by Suzy K Quinn
Monday, June 6th
Pam forgot to write Daisy’s weight in her red book, so I gave her a ring.
There was no answer. I left a message, but she hasn’t called me back.
Tuesday, June 7th
Daisy has had three twinkly pieces of glitter on her scalp since Brandi’s birthday.
It only shows up in direct sunlight, but I’m worried people will think I don’t wash her. No matter how many baths I give her, the glitter just won’t shift.
I wonder if the health visitor noticed? Did she think I never wash her?
Better ring and explain.
4 pm
Rang Pam Fairy three times and left urgent voicemails. She still hasn’t rung back.
Wednesday, June 8th
No call from Pam Fairy.
Mum laughed when I told her about the glitter. She said, ‘Health visitors are looking for neglect. A sparkly baby is a happy baby.’
Thursday, June 9th
Did postnatal depression test online. Just in case.
I have an unhealthy fixation with Coldplay and salted caramel. Plus I’m just so miserable whenever I think about Nick and Sadie.
But the test came back fine.
Phoned Althea and she said, ‘All mothers feel sad sometimes. I mean, our lives are ruined aren’t they?’
Friday, June 10th
Weighed myself today for the first time since the wedding.
When I saw the scales, I couldn’t believe it.
I thought Mum must have broken them.
I’m EVEN HEAVIER now than when I had Daisy.
Took off all my clothes and viewed my wobbly post-baby body in a full-length mirror.
If I were being kind, I’d say I look like a Renaissance nude. If I were being unkind, I’d say I looked plump and saggy.
Okay.
Enough is enough now.
I want to be some of what I was before. Not all, but some. It’s not just about the weight. It’s about taking control. Taking charge of my life.
Time to move forward.
I want to show Daisy just how strong her mother can be.
Saturday, June 11th
Diet book shopping with Laura and Brandi.
We had coffee at Barnes and Noble – skinny decaf for me, espresso for Laura and a big frothy whipped strawberry thing for Brandi (bloody twenty-one-year-olds – Brandi is skinny as anything and eats exactly what she likes).
Then we looked at diet books (well, Laura and I did. Brandi browsed magazines, then moaned that bookshops were BORING).
There were so many diet books to choose from:
Fat Around the Middle (But I’m fat everywhere!)
The 5:2 Diet (tried starving myself before and frankly I just don’t have the willpower.)
The Atkins Diet (There’s that bad breath rumour …)
Weight Watchers (Sarah Ferguson did it and, without sounding horrible, she’s still fat.)
The Slow Carb Diet (Ugh, who likes beans?)
Bought the Food Guru book in the end.
Healthy, sensible eating. No fads or false promises. But you could lose ten pounds in a week …
Sunday, June 12th
Bought all the stuff for the Food Guru diet.
The Food Guru guy says you can’t put a price on health. But you can. It’s about two hundred quid.
Bought stuff like steak, salmon, asparagus, and a load of things I’ve never heard of like chia seeds and psyllium husk.
Dad took me to the supermarket because he’s the only one who can work Daisy’s car seat.
He was such a proud granddad, telling any shopper who’d listen Daisy’s age, birth weight and toilet habits.
Monday, June 13th
10 am
So far today I have eaten:
Two boiled eggs (no toast or anything – wheat is the work of the devil).
A handful of nuts.
Celery with pumpkin seed butter.
11 am
Must be lunchtime by now?! I’m going to eat my own leg if I don’t have lunch soon.
11.30 am
Early lunch.
Cooked stir-fry without any soy sauce or flavour of any kind.
Feel pretty good.
Tuesday, June 14th
Althea phoned me at 6 am to remind me to count my blessings.
She’s just been on some Buddhist retreat with Wolfgang. Apparently, they had to count their blessings at 6 am every morning, and she reckons it’s changed her life.
Today her blessings are:
Her confident little boy who expresses his feelings. (No one else thinks it’s a blessing that Wolfgang expresses his feelings, which are generally anger and outrage. But a mother’s love is blind.)
Fabulous purple furniture.
The mystery flowers (weeds) that grow in her garden.
I told her my biggest blessing was Daisy.
I wanted to add, ‘And friends who know not to call before 7 am.’
Wednesday, June 15th
A bad, bad day.
Went into town to buy stuff for Daisy and my bank card didn’t work.
The lady in the bank said, ‘Your account has been frozen, Mrs Jolly Piggy.’
I told her I wasn’t Mrs Jolly Piggy. I was Mr Jolly-Piggott’s ex-girlfriend. And the money in the account was mine.
After a bit of wrangling (well – shouting), she got the manager – a spotty teenager in a suit three sizes too big for him.
He said there was nothing they could do. The account was frozen four days ago, and no one could access funds until ‘assets are divided’.
‘But it’s my money,’ I said.
‘The account was in his name,’ said the manager, over and over again.
In the end, he asked if I could accept a Smedley’s Bank teddy bear as an apology.
I told him if he could give me five thousand bears and let me sell them outside the bank, we could talk.
