“That’s an unfortunate part of being a community group. Any type of person can walk through the door and there’s very little we can do to stop it – well other than asking them politely to rethink their attendance,” she said with a smile.
“Hmmm yes, it was uncomfortable.”
“Well, anyway I shan’t keep you I’m sure you’ve a busy day ahead with your little one. I’ll look forward to seeing you next week, same time?”
“Sure thing,” I replied. I hoped the fake enthusiasm in my last statement was disguised better than it sounded in my head.
It was in that moment that I vowed never to return to Smug Club.
Chapter 5
I packed Arthur up with only three tantrums – all caused by my refusal to steal the toys he was playing with and bring them home. If I managed to leave situations like this with under five meltdowns it was considered a success.
We toddled home for lunch and to my surprise – and horror – Ben was home and met us at the door.
He couldn’t still be mad at the mistress gaff? I felt my text message explained it, didn’t it?
There was something odd about his demeanour but I was too hungry to challenge him on it standing in the hallway.
He fussed around Arthur while I prepared something for the three of us to eat. He was acting happy but there was an artificial air about it all.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Nothing, I just fancied lunch with my favourite people.” He tried to present this in a nonchalant tone but it just came out high pitched.
“Is this about the phone call this morning? It really was just a crazy person momentarily taking control of my phone. I don’t think you’re having an affair.”
“What? That? No, no, it’s nothing. I just wanted to see you both.” His voice was soothing and when he crossed the room to kiss me on the forehead I almost believed him.
“You know I love your cooking so I’m thinking I should make this a regular thing.”
One lie too far, Benjamin.
I banged the knife down on the counter making him and Arthur jump.
“Now I know you’re lying,” I said. “You refer to my cooking as your ‘daily punishment’ for something terrible you did in a previous life, so tell me why you’re here. Have you been fired from your own business?”
“No of course not, I was just… concerned.”
“Concerned?”
“No, not concerned really. Worried is maybe better.”
“Worried about what now?” I was really getting tired of this conversation. “I’m being the perfect little depressed zombie. All tablets and doctor appointments are taken and attended without a fight. I get out of the house at least once a day and don’t shut myself away from anyone, so what do you want now? CCTV feed to your mobile? Half-hourly check-ups?”
I didn’t realise I was shouting, or that I’d picked up the knife and was gripping it so hard my knuckles were turning white, until Ben put his hands in the air in a sign of peace and asked me to put the knife down.
I shook myself out of whatever type of rage trance I was stuck in and stepped away from the counter leaving the knife behind me. I put my hands up to my eyes to shield me from the sympathetic smile that was, no doubt, plastered on Ben’s face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried phoning your mobile but it’s been off most of the morning and when I realised there were no appointments or anything in the calendar I got worried. I drove straight here and that’s when I saw you both walking home. I didn’t want you to think I was checking up on you but I was just worried when I couldn’t reach you.”
“I’m trying, Ben,” I replied, failing in my attempt to not sound fed up with his constant state of worry, but I couldn’t hide it from my voice.
“I just went to a parent and toddler group for an hour just to see what it was like. I did text you about it.”
The look of relief on his face was instantaneous.
“That’s brilliant news,” he said. “I thought you were taking the piss with the message. I’m so proud that you were out of your comfort zone and went to the group. You’ve no idea how worried I’ve been, but hearing that you’re seeking out other like-minded people to spend time with is a huge relief. How often is it?”
“Like-minded people? So, just because we’ve pushed a bowling ball out our vagina means I’m going to be instant friends with these people? I can assure you that’s about the only thing we have in common at this stage.”
“No, Amy you know what I mean. It’s just great that there’s something a bit sociable for you to do. This is great. Is it a daily thing?”
“No, once a week but I think maybe — ”
“Weekly? Well, that’s a start but we should sit down tonight and look at other’s in the area and really fill out that calendar of yours.”
“We should?” The sheer joy in his eyes was uncomfortable to look at it. He’d obviously been put through hell and back with me and I never really put my head above the water long enough to check how he’d been coping.
Not well, judging by this farcical display.
“One step at a time,” I replied. “I just want to give this a proper go first and then we can look and see how we get on with fleshing out the rest of the week. Don’t want to do too much, the therapist told me to set realistic goals for my week.”
“You mean the therapist you’re refusing to go back to because you don’t like the temperature of her office?
“Look, it’s fine I’m just so excited that you tried and you liked it. Really happy, especially as I didn’t even have to push you or eat any of your food as a compromise. This is definitely a winning day for me.”
I tried to muster a smile but instead I walked back to the counter to start stabbing the red onion I’d left.
“Do you want an omelette?” I asked, hoping that would change the subject.
“Don’t you mean your version of burnt scrambled egg by the time it gets onto the plate?”
“Such smart talk for someone who trusts me not to slip arsenic into their dinner this evening,” I replied.
