Because we can’t do without a proper lie-in on a Saturday, can we?
‘Fine, see you then.’ I end the call and stare at my phone. I don’t even know why I have the thing because all it does is bring misery.
When Henry and I get to the Tesco local, I grab a packet of toilet roll but before I get to the till, I panic and check my purse. I paid cash at the supermarket earlier and I gave the cashier everything I had in note form. I rummage through the coins. There’s a queue behind me but I just need ten more pence. I dig deep and catch a large coin between two of my fingers. Yes! A small victory. But the victory is short-lived when I pull it out and it’s a murky brown two-pence piece.
‘Sorry,’ I say, coming out of the queue. I walk back to the toilet paper section hoping for a budget version of the normal own-brand stuff I’d picked but the only alternative is Andrex and I’m not exactly made of money. As I stare at the toilet paper that I’m eight pence away from, everything comes crashing down on me. The divorce, going it alone, juggling the kids, budgeting, my deserting friends, the fact I can’t get to sleep at night, and everything knots together in my stomach before propelling itself into my throat like a grenade. My eyes water and my chest heaves. A loud sob escapes and before I even realise it’s me making that awful wailing sound, a firm hand lands on my shoulder.
‘Stephanie?’
I turn my head and, through watery eyes, see a lady who I recognise as a neighbour from across the street. She’s a little shorter than me with frizzy brown hair that she always has tied back. She bears all the hallmarks of a frazzled mum; for starters, her white and navy striped top is inside out.
‘Janey?’ I say uncertainly. She nods and smiles warmly.
‘Are you okay?’
I nod to give myself time to recompose. ‘I’m just having one of those days and now I’ve come here for loo roll and I’m eight pence short – I should have checked my purse before I left but—’
‘Shh, hon, listen, we’ll go and pay for this and then I’m taking you home for a cup of tea.’
I don’t know what it is about the warmth and kindness of this woman who hardly knows me, but it sets me off crying again.
‘Why don’t you go and get some fresh air and I’ll sort this.’ She prises the loo roll out of my hand and I might be mistaken but I think she shoves me a little towards the door. Outside, the cold air hits me like a slap in the face. My head starts to pound like an embarrassed little man is trying to dig himself a hole in my grey matter. I contemplate scurrying off but she knows where I live and I really need that loo roll.
‘Here you go,’ she says, handing me a carrier bag. ‘Right, your place or mine?’ Despite living across the road from one another for years, we’ve never said more than a quick hello, or given knowing glances as we’ve struggled to get the kids into their impossible car seats, but here she is offering me support. I suppose I was always busy before the divorce, people-pleasing the likes of Emily, and ever since Mike left I’ve been so frazzled myself, I’ve barely acknowledged anyone. The fact she’s doing this for me sends a warmth so strong through my body, it almost sets me off crying again.
Ten minutes later we’re in my kitchen and I’m apologising for the mess whilst cursing myself for not tidying up earlier.
She bats away my comment with her hand. ‘Listen, I’ve always thought there was something suspicious about super tidy people – I mean, where do they find the time to be constantly cleaning? They’re missing out on something somewhere.’
I laugh. I like this woman.
‘Anyway,’ she says as she fills the kettle. ‘Do you want to talk about anything? I’m a good listener and have a few hours to kill.’
Something about her round face and soft brown eyes compels me to want to open up. I rarely get to speak to other adults, excluding Mike of course but he doesn’t count.
When I try to pinpoint the things that are getting to me, I can’t. It’s not the divorce – I’ve had time to come to terms with that. The hardest part of the divorce wasn’t losing Mike, it was losing the family unit I’d always yearned for. Growing up without a mum and having a dad who was always away left me longing for a proper family. I never grew up wanting to be a nurse or a pop star. I grew up wanting to be a mum and a wife. The loss of that dream is what I’m mourning for, but the version Mike and I had was far from perfect. Today I think it’s just life that’s getting to me though. It all sounds so trivial when I try to verbalise it – people struggle with so much more.
‘I’m just being daft. I’m having a bad day and too many things got on top of me at once.’
