by Janet Preece
She couldn’t understand why they were all so fussy. Her parenting techniques had started off so well. She’d followed all the books on weaning at six months, and by two years, had them all on a balanced diet, eating everything and open to anything she offered them. Then, suddenly, it all stopped. With William, she’d used a divider plate technique she’d pulled from a parenting book: something he loves, something he likes, and something new. However, as the years progressed, the separate portions had led to him disliking sauces and had given him an aversion to mixing foods. He wouldn’t eat stews or stir-fries or any foods that touched. Epic parenting fail. She just hoped he’d grow out of it when he started to do his own cooking.
With Jack, she’d taken the opposite approach. Everything was saucy and everything was messy – cue the move from carpets to laminate floor! This was a help when Tommy was little and eating everything, but he would watch his brothers and pick up on every bad habit going. Yep, her child-weaning story was more like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. By the time she got to baby bear, Julie felt she had well and truly ruined him. Chips, pizza or bread for dinner again – anything beige – and no amount of blending to hide meat or vegetables was going to get past his radar.
She blamed Dan. He had never been a good eater. She thought back to the first time he’d invited her over to his house for a meal, (bad enough that it turned out to be his parent’s house and they only had privacy for a couple of hours while they were out bowling). The first time you cook for someone, surely you’re trying to impress, even if you’re incompetent? That’s what she thought but clearly men and women don’t think the same way.
She was expecting him to cook something simple, maybe a steak and salad, some oven chips thrown in, and perhaps a ready-made, microwave-heated soup for starters, followed by some bought-in profiteroles? She was ready to place bets on their relationship based on how much effort he made for the meal. Not that she was expecting a miracle or anything – after all, he was a twenty-two-year-old man-child, and likely, his mummy still cooked for him on a regular basis. Julie could tell he was looked-after by his appearance, unless he really did spend more time pressing his shirts than watching his beloved football team, which she doubted very much.
She had been surprised but not disappointed by the spaghetti hoops on toast and a fried egg. He’d looked so proud of his creation, poor baby, and not wanting to appear rude, she’d tucked in, wondering if she was a tad overdressed in her sparkly heels and lace dress. She’d pulled it down a notch, feeling self-conscious. She didn’t want to be disappointed, told herself not to be, but she just couldn’t help it. Perhaps that was why it tasted so bloody good as she started to tuck in.
From then on, it had been one of their favourite meals, something really special – until the kids arrived, and life demanded they introduce more greens into their diet. A variety of colours and textures, she remembered the child nutritionist saying at one of the obligatory prenatal visits. Tell the kids to eat around their plate, to make sure they have a bit of everything before they get full.
Julie had been very against the ‘finish what’s on your plate’ mentality she had grown up with. There was no ‘if you don’t eat your dinner you won’t get pudding’ bribery. It was simply a case of there not being dessert anyway, with the exception of vegetable juice ice-lollies. Julie recalled with a smile how the kids and their friends would get so excited to have a lolly, without realising it was made up of French bean and blackberry smoothie or whatever she’d grown in her garden that season. It had all gone well until she tried it with leftover vegetable soup – and then never again.
‘Julie, are we getting that takeaway? What are you doing, staring at the fridge? Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, Dan. Let’s go out!’ No point staying home and sorting all the dishes and the mess that would be left for her. She gave in. ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Chinese!’
‘Curry!’
‘Pizza!’
They began a lengthy argument, with everyone of a different opinion and unable to agree, as usual.
Then, William piped up, ‘I’m the oldest, I decide.’
‘I think you’ll find, that’s me!’ Dan said smugly.
‘Fine then, I’m not going.’ William shrugged.
Cue door-slamming, stroppy teen. Oh, God, why can’t they agree for once?
Julie left Dan arguing with the kids and went upstairs to the bathroom, where she locked the door, turned the shower on and sat on the floor listening to it rain down. She tried to picture the ideal: her kids sitting around the dinner table, smiling, chatting, listening to each other, making polite conversation about their day. Who made up this stuff?
