‘All of them, in the middle of a term?’ I asked, in my most accusatorial voice. She nodded and told me I could only bring her for two hours a day until she was settled. It’s too hard on the other kids when Bonnie loses it the way that she does, apparently.
Bonnie clung onto me when I came to pick her up. I’m trying not to get used to it, because she will no doubt hate me again soon. The second we were out of the building I covered her hands with anti-bacterial gel. That nursery is a Petri dish. The toilet still isn’t fixed. It’s a real dump of a place, I need to find somewhere else.
I bring Bonnie to the park. It’s either this or more TV at home.
I look over at the bench with the plaque on it. Ross was so upset today, I wish I’d sat with him for longer. If I’d have known what a disaster my appointment was going to be, I would have. I really enjoy seeing him. A homeless man is sitting on it eating half a sandwich that he found in the bin. He eats quickly, dropping crumbs on the floor that pigeons gather round his feet to eat. He smiles at the pigeons, like they are his friends, then breaks up the final bite of the bread and throws it down for them. By the look on his face, he got as much pleasure from that as he did the food in his belly. The homeless man realises I am looking at him and he smiles at me. I smile back, and even offer him a little wave. He does the same. Poor man, I wonder where he will sleep tonight. I think Ross would be happy to know that this man has found a moment’s peace on Verity’s bench.
Bonnie is in the shrubbery looking for the mouse. If she finds it, I will scream and we will leave.
The homeless man gets up and moves on. The bench is now empty, other than the pigeons that are walking across it, picking up the last few crumbs that he dropped. I walk over and shoo them away. They have pooed all over it. Ross won’t be very happy about that. Using the wet wipes that I picked up on the way here, I clean all of the bird mess off the bench.
Bonnie is now on her hands and knees underneath a hydrangea bush shouting, ‘Mousey, come on mousey. Mousey, mousey.’ It would be cute, if she weren’t trying to draw the attention of a rodent. I throw a smile in her direction, she doesn’t catch it. I spend so much of my time regretting having a child, and fantasising about how much easier my life would be if my only responsibility was hair removal. But the idea of anything happening to her is so unimaginable. Ross has given me a perspective that should have been obvious all along. I know how it feels to have someone I love taken away from me, so why wasn’t losing my dad lesson enough? The only way I was ever able to cope with losing him was knowing that I made the most of him while he was alive. My memories of being with my dad are the happiest of my life. If something happened to either Bonnie or myself, all the other one would have to remember would be screaming fits and violent episodes. Her playing alone, and me trying to hide. It’s not good enough.
I get down on my hands and knees under the bush next to Bonnie, and nervously call for the mouse.
Lauren Pearce – Instagram post
@OfficialLP
The picture is of Lauren sitting in a gazebo in a garden. She is surrounded by Bianca roses. She is wearing white lacy underwear, her hair is perfectly tonged.
The caption reads:
Today I woke up and smelt the flowers. Feeling like the luckiest girl alive. When life gives you lemons, surround yourself in roses. That’s the expression, right? #TWO MORE SLEEPS
@wellyturnips: your life … it’s perfect. Lucky, lucky girl!
@MikeyinDisguise: Show us your mum again. I love a MILF.
@harriethartly: Looks, love and millions. You nailed it.
@bettyblack: SHOW US THE DRESS!!!!!!!!!!!
@iamtheonebutyouarethetwo: Gavin could have had any woman in the country but he chose you. I find this FASCINATING. Not being mean, you’re nice and everything, but Cheryl Cole is single again … just saying!
@garindagale: So bored of the me me me posts. Disappointing lack of #realness. UNFOLLOW.
Ruby
Even though I have made versions of the same dress over and over again in the past twenty years, I like the ritual of starting from scratch each time. Step one is always measuring myself, just to be sure. I start with my bust: thirty-five centimetres. My waist: twenty-seven and a half centimetres. My hips: thirty-eight centimetres. Just as I was at university. I knew I hadn’t changed, but it’s nice to see the numbers. A satisfying visual after all the hard work.
