I had learned early on in this parenting malarkey, that it was best to keep my answers short and to the point with Arthur, but it rarely stopped the follow-up questions.
“Even Daddy?”
“Yes, even Daddy. I think. It might have dropped off because I don't remember the last time I saw it.”
“What, Mummy?”
“Nothing sweety, have a raisin.”
I wasn't in form for thinking of my abysmal sex life. At this stage, the only time I remember even thinking about it was when I considered the possibility of having a third child. The notion lasted for thirty seconds, and even that was about four months ago.
Trying to conceive Adam was an awful period in our relationship, we tried for nearly three years. The whole time I panicked about being infertile so I incessantly took my temperature and urinated on an endless supply of ovulation sticks. Sex became a chore and it never went back to the way it was even after Adam arrived.
Every so often I'll have that extra glass of wine to help make me slightly more receptive to Ben's advances but even that had stopped. I used to make sure we didn't go longer than a month in between obligations but now I don't bother. I've even told myself I'm much happier without the hassle.
With Adam in school and Arthur out of nappies, society – and by society I mean my mother – has now decided that it's time for another child.
Surely, I need to try for that girl I'm missing?
It's a question I tire of hearing, every few months.
Instead of telling her, and everyone else to mind their own business and to leave my vacant womb alone, I change the subject.
I am a wimp, especially when it comes to standing up to my mother.
It's not that I had completely ruled out the possibility of a third child, it's just the thought of it was about as appealing as a lobotomy.
I still fancied Ben, he was still as attractive to me as he ever was. I always found that time is a lot kinder to men than women. Men always seemed more distinguished with age, while everything of mine was getting closer to the ground with every passing year. Ben regularly tells me how beautiful I am, he does little things that make me feel pretty and loved as a woman. The problem is me. I don't see past the yoghurt and snot stains on my top, my bushy, greying hair scraped back into a bun. I don't remember the last time my face felt a little attention – I'm talking moisturizer, never mind makeup.
I don't remember when I stopped trying. I never had to try for Ben, I meant trying for me, trying so I could look in the mirror and not hate what I saw. I just didn't care. What was the point? If I don't like who I was on the inside then what did it matter what I looked like on the outside?
So far, this ‘not thinking about my abysmal sex life' idea wasn't going well. I figured I should probably hone back in again and see what Arthur was up to.
“Don't you think so Mummy?”
Crap.
“Hmmm? What was that?”
“It's ok Mummy, I'll ask Granny tomorrow,” he mused
Well that's definitely going to come back to bite me.
I hated the school run, apart from the obvious shitty parking and the trek to the school itself, I have the exact amount of social anxiety which makes me completely useless at every type of small talk that seems to come so easily to those around me. I know exactly one parent at the gates. Well, know him is a bit of stretch. I don't know his name, his child or if he speaks English, but we do silently nod at each other while we wait for the teacher to release the hounds.
Our friendship was solidified the day I drove into a space that was miles too tight for my car and I heard the dreaded sound of metal scrapping off metal. His face said it all. I slowly backed out and parked as far away from the scene of the crime as possible. Scurrying over, Arthur on hip, I joined my silent friend to inspect the damage.
I recognised the car, it was the teacher's. I convinced myself that because of this gaff, my son would never get into university.
“No! It’s her’s isn't it?” I said in an unhelpfully panicked tone.
He nodded
“Is there any damage? I can't see any, is there?”
He shrugged.
“I'm just going to tell her it was me and she can take a look herself to see if there's damage. Yes?”
He shrugged again.
“You’re right, what good would that do? There's no damage and then she'll just end up hating my son and he'll get all the rubbish parts in any of the school productions, stinting his confidence, making him underperform and then there's this big domino effect. So what if there's a tiny scratch? That doesn't mean being truthful about this is going to stop her ostracizing my child and leading him down a path of underachievement, poor self-confidence and hard drugs, does it?”
Nothing.
“Again, you're right, I just need to relax. This isn't a big deal, we're on the same page here aren't we?”
Nothing.
“Good talk.”
Ever since that day, he just accepted that I'm going to stand next to him so I don't have to talk to anyone else. He just seems relieved that I haven't spoken to him since.