You’ll miss it when they’re gone, her mother had said when she was over babysitting. She didn’t act like the grandmother Julie had expected. Sandra was a stark contrast to how she had been as a mother, probably overcompensating for all those years away. She let Julie’s kids run wild. “Somebody’s hungry!” she would say, giving them a packet of crisps just before dinner, or a chocolate bar at bedtime. “Oh, just let him stay up a bit longer!” when it was clear they were over-tired and going to behave like little shits the next day if they didn’t get a few more hours’ sleep.
Sandra had reappeared in Julie’s life when William was born, no apologies for leaving, no explanations, just full-on ready for grandmother duties. It helped that Albert died shortly beforehand, the cycle of life, one in, one out – neither proving to be better than the other so far. She’d always thought Sandra had returned because of the baby, wondered why she hadn’t seen through baby-brain fog that in reality, Sandra was just waiting till her husband was out of the way.
She quite liked having her back on the scene, but didn’t really talk about what had happened while she was away. That was her business. Julie didn’t hold a grudge, just welcomed the extra pair of hands looking after William. She was so chilled, such a natural. It reminded Julie of what an amazing mother she had been to her, and little Claire.
Unfortunately, her re-appearance wasn’t such a welcome surprise to little rose-bud who had idolised Albert by the end. And, as she wasn’t prepared to contemplate a mother-daughter reunion, it had nurtured a sibling feud ending at loggerheads. Julie needed her mother, valued her and refused to give her up; even at the expense of Claire’s complaints. She was acting like a child and Julie had her own to think about now – little innocent ones. She’d rung herself dry for her little sister for too long and if she insisted on cutting their family ties, then so be it. It was Julie’s turn to be mothered.
Sandra was so carefree, playing with William, and then Jack and Tommy, so relaxed. Was it because the role of Grandma was a temporary, fleeting part of her week – she didn’t have to deal with the consequences? Julie suspected that was the case and made a mental note to try it on her friend’s children the next time she looked after them – obviously, only the night before they were due home; she doubted she would hear back about any fallout, but it would amuse her anyway.
On the flipside, having Sandra back on the scene was a little daunting. She was strong, controlled, unquestionable. Not the way Julie remembered her from before. Sometimes it felt like she was there to punish her for all the missed opportunities she’d had, not being able to reprimand her for truanting, alcohol abuse and smoking outside the school gates. She knew nothing and yet somehow knew everything.
Julie couldn’t help that she’d gone off the rails after her mum left. It was Sandra’s fault, but Julie was too exhausted to lay blame. Just appreciate the help now, she owes you. It wasn’t her fault she’d been caught stealing from her dad’s wallet, sneaking out at night, breaking things and ducking his swipes when he tried to discipline her in the traditional sense of the word.
Old-fashioned discipline. Ha! Was that code for a good old beating, or was that just Albert’s way? Julie thought of her own boys. They would benefit fr
om some old-fashioned discipline; the naughty step was certainly not cutting it. She remembered the time Jack punched William in the face and then calmly walked to the naughty step and sat himself down for ten minutes. ‘It was worth it,’ was his calculated response.
Was her mum right to have left them? On her return, she was definitely a changed woman, more confident, satisfied, calm…and fun.
Fun? She swirled the word around in her mouth, trying to remember what it meant. How long had it been since she’d last had any time to herself? I need a night out, Julie thought as she began texting the book club she’d joined through school. Not her own children’s school – that would be foolish, to let her hair down, lay herself bare in front of people she’d have to see on a daily basis for years to come. No, this book club was something different. It wasn’t about the books. It had started out as a group of stressed women, spreading the word like an underground escapist cult, a quest for freedom. She’d overheard a whispered conversation, happened to be passing on an afternoon walk, stood outside too scared to enter.
Then Rachel had appeared, her knight in shining armour.
