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

by Suzy K Quinn

  The trouble is, right now I can’t think of anyone better than Alex.

  Oh well. It’s all for the best. I mean, I can hardly imagine us sharing a life together. What would Alex make of the giant wooden penis hanging on our Christmas tree?

  Sunday, December 11th

  Still haven’t done my Christmas shopping.

  I used to be so organised.

  It’s like my brain has been stolen and replaced with Nana Joan’s.

  Which reminds me – Nana Joan!

  Need to arrange getting her to the pub for Christmas dinner.

  Monday, December 12th

  Because so many kids think Santa’s Grotto is in our back garden, Dad put his Santa suit on today and let the kids in for some free (only slightly out-of-date) packets of Doritos.

  He was the most efficient Santa I ever saw, getting the children in an orderly queue and giving them all exactly one minute and thirty seconds to tell him what they wanted for Christmas.

  Then Mum came out with a big bowl of pick-and-mix sweets and let them all go mad on Callum’s big trampoline.

  When the kids left, we had baked cheese with cranberry bread, lit the coal fire and sang carols for Callum and Daisy. It would have been a perfect family moment, except that Callum switched the word ‘Christmas’ for ‘poo’ in every song.

  Tuesday, December 13th

  I think Daisy has more teeth coming through because she woke up four times last night. It was like she was three-months-old again. Trouble is, I’ve got used to a not-bad night’s sleep now. So had to drag myself through today.

  Couldn’t face braving the shops for Christmas presents.

  Saw Nana Joan instead.

  The manager at Nana’s care home is very progressive and has banned tinsel from the building. She’s persuaded a local artist to do modern, minimalist decorations.

  The lounge area was hung with stainless-steel stars and reinforced glass icicles.

  There had been a complaint about the decorations though because mad Doris tried to attack another resident with a giant plastic snowflake.

  Nana was in good spirits but won’t come round for Christmas dinner. She’s got a dodgy stomach and is ‘farting like an old horse’.

  These days she mainly eats bananas and humbugs so has constant bowel trouble.

  I told her nobody would care if she farted.

  She said, ‘This isn’t just farting, love. It’s tribal drums. Anyway, the care home is holding a séance on Christmas Day. I don’t want to miss it. I’m looking forward to talking with your granddad.’

  Wednesday, December 14th

  Christmas shopping is SOO stressful.

  Ended up on Oxford Street, ramming the crowds with the stroller, trying to fling whatever I could into my bags for life (Remembered them! YESSSS!).

  I wondered if I should buy Alex a present. Sort of a thank you for everything he’s done for me this year. But what do you buy a man who owns fifty hotels? So I decided just to buy for family and Althea.

  The shops were REALLY busy, so cleared my head with a cup of coffee and a jumbo chocolate teacake.

  Two hours later, I still hadn’t bought anything. And the shops were looking bare.

  Ran into British Home Stores and filled my basket. All logic left me, and I just bought whatever I could lay my hands on.

  In the end, I bought:

  Bottles of beer called things like ‘Old Fart’ and ‘Geriatric’ (most stupid purchase ever, since parents own a pub and get really good quality beer at trade price).

  A walking stick full of jelly beans (like Callum doesn’t get enough sugar).

  A ‘grow your own’ Venus flytrap.

  A little vending machine of Cadbury’s chocolate miniatures (Mum will be happy at least).

  A mojito set (one glass, one mini bottle of Bacardi, one sachet lime flavouring – £25. Feel a bit ripped off.).

  A foam moustache on a lolly stick.

  Afternoon

  Got the train home with lots of other sweaty, irritable shoppers.

  Daisy cried the WHOLE train journey.

  We got stuck in a tunnel for half an hour due to cable being stolen from the train tracks.

  Daisy SCREAMED in the tunnel. No amount of cuddling or shushing would calm her down.

  Everyone looked pretty annoyed, except one hippy man who said, ‘It’s okay. She’s just saying what we’re all thinking.’

  Got home and realised I STILL had to wrap everything.

  ARG!