“I think I should go back to work and keep you in the lifestyle you’re accustomed to.”
It was obvious that I couldn’t tell him I hated Smug Club and I would never be going back. He was annoyingly enthusiastic about this latest development in my day.
I decided that in order to keep my sanity, for a little longer, it would be ok to fudge the truth a bit.
I’d keep Ben sweet and tell him I was going to the playgroup when really I could hang out with Joseph in his café.
It was a win-win.
Ben would feel better knowing I was out in the world, while I could awaken some grey matter and help a failing business.
One little white lie can’t hurt, can it?
Chapter 6
I spent the rest of the afternoon wracking my brain in an attempt to come up with some ideas on how to help Joseph and then I realised I didn’t even know the name of the café. I shared with him intimate details of my life and decided on this crack-pot plan without even asking the name of the business.
What a moron.
I decided to stick to researching the competition so it wouldn’t be a complete waste of my time.
By the time Ben came home for the evening, my brain was running at 100mph. I served up the dinner and tried to concentrate on being present but I was a million miles away.
“Amy?” he asked, with the usual concern in his voice.
“Hmmm?”
“Did you meet anyone interesting today?”
“Today?”
“At the group, sweety,” the edge in his voice had increased. I decided I should probably engage in the conversation properly or he’d have me sectioned before dessert at this rate.
“Oh, the group. Eh, yeah I guess – a few people.”
“This chicken is delicious by the way,” he continued.
“What? Firstly, it’s fish pie and secondly, well I don�
��t think there needs to be a secondly after that critique of my cooking.”
“Yes, I thought that would get your attention. I’m trying to have a conversation with you and you keep zoning out. Apparently pretending to like your cooking gets you back in the room.”
“I’m sorry, I have a lot on my mind.”
“Anything you’d care to share with the rest of the class?”
“Not really. Just planning out the rest of my mornings with Arthur.”
First lie.
“That’s a good idea. Remember to make them realistic goals, like the therapist said.”
“Yes, Ben, I know. I was there, even if it was for one session.”
“Half a session and I’m sorry, I’m just trying to help.”
The conversation ended there. The only sounds heard were the scraping of forks off ceramic and food quietly being shoved around plates without anyone actually eating it.
This was the quietest part of the day in my house. Everyone grimly looking at the ‘meal’ in front of them, while I gathered the strength to start forkful negotiations that always ended in a screaming match.
Actually, that implies it was a two-way conversation, I’m generally just screamed at until I give up and let them go play. Thankfully, this evening, Ben took the lead and I got back to mulling over options for the café.
As we settled in our respective spots on the sofa for the night, my mind tried to kick-start into work-mode-Amy. That was easier said than done. Baby brain and depression to one side I was pretty much surviving on minimal sleep still and it had taken me seven attempts to spell the word ‘accurate’ the other day.
“What are you thinking about so seriously over there?”
“Nothing. A new recipe,” I replied, without looking up at him.
Second lie. This is never going to work; I don’t even know the name of the bloody place let alone put together some master plan that can change the direction of this man’s business.
My inner bitch had awoken to join in with my critical internalising of this ridiculous plan.
Why did you think you could manage something like this? Even before your crackpot breakdown, you were a dead weight in work, so what makes you think you could help this man? You can’t even help yourself.
I put down my phone and stared at the television so I could pretend I was looking at whatever was on the screen. As much as I loathed that woman, I couldn’t ignore what she was saying. I knew she was right. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing anymore.
***
When the day came to keep up the farce of going to Smug Club, I now felt like I had two places to avoid for the rest of my life in the same stretch of road.
Perhaps we could move?
“Have a great time at playgroup,” said Ben, “I think you need the adult company today you were in great spirits after last week.”
“Hmmm yes, I’m looking forward to it. There’s definitely a couple of mums I’d like to talk to again,” I replied.
Third lie.
I mindlessly walked with Arthur towards Shame Street, (I decided that’s what it should be called now) and started to pick up my pace. I practically jogged past the car park of Smug Club.
I wondered if I had judged them all too harshly and too quickly. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor would it be the last. I walked back towards the scene of last week’s debacle but no matter how much I tried I couldn’t will myself to go in.
I couldn’t sit and be the mother they wanted me to be, nor could I be the wife Ben needed me to be. I tried the therapy, I’d keep taking the tablets, I’d even try that mindfulness crap he was always harping on about, but I wasn’t going to sit and pretend to be one of ‘them’. I’d never be welcomed as part of the Smug Club elite. I take the kids to McDonald’s and don't even feel a little bit guilty. I haven’t registered the youngest with a dentist and more than once we’ve stayed in bed and had crisps for breakfast.
“I’ll never fit in,” I told Arthur, aloud.
