by Emma Murray
No, David, I’m not all right. I am a horrible person because I have betrayed you and my best friend by fancying a man I barely know.
But of course I don’t say any of this. I just tell him I have PMT, which always does the trick. He gives my hand a sympathetic squeeze, which makes me feel worse than ever.
When I reach my desk, I try to make sense of all the material I have written, but it’s no use, I can’t focus. I idly click into Vale Mums and notice that Rosalind has posted something about swimming, which appears to have attracted a number of responses.
Anyone have any idea of a good age to stop swimming lessons? My eldest boy is a good swimmer already, and wonder if I should continue.
Tania has replied:
Of COURSE he should continue! Swimming is a life skill! Why would anyone give it up?
Inevitably, Tania has received a whole host of ‘likes’ and ‘thumbs ups’, while Rosalind has been the brunt of both pleading and crying emojis.
My heart quickens.
Deep down, I know I have no business getting involved in this discussion. You see, I have a real problem with the overblown emphasis on swimming for kids. Granted, it’s a life skill, but surely they don’t need to start so young or need the lessons to last for ever. But I’m not in the most rational frame of mind, so I place my hands on the keys and type.
If a child is a good swimmer FINISH the lessons. I mean, what’s the end goal here? The Olympics?
Then I add a thinking face emoji, which I always thinks looks the most sarcastic, and head upstairs to bed.
When I wake up the next morning, I find thirty notifications to my swimming post, but I barely glance at them because something glorious has happened. Bea has sent me a text. She wants me to come over.
As soon as Anna has finished her breakfast, we leave for Bea’s house. I am nervous but I am determined to sort this mess out. Bea greets Anna and sends her off to upstairs to play with Harry, who is apparently in the middle of mashing a large cardboard box into a ‘car’.
With the kids out of the way, we look at each other, and she beckons me to follow her into the kitchen. It’s the first time I have ever felt awkwardness between us, and it feels dreadful. We sit down opposite each other at the kitchen table and I clasp my hands together to stop them from shaking.
‘So,’ Bea begins, looking at me with stern eyes through the glasses perched at the end of her nose. ‘What the actual fuck?’
And without really knowing how, I spill out everything I have been keeping from her over the past few weeks. How I had suspected David of having an affair; the strong attraction I had felt for Ryan in Ireland; everything I knew about Ryan and Frances; the conversations I had with Kitty; how Ryan had kissed me in the park and how relieved I was that I felt nothing for him after all. Everything I thought I had swum out of me in those ice-cold Irish waters comes brimming to the surface once more and I can’t seem to stop. Bea stares at me throughout, her expression unreadable.
‘Look, Bea, I’m sorry. I had no idea he was your ex or Harry’s father. I have been so bloody stupid,’ I say, feeling hot with humiliation. I duck my head to hide tears springing to my eyes.
When I look up a few seconds later, Bea is still staring at me with the same cold look, her arms folded across her chest.
‘I’m going to ask you a few questions now, Saoirse, and I want you to tell me the truth.’
‘Of course!’ I say immediately, just grateful that she has finally broken her silence.
‘Did you at any stage link Ryan to me when you were in Ireland?’
‘No!’
‘Did Kitty not say anything about what happened?’
I shake my head vigorously.
She drums her fingers on the table. ‘Actually, that makes sense. Kitty would never confide in an outsider.’
At least she doesn’t say ‘foreigner’, I think.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about your attraction to Ryan right away?’ Bea says.
‘I was too ashamed,’ I say. ‘I didn’t think it was fair on David to tell you about it. He hasn’t a clue about any of this. Besides, I thought it was just a harmless fantasy at first, and then it all got a bit real…’
‘Did you act on any of those feelings?’
‘Absolutely not!’ I shoot back. ‘I was tempted, no question, but nothing happened, I swear.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you had already met Ryan when you came over to collect Anna?’
That’s the one I have been dreading.