  It took an hour. Daisy kept trying to eat the Sellotape.

  Thursday, December 15th

  Too cold to go out today, so picked up Nana Joan and we all sat around the pub eating Christmas cake and drinking sherry.

  Nana Joan made the Christmas cake, so the ready-roll icing Santa looked a little sinister. Nana’s hands aren’t as steady as they were, so Santa had snake-like slits for eyes and a furious mouth. Also, I found a screw in my slice of cake, and Mum found a piece of tinsel. Nana’s eyesight isn’t what it was either.

  Friday, December 16th

  Should I send Alex a Christmas card?

  Saturday, December 17th

  Lovely Laura back home!

  Zach came to the pub this evening to see her. They sat in one of the cushiony booths by the Christmas tree, sharing a bottle of red wine and holding hands.

  Mum wanted to offer them a free ‘Christmas’ shot of whisky, but I persuaded her not to ruin their romantic moment.

  Laura was all giddy and happy when she came upstairs. Zach had bought her a diamond tennis bracelet as a Christmas present, which she was wearing with pride. But now she’s worried because she only bought him a charity subscription to UNICEF.

  Sunday, December 18th

  Christmas films on telly!

  Watched Herbie, Gremlins and Ghostbusters with a big tin of chocolates, while Dad and Laura walked Daisy around the village.

  Mum has no preference when it comes to mixed chocolates, so she ate all the coffee creams and the ones with old nuts inside, leaving me with strawberry creams and toffees.

  Hooray!

  Monday, December 19th

  Wonder what Alex is doing for Christmas? Oh, stop it, Juliette. Just stop it.

  Tuesday, December 20th

  Last chance to send Alex a Christmas card. But he hasn’t sent me one. So fuck it.

  Wednesday, December 21st

  Christmas card from the Daltons. A generic one, signed by Alex, Zach, Catrina and Jemima, and addressed to the ‘Duffy family’.

  Oh well. What did I expect?

  Thursday, December 22nd

  Mum’s bought a sexy Santa outfit. It would be obscene, even on a regular-sized woman, but Mum’s huge boobs make it positively pornographic. She’s wearing it while she serves behind the bar.

  Dad and the regulars gaze at her adoringly whenever she leans forward to pull a pint.

  Friday, December 23rd

  Probably should catch up again with Nick, see what he’s doing for Christmas. But he’s a grown man. If he wants to see Daisy, he can make the arrangements himself.

  Saturday, December 24th

  The usual Duffy Christmas Eve tradition – glass of sherry while putting candles in the window for everyone we love who has passed away.

  We all had a cry for my two Granddads, Aunty Karen, the baby Mum miscarried before Brandi and our old childhood dog, Pastry.

  After that, we put Callum to bed 18 times. Getting him under the duvet was like trying to wrestle a puppy into one of those doggy outfits.

  In the end, Mum had to sit on him until he fell asleep.

  Sunday, December 25th

  Christmas Day

  Morning

  Christmas DAAAAAAAY!!

  Mum woke me up at 5 am, wearing her Christmas elf pyjamas and singing ‘Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer’.

  She’s always the first one awake. Then she gets grumpy because we won’t let her open her presents until everyone else gets up.

  Callum woke
up next, delirious with happiness because his stocking was full of presents from Santa.

  He kept saying, ‘I can’t believe it. I wasn’t a good boy at all.’

  We all ended up opening our presents around the dining table and eating smoked-salmon and cream cheese bagels amid a sea of wrapping paper.

  Dad got Mum a doormat that said:

  Mum had tears of joy in her eyes, and she and Dad held hands fondly over the mat. Then she went out to replace the existing doormat, which says:

  After that, we all watched The Snowman and comforted Dad because he always cries at the end.

  Afternoon

  Leetle bit merry.

  As Mum says, it wouldn’t be Christmas without a pint of chocolate liqueur.

  Nearly phoned Nick first thing, for Daisy’s sake. Spirit of Christmas and all that. But then I thought … well, he knows my number.

  Then spent all morning feeling annoyed that he hadn’t called.

