Bad Mother's Diary: a feel good romantic comedy with a heart-warming happily ever after

by Suzy K Quinn

  Brandi didn’t do badly either. Her date bid against some guy Brandi had a one-night stand with. She ended up raising a respectable one hundred and fifty pounds.

  When it was my turn, Doug put a sweaty arm around my shoulder and said, ‘Now Juliette may not be at her best, with a new baby at home. But her fella couldn’t make it tonight, so let’s do what we can for her. There’s life in the old girl yet. Am I right, fellas?’

  Then he asked how long before I’d be a decent married woman.

  ‘Soon!’ I said, forcing a silly grin on my face.

  In the end, I got three pity bids from some old men.

  God, I’m lucky to have Nick. I really am.

  Monday, January 11th

  Helen came round early today.

  We were still in bed when she called.

  Nick pulled a pillow over his head and pretended to be asleep, so I had to talk to her.

  Helen said, ‘Jul-iette. How was the Dalton Ball, darling? I couldn’t go – I had a work thing.’

  I knew something was wrong then. She never calls me darling.

  She fixed me with those manic blue eyes of hers and told me she’d heard something ‘disconcerting’ about the auction. That Zachary Dalton had bid ‘rather a large amount’ on my sister Laura.

  I said, ‘What?’

  ‘Pardon’, said Helen, closing her eyes like she had a headache.

  Then she grilled me about Laura and Zach – whether they were an item, how serious things were.

  I told her it was none of her business.

  Apparently, certain people in the village are talking. Saying how inappropriate it is that Laura and Zach could be together.

  ‘Considering Laura’s background,’ Helen clarified.

  I said Laura’s background was the same as mine – she grew up in a nice, big house in the country and wanted for nothing.

  Admittedly the downstairs of that big house is a bar / pub … but it’s a nice family-friendly place with a garden and good food.

  Helen said, almost whispered actually, ‘But your younger sister had that teenage pregnancy …’

  And then it all came out – Catrina Dalton phoned Helen yesterday. I had no idea they were friends, but apparently, they run a designer-clothing charity together.

  Catrina is ‘beside herself’ with concern that ‘poor Zachary’ is getting himself distracted when he should be settling down with someone ‘sensible’.

  Ha!

  Laura is the most sensible person I know. She keeps a record of all her expenses, has three different savings accounts and is studying for her second degree.

  I told Helen I’m happy that Laura and Zach like each other. I’d never get in the way of that, and nor should anyone else.

  ‘That’s what you want for your sister, is it?’ said Helen. ‘To be gossiped about?’

  I told her people always gossiped about our family. With a mum like ours, we’re used to it.

  ‘Well you should warn her at least,’ said Helen. ‘Catrina Dalton is not happy. What relationship can work if a mother isn’t happy?’

  I pointed out that Helen hadn’t liked me much at first.

  ‘Um … yes,’ said Helen. ‘But then there was the mishap. So …’

  Sometimes Helen really crosses the line.

  I shouted, ‘Don’t EVER call Daisy a mishap.’

  Nick yelled from the bedroom, ‘She’s right, Mum. That’s out of line.’

  Helen looked a bit chastised. Then she said, ‘What I mean is, I appreciate there are certain things one must accept.’

  ‘So maybe Catrina Dalton will learn to accept Laura,’ I said. ‘And she could do a lot worse. Laura is beautiful and kind and ladylike.’

  Helen’s lips did that horrible puckering thing they do when she gets really angry.

  She barked that Catrina had made her feelings ‘VERY clear’. Then she left, muttering that she was practically planning the wedding for me and got no thanks.

  I shouted after her that she could stop bringing round ridiculous pictures of Vogue models wearing turquoise wedding dresses and neon, plastic wedding rings.

  When she’d gone, Nick crawled out from the bedroom and asked if there was any Coca-Cola in the fridge.

  It’s always funny when he tries to be serious with his hair all sticking up and duckling fluffy.

  I told him about the ball and how Catrina Dalton had been whispering to Alex about us ‘Duffy girls’.