I measure as a size six, but because of my height I generally have to buy size eight clothes. Which is why making my own works much better for me. Also, finding dresses with the level of coverage I like usually involves me looking like a frump, or having some random key-hole detail somewhere pivotal, like on the back above the zip. A pointless and very annoying detail when you have a hairy back and shoulders.
On top of this, I have quite long arms. I need a thirty-three-centimetre sleeve, which most brands do not accommodate. My dress pattern is unique to my body and satisfies both my need to be protected and my desire to be stylish.
A while ago I purchased a large roll of slightly stretchy crimson velvet. It’s a vibrant colour. I have been saving it for a special occasion. Maybe Lauren Pearce’s wedding is that occasion? I realise I won’t be at the main event, that I will be in a back room working – and I’m relieved that I won’t have to socialise – but that doesn’t mean I can’t step up with my dress, does it? The best thing about my design is that the velvet is very soft and comfortable. I could sleep in it. Not that I would. But working for an entire day in it is not a problem. The only issue is the heat. I’ll find a way to deal with that on the day.
I cut a pattern following the outline of the black one that I made in high school and cut the fabric to size with my traditional shears. I do this every time, I really enjoy the process. I stitch it all together on my Singer sewing machine, putting a light lining in, to avoid any friction. I add a slightly larger puff on each shoulder, for some extra drama. The sleeves are a little longer with tighter elastic so they don’t ride up at all. I will be fully hirsute at this wedding, and whether I am alone in a room or not, I cannot take the risk of exposing myself.
All in all, the dress takes me four and a half hours to make. It’s an evening of my life well spent, to produce an outfit that will have me living confidently outside of my house. I put it on and look at myself in the full-length mirror in my bedroom. The colour is exciting and the fit is perfect. I’ll wear this one a lot, I am sure.
I stand staring at myself in the mirror. It’s never an easy thing to do. Although if I force myself to be honest, I am not an unattractive woman. I’m too thin, I’m too pale. I wear my attitude like a coat of armour, it warns people away. But my hair is long, the curls are thick. From my advertising days I know that it is desirable. I have deep brown eyes and the bone structure of someone who means business. In a dress like this, I pass as good looking. With my own style. In my own way. Which, when I really break it down, I think maybe I actually quite like.
Beth
‘Boss, what is wrong with you?’
Risky’s voice is there in the background somewhere. My stare stays fixed to the window.
‘Beth? Beth? Seriously what’s going on with you today?’
She is right next to my desk now. She is looking at me like I am a child who just did an emotionally charged pee on the floor. Annoyed, but with sympathy and concern for what made me do it.
‘Sorry,’ I say, snapping out of my daze. ‘Sorry, just a lot on my mind.’
‘I know. A four-month-old and a major celebrity wedding in two days. Yeah, you’ve got a lot on. What do you need? Can I order you food? Download a podcast? Massage your feet?’
I look at her like she is joking. She isn’t.
‘Oh, nothing. I just need to get through it. OK, I’m back in the room. What did I miss?’
Risky is thinking. She likes to fix things. She is wondering how to help me survive the next few days. I am wondering the same thing.
‘I’ve got it,’ she says, clapp
ing her hands. ‘I know what to do. Get your things, I’m taking you to the spa.’
‘The spa? No Risky, that’s a massive waste of time. We have so much to do.’
‘Yes, we do, but we can work there. There’s a warm floor you lie on, and Wifi. Come on, I am insisting.’
‘Who’s the boss here?’ I ask, not moving.
‘You are, and that is the problem. You’re not taking care of yourself. Come on, if we get there before lunch it will be quieter. Chop chop.’
She is standing over by the door now. I clearly have no choice. And maybe a foot rub from a professional would be nice.
‘What is this place?’ I ask as we arrive. It’s not like the spas I have been to before, where people walk around in towelling robes and uncomfortable slippers, sipping cucumber water and eating almonds and dried fruit while panpipe music fills the room as people wait to be called in for their overpriced treatments.