Scooped her up with a hooked arm and dragged her into the room. ‘The Book and Bottle Club’, day or night, secretive, exclusive to all those that needed support, why Rachel was there she couldn’t fathom but her gratitude was endless. There was talk of books, it wasn’t all pretence, not that Julie had time to finish even one since joining, she accepted the forfeit to bring a bottle, and she was more than happy to oblige. If only she wasn’t driving every time they had an evening meet, or responsible for mothering the kids during the day…
‘Julie, we’re going to Pizza Hut! Are you coming?’ Dan shouted up the stairs, breaking through her thoughts. At least they had come to an agreement. Hallelujah!
‘Yes, on my way!’ she replied, easier to give in than fight, and there would be no dishes tonight.
Chapter Five
That night, Julie did not want to go to bed. Dan was out at football, and it was already dark. She was expecting him home any minute, but that just added to her anxiety. Should she phone and ask if he was on his way? She decided to text – less the nagging wife if he was with friends.
Julie: When are you home, darling?
She waited, phone in hand, watching ‘delivered’ change to ‘read’.
No response. Why did people do that? A text took a second to type. One second for peace of mind. He would know she was anxious, otherwise she wouldn’t have asked. It was like he was torturing her on purpose.
After a few minutes, Julie got distracted by email pop-ups and started to surf social media to see what her friends had shared with the world. It was so addictive, like an insight into their diaries, their worlds. She felt like she was reading a series of newspaper headlines about the people she knew; dramatized announcements of happy-happy to create a rose-tinted glimpse into their world. The ideal. What we all aspired to.
She was jealous as she scrolled through the perfectly posed, slim beauties, travelling the world and eating at fancy restaurants, holding up beautiful cocktails that probably cost more than her family’s weekly food budget. She threw the phone down, angry at herself for being sucked into the void of pretence. Back in the present, the house was eerily quiet as it approached the midnight hour. How had it got so late? And still, no Dan! Julie didn’t want to turn the lights out.
‘Please, come home. Please, come home. Please, come home,’ she chanted. But nothing.
Julie curled up in a ball on top of the duvet and reached for her blanket, her comforter. He called it the Cloak of Sleep because it worked like magic. The moment she covered herself with it on the sofa, her eyes would close, and she’d drift off into the most relaxed, comfortable sleep – much to Dan’s annoyance. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to work upstairs, and tonight was no exception.
Looking around their minimalist bedroom, she could see only the mirror, a picture of the kids and the television. Why couldn’t she just relax and watch TV? Because the noise would mask any intruder sneaking up behind her, of course. At least she’d taken the curtain down, much to Dan’s annoyance, but in her mind it was safer to brave the wrath of unbalanced karma than feed the alternative – that which could be hidden beyond. It wasn’t helping her now. Nothing was. Dan, where are you?
Don’t panic, just breathe. One, two, three… One, two, three…
She’d thought about taking a sleeping pill, to help her on her way, but the responsibility of being the sole parent in the house took away that option. Some facial yoga stretches, a warm bath, a relaxation podcast, they all helped but not when she was home alone. She couldn’t risk switching off – just in case. She tried to focus on her breathing, marvelling at how, despite her brain fighting its best fight, it was becoming shallower, the repetition beautiful in its simplicity. It felt like she would never be able to close her eyes and sleep, but somehow, sweet oblivion claimed her anyway.
When Dan returned home, there was so much banging about, him huffing and muttering to himself along with heavy door slamming that Julie woke immediately, relieved to be brought back from her fitful sleep. He was obviously drunk – she guessed football and a pint or ten go hand-in-hand – but she was happy regardless. He was home. It wasn’t the rude awakening she’d expected from Stranger Danger. She quickly slipped into her pyjamas, turned the light out and pulled the duvet over her. He would never know of her worry, not this time, and she was glad to be able to keep tonight’s panic a secret.
