by Suzy K Quinn
He ranted about Nick and what a ‘nasty piece of work’ he was.
The whole village thinks so, apparently.
‘If it makes you feel any better,’ Dr Slaughter said, ‘Nick was in here three weeks ago, and his blood pressure was through the roof.’
Then he ranted about Mum ‘not respecting’ her diabetes – apparently, he saw her in Tesco’s, loading up with sugary two for ones.
I asked Doctor Slaughter whether he’d seen Sadie recently.
He said no. Her family are paying for private care.
I hope she gets varicose veins. And haemorrhoids. Really massive haemorrhoids.
Wednesday, August 10th
Mum and Dad’s wedding anniversary.
I found Dad in the garden with a big mug of tea this morning, flicking through his wedding photos.
He was looking adoringly at all the pictures of Mum, his eyes all misty and happy.
Mum and Dad’s wedding photos are postcard-sized and printed at the Kodak booth. They didn’t go in for ‘all this professional-photographer nonsense’.
In fact, their whole wedding was a low-key affair. They spent thirty pounds on sausage rolls and a beer keg and that was it.
In the pictures, everyone is staring at Mum’s boobs. Dad, the vicar … everyone.
But I suppose it was the eighties. See-through lace and lots of cleavage were the fashion in those days.
Thursday, August 11th
Didn’t I just cut Daisy’s finger and toenails yesterday? They’ve already reached slasher proportions.
How do people cope with three children? That’s sixty finger and toenails, not even counting your own.
Mum offered to help me, but I don’t trust her with a pair of scissors.
She can’t even cut a loaf of bread straight.
The Oakley Arms is famous for its thick cheese sandwiches.
Friday, August 12th
Mum and Dad drove me to Aldi today because (yet again) my car wouldn’t start.
Dad drove there; Mum drove back.
Dad drove 5 mph under the speed limit, put his face right up against the windscreen and cut the engine out to save petrol going down hills.
Mum sped up at amber lights, beeped the horn constantly and ate M&Ms/swigged Gaviscon while overtaking vehicles she deemed ‘to fucking slow’.
Saturday, August 13th
Daisy’s toes are poking holes through her socks.
Nick really does need to start contributing to his daughter.
I left a humiliating message on his answer machine asking for cash.
Half hour later, I got a call from Penny Castle (his solicitor) asking me to ‘desist any financial requests until after the maintenance hearing.’
Penny lives in the Great Oakley too. In a three-storey townhouse with two white cats. She shouts at the kids in legal speak, ‘Please REMOVE your ball from the perimeter of my property …’
I told her that I couldn’t stop Daisy growing while we waited for the hearing. ‘She needs clothes now,’ I said. ‘Not in six months’ time.’
‘Perhaps you could borrow the money from a family member,’ she suggested. ‘I’m sure your solicitor would be happy to draw up a loan agreement.’
I asked her what the legal speak for ‘fuck off’ was. Then I hung up.
Didn’t really want to do Oxford Street shopping on my own, but Laura was studying, and Brandi was doing her manicure exam.
Getting the tube with Daisy was no fun at all. No one helps you on the steps like they do in the village.
In Great Oakley, you can hardly walk down the street without someone cooing over your baby. But in London, it’s like everyone is annoyed with you.
I probably shouldn’t have used the big Silver Cross baby carriage with the massive wheels.
It was Mum’s idea. She told me I’d have more room for the shopping.
She was right. But it’s been in the garage since Brandi was a baby. So it was full of spider’s egg sacs, and the wheels squeaked.
Mum said, ‘No one will get in your way pushing that beast along,’ adding that it was ‘the Rolls-Royce’ of baby carriages, and could ‘fit four babies and a pound of potatoes’.
I tried Mothercare first, but there was nothing on sale. And I need to economise.
So I went to Primark.
I’ve always wondered why half the clothes in Primark are on the floor.
Now I know.