  I didn’t tell him about Alex offering to train me.

  ‘The Daltons are complete idiots,’ said Nick. ‘Daisy’s asleep, you know.’

  I asked if he’d checked her breathing.

  He rolled his eyes and said, ‘Yes. Get over here.’

  Then he kissed me – just like he used to do.

  Suddenly, it was like the old days.

  I’d forgotten he’s a good kisser.

  He whispered, ‘I still love you, Julesy. Even with all the baby weight.’

  I gave him an outraged punch on the arm, but he just laughed.

  He was SO rock-hard.

  Before long we were having sex, and I realised how much I’d missed him. It was so nice being close. He was really pounding me into the sofa. Really going for it. So unlike how things have been recently.

  I think I would have come quickly – except he came first. And when he did, he moaned and fell on top of me.

  Usually, he says ‘oh Julesy’ when he comes. But he said something else today. I’m not sure what.

  Then he turned me around, put his hand between my legs and helped me come too.

  We lay on the sofa with our arms around each other.

  It felt really nice. But I kept trying to work out what he’d said.

  It definitely wasn’t my name.

  Tuesday, January 12th

  Nick wouldn’t cheat on me. He wouldn’t. I mean, he was a player in the past, but we have a baby now.

  I should know better than to over-think things, especially when I’m tired and sleep deprived.

  I’m just being paranoid.

  Wednesday, January 13th

  Phoned Laura to talk about wedding stuff.

  She was a bit distracted because she was getting ready for a date with Zach. He’s taking her on a London riverboat cruise up the River Thames.

  Phoned Althea, and she shouted about weddings being capitalist bullshit.

  ‘But you got married,’ I pointed out.

  ‘I only did it for the party.’

  I told her I had sex with Nick yesterday and I thought he said something weird.

  ‘Men are always weird when they're having sex,’ said Althea. ‘Just look at the porn they watch. Maybe that’s why Nick is such a dickhead right now. You don’t have sex enough.’

  Which I suppose could be true.

  Made it out running, even though it was pretty cold.

  I meant to jog for an hour non-stop. But after fifty minutes it was too horrible, and I ended up leaning against my knees, panting and thinking I might throw up. I walked for ten minutes. Jogged another three. Walked a bit more. Then I jogged the last bit back to the apartment in case Nick’s mum was looking out of the window.

  My whole body wobbled when I ran, including the bits between my legs (that’s a new one).

  I think you’ve really got to ease yourself into this running stuff. No point putting yourself through pain and getting injured.

  Gently does it.

  Thursday, January 14th

  Alex came over this evening to take me running.

  Was totally shocked to hear his voice on the intercom, and was in no way prepared for exercise, having just eaten chicken in black-bean sauce, egg-fried rice, hot and spicy pork ribs and half a tub of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. But I couldn’t really say no with him on the doorstep.

  Nick was clearly jealous, but he managed to grunt an ‘alright’ when I let Alex up to the apartment. He really needs to get over himself. I’m allowed to have male friends. Nick has plenty of twenty-something f
emale actresses liking his Facebook posts.

  Was embarrassed, because my running outfit is currently baggy elephant grey joggers covered in weird white marks that no amount of washing will shift. (Where does all that white stuff come from when you have a baby? Is it spit? And if so, how does it get on your legs?)

  As I was putting on my running gear, I thought, ‘This is going to be an absolute nightmare. Alex is really fit. He’ll run at 100mph.’

  But actually, Alex was kind, and we did lots of walking as well as running.

  Neither of us said much at first – in my case, partly because I was out of breath. But after a while, we got talking.

  I asked Alex about his family and the hotel business. Then I asked about the Dalton estate, and whether the rumours were true about him selling his Great Oakley home this year.

  He told me I listened to too much gossip.

  ‘I thought the house might hold bad memories,’ I said.

  ‘I hardly ever think about the fire,’ said Alex. ‘Not anymore.’

  ‘Jemima visits you a lot,’ I said. ‘Does she like Great Oakley?’

