked her glass.

Isobel just glared at him.

We went by plane, Mam. It's actually where Bob proposed to me. Did I tell you that? Did I show you the ring?

She waves the large, ugly, clear paste before them.

Ooh, I've not seen one as big as that for a while.

Ha. That's what Gran said.

What was that, Lincoln?

Isobel said loudly, daring him to repeat.

I said congratulations, Ma. I can't wait to attend the wedding. I'll make sure not to wear white. Would hate for us to be matching.

There’s no worry about that.

No?

No. You see— the thing is. Well… erm … the thing is, Lincoln. The wedding already happened. When we were in Vegas. Last month. Me and Bob only wanted a small service. Just us. A few friends. And Jade obviously. And the band. And an Elvis.

You got married?! And with an Elvis?!

Yeah!

Ooh! How thrilling. Congra… tu… lations...

Aww, thanks, Mam.

Oh, Lincoln, aren't you happy for your, Mam?

… … … Dead made up for ya. Dead. Dead. Made up.

Yeah? Can you tell your face and your voice, then? You sound like a right pouting spoiled brat.

Well, I can't help that, can I, Ma? I just had a very good teacher. Acting classes from you, one-on-one, for six years. Before you pissed off, leaving me on Da’s doorstep with a note saying, he's mine every other Easter. And alternate Christmas. With nothing but a “by your leave,” a postcard and me teddy for company.

You had a home.

It was an abusive shithole.

It had a roof.

And a tyrant.

You were fed.

Thanks to Gran! Until I was old enough to cook meself.

Oh, well, I... I wouldn't call it cooking, Lincoln love. It was just, you know, simple stuff. Chicken Kievs. Pasta. A “spit roast” on a Sunday when we had the means to do so. Do you remember,  love? That’s what you all used to call it. You. Paul & Cammie. Sharing your dinner together. I’d never heard that term before. It was always just called a roast when your Mam was growing up.

… Yeah. Let's … go with that, Gran. Hmm... I still do love a good spit roast every now and then. Some appetites just stick.

Lincoln!---

What, Ma? You still upset that I’m not a “vegetarian”?

Are we still talking about "spit roasts" her—? Oh—

You happy now, Lincoln? Embarrassing your grandmother like that.

Oh? Don't you worry about me, love, I’m not embarrassed. I already knew. Ha. I remember helping you get ready for your big fancy end-of-year do. You went with that ... Vikas, weren't it? And Paul & Cammie, naturally.

Yeah, the four of us. — Me point is, Ma... What was me point again?

Surviving at your Da’s.

Yeah, thanks, Gran. --- If it were up to Da, I would have been either dead or in the system. Probably not here today to celebrate YOUR special day.

Well, there you go. You see, you learned how to cook. You're proactive, just like me.

— Great. Well, you can tell that to Bob. Proactive. It's a better adjective than being "a fucking character."

Haven't you had enough of that?

She scolded him as he reached for a third glass.

Na, I think I'm going to have another glass. It tastes quite passable when you're pissed.

--- You got all your bile out of your system yet, Lincoln?

Lynx.

What?

Me name is Lynx. Not Lincoln. Lynx.

Ooh, like the Big Cat? Very cute. You always loved cats, didn't you, Linco... Erm, Lynx?

Yeah, Gran.

Lynx? --- Really?! Lynx?

And what's wrong with Lynx?

Nothing. It's just --- not what I would have chosen.

I know you wouldn't.

So, what? You chose it to spite me?

Ha! Don’t give yourself so much credit. I chose it because it suited me. Or at least… that's what Ellie says.

And Ellie is?

Me girlfriend, Ma.

Oh... I thought you were ga—.

I'm Pan.

Pan... Right. Well, I'm --- happy for you.

Err... Thank you(?)

Well — maybe one weekend you can bring Ellie 'round to the flat. You... you could meet Bob. Have a meal (?) Just let me check to see when Jade is away with —

Oh, what's the matter, Ma? Scared me being in her presence for even one afternoon will fuck up her childhood. Or … are you scared that being that close to both me and a young child makes you relive the fact you were and have always been an absolutely useless and downright shit mother?!

I had you! I never asked for you, but I had you. I could have just as easily had that procedure, and then who knows? But me and your Da wanted to have a proper go at it. And we did. And look at how you turned out—

Yeah? Well, take a long look, Ma. Because most of what you see comes from you. The fuck up. The failure. The escapist. I picked that up from you and Da. The only thing that I never got from either of you was love. It was only when I found Ellie, Paul & Cammie. And Teddy. And Michael. And Jordan. Then and only then did I allow meself to love and be loved. And that is the God damn truth. So congratulations on not aborting me. Gold star, you selfish, self-centred Prima Donna. Christ! I never asked to be born, Ma. Yet here I am, on me fucking birthday, with you—who never wanted me—and Gran, who's the only reason I'm still alive and kicking. And one of the few people who don't make me feel like a complete fucked-up mess every time I look in the mirror.

Oooh. Linc…nx...

Blanche took his hand in hers.

... Sorry, Gran.

Is that all you want to say to me?

All that I will say to you. The rest will save for therapy.

You're... in therapy?

Started a few months back, yeah.

... Good.

Yeah. The therapist is lovely. And he doesn't make me feel awful for merely existing.

... Private?

... No. A ... A Crisis Centre.

Oh---

Yeah. It ... weren't me first choice. But after what happened back in May --- Ellie and I thought it was for the best.

… … ….

… … …

I'm --- sorry. I can send you some money, for a private thera---

Seriously? --- I am not looking for your pity, Ma. Or your money. I'm not some charity case.

…

I... I can't do this anymore. I'm going to go, Gran.

Yeah?

Yeah. It's probably for the best.

Blanche rose to her feet and hugged Lynx tightly.

I... I understand, love. Message me when you get home, yeah?

‘Course I will. And me, Ellie & the Lads will bring some cake over this weekend. Chocolate orange cheesecake. Just as we used to make it back in school for the bake sales

Ooooh. Lovely. Send them all me love and tell them I can't wait to see them on Sunday.

Will do. Do you want Paul and Cammie to bring cream?

Tinned fruit.

Consider it done.

You're a star. Goodbye, Lin…xy. And happy birthday again.

Thanks, Gran. Love you too. ... … Ma?

… … …

... Right. Well ... um... Goodbye, Isobel. Please give me condolences to your new family. I hope to God for their sake you are less of an abusive, neglectful… … … No. No. Ellie is right. If you can't say anything nice, don't say it at all.

… … … Lincoln? Can we just... Talk about this... Please?

I've done talking, Ma. Oh, and I'm taking the champagne. Oh. Sorry. I mean, "the Méthode Champenoise Kleine Zalze". Don't worry, I'm sure Bob has “a few extra Bob” to get you another one. Might as well have something nice off the man who isn't going to be me stepdad. I'll keep this in the fridge and bring it over on the weekend too, Gran. It'll be flat, but it's the good stuff. And isn't that all that matters to you, Isobel? A respectable name with no substance... And no character. Ha. "Character". Guess that adjective works for me after all.

... ... ... M---Mam? ... ma?

... ... Excuse me, love, can I have a lime and soda?

Of course, I’ll bring that over right away.

Ta. Oh, and while you’re at it, you can pour this stuff away.

Oh, I’m sorry, was it corked?

No. No. It just leaves a bad taste in me mouth.