It’s because women with ridiculously huge Silver Cross baby carriages push their way through the aisles and knock everything off the hangers.
They didn’t have anything in Daisy’s size – it had all sold out.
So I decided to go back to Mothercare.
Halfway back down Oxford Street, I realised I’d accidentally shoplifted three pairs of neon socks. They were hanging off different parts of the stroller.
Went all the way back to Primark to hand them in.
Security asked me why I’d come back since I ‘got away with it’.
Wandered down New Bond Street past all the designer shops.
Saw this AMAZING brown tote bag that Laura would just LOVE for Christmas.
Then a car pulled up beside me.
I started to apologise for the size of the baby carriage and how it wouldn’t all fit on the pavement.
But then I shut up because Alex Dalton was in the car.
He was wearing a black suit and glaring at me.
‘We saw you walking,’ said Alex. ‘Can we give you a lift?’
His little sister Jemima was in the back.
I nodded at the baby carriage and said, ‘Thanks, but this was made in the days of horses and carts. I don’t think it’ll fit in your car.’
‘We’ll walk you then,’ said Alex. ‘Jemima could do with the fresh air.’ Then he pulled the car up on the curb.
‘You’ve parked on a double yellow line again,’ I said.
Alex pointed out that we were, in fact, a few feet from a Dalton Hotel, which meant he could park freely.
‘The valet will take my car if it’s still there in an hour,’ he added.
I was torn between disapproval (rich people can park wherever they like) and being massively impressed (imagine being able to park ALL over central London!).
Jemima clip-clopped out of the car wearing a little madam outfit of blue jeans, flat knee-high riding boots, a lovely navy blue sweater and a jaunty little pink satchel slung across her body. Utterly adorable.
Alex asked if I was enjoying London.
I told him I hadn’t really enjoyed London since I had Daisy.
Alex said he hated cities too.
‘But aren’t all your hotels in cities?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I like the hotels. Just not the cities.’
Alex asked if I was going inside the bag shop.
‘We’re off to Mothercare actually,’ I said, in a silly, high voice.
Jemima said, ‘Oh we’d love to go with you.’ Then she grabbed my hand and said I’d have to show her the way.
Alex walked beside us, hands in his trouser pockets, looking all serious.
When we got to Mothercare, Alex frowned at all the kids bouncing in the cots.
Jemima said, ‘Can I –’
‘No,’ said Alex.
‘But that little boy –’
‘He shouldn’t have that on his head AT ALL,’ Alex barked. ‘If you must go and play, there’s a toy kitchen over there.’
Jemima scampered off and left Alex and me alone.
Daisy was crying a bit, so Alex got her out of the baby carriage.
‘You’re clever, that’s the problem,’ he told her. ‘You’re trying to take this all in. And giving yourself a headache.’
Daisy stopped crying and chewed his shirt collar.
I was impressed.
‘I remember what Jemima was like,’ said Alex, ‘when she was little. She hated too much stimulation.’ Then he said, ‘I trust Nick Spencer is paying for this shopping trip.’
‘Why do you always call him by his full name?’ I asked.
‘To set him apart from the Nicks I actually like,’ Alex said.
Then he asked me who my solicitor was, and I told him it was Ted Grunty.
‘Christ,’ said Alex. ‘The man who forged those planning applications?’
I told him that was never proved. Then Alex asked me how my training was going.
I said slowly.
‘Hopefully, you’ll be able to keep up with me,’ said Alex, his eyes crinkling into a smile.
I felt myself smile back.
Then Jemima decided to show us all the things she’d written on a little toy chalkboard.
I ‘oohed’ at her letters.
‘They’re not letters,’ she announced. ‘They’re words. Look, ‘ECZEMA’. And ‘ARCHITECT’. Are you coming to afternoon tea with us?’
‘Yes she is,’ said Alex.
I tried to protest. I said I didn’t want to interrupt their family time, and anyway I was meeting Laura in a few hours.