His nod was all I needed to ensure me that I was making the right decision. I made sure no one could see me leave the car park and high-tailed it out of there. I left them, and all the doubts I was feeling, behind. With a smile on my face and a warm feeling in my tummy, I was more and more certain I’d made the right choice. Joseph’s tacky little café would be my retreat for a couple of hours a week; perhaps just by getting out of the house more, it would help me remember the old Amy. One who wouldn’t be overwhelmed by a group of mums or afraid to stand up for a stranger being ganged up on.
First things first, I needed to tell Joseph I wasn’t the woman to help put his business on the map. Instead, I would recommend a few people that would work their magic, but it definitely wasn’t me.
I started to stride, with purpose, towards the café in order to let him down gently.
I was working myself into a frenzy and tried to practise a speech that was heartfelt, but firm. Unfortunately, I was that determined in my march I managed to barge through the door using my momentum as a type of battering ram and scared the bejesus out of Arthur and Joseph simultaneously.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” was all I kept saying to both of them.
It took a good three minutes of me soothing Arthur while Joseph soothed me before I was able to sit down and actually let him know why I was really there.
As soon as I looked up at his kind face I lost my nerve. He told me to sit down and he’d be over to chat when he was finished with a customer. Arthur had already gone over to the toys and left me to keep my head in my hands and try to regulate my breathing.
“You alright, Princess?”
The accent was unmistakable but still, I peered through my fingers to check if it was really her.
It was.
With one girl on her hip and a take-out coffee in hand, there stood Elle with pursed lips and a challenging look.
“Hi,” I responded sheepishly. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Well, I am.”
“Fine, don’t tell me. Aren’t you late for your little club? Smug Club I believe you called it. That place that’s too good for the likes of me?”
“I’m not going back. I don’t think it’s quite for me either.”
“No shit, Princess.”
The hostility in her demeanour subsided once she found out I wasn’t joining the enemy.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked.
She had already sat down on the sofa across from me before I answered. She told her daughter to join her sister, who was already at the toy area with Arthur.
“Maybe we should address the awkwardness you seem to exude from your pores right now,” she continued.
Why does she have to be this direct?
“I don’t know what you mean,” I lied, badly.
“Oh, I see. You’re repressed.”
The nerve of this woman; it usually takes a whole three meetings with me before people can put their finger on what’s wrong with me.
“I’m not repressed,” I said as calmly as I could.
“Yes, you are. I’ve known you for twenty minutes in total and I’ve figured that one out. I’ve clearly just saved you a fortune in therapy and you probably hate your mother. You lot always hate your mother.”
“My lot?”
“Yes, the repressed lot. Do you hate your mother?”
“I’m not repressed,” I repeated, firmer this time.
“That didn’t answer the question. What do you do for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“To indulge yourself, to show yourself some love?
“I think it’s very important that you indulge in something that’s just for you. Something no one else knows about it. Do you want to masturbate with a huge dildo while listening to ABBA? Who cares? Go for it! Do whatever makes you happy, as long as it isn’t some shit that you have to do as a wife or a mother. So, what’s yours?”
I racked my brain for an appropriate answ
er to this that wouldn’t constitute as sharing too much information. I couldn’t think under the pressure of her gaze so I went with the first thing that came into my mind.
“Sometimes… ” I started.
“Yes?” she asked, eagerly.
“Well, sometimes I buy the more expensive sanitary towels even though the cheaper ones are right there and they do the job. It’s like they’re my little luxury. I feel guilty about it because some weeks it pushes me over the shopping budget but the other ones... chaffe. You know?”
As soon as I said it I knew it was the wrong answer. It was out there like a steaming turd sitting in the middle of the table and we were both just staring at it, not knowing what to do or say, finally, Elle broke the silence.
“Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard. You show yourself love by purchasing fanny pads that don’t feel like sandpaper against your minge? Amy, I was wrong about you, you’re not repressed.”
“I’m not?” I couldn’t keep up with this woman’s flippant assessments of my character.
“No, you’re not,” she replied. “The word describing what you are hasn’t even been invented for your level of repression.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry though, I’ve come along at the right time and we’re going to drag your martyred arse into the light and I swear, if you ever attempt to buy the sandpaper pads again, I’ll burn down your house.”
My face must have been horrified because she continued her tirade of ‘help’ with:
“Don’t be scared! You and I are going to be great friends. By the time I’m finished with you you’re going to find that inner assertive badass again.”
“Again?”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said something that wasn’t a question.
“Yeah! I can tell you haven’t always been this mousy housewife persona you’ve got going on. You’ve got secrets Amy and you’re going to tell me in your own good time.”
“Do you really masturbate with a huge dildo?” I asked.
“That’s a bit personal for a first date don’t you think?”
Amy Cole has lost her mind: The perfect laugh out loud, feel-good comedy (The Amy Cole series Book 1) Page 6