Thursday, June 16th
Spent all day in the bank shouting at people and trying to call Nick.
When Nick finally answered the phone, he sounded all suspicious.
‘Ye-es?’
Like he didn’t know why I was calling!
I shouted at him about the bank account and needing to buy things for Daisy.
He said his mother and the solicitor had made him freeze the account.
When I asked him what happened to the money, he said no one could access it until ‘legal shit is sorted out’.
As I was screaming at him, I heard a woman in the background at his end.
‘Who’s with you?’ I asked.
A horrible silence.
And then I heard Sadie’s loud, clipped voice. ‘Nick darling, how do I look in this dress? Pregnant and stylish or pregnant and fat?’
Before I knew it, I’d thrown my phone at Smedley’s Bank window.
A guy in an army jacket shouted, ‘Yeah! Smash the fat cats!’
Friday, June 17th
Told Mum and Dad about the bank account.
‘What am I going to do?’ I said.
‘Your mum will take you out this afternoon,’ said Dad, ‘and get everything you need. Just write a list.’
I started crying. I said, ‘You already look after Brandi and Callum. It’s bad enough I’m living with you.’
Dad said it was fine. He said it would be a good opportunity to economise and re-evaluate their spending.
He put on his reading glasses, got out his household expenses notebook and crossed out ‘Cable TV’ with his Guinness pencil.
Mum shouted at him to fuck off.
Then a big argument blew up about what was important and what wasn’t.
It got really nasty when Mum threatened to sell Dad’s Lord of the Rings figurines.
I told them no one needed to sell anything.
Dad said I’d always be his little girl and he’d sell the clothes off his back if he had to.
I cried even more then.
In the end, Mum and Dad insisted on
transferring money into my bank account.
I promised to pay them back, but they said, ‘You just worry about Daisy.’
Althea’s right.
I should remember to count my blessings.
I have the best family in the world.
Saturday, June 18th
Althea has signed me up for ‘Sing and Splash’ at the fancy sports club just outside the village.
It starts next week.
I found out this morning when Althea face-timed me at 6.15 am.
‘Come on Jules!’ she said. ‘Embrace the day. Get your bra on. Wipe all that crap out of your eyes. We’re hitting Oxford Street to buy you a swimming costume.’
Then she waved a leaflet in front of her phone.
It said:
Sing and Splash
Help your little ones with their social and cognitive development.
Shallow water – low risk of drowning.
‘I know, I know,’ Althea conceded. ‘It’s all a little bit establishment. But fuck it – the kids will love it.’
When I told Althea about all the bank account stuff, she waved her turquoise-ringed fingers at the camera and said, ‘Don’t be stupid. I’ll pay.’
I tried to argue, but there’s no point arguing with Althea. She’s like a steamroller.
So off we went into London.
Althea banned me from Topshop, New Look or River Island.
‘You’re a mum now,’ she said. ‘You need padding and wire.’
So we went to old lady shops like Marks and Spencer and Laura Ashley.
The ones that sell clothes for women who don’t have sex anymore.
I found myself in a world of black one-pieces with ruched bust lines and old lady flower patterns.
I still looked four months pregnant in all of them.
Then we went to John Lewis.
Althea suggested I try a bikini, but I don’t want my wrinkly stomach on display.
‘Posh Spice has a wrinkly stomach,’ Althea pointed out.
‘That’s why she never wears a bikini,’ I replied.
As we were walking through the make-up department, Althea shouted about make-up being ‘one big establishment con.’ She talked about the pressures of being female and how every woman is beautiful without ‘any of this crap’.
Then a make-up lady told Althea she had beautiful eyelashes. Althea went all giggly and agreed to try a new mascara, ‘just for a laugh’.
The make-up lady shone a bright light in my face and told me I should try a light diffusing powder for fine lines.
As she was dusting my face, I saw Nick walking through the perfume department. With Sadie.
My stomach dropped to my knees.
I tapped Althea on the arm, and we both stared.
Nick was his usual swaggering self.
Sadie looked amazing. Glowing I suppose is the word. Showing a little bit, but not much. Slim too – especially around her face. Shiny light-brown hair like ironed silk.
She was wearing skinny jeans and brown knee-high boots, a loose blouse and an expensive-looking chiffon scarf wrapped around her neck.
She looked more like a mum than I did, as a matter of fact. All classy and mature.
She picked up some designer sunglasses, tried them on and looked at Nick with a ‘don’t I look great?’ expression.
Althea whispered, ‘That bitch.’
We watched as Nick’s hand slid down to Sadie’s toned backside.
Sadie threw her head back and laughed her horsey laugh.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so small. I started sobbing.
I’m fat …
I have a weird stretchy, wobbly stomach …
My baby still wakes up at night …
I have spotty upper-arms …
And I don’t wear scarves …
Althea crushed me into a big bosomy hug and said, ‘You’re a million times more beautiful than that big-faced cow. Come on. I’m buying you some chocolate cake.’
When I got home, I went straight to my room.