‘I know that feeling.’ She uses the teapot off the shelf by the window and I daren’t tell her it was a gift that I keep for ornamental purposes because she’s being so kind. ‘Happens to me at least once a day. The kids run me ragged and my other half is as much use as a marshmallow mallet. I love them and all, but I do cherish the time I get when they’re at school.’
When she places the mugs of tea down, she sits opposite me at the kitchen table and takes a sip. ‘The kids giving you grief too?’ She says the statement like a question.
‘Something like that. They’re not especially bad; it’s just the collective nature of them.’
‘Ahh, the many-headed beast, though I only have two – you’ve got your work cut out with three. Listen, it’s not my place to say and tell me to shut up if you wish but I heard about you and Mike splitting up and just wanted to say I’m sorry and I’m here if you need help or fancy a natter.’
The kindness Janey is showing me is almost enough to set me off blubbing again. I can’t even remember a time when somebody showed me this level of empathy.
‘That’s so kind – thank you. Today has just been a special kind of horrendous … I didn’t sleep. I never sleep.’
‘Oh, honey, I know that feeling. All of life’s problems seem to want solving the minute you close your eyes.’
I nod but it isn’t that. I can’t tell her the real reason I don’t sleep well. Instead, I find myself filling Janey in on everything else – right from Ava refusing to get dressed and Emily ditching me. Instead of telling me I’m being a drama queen, like Mike would have, or switching off like my old friends did, she listens and pulls sympathetic faces in all the right places. When I’ve finished, I feel several pounds lighter.
‘And to top it off,’ I add, ‘I was parent-shamed by the kids’ school this morning.’ I find myself laughing. It’s euphoric and unfamiliar.
‘Parent-shamed! We’re going to get along well. Tell me more?’ She rests her head on one hand, her elbow on the table.
She laughs as I tell her there were no kids about when I entrusted my two to walk in unaccompanied. ‘Honestly, I think some jobsworth sits monitoring the CCTV just to try and catch a parent out!’ I shake my head. ‘More tea?’
As I go to fill the kettle, Henry starts to cry. ‘Sorry.’
‘I’ll do the tea – you see to Henry,’ she says.
A few hours pass quickly and before I know it, it’s time to pick the kids up.
‘Right, I’d better get going. I’m taking the car today as my eldest, Tom, has a friend coming for tea and he’s a bit of a whirlwind, this little guy, so I don’t fancy walking, but we totally should try and walk together a few days a week. Great for the bum!’ she says, slapping herself on the bottom for emphasis. I laugh.
‘And listen, my other half, Jimmy, works away a lot so I know how tough it can be on your own. When he’s here he’s always too tired to take any notice of me anyway, so if you’re ever stuck for someone to take the kids to school or look after them while you go on a hot date, just ask – if I’m free to help I will do,’ she says, giving me a pointed look that suggests she means it.
My body fills with warmth. ‘Thank you – same here, although with you being married and me being a hot mess, I can’t see either of us going on a hot date any time soon.’ I chuckle but the reality is, I haven’t once considered dating. The thought of going through
all of that early relationship stuff terrifies me, and besides, I have three children to think about.
‘You never know.’ She winks and I can’t quite tell if she means that I could be dating one day, or she could. Either way, I like Janey a lot.
Chapter 3
It’s one-fifteen when the doorbell rings. The kids’ bags have been packed and by the door since ten-thirty. Ava and Ralph have taken it in turns to ask, ‘When is Daddy going to be here?’ precisely every four minutes since they woke up at seven a.m.
‘You’re late,’ I hiss as Mike steps through the door.
‘Oh come on, I said elevenish not eleven on the dot.’
‘Since when has quarter past one been elevenish?’
He gives me a sideways glance as Ralph comes bounding down the hallway.
‘Daddy!’
‘My big man!’ Mike scoops him up and spins him around. Ralph’s trainers scrape the wall leaving a black scuff mark about a foot above the skirting board, which irks me, mostly because Mike did it. As much as he grates on me, he is a good dad when he’s actually with the kids. It’s part of the problem of course – he gets to be Captain Fun whilst I play the role of the evil villain: Regimental Mum. I know this is common during separation but when we agreed on joint custody, Mike promised to take the rough and the smooth. I could say something but he’d come back with some rubbish about me being better at the discipline side or how he has all that rules and routine stuff to deal with at work and he just wants to chill out on the weekends.