When Adam ran towards me, his cheeks were rosy and his sleeves were rolled up like he means business. What business that is I never find out because every day I ask him about what he did in school, and every day I get the same answer: “Nothing, it was boring.”
I missed simpler days when the answer was: “I don't remember.”
I had hoped there were at least another ten years before we were in the fully-fledged teenager mode but apparently it starts when they're five.
The drive home was a noisy affair, with the two of them arguing over who owned the colour ‘green’.
I let my mind wander to the possibility of what tomorrow could bring. Would it be another coffee? Would Elle pry further into my mess of a life? ‘Mess’ made things seem more chaotic than it was, there were no fights or tension at home, the house was kept clean, and there was dinner on the table in the evening. It's just when the kids went to bed and Ben went into his phone to play a game, or whatever he was doing on the damn thing, I felt completely alone. I felt alone at the best of times but now I was beginning to feel despondent about it all. My life, my family, my future – it was a feeling that scared me and wasn't a totally unfamiliar one. It made me think about cold water that burned my lungs and —
“Mummy,” cried Adam. “Where are you going?”
I was back in the car with the boys and we were nearly home, but I didn't even remember the drive here.
“What's wrong? We're going home, where else would we be?” I bluffed.
“You said we could go to the library. I'm tired of the bedtime books we have.”
“Tomorrow Adam, I have a better idea for today,” I lied.
I had no better idea. I just couldn't be bothered spending forty minutes trying to find parking outside the library. I prayed the iPad was charged and there was some semblance of junk food in the house that would seem like I had a ‘party’ planned for them. My prayers were answered and with the building of a fort in the living room underneath some chairs and a bed sheet, my reputation as the not-so-terrible parent was saved.
Elle told me to wear something ‘looser’. Did she mean like morally loose, or physically loose? I had neither so it was kind of a moot point. What would morally loose even look like? Nipple clamps on the school run? I tried to think of what constituted as a ‘morally loose’ outfit choices and then I realised that I had turned into one of those townspeople from Footloose who wanted to ban dancing.
When did I become one of those people?
I didn't have anything that would fit into the category ‘activewear’ saying as I'd been to exactly one spinning class in my life and decided it was like all the pain of anal sex and none of the pleasure. This was the exact explanation I gave to the instructor who made the fatal mistake of asking how I got on. After that conversation and judging by the horrified look on his face, I thought it would be better j
ust to never return.
Ben was always pushing me to exercise, not because he was particularly enthusiastic about exercising as a whole, he just wanted to get me out of my own head for even a half hour a day. When I could feel my mood slip he was all but pushing me out the door for a walk and quoting some inspirational crap like: ‘exercise is the most under-used antidepressant’.
I really wish he’d quit Instagram and quoting bull like that to me, but it keeps him happy and lets him think he has some shred of positive input into the mental wellbeing of his wife.
When he came back from work he found me sitting in the middle of our bedroom surrounded by the entire contents of my wardrobe. I'd found some leggings that had a hole in the groin and one of his t-shirts that said ‘Be the Dream’.
“Does this look like loose clothing to you?” I asked.
“Morally loose or physically loose? I mean the hole at the crotch is sending out some definite messages, sweety.”
“This is why I love you,” I replied as I gave him a hug.
I told him about my mystery activity with the boho-chic mum in the hope he'd warn me of stranger danger and say I shouldn't go. Unfortunately, I'm an adult and he didn't think that I was being groomed for a sex ring by a sinister stranger so I had to go and make a friend in my thirties. He was annoyingly excited at the thought of me stepping out of my comfort zone. It was infuriating.
“So you've no idea what you're going to do?” he asked.
“Nope, just to wear loose clothing and we're meeting at a coffee shop.”
“Did you meet her at the parent club?”
“Ye… yeah,” I stuttered. “I mean she goes sometimes.”
“Not a veteran attendee like you, eh? See? I told you if you stick with it you'd eventually meet someone who you could get along with.”
“I don't like people,” I said, flatly.
“And yet, you're heading out with a new friend to do something which may, or may not, be approved of by the Church Elders should they find out. I'm proud of you,” he said, as he kissed me gently.