‘It’s a Korean spa,’ Risky says, confidently. ‘Heaven.’
We pay at a reception desk. It’s very cheap. I have to fill in a form – Risky has been before so doesn’t need to. It asks if I am breast feeding or pregnant and Risky urges me to lie.
‘It’s just a hygiene thing,’ she says. ‘Just get out if you start lactating in the hot tub.’
‘Oh, I probably won’t go in it anyway, I don’t have my swimsuit,’ I tell her.
‘Swimsuit? Boss, this is a Korean spa, you have to be naked. That’s the point.’
‘What?’ I ask as she hands my form back into reception. ‘Naked? Are there men in there?’
‘No, just women. Come on, you’ll love it.’
I stand still. I don’t want to get naked with other women. I don’t want to get naked with Risky. I don’t want to. I just don’t.
‘Boss, come on. You need this,’ she says, making a scene. The two Korean ladies behind reception are looking at me like I am pathetic. Now I do want to emotionally pee on the floor.
‘Can I wear a towel?’ I ask Risky, following her reluctantly.
‘Not in the water!’
In the changing rooms, I am first struck by the absolute lack of luxury, relaxing vibes or glamour. In each locker there is a thin cotton robe and some rubber slippers. The lighting is stark. Risky strips immediately like she is running down a beach towards the sea and can’t pause or she’ll chicken out. She throws her clothes into the locker and, just like that, my assistant is naked in front of me. Her young, tight body, unharmed by slow metabolism or childbirth. Small breasts sitting perfectly on her chest, nipples so dark they look like raisins. A vagina like a Jackson 5 hairdo. Up the sides of her body, stretch marks run like snail trails across her hips. She isn’t perfect, but she is utterly beautiful.
‘OK, your turn,’ she says, hands on hips, her legs slightly apart. ‘Boss, you have to stop staring at my vagina or I’ll have to file a sexual misconduct case against you.’
‘God, I’m so sorry,’ I say, shaking my face and pulling myself together as I begin to undress. First my maternity jeans, then my shirt. I fold them neatly, putting them into my locker. My heart is thumping at the thought of removing my underwear.
‘Boss, seriously. We have a wedding in two days. As much as I want you to relax we can’t be here all day.’
I reach around and undo my bra. It’s OK, Risky sees my boobs every day when I pump. I fold it up and put it under my clothes in the locker. I then slowly pull down my knickers, and pop them in too. And so here I am, naked in a changing room. A tall skinny woman with a nice tan storms in. I grab the robe and put it on.
‘OK, you ready?’ Risky asks.
‘My body has changed a lot. I could have done with some mental preparation before I got naked in front of people, that’s all.’
‘You look amazing,’ Risky tells me. ‘I love this place. Women of all shapes and sizes walking around like the fashion industry never even happened. I love it. My mum and I come here all the time.’
I look around and see that she is right. A large black lady is sitting on the edge of a small pool. Her extra-long breasts dangling over the rolls of her belly. She is chatting and laughing with her friend who is immersed in water. On the other side of the room, standing in line for a shower, is a very thin lady, maybe in her seventies. She has short white hair, her breasts are mere flaps of skin with nipples. Her knees have hoods, her neck wobbles when she moves. Her pubic hair is straight and grey. To her right, there’s a short woman, maybe in her forties. Her red hair is the exact colour of her pubes, and goes down nearly as far as her knees.
All of these women are so different, yet they are all the same. I take off my robe and hang it on a hook.
‘OK, I love this one. It’s really hot and the minerals in the water are purifying and make your skin feel so soft,’ Risky says, stepping down into a small pool with steam rising from it. She respectfully looks away as I lower my naked body into the water.
‘This is very nice,’ I say, settling in.
‘I told you so!’ she says, proudly.
After a few moments, the large black lady comes to get in. I’m not so down with the etiquette and as I smile at her, it is impossible for me to ignore the pinkness of her labia as it gets closer to my face. It sinks under the water and her breasts float up like life rafts in front of her.