  But Mum made everyone Christmas cocktails with her secret ingredient (two shots of vodka), and suddenly I didn’t care about Nick so much.

  As usual, Dad made the Christmas dinner (Mum always gets too stressed and starts screeching at everyone to get out of her fucking kitchen).

  At first, he was humming ‘Joy to the World’, checking all his kitchen timers and sharpening his knives.

  Then he realised Laura had bought organic vegetables from the farm down the road and they were covered in mud and rotten bits.

  He stopped humming ‘Joy to the World’ and started trying to de-mud the veg with his electric sander.

  Then Daisy pulled the tree over, and Callum jumped on it.

  Brandi and Mum had to serve in the pub between 12 pm and 2 pm, and got drunk on sherry mixed with energy drink.

  But it was all okay in the end.

  Christmas lunch, as usual, was out of Dad’s 1970s cookbook ‘Frugal Meals’ – bronzed turkey, little sausages in bacon, roast potatoes, parsnips and Brussels sprouts.

  Dad hates ‘all this modern chef splash of this and that nonsense’, and measured everything, so our plates looked identical.

  Two slices of turkey breast, three potatoes, two parsnips, six Brussels sprouts and 200ml of gravy each.

  As usual, Mum moaned about ‘pathetic portion sizes’ and ‘why not just serve me a big plateful and then I won’t have to get up?’

  Dad smiled at her adoringly and made his usual Christmas speech about how he loved Mum more every year.

  Ate lots. Drank lots. Nice day.

  Monday, December 26th

  Boxing Day

  Blurrg.

  Lovely fizzy Christmas feeling all gone. Just tidying up wrapping paper and feeling fat.

  Zachary called round to take Laura on a woodland walk today. Meaning I have no one sensible to talk to.

  Althea is still with her mum in the Caribbean. They go most years and have a barbeque on the beach.

  She’s sent me a postcard of a Rastaman drinking Red Stripe. It says, ‘Enjoy bronchitis suckers!’

  Tuesday, December 27th

  Dad is forcing us to eat Christmas leftovers.

  So far today we have eaten:

  Turkey and Brussels sprouts omelette

  Turkey and Brussels sprouts sandwiches

  Turkey and sliced Brussels sprouts on crisp bread with mayonnaise.

  By teatime, Mum said she was ‘sick of turkey’ and wanted to throw all the leftovers out. But Dad gave her a lecture about wasting food and starving children.

  He boiled the turkey carcass and made a disgusting soup.

  When the soup was ready, the whole kitchen smelt like dead animal. Dad finally admitted he was ‘sick of turkey too’, so we ended up getting fish and chips.

  Wednesday, December 28th

  Althea back today. She called wanting to know if I needed moral support for the Dalton New Year’s Eve Ball.

  I hadn’t even thought about the ball. I suppose I’d just decided I wasn’t going. It’s just all too humiliating. I don’t want to look like I’m chasing around after Alex. And of course there’ll be the charity auction. No fun if you’re single.

  The Jolly-Piggott’s might be there too.

  ‘But you’ve lost a fuck-load of weight, and you’re looking fabulous,’ Althea bellowed. ‘To the ball, Cinderella. To the ball!’

  I have to admit I am looking extremely slim – even after a Christmas of mince pies and Mum’s constant Iceland buffet food (SO un-Christmassy this year. Spring rolls?? Spicy samosas??)

  Also, I don’t want Alex to think I’m hiding from him.

  I gave in and told Althea I’d go.

  Which turned out to be the right choice. Because she’d already bought our tickets.

  Thursday, December 29th

  Will it look a bit desperate if I go to the ball?

  Friday, December 30th

  Dalton New Year’s Eve Ball tomorrow.

  Maybe I won’t go after all. I’ll just feel disappointed when Alex is all cold and talks about ‘friendship’.

  I’m not quite over him yet. And I’ve had enough disappointments this year.

  I can just stay at home with Daisy. She’s making all these lovely little babbling noises now. Ba ba ba! So cute. What better way to spend time than with my little girl? Who needs a fancy party when you have all the love you need at home?