At about eight o’clock, I heard a soft knocking on the door.
It was Mum.
She’d brought me a pint of Guinness on a silver tray.
Then she told me about an old boyfriend of hers, Brian Tuck, who went off with her best friend on Christmas Eve. Worst of all, she’d already bought his Christmas present – a Lovett-green jumper. But she said it all worked out for the best. Because the shop took the jumper back, and then she met Dad.
‘But what about Daisy?’ I sniffed. ‘Nick has hardly seen her.’
‘Kids accept life for how it is,’ said Mum. ‘We should learn a thing or two from them and stop crying about what can’t be changed.’
We looked at Daisy, sleeping in the cot.
She did look very contented.
Maybe Mum’s right. I mean, Callum doesn’t see his dad, and he’s the happiest little boy there is. Perhaps because of all the Coca-Cola he drinks, but still …
Sunday, June 19th
Father’s Day
For some stupid reason, I thought Nick might call today.
Father’s Day and everything.
But no.
I bought him a present months ago (supposedly from Daisy). Solid-silver cufflinks with tiny prints of Daisy’s feet on them.
I gave the cufflinks to Dad, and he got all teary and went on about what an idiot Nick is, and how he loved being a granddad.
He’s right. Nick is an idiot. I’m better off without him.
Monday, June 20th
When I woke up this morning, the sun was shining.
I looked at Daisy – all smiles, chewing her blanket.
I thought again about Althea counting her blessings.
And I counted mine.
I have a beautiful, healthy baby.
I have amazing family and friends.
I can help myself to Guinness and bar snacks whenever I want.
I told Daisy, ‘Let’s open up those curtains and welcome the day.’
When I did, this old man jogged past in running gear. He was probably seventy years old, but he was bounding along.
‘Do you know what, Daisy?’ I said. ‘I’m going to run that marathon. I’m going to train, and I’m going to finish it.’
I stuck Daisy in her stroller and ran all the way to the woods and back again.
And for the first time in ages, I saw the sunshine.
Wednesday, June 22nd
‘Song and Splash’ with Althea today.
It took ages to get Daisy into the car with her swim nappy, swimsuit, water wings, rubber ring, rubber duckies, baby goggles, snacks, nappies, wet wipes, stroller, rain cover, change of clothes, teething ring and warm jumper just in case.
When I parked at the sports club, the car cut out. It wouldn’t start again, but I was so late I ran into the club.
Then I found a text message from Althea:
Can’t get Wolfy out of the bedroom. He’s wrapped himself around the cot leg and won’t let go. Don’t want to upset his power centre by being too brutal. Sorry baby cakes. See you soon. Kisses!
Considered going home, but Daisy looked so happy to be in the shiny, fancy sports centre I thought – oh well, we’re here now.
Wore the new black-sequinned swimming costume Althea bought me yesterday.
Even before we got into the pool, Daisy had eaten two sequins.
In the swimming pool, I noticed three more stuck to her face.
The teacher had a big smile, pigtails and a swimsuit with cupcakes all over it.
It must be nice to be happy all the time.
As soon as the singing started, Daisy started splashing like a maniac, kicking her arms and legs around and getting water all over the other mums and kids.
By the end of the class, there was three feet of space around us.
As we were leaving, I noticed one of the mums looking at me. Then, as we all walked to the changing rooms, I realised who it was.
Clarissa Field
ing.
God, I haven’t seen her in years.
Not since the school sports day, when she stopped being my best friend – I think because Mum turned up in a see-through purple vest. No one knew where to look when she ran the Mother’s Day race.
Clarissa looked great, actually.
Even with soaking wet hair, you could tell she had lovely caramel highlights.
I tried to catch her eye in the changing room, but she just gave me an embarrassed, ‘I don’t know you. Okay?’
After I’d changed, I went to the Sports Centre café and phoned Dad. He must have been in the beer cellar because the call went through to answer machine.
As I was trying to get tea from the vending machine, Alex Dalton walked past.
By the way he was swinging his racquet, I guessed he’d just pummelled an opponent.
He was wearing black shorts and a T-shirt like a sporty hitman.
Alex noticed me, frowned and said, ‘Juliette. You’re not a member here.’
I said I was just here for ‘Sing and Splash’.
Alex replied, ‘Daisy has a sequin on her cheek.’
And then out of nowhere Clarissa appeared at my side. She did the whole, ‘Juliette!’ (Big fake pretend laugh.) ‘It is you, isn’t it? I wasn’t sure …’
She kept glancing at Alex and smiling.
There was a beautiful blonde baby on Clarissa’s hip in a spotless dress and frilly white socks.
‘This must be your little one?’ I said.
Clarissa said yes. Then she looked at Daisy and said, ‘And she must be yours.’
Daisy gave a big half-tooth grin, snot running out of her nose, wet hair plastered to her little head. She tried to grab Clarissa’s scarf.
Clarissa took a step back.
‘She likes to grab things,’ I said. ‘I should train her to go for jewellery. She could make a fortune.’