‘I could never drown with these attached to me,’ she says, smiling.
Risky kicks me under the water because she finds it funny.
‘Aren’t women amazing?’ she says, leaning over to me.
‘Yes,’ I say, feeling perfect in my skin for the first time in a very long time. ‘Yes, we absolutely are.’
Ruby
Liam is here as he’s agreed to take Bonnie for the afternoon. Maria is insisting on just two hours a day at the nursery, just until she starts to settle, and I simply cannot keep her home any longer to watch TV while I work. I might not be the one getting married on Saturday, but it is a huge event and I can’t bear the idea of being surrounded by beautiful people whilst feeling so grotesque myself. I have made yet another wax appointment. Who knows how it will go this time!
I told Liam the nursery is insisting on a long induction process. He has no reason to question me further and isn’t suspicious as to why we can’t do full days. I have never lied about our child’s welfare before, so he fully trusts me. I have warned him that Bonnie misses her friends, which is why she keeps complaining. I realise I need to find somewhere else, and I am also working on that. I can’t do any of the things I need to do with Bonnie home, hence him taking some time off work to help. He’s very generous like that. Never complaining about being with Bonnie. I’ve only recently realised the amount of effort it must be for him to have her every weekend. That doesn’t leave much time for him to have for himself. Or to find a new relationship. He’s never mentioned anyone else, and neither has Bonnie. I can only hope and presume that there isn’t anyone. Which is good. I’m not ready for that.
‘So what are your plans?’ I ask him, as I finish putting Bonnie’s shoes on and zip up her jacket. I’m still quite upset about what he said the other day, but I am trying not to show it because what is making me most upset is that I think he is right and I’m not sure what to do about it.
‘We’ll go get some food. Then head to the park. Or we could go to Pret and get a picnic. Shall we go feed the ducks, Bon Bon?’
‘Yeeeaaaaah,’ she says, sounding so joyful and cute that both of us smile.
‘OK, well be good. Home for six please, and no sweets. I don’t want to be dealing with a sugar rush tonight, I’ll work after I’ve put her down so I need bedtime to go well.’
I don’t know why I say this, because actually I have finished all the work that Rebecca sent through. I got it all done early, so I could go for this wax.
‘So you’re very busy then?’ he asks me, lingering a little longer than usual.
‘Yes. I have some pictures to do, but mostly gearing up to a big job next weekend. I’m going to a wedding. Lauren Pe
arce, you know the … I mean, I don’t know what she is, model I guess? She’s getting married.’
‘Yeah, she’s marrying Gavin Riley. You’re going to the wedding? That’s crazy, how come?’
‘I’ll be retouching the photos on the day, so she can post them. It’s ridiculous, and not the kind of thing I would choose to do.’
‘Are you kidding? Gavin Riley, he’s seriously impressive. Wow, that’s really cool,’ Liam says, notably impressed.
‘Sure, maybe it is “cool”. I’m being paid well and that’s why I am going. And is he impressive or was he just born into the right family? It’s not like he set up the business, is it? Also, I’ve heard he is a relentless cheat. Which makes him awful.’
‘Harsh,’ Liam says, raising his eyebrows.
‘But true,’ I say, raising mine.
‘Maybe,’ he says, hovering by the door for a while. ‘If you’re working at the weekend, why don’t you take this afternoon off and come with us? We could grab food, go feed the ducks?’
‘No, I have too much to do. You two go, you’ll have more fun that way.’
‘More fun than us all being together? Oh come on Rubes.’ He always used to call me Rubes. I found it embarrassing at first, then grew to love it. It feels nice to hear it again. ‘You don’t hate me enough that we can’t spend one afternoon together as a family, do you?’ Liam says quietly, so that Bonnie, who is climbing into her buggy, doesn’t hear him. It doesn’t please me to think that the father of my child thinks I hate him. Hating someone and being angry with them are very different.
So Lucky Page 20