  Saturday, December 31st

  Brandi woke me at 7 am this morning – ‘IT’S THE FUCKING NEW YEAR’S EVE BALL TODAY!!! WE NEED TO START GETTING READY!’

  I told Brandi I didn’t want to go, but she said, ‘Don’t be fucking stupid. You’re a single mum. You need to find a boyfriend.’

  She dragged me into her bedroom and gave me a face mask that burned my cheeks. Then she tried to paint my toenails neon pink. I asked if she had any grey nail polish (very fashionable right now).

  ‘Why’d you want to look like a corpse?’ said Brandi.

  We settled on a French manicure.

  It did look pretty nice.

  Maybe I will go …

  Oh, to hell with it. I’ll go.

  5 pm

  Nervous about the ball.

  Does everyone know Alex and I have slept together? Has he told anyone?

  Strange to think we could have a night like that and it just go nowhere.

  But I’ve learned this year that life rarely goes the way you want it to. You just have to roll with the punches.

  6.30 pm

  Have been buffed and preened to within an inch of my life.

  Didn’t let Brandi do my make-up, so I don’t look like a drag queen. In fact, I look pretty nice. Even Mum said so. Although she kept wanting to ‘add more sparkle’.

  Mum said Brandi looked a ‘knockout’ and asked me why I couldn’t show off a bit more of what God gave me.

  We’re meeting Laura there. She’s already in London with Zach.

  Okay, okay, time to go.

  Right. Chewing gum. One last cuddle with Daisy. Has she left any spit trails?

  Check, check, check.

  Sunday, January 1st

  Oh. My. God.

  The Dalton’s New Year’s Eve Ball.

  When we arrived, Nick was right by the door, clutching a double whisky and looking decidedly worse for wear.

  He must have been waiting for me, because as soon as I walked in, he said, ‘Jules. We should talk Jules. Do you want a drink?’

  It almost made me feel sorry for Sadie. She must be close to giving birth now.

  I said hello. May as well keep things civil. But I told him I’d get my own drink.

  He kept giving me puppy-dog eyes from across the room.

  Ugh.

  Then Helen came over, while Brandi and I were at the bar.

  Brandi stopped yelling, ‘SHOTS! SHOTS! WE WANT SHOTS!’ and said, ‘What the fuck do you want, you headache?’

  ‘I’d like to speak to Juliette alone if you don’t mind,’ said Helen, all formal like she was reading the news.

  Brandi and I exch
anged looks.

  Then Brandi barked, ‘We do fucking mind actually.’

  But I said it was okay. I’d hear what Helen wanted to say.

  Helen led me to the side of the bar and said, ‘Nicholas is very unhappy. He feels he’s made a mistake. He had a family, and now he’s lost it.’

  ‘Lucky he’s got another family now then, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘Let him make his mistakes with Sadie.’

  ‘I know you’re upset,’ said Helen. ‘But would you consider giving Nicholas another chance? For my sake?’

  I had to laugh at that. ‘After the DNA test? And freezing my bank account? And ignoring Daisy for the last six months. For your sake?’

  ‘Then do it for Nicholas,’ said Helen. ‘He wants to be a good father. He just … needs a little practice.’

  ‘You don’t even like me, Helen,’ I snapped. ‘You’ve never liked me. Why on earth would you want Nick and I to get back together?’

  ‘A mother always wants her son to be happy,’ said Helen. ‘And Sadie is a little erratic. Nick needs stability.’

  ‘Tell him to find some other idiot to mother him,’ I told her.

  I could see Nick across the room, looking all hopeful and expectant.

  God! Did he really think I was that stupid? And that Helen of all people could talk me into going back to him? It was clear, by the double whisky in his hand, that he hadn’t changed a bit. Not one bit.

  Then he had the nerve to come over.

  ‘I miss you,’ he said, with a big, soppy drunk grin on his face.

  Through the crowd I noticed Alex, wearing his usual immaculate black suit, hands in his pockets. He caught my eye, then noticed Nick and turned away.