But Alex said, ‘Jemima wants you to come and so do I.’ Then he put Daisy in the baby carriage and said, ‘Let me push that behemoth for you.’
And off we went.
We had afternoon tea at the Mayfair Dalton Hotel.
The fanciest hotel in all of London.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
I tried not to stare at the gold cherubs and silk walls, but I don’t think I quite managed it because the bellboy said, ‘Do mind the rug, madam.’
Daisy bounced up and down, trying to grab the antique oil paintings.
Jemima was, of course, a perfect little lady. Gliding through reception to the tearoom, smiling serenely at the waiting staff.
One of Jemima’s school friends was having afternoon tea (how the other half live!), and Jemima wanted to sit with her.
‘Do we know her family?’ Alex asked.
Jemima had to give a long, complicated description of her friend’s parents.
I asked Alex why Jemima needed cross-examination to sit with a little girl in a pristine sailor’s dress, eating sandwiches with a knife and fork.
‘That’s just how we do things in our family,’ he said.
We then ended up in the very weird position of talking about Alex’s family and his upbringing.
He’s not half as spoiled as I thought. He had a pretty tough childhood, actually. Boarding school. A lot of studying. No toys unless they were earned. I mean, it’s not as if he went hungry or anything. But it didn’t sound like a lot of fun.
Daisy fell asleep on my lap, thank God.
Alex was very gentlemanly and had the waiter run out to get me a straw for my cup of tea, so I didn’t wake her.
And Daisy didn’t wake – not even when I dropped a pistachio macaroon on her head.
When I burned my mouth drinking tea through the straw, Alex said, ‘Perhaps champagne would be better.’ And ordered a bottle.
He knew all the staff by name and stuff about their lives and their families. And he didn’t once seem uncomfortable to be stuck with me. All in all, it was an unexpectedly lovely afternoon.
At one point I said, ‘Your staff in the Bond Street Dalton must get jealous. Because you know everyone’s name here.’
He said he knew the names of his staff in every hotel he owned.
I was a bit blown away by that.
‘You know your sisters’ names, don’t you?’ said Alex. ‘The people working in my hotels are my family too.’
Which I thought was pretty lovely.
We ended up talking about the Dalton New Year’s Ball, and he asked me how I liked them since I’d been to every single one since they started.
I was a bit taken aback that he’d noticed.
‘Of course I noticed,’ he said. ‘I notice you every year. Always have done. Why wouldn’t I?’
‘We know each other,’ I said, ‘but it’s not like we’re friends, friends.’
‘You don’t think we’re friends?’ he asked. ‘What about when we were children?’
‘Maybe as kids,’ I said. ‘But before the training this year … we didn’t see much of each other, did we?’
I didn’t tell Alex that I remembered all those summers together as kids. Or that us girls watched him as teenagers. That we giggled about tall, dark and handsome Alex Dalton.
Alex said, ‘I’ve always seen you as a friend.’
We talked a bit more about the charity balls, and I asked him what the theme would be for this New Year.
He said his mother hadn’t decided yet, but he was sure another humiliating auction would take place.
I blushed bright red.
Did he know I only got old-man bids this year? He wasn’t in the room, but did someone tell him?
Then Alex said, ‘Look, if you’re going up against the Jolly-Piggott’s’, you really do need a decent solicitor.’
I said that Ted was fine. An old family friend.
Alex said something about misplaced loyalty. Then he said, ‘Doesn’t your daughter deserve the best?’
We looked at Daisy sleeping on my chest.
I said that Ted would do his best for us. Better than some super-solicitor we hardly knew. He’d go to the ends of the earth. He’d known me since I was a baby.
Then Alex said I should take Nick for every penny. He’d seen Nick, pre-wedding, in the city – bar-hopping and flirting with women. He said it was disgusting with a baby at home. And he wished he’d told me.