◆ ◆ ◆
‘Wake up, Mummy!’ came Tommy’s voice from outside the bedroom door. ‘We’re going to be late for school!’
Julie’s eyes burst open. ‘Okay, honey, I’m on my way,’ she answered in a rush. ‘Are your brothers up?’ A quick glance at the clock showed she still had plenty of time, no need to panic. ‘What would you like for breakfast?’ she hollered to no response.
She threw on yesterday’s clothes from the heap on the floor, an easier option than turning a light on to find something decent and risk disturbing the no-doubt hungover Dan. Julie rushed downstairs, slipping on the last few steps and banging her arm against the wall.
‘Fuck, ow!’ she shouted before her head hit the step, and she slipped out of consciousness.
The slamming of a door brought Julie around. Seriously, had William just left for school? Did he even notice the crumpled heap on the stairs, or was he an arsehole? Julie knew you weren’t supposed to think that of your own kids, but come on!
Choosing to believe he’d sleep-walked his way out of the door, she put on a brave face and made her way to the kitchen, rubbing her head and feeling for blood. There was nothing there, only a bump and a sore bruise. Jack was already in the kitchen getting breakfast for himself and Tommy.
‘Thanks, Jack, really appreciate it.’
‘No problem, Mum. I thought you needed some help when I saw you asleep on the floor in the hallway! You must have been really tired.’
Julie rolled her eyes. My kids!
‘Okay, Tommy, eat up. We’ve got ten minutes until we leave. Bye, Jack!’ she called out as the door slammed again.
Two down, one to go, then she would tackle the house – and Dan.
Walking to school in her floor clothes, Julie felt let down. How had life turned out like this? She needed a purpose, to get away from it all. I must book that night out, she thought. Tommy was growing up fast. He no longer wanted to hold her hand. Maybe one more baby? No way! But how little they were, how loving and innocent and pure… Another baby to spoil; another child to ruin. She wasn’t cut out for this parenting lark. It’s okay to be shit, she told herself, just try not to be really shit. Don’t fall apart today. Find the positives.
They reached the school gate, and she bent to kiss Tommy goodbye. ‘Love you, baby,’ she whispered into his hair and reached for an air-kiss as he ran off inside.
Finally, she was free for t
he day to continue with housework, cooking, and the fruitless tidying that was her life.
‘Hey Julie, have you seen my jeans?’ came Dan’s voice from upstairs, the moment the key was in the door.
He was up! She was surprised. Pleased, but uneasy. There was a short window before he had to leave for work.
‘I’ll get them now,’ she replied, making her way slowly up the stairs, already expecting his confrontation.
And there it was.
‘You need to sort yourself out,’ he criticised. ‘You can’t keep on at me every time I leave the house. I had a life before you, you know? Jesus, I can’t live with you and your crazy head anymore. Go and see someone, or go out, get a job! Do something! You just sit around all day – it’s not healthy. And stop nagging at me! We’re not supposed to live in each other’s pockets. I need a bit of freedom.’
Take a breath, Dan, she thought, rooting herself to the spot until his rant was over. She stared at his back as he walked away, waiting for the front door to slam and his car engine to start up signalling he had left for work. When had their life changed? How could he be so heartless? She sat on the floor and thought about what he’d said. Was she crazy? Was there someone who could take all her problems away? Was he being unreasonable?
◆ ◆ ◆
Alone in the house at last, Julie listened, still not ready to trust the silence. She methodically checked every room, closing the doors behind her, one by one, a mental and physical signal that all was clear. As she glanced at her watch, she was relieved to note that she’d only wasted half an hour of her precious freedom, the long day stretched ahead, a penance and a reward, isolation and escape.
Opening the drawer under Tommy’s bed, she pulled out the duvet covers that sat discarded, from a time when In the Night Garden and Thomas the Tank Engine had been her sweet innocent toddler’s favourites. Before they had grown, before they had been damaged. The final cover removed, neatly folded and tucked inside, her collection, her secret, her key to another world.