  ‘She loves the village,’ said Alex. ‘What seven-year-old wouldn’t? All the woods and rivers. She doesn’t enjoy her time with our mother much, truth be told. Zach and I are more on her wavelength.’

  ‘You’re good big brothers,’ I said. ‘It’s always sweet, seeing you two with her.’

  ‘I love taking Jemima out in Great Oakley,’ said Alex. ‘It reminds me of growing up here. And I like to be reminded.’

  That surprised me because, as a child, Alex never seemed all that happy.

  Zach was always as bouncy and cheerful as they come, but Alex was more serious. Not exactly withdrawn, but quite stern. People rarely messed with him, put it that way.

  I suppose he and Zach do have different dads. Allegedly.

  I asked how Jemima found her school. She stays away from home at one of those ultra-expensive London private schools. It must be lonely – being apart from her family.

  ‘She’s learning independence,’ said Alex. ‘Just like Zach and I did. Childhood isn’t all about fun.’

  Alex and Zach went to Windsor College, where they foster confidence, perseverance, tolerance and integrity.

  Us Duffys went to Oakley Primary, where they foster a tolerance of chewing gum under tables and powdery mashed potato.

  ‘But didn’t you feel lonely as a boarder?’ I asked.

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Alex. ‘But it was good for me.’

  I asked Alex if he remembered playing in the woods when we were kids.

  Alex looked very serious and said, ‘Of course I do.’

  When we got back to the apartment, Alex crossed his arms and frowned. ‘Goodbye Juliette. I’ll come again next week.’

  And off he went.

  Nick was all grumpy when I got in, asking me how ‘fancy pants Dalton’ could run with a ‘gold watch between his butt cheeks’.

  Friday, January 15th

  Sadie called round today to train and talk about marathon outfits.

  She was pretty annoyed that I’d been jogging without her – especially when she found out it was with Alex Dalton.

  ‘You know Catrina runs a modelling agency,’ she moaned. ‘If I date Alex or Zach … poof! I get a glossy magazine photo-shoot.’

  But I wasn’t going to give in to Sadie’s emotional blackmail. She’s let me down for enough training sessions – how can she expect me to phone her last minute?

  Sadie looked stunning, but then she always does. She has a big, beautiful face like the moon, and one of those figures that look fantastic in everything.

  Nick calls her ‘pancake face’.

  As we were getting changed into our running gear, I asked Sadie how often she thought a couple should have sex.

  ‘I do it whenever I want a man to buy me something!’ she said. Then giggled at her own ‘hilarious’ joke. Except, in Sadie’s case it’s only half a joke.

  Sadie asked how often Nick and I had sex.

  I told her not very often.

  ‘I always thought he’d be weird in bed,’ said Sadie. ‘He strikes me as the sort of guy who’d watch himself in a full-length mirror.’

  But he’s only ever done that once.

  Saturday, January 16th

  Most embarrassing day ever. EVER.

  Oh my God. Oh my God! I can barely write it down.

  Birthday lunch for Helen today, which was bad enough in itself. But worse, it was at Bill and Penelope Dearheart’s house.

  Bill and Penelope hadn’t seen Nick in ‘far too long’. (In Helen’s world, Nick needs to be paraded in front of her friends regularly. God knows why. He hardly makes her look good.) So Helen and Penelope arranged a ‘simple birthday luncheon’ where the parading could take place.

  The Dearhearts’ live in one of those big farmhouses at the end of a muddy tractor path.

  It’s called ‘The Vicarage’ and has a huge conservatory and a garden full of lavender bushes.

  You can only really get there by Land Rover, so my little car tipped and heaved over the muddy tractor marks like a lame dog.

  Penelope Dearheart greeted us at the big oak front door with a forced smile.

  She’s a shorter, blonde version of Helen – perfectly groomed, perfectly scarfed and perfectly fragranced.

  And like Helen, she has those thin twitchy lips that always look a little bit angry.

  Bill was his usual loud, rude self, with his big square head and booming laugh.

  As Penelope ushered us in, her two crazy, inbred greyhounds, Sergeant and Horatio, bounded in from the garden.

