Cool-parent nonchalence
A Bieber-haired youth knocked on the door last week, asking if my daughter was in. I gave him my best Kenneth Williams face – specifically, the one one above from Carry on Jack.
“She’s going out,” I replied. “Whom shall I say called?”
Bieber scuttled off on his scooter without answering (sans helmet, I noted – presumably to avoid squashing the coiffe.)
When I turned to go back into the house, my daughter was standing in the shadows of the corridor with that half-mortified, half-excited look of young love. Bieber, she informed me, was in fact called “Dean.” He was – is – her boyfriend.
I tried to affect the cool-parent nonchalance I had been practising for this eventuality, though I admit, I hadn’t expected to have to use it quite yet. Surely sixteen is the threshold for this kind of indecency? They’re ten.
And while they’re not exactly Rene and Renata (having observed them since, with my binoculars, from behind various bushes and playground furniture, they barely acknowledge each other – such is the complexity of young love) it struck me that this is the milestone that many blokes I know dread the most. Dad meets The Prospective Boyfriend is a well-worn comedy trope for a reason.
Mark died B was just three, so the only parenting milestones he bore witness to were of the first steps / ohmygodwhatdidsheeat,noYOUchangethefuckingnappy variety. How would he have coped this this one?
I’ve been mulling this over since. The answer is, I have no idea. My own response has surprised me. I had thought I’d be all Cressida from Viz’s Modern Parents strip, but in fact, I’ve gone more Cressida Dick from the Met – setting up a series of strategic command bases to check what they’re up to next.
Mark approached everything, even the most grotesque of nappies, with a playful, sidelong glance. How would he have approached the Bieber milestone?
When Mark met B. Not Bieber.
Wife After Death 
Hi – your blog and a few others are my lifeline at the moment. I’m at the moment sat in hospital with my husband while he gets his tummy drained.
10 weeks ago our world changed forever – he had been ill since Feb, lots of visits to Gp then finally end of May a diagnosis of Cancer of unknown primary which had spread – after a week in hospital we were sent home under the palliative care team and told nothing could be done. He’s lost 6 stone since Christmas and it’s heartbreaking. So here I am – broken hearted and about to join a club no one wants to be apart of. I’ve been told he has a few weeks – how on earth has this happened i feel I’m in a dream.
Our children 24 and 22 and I all devastated. I really do not think I can get through it the pain is just to much. Thank you for your blog it’s beautifully written and a huge support. It’s so good to read your latest post as I know you haven’t posted in a while. I continue to read and read again whenever I’m at my lowest. Thank you – you help so many people. Amanda xx
Hi there Amanda,
What a heartbreaking message. I really am truly sorry for you all. Thanks for taking the time to write and I can only really say that I am glad that this, and other blogs, help in some small way to let you know you are not alone. I assume you will be joining WAY, or WAY UP (if over 50)? Sending you solidarity and strength over the weeks and months ahead. Lucie x
I stumbled on your book on the library sale table and have just finished devouring it – the first actual ‘story’ I have read in it’s entirety in years. I never knew my paternal grandfather – he was lost to an anneurysm at 49, and I continue to reflect on how his absence has echoed through our lives.
It’s also recently come to my attention the extent to which I have, in a sense, lost the man I married, albeit not suddenly and drastically, but via neurological side-effects of long-term medication – I read your tale as I say with my own grief, just as when my 2nd born almost died at birth – and a few more time in the subsequent month in hospital – I read tales of parents whose older children had been beset by cancer or TBIs – i feel the parallels, but there’s a sort of comfort of, it could be worse.
My eldest must be a similar age to B, so I came to see if there was any update from the end of the book – I wonder how she is today. And whether you ‘settled down’ with anyone else again. After reading your book, you feel almost like an old friend, so I hope you are both doing well.
Hello there!
Thank you so, so much for this lovely message! It means the world that you have reached out.
I am so sorry to hear about your own losses and yearnings; I was especially moved by your comment about how your grandfather’s absence has echoed through your lives. I imagine this will be the case with Mark as well.
I am glad the book resonated with you and that you gained some comfort from it. ❤
Thanks also for enquiring as to how we are doing. Funnily enough, a sequel to the memoir will hopefully be out next year!
Bea is now 18! And I got remarried in 2024 to a lovely widower, and have acquired a step-daughter – and step-dog! It's been a long road, but we have finally moved into the light.
With sincere gratitude and best wishes,
Lucie x