‘I’m sorry, I should have told you, but he pretended not to know me and I was too shocked to react the way I should have. I’m so sorry.’
She sighs and takes off her glasses, holding them to the light, inspecting them for dust, before putting them back on again. Then she gets up and walks over to the sink, and just stands there with her back to me.
‘Bea?’ I say, tentatively.
She doesn’t answer, so I push myself up from the table, and put my hand on her arm. She turns round slowly, and I am shocked to see tears in her eyes. I have never seen Bea cry – she’s not the crying type.
‘This is all my fault. I’m so sorry,’ I say, welling up myself.
‘I should have told you about Ryan before,’ she says, wiping her hand fiercely across her eyes.
‘And I should have told you what was going on with David,’ I say. Maybe if I had confided in her, then she would have made me see sense.
‘Tell me honestly,’ I say. ‘Do you still have feelings for Ryan?’
She shakes her head furiously.
‘Don’t you get it?’ she says, throwing her hands up in frustration. ‘Ryan isn’t the reason I’m upset, Saoirse. I couldn’t give a shit about him. You’re the reason I’m upset.’
‘I’m sorry, Bea!’ I say, crying properly now. I don’t know what else to say.
She takes a gulp of air and looks away.
‘Listen, Saoirse, when Ryan told me about Frances, it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. We had been together since we were teenagers in South Africa; he wasn’t just my lover, he was my best friend. When he left me, there were days when I genuinely felt that I couldn’t go on. It was only Harry that kept me going.’
‘Oh, Bea…’ I reach out to give her a hug, but she holds one hand up to stop me, and my arms drop uselessly to my sides.
‘And then I met you, Saoirse,’ she says, and her face crumples. ‘And I could see you were struggling too, and for the first time I didn’t feel so alone.’
My mind is reeling. I had no idea Bea had ever felt his way. She had never confided in me about Ryan, and I now see why: it was simply too hurtful to her to talk about him. I open my mouth to say something, but she’s not finished yet.
‘Then when I saw you and Ryan kissing in the park, I felt sick to my stomach. Not because of him, but because of you. I have already lost one best friend, Saoirse. I can’t lose you too, do you hear me?’
Then she lets me put my arms around her and we hug for a moment.
When we pull away, I grip her by the shoulders, look her directly in the eye, and say slowly and deliberately, ‘You are not going to lose me, Bea.’
She sniffs and sighs.
‘OK,’ she says finally, giving me a weak smile.
‘OK,’ I say, firmly.
‘Cup of tea?’ she says.
I smile and nod.
When we’re finally sitting down at the table again, she takes a sip of her tea, and says, ‘I can’t believe you thought David was having an affair. I mean, David! Of all people!’ and bursts into deep-bellied laughter that seems to go on for minutes.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ I begin, indignant now. ‘Why does everyone think my husband is so unlikely to have an affair?’
But as I look at her, she is red with mirth and before I can stop it, hysterical laughter explodes out of me and we both laugh and laugh until our sides hurt and tears start falling from our eyes.
When we recover, I tell her there is one more
thing I need to talk to her about.
‘Uh-oh,’ she says, with a frown. ‘What now?’
‘Anna got into Woodvale School,’ I say.
‘Oh, that’s brilliant, Saoirse!’ Bea says, clapping her hands.
‘She’ll be in with the Organics’ offspring, though,’ I say, gloomily.
Bea makes a vomiting sound.
‘Listen, Saoirse, they won’t all be Organics in the class. All you need to do is find one friend – one person to whom you can text about homework, slag off the Organics, and bitch about the PTA.’
I nod. I know she’s right, but my heart still breaks a little because as far as I’m concerned, I have already found that one friend, and it’s her.
‘I owe you an apology for the way I kicked off about St Enda’s,’ I say. ‘I was being a knob.’
She laughs.
‘Listen, Saoirse, St Enda’s may not be the right school for Harry, but I promised my mother I would at least give it a chance. If he starts asking for a tenner from the tooth fairy, or demanding to go to Mauritius over the school holidays, I’m whipping him out.’