‘Daddy, Daddy, look at my dress!’ Ava comes running down the hallway in the Monsoon bridesmaid dress that she wore to Mike’s friend’s wedding a few months ago.
‘Why are you wearing that?’ I shriek. I had it washed and ready to put on eBay.
‘I’m a princess,’ she says twirling.
‘You sure are.’ Mike throws her into the air and catches her. ‘And I bet you’ll only eat pink bonbons won’t you?’
‘Don’t feed her just bonbons,’ I say wearily.
‘As if I would,’ he says before whispering, ‘I totally will,’ into her ear. She giggles and thrashes her arms and legs around with excitement.
‘Don’t let them stay up too late or they’ll be horrible tomorrow.’
‘Stephanie, relax, I’m their father. I know what I’m doing.’
‘Okay, and you’re aware of everything Henry needs because last week Ava said you let him have cake and he’s really too young for cake.’
Mike puts Ava down. ‘Ralph, can you take Ava to the car? I won’t be a minute.’ Ralph takes Ava’s hand and when they’re down the steps Mike turns to face me.
‘You need to stop telling me what to do.’
‘Mike, I just want you to be on my side once in a while. Not because I want to boss you around or have some backup or whatever, but because the kids need consistency in their lives. They need to have boundaries. Do you know how hard it is saying no to extra sweets when they come back whining, “Daddy lets us have them”?’
‘I’m not here to bend over backwards to improve your life anymore, Stephanie. Don’t you think I do enough by providing for you all and paying for this place when I don’t even live here?’ He sweeps his arm around the hallway like it’s a grand palace. It is a very nice house, don’t get me wrong, it’s a four-bed townhouse in Cheshire, which I’m very lucky to live in but I know what he earns and he’s trying to make me feel indebted to him.
‘You do. I’m sorry,’ I say, reeling inside. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ I want to yell that he should be paying for his kids and what he gives us isn’t enough after bills but I don’t want to cause a row about it. He can be irrational and hot-headed when he gets angry and he’s been even worse lately for some reason. I can’t risk him pulling all his money and taking us back through the courts.
I spend the rest of the day binge-watching The Crown. By late afternoon I’m missing the kids like crazy and sit flicking through photographs of them on my phone – something I do every weekend when they’re at their dad’s. As I’m looking at pictures of Ava dressed as Matilda for the last World Book Day, a message comes through. It’s Janey.
Hi Steph, I saw the kids go off with Mike. Mine are at a sleepover and Jimmy is working away (again). Fancy a drink in an actual pub like two grown-ups? X
I get a flutter of excitement. A pub! I haven’t been out since way before Mike left. Our group did a lot of couples’ dinner parties. They weren’t really pub people. Suddenly I get the taste for half a lager and some dry-roasted peanuts.
That sounds great. X
Perfect – I’ll come over in half an hour. X
I run upstairs, throw on some make-up. I’m not a heavy make-up person but I’m not going to lie and say I’m confident with a naked face. This decade has brought some rather fetching fine lines and reddened dry patches on my face and whilst they don’t bother me much on the whole, I’m not exactly keen on flaunting them either. I change my baggy sweater for a fitted denim shirt before squirting on the dregs of perfume from a sample bottle I’ve had in my drawer for years and brushing my shoulder-length light-brown hair. It’s the most effort I’ve made in a long time. As I’m coming down the stairs, the doorbell rings.
We walk to the local pub, which is near the local Tesco. As a duo they make up the underwhelming ‘village centre’ of Milden, where we live. It’s getting dark and I’m on high alert. My fingers encase the small personal alarm in my pocket and my eyes dart left and right. It’s only a five-minute walk to the pub and its welcoming glow is soon in my sights. As we reach the doorway, I exhale, sliding my hand out of my pocket. It’s a nice village pub type place and half of it is more of a restaurant. Mike and I sometimes came here when I was too tired to cook. The typical ‘pub smell’ of stale beer and grilled steak fat is warm and comforting and we find a table by the open fire easily. It’s pretty quiet for a Saturday.