I told him I already knew Nick bar-hopped and flirted with women. I just didn’t know he was sleeping with my bridesmaid.
Then it suddenly hit me that Sadie’s baby will be Daisy’s half-sibling, and felt like I was going to be sick.
I must have gone a bit white, because Alex said, ‘Are you cold? We can get the fire lit. Let me take Daisy.’
But I just mumbled something about feeling ill and having a lot on my mind. I honestly thought I was going to throw up. I thanked Alex for a lovely afternoon and ran out like Cinderella at midnight.
He must think I’m such an idiot.
All I could think, wandering around London, was that Nick never loved me. All those years with him and he never even knew my favourite colour.
And yet Alex has noticed me at every Dalton ball I’ve ever attended.
Sunday, August 14th
Took Laura out for lunch to apologise for standing her up yesterday.
Planned to take her to Jamie’s Italian, but Daisy started howling and WOULD NOT stop. So we ended up at Kentucky Fried Chicken where they have bottle warmers.
As soon as Daisy calmed down, I started blubbing. Going on about how Nick never loved me and I missed what was right in front of my face.
Laura got me a bargain bucket to drown my sorrows.
I gave Daisy a drumstick, then panicked because it was full of salt.
Laura reminded me that Mum gave us KFC when we were babies. And McDonald’s too – there’s a baby picture of me in a Ronald McDonald highchair dipping fries into a strawberry milkshake.
I told Laura about the afternoon tea with Alex. How nice it was, but what a twat I made of myself. Then I asked her how it was going with Zach.
She admitted she hadn’t heard from him in a while. He’s on a skiing trip. But there was some Hello picture of him at a ski lodge party with some girl.
‘It’s probably nothing,’ she said. ‘But, then again …’
We bought a copy of Hello so we could scrutinise the picture.
I had to admit the girl was pretty, but not in Laura’s league.
‘Zach doesn’t care about pretty,’ Laura insisted. ‘He’s not like that.’
After we’d looked at all the arm angles and googled ‘body language’, we decided the picture was perfectly innocent.
‘Just a friend at a party,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said Laura. ‘But … I still wish I’d never seen that picture.’
Monday, August 15th
Mum and Da
d went to IKEA today to buy a wardrobe.
They ended up buying half the shop.
Mum bought neon tea towels, a doormat with pink feet on it, hooks shaped like dogs wagging their tails and a load of meatballs for the freezer.
Dad bought drawer tidies, Tupperware and plastic boxes for all his screws.
Mum’s added meatballs to the pub specials menu.
Tuesday, August 16th
Mum and Dad have spent all day trying to put together the IKEA wardrobe.
It’s the first time I’ve heard Dad swear in years.
Mum was storming around the place shouting, ‘If I ever see another Allen key, I’m going to shove it up someone’s backside.’
She’s taken meatballs off the pub menu.
Wednesday, August 17th
Daisy has started waking up again at night.
I know I should try and ignore her and teach her to settle herself.
But it’s like there are two people in my head, arguing with each other. And the one shouting SHE COULD BE HUNGRY! always wins.
Thursday, August 18th
Daisy slept for twelve hours straight!
I woke up at five, worrying that she’d died.
Then I spent the next two hours going back and forth, checking her breathing.
She woke up at seven, all happy and well rested.
I was red-eyed and irritable, just like always.
Friday, August 19th
Mum and Callum’s birthday today.
Everyone says it’s a coincidence that they were born on the same day, but I think God knows they’re kindred spirits.
Mum celebrated by buying a giant trampoline for the garden.
It’s the size of a swimming pool and takes Callum a full minute to bounce from one side to the other.
I’m a bit worried Callum might break a limb. I read somewhere that trampolines cause lots of childhood accidents these days. And Callum is one of those kids who leaps first and looks later.
I bought Mum a foot of hazelnut chocolate as her birthday present.
I used to buy her expensive bath products and lovely things for the home. But she always gives them straight to charity.