I tell her that I think that’s fair enough, quietly relieved that St Enda’s may not be a permanent measure.
‘Besides, we will have a great time swapping tales about annoying mums at the school gates,’ she smiles.
I smile in return, and I realise that I don’t care as much about going to school without her, because no matter what happens, Bea and I will always have each other.
When I get home, a notification from Bea pops up on my Facebook post on swimming. It says:
I would give all of you swimming die-hards an Olympic medal to shut the fuck up.
I clasp my hand to my mouth and burst out laughing.
‘What’s so funny, Mummy?’ Anna says, crossly.
‘Mummy has just got her best friend back,’ I say merrily, picking her up and giving her a crushing hug.
She wiggles out of my arms and glares at me, before saying, ‘That’s not funny.’
That night, when Anna is in bed, and David is working quietly on his laptop, I finally find the words I need to summarise all the themes I have written down for the pitch. It’s one of those glorious writing moments where my fingers skip merrily over the keyboard without stopping.
When I first had my daughter, Anna, I thought I would die of loneliness. On the face of it, I had plenty of support – a husband, a long-time best friend, and some family that weren’t a million miles away. What I hadn’t bargained for was my husband being as clueless as I was when it came to babies, or how much I would resent him for it. I couldn’t talk to my best friend from childhood because she had never wanted children and couldn’t relate. And forget about making friends with the mums in my baby group; they seemed to know exactly what they were doing, which made me feel even more isolated.
What I really needed was someone that I could vent to without judgement; have a cry over without feeling foolish; and share guilty thoughts and feelings without fear of reprisal. Someone who would swear alongside me; comfort me when I was doubting my abilities as a mother; and perhaps someone who could take care of my child when I needed a break. Someone who could speak my language.
And it’s hard to find that person – it really is. It involves being vulnerable enough to share your true feelings with someone new, even though you’re already feeling like an emotional basket case; being willing to put your trust and faith in someone else; and being there for someone else just as she is there for you. But when you find that mum, hold on to her. Friendships may come and go, but friendships forged during motherhood are the parachutes that bring you safely to solid ground.
Then, inspired by my mother, I have a go at writing a haiku of my own.
Friends come in and out
As a mum you need them more
Keep the ones that count
I finish the draft, edit it and send the pitch to Harriet, before going to bed where I dream about the ebb and flow of that icy temperamental Irish Sea.
25
It’s the last Saturday in August and the house hums with the sound of party preparations. Jen and my mother flew in together this morning (My mum: ‘Ryanair isn’t that bad, Saoirse!’ and Jen, privately: ‘It was a fucking nightmare, Saoirse’). At the moment, my mother is in my kitchen making two lasagnes from a new recipe she had saved on her Pinterest, and Jen is furiously spreading garlic butter on endless slices of baguette. When I make the mistake of questioning my mum on the necessity of so much food for very few people, she says, ‘There’s only one thing worse than running out of food, Saoirse: running out of alcohol, but sure, there’s no danger of that.’
She’s not wrong – the stocks are full.
Leaving the pair of them to it, I go to find Anna who is busy ‘draw-wing’ in her ‘woom’ – the iPad cast aside on her bed. Another flutter of panic runs through me at the sight of the forlorn iPad. What am I going to do without you? I think sadly, looking at its battered screen.
Then I spend a fairly frustrating few minutes with Anna trying to persuade her to toast my mother’s big birthday when the time comes.
‘When you see everyone raise their glasses, like this’ – I demonstrate the motion with one of her little doll’s cups – ‘just say as loud as you can, “Happy birthday, Nana!”’
Anna gives a great big sigh in a ‘why do I have to do EVERYTHING?’ sort of way, and slumps back over her drawing of… whatever the hell it is.
‘So, you’ll do the toast then?’ I say, fervently hoping at least an eighth of what I have said has gone in.
‘Fine,’ she shouts from behind her hair.