‘What are you drinking?’ Janey asks, rummaging in her bag, presumably for her purse.
‘Let me get these. I owe you one after all,’ I say before pushing my way to the bar. I don’t tell her I took twenty quid out of Ava’s money box to come out. Obviously, I’m going to put twenty pounds back in as soon as I get my next payment off Mike tomorrow, but I don’t know Janey well enough to be sure she’d see the funny side.
I order my half of Fosters, some peanuts, and Janey’s Prosecco and it’s over a tenner. It’s going to be a short night.
‘Ahh, this is nice,’ Janey says. ‘I love my kids but I love a bit of me-time too if you know what I mean. I feel torn in half most days trying to keep Tom off his silly computer games whilst Seren mithers at me to bake or spills slime all over the carpet.’
‘How about Jimmy? Is he much help?’
Janey has a mouth full of peanuts so shakes her head. ‘He’s got a carpet business and spends more or less every day of the week fitting carpets in the most far-flung places you could find. Honestly, you’d think the people round here didn’t have use for carpets.’
‘Oh.’ I’m not sure what else to say.
She picks at the corner of a beer mat and doesn’t look up. I can’t see her face but her body looks like it’s caved in on itself. Her confident, broad shoulders stoop like someone is pressing down on them. ‘I know I should be grateful. He’s making decent money but he’s not much use when he is at home.’
I swallow.
‘Listen, if the kids are with Mike every weekend, we should do this more often. Mine are always sleeping out, which is something since Jimmy never helps out.’ She sounds more upbeat now.
I’d love to but I don’t think my bank balance could keep up.
‘What’s the matter?’ Janey says, studying my face. ‘You’ve not touched your drink yet.’
I don’t want to tell her I’m making it last. ‘Oh, nothing. It’s just that things … finances, are a bit tight since the divorce. Regular pub trips are a bit out of my league at the minute.’
‘Oh, Steph love, you should have said. I�
�ve got a nice bottle of pink Prosecco at home we could have had.’
‘No,’ I protest. ‘I’m glad to be out. This is nice and it’s not something I ever do. I just can’t do it often. I am job hunting though.’
‘What did you do before …’ She kinks her head side to side, and I take it to mean kids.
‘I was a bookkeeper. So it’s not like I gave up a huge salary or anything but any extra would help right now.’
‘That should be easy to go back into shouldn’t it? Nothing is sure except death and taxes, so they say.’
I shrug. ‘I thought so but I haven’t even managed to get an interview anywhere. I think I’ve been out of the game for too long. I’d need training on the latest bookkeeping software, and nobody wants to invest that sort of time in their staff anymore. I might have to ditch taxes and go into funerals at this rate.’
She reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. ‘You’ll get something soon.’
‘It would be nice to get together more though when you’re free,’ I say, bravely putting myself forward.
‘Yeah, it would. Do you know what I’ve always fancied doing that wouldn’t cost much?’
I have a mouth full of peanuts so shake my head.
‘A book club.’
I raise my eyebrows. In my brief time of knowing her, I didn’t have Janey down as a bookworm.
‘That actually sounds like quite good fun,’ I say after swallowing my beer.
‘I think so. We could meet, say, once a month and talk about what we’d read over drinks and nibbles. We’d have to set a book each month, of course, and commit to reading it.’
I’m so elated I could cry. The inside of my nose is tingling and everything. This is a commitment to see an adult human on a regular basis. ‘That sounds fab.’
‘Great. Let’s choose a book now and we can start reading asap!’ She pronounces asap as a word. ‘I’ll read anything. Is there a book in particular that you fancy?’
I pause to think. ‘Actually, there’s been so much hype about The Handmaid’s Tale that I wouldn’t mind seeing what all the fuss is about, if you’ve not already read it. I haven’t watched the show or anything.’
The Single Mums' Book Club Page 2