  They were the size of small horses and knocked over a bottle of scented fig oil and an antique chair as they leapt around the hall.

  Sergeant was chewing a gnarled copy of Period Home, and Horatio had clearly been eating mud.

  If they had human faces, they’d have been cross-eyed and grinning.

  Penelope shouted at them as though they were human children.

  ‘How many times have I asked you to be careful in here?’

  Then she sent the dogs into the garden and announced we’d be eating in the conservatory, ‘so we can enjoy the pale spring sun peeking through the clouds.’

  I was totally nervous.

  Especially when we sat at the table, and Penelope told us the wine glasses were antique family heirlooms.

  Daisy was in the sling and kept trying to grab everything. And the more I moved the glasses away from her, the more she wanted them.

  I was so busy moving the wine glasses, that I didn’t notice Daisy grab a big block of Stilton and stuff it into her mouth. Then she half-coughed, half-vomited blue cheese and dribbled all over the lovely white table linen, the beige carpet, and Penelope’s plate.

  I tried to clear everything up, saying sorry over and over again.

  Penelope and Helen’s lips twitched.

  Then (WHY does she always do this at the WORST POSSIBLE MOMENT?) Daisy did the longest, loudest mega-farty poo ever. It sounded like a train rumbling past.

  Everyone tried to pretend they hadn’t heard. Which made it even funnier.

  I excused myself to change Daisy, and Penelope got all flustered.

  ‘NOT in the downstairs lavatory, please. It’s being decorated. You can use the upstairs bathroom.’

  The upstairs bathroom had one of those free-standing baths with Victorian taps. But it didn’t have a bin for the dirty nappy.

  Daisy was crying. I got all flustered.

  Decided to stash the nappy under the stroller downstairs. Bit disgusting, but I thought I could throw it away at home. Then I went upstairs again to wash my hands.

  When Daisy and I got back to the conservatory, the two dogs were going crazy over something in the garden.

  ‘Oh no. Bill,’ said Penelope. ‘What have those dogs got now?’

  I had a bad feeling. Right in the pit of my stomach.

  Suddenly, Sergeant galloped up to the glass with Daisy�
��s shitty nappy in his mouth.

  Penelope said, ‘I think he’s got a …’

  ‘It looks like … a nappy,’ said Bill.

  Then everyone was horribly quiet.

  Everything was in slow motion.

  Horatio chased Sergeant and tried to tear the nappy from his teeth. Sergeant wouldn’t let go. The nappy was ripped apart, and shit flew all over the conservatory windows.

  There was this terrible, terrible silence.

  Brown shadows hung over the lunch table.

  Everyone looked politely at their plates. Except for Helen, who was glaring at me with boiling eyes.

  We all carried on having lunch as though there wasn’t shit on the glass.

  Penelope rushed us through the courses (walnut and Stilton salad, beef Wellington, crème brûlée). Then she said there wasn’t really time for a cheese course and she and Bill had an appointment.

  ‘What appointment?’ said Bill.

  Penelope hissed, ‘The appointment!’ like a fire extinguisher going off.

  When we left, Helen grabbed my arm and said, ‘I will never, EVER live this down. Do not tell ANYONE about this lunch. Ever.’

  Got home, phoned Mum and told her about the lunch.

  She laughed for ten minutes without stopping.

  Then she got Dad, Laura and Brandi on a conference call and told them the story.

  They laughed for ten minutes without stopping.

  Then Mum ran downstairs and told everyone in the pub.

  Sunday, January 17th

  Daisy fell asleep on the sofa this afternoon. I didn’t dare move her into the stroller – she gets all upset if she’s woken. So I was stuck indoors and couldn’t get out to do the shopping.

  I asked Nick to pick up milk for Daisy on the way home. He bought:

  A four-pack of Italian beer

  A large bag of double-fried sour cream nacho chips

  A Spanish meat platter

  A pint of semi-skimmed milk

  When I asked Nick about formula milk for Daisy, he looked at me blankly.

  ‘She doesn’t have cow’s milk yet,’ I explained.