Well, that’s something, I think. But just as I turn towards the door, I hear her mumble, ‘I don’t even like toast.’
I find David in the spare room refolding the guest towels I laid out on the bed for Jen and my mother earlier in the day (‘Sure, we’ll be grand sharing a bed!’). Normally this would bother me, but since our talk, I have decided to try to let go of the little things. I give him a kiss and thank him for arranging the room so nicely. He looks at me a little warily, but when he realises that I’m not taking the piss he puts one arm around my shoulders and gives me a little squeeze. A feeling of contentment rushes over me – we’re going to be all right, me and David. I just know it.
Just then my mother rushes into the bedroom, brandishing my phone. I notice she has a smear of Bolognese on her right cheek.
‘It’s buzzing, Saoirse!’ she says, thrusting it into my hand.
‘That’s all right, Mum,’ I say, with a smile. ‘It doesn’t matter if I miss a call!’
She looks at me as if I’ve just told her I’ve taken up heroin.
‘Would you answer it!’ she says, twisting her hands nervously.
I shake my head in amusement, and stop dead just before I press the answer button.
It’s Harriet Green. My agent. Calling me on a Saturday.
I turn away to answer the call, dimly aware of my mother hissing, ‘Who is it?’ to a clueless David.
Harriet greets me with an exhale.
‘Searcy, you got it. The motherhood book is yours. I’ll send over the contract on Monday.’
I’ve done it. I am now officially an author. It may not have started out to be the book of my dreams but now, more than anything, I really want to write it. I gulp down a wave of emotion and manage to whisper a thank you.
When she hangs up, I turn round to see the expectant faces of my mother and David.
‘Well?’ my mother says.
‘I got it!’ I manage to say. ‘The motherhood book. It’s mine!’
And then there’s hugs and kisses and cries of congratulations, and then Jen runs up to hear what all the fuss is about and then everyone is dancing around, and it feels absolutely fantastic.
In the middle of it all, Anna stomps in and tells us to stop being ‘so noisy’ and I kneel down and tell her the good news – that Mummy is going to write a book, with her own name on the f
ront.
She puts her head to one side, and says, ‘Is it a pwincess book?’
And I say, ‘Well, not exactly.’
To which she replies with a frown, ‘Next time write a pwincess book.’
I give her a kiss on her little soft cheek and tell her I’ll do my best.
Then the doorbell goes.
‘That must be Bea and Harry!’ my mother calls in a panicky voice.
Anna lets out a squeal at the sound of Harry’s name and charges in front of me and David as we all clamber down the stairs.
When my mother reaches the bottom, she has a wild look in her eyes.
‘You’ll have to get the door, Saoirse. I have to take my apron off. THE STATE OF ME,’ she cries, running back to the kitchen.
‘I’ll give her a hand getting the Bolognese off her face,’ Jen says, with a laugh.
David and I look at each other and shake our heads in amusement.
‘Shall we open the door in our own house then?’ he says, wryly.
‘Let’s!’ I say, and I swing open the door, and welcome Bea and Harry with a quick hug, over the moon to have my friend back in my house again. David greets Bea with a kiss and together we walk into the living room where I tell Bea the good news about the book, and she squeezes me so hard I can barely catch my breath. Jen, now apron-free, joins us, looking fabulous as ever in high-waisted thigh-skimming flowery-patterned shorts, topped with a smart white shirt. I make the introductions, and Bea, who is no slouch to dressing well, immediately compliments Jen on her outfit, and just like that, they’re off to the races, exchanging tips on all the latest high-street fashion.
I haven’t told Jen anything about seeing Ryan in London or the link between him and Bea. It doesn’t seem right, somehow, given that David doesn’t know anything about it. Besides, as far as I am concerned, that’s all in the past now.
Harry and Anna start playing catch around the glass coffee table, and despite David trying to put an end to it by desperately shouting the word ‘iPad’ over and over again, there is no taming them.