The knot in my stomach gave another twist at the lie about Smug Club, but now wasn't the time to dwell on my lies. I decided to get on with my usual evening routine with the kids whilst I tried to ignore my building doubts about what I was getting myself into.
Chapter 9
As I pushed open the door to Joseph's I noticed Elle was already there waiting for me at the counter. She was animatedly talking to Michael who had a look of fear on his face which turned to relief when he spotted me. Elle's attention was instantly drawn in my direction.
“Amy!” he half-shouted. “Your friend Elle is here.”
“Hiya Little Miss Repressed,” she said. “Wow, you look… bright.”
In my panic about what to wear for the mystery activity, I popped to the supermarket and bought the first two things I could see in my size at the ‘activewear’ section. Unfortunately, both items were neon yellow.
“Amy, you look like the surface of the sun over there,” she continued.
“Yes, well here I am,” was all the reply I could muster.
“Here you are,” she repeated with a smirk on her face. “Right, get us a cuppa to-go and we’ll be off.”
Joseph, who I suspect had been hiding out back in the kitchen from the loud South African, popped his head out at the sound of my name.
“Ah, Amy. When will you be in again to make me money?”
“What's this now? You do some shifts in here?” quizzed Elle.
“No, this angel came in last week and has decided to help my business by getting us customers,” explained Joseph.
“Amy, you dark horse.”
“It's nothing really. Like really nothing, I have literally done nothing to help yet,” I blushed.
The three of them were looking at me awkwardly.
I should probably sell my skills a bit more.
“Nothing yet!” I offered. “I mean I'll definitely be starting with the social media and website and do those modern photos to make —”
“To make this place seem less like a tacky hole and more of a knob-jockey haven?” interrupted Elle.
“Something like that,” I trailed off and avoided Joseph's gaze.
“How dare you? My wife decorated this beautiful establishment,” he said.
“No offence intended, mate. I love this place. The coffee is unreal and I don't mind that there are freaky little gnome guys watching as I take a whizz”
Joseph stared at her for a few seconds, wondering if he was being offended further but he decided to keep things cordial.
“Knob-jockey haven,” he laughed. “This is funny. Why do they want avocado with everything? Sometimes I think they don't know what hot food tastes like because they spend all their time taking photos of it. I don't understand this.”
Michael laughed and was rewarded with a slap on the back of his head from his father-in-law.
“You shouldn't have time for laughing! Get in the kitchen or I'll tell my daughter to divorce you,” shouted Joseph.
“Shall we go?” I asked Elle, hopefully. I had a feeling this unpredictable mood of Joseph’s was just the beginning of a horrible day for Michael.
“Sure, let’s go. Can’t be late for our first class. I’ll drive.”
“Class?”
“Yeah, we're going to get our hearts pumping baby. It's probably best if we get you somewhere dark for the sake of my corneas.”
“Is it really that bad?”
“Amy, you look like a radioactive canary.”
“Did you bring me something, like you said?” I asked, hopefully.
“Oh I did, but this is much funnier for me so you’ll just have to make do. It’ll be fine, we’ll be in the dark soon.”
If the fact that the word ‘dark’ kept getting mentioned wasn't enough to make me nervous, then pulling up to the local dive of a nite club at 10.30 a.m. on a Wednesday was really starting to panic me. Pulling down her visor to see her mirror I watched Elle take out a little pot of what I thought was lip balm until she started dabbing it across her forehead in a V shape and dotting some over each cheekbone.
“Want some?” she asked.
“What is it? Is it that aloe vera stuff my neighbour keeps trying to sell me on online?”
“Eh no, Amy, it's UV paint. It's not a prerequisite but it’s fun, and fun is something you're sorely missing in your life.”
I shook my head and got out of the car.
“What are we doing here? Is this like an illegal rave or something?”
“HA! That would be some chance, in this town. You're a laugh. It's an exercise class and to be honest, I think you'll fit right in with that outfit. Let's go.”
I could feel the vibrations of the music in my chest as soon as she opened the heavy door into the club. My feet were sticking to the carpet and that feeling of dread I'd been fighting was beginning to come screaming to the surface.
Why am I here?
Judging my Elle's concerned expression, the obvious panic I was experiencing was showing on my face.
“Amy, are you ok? You look like you're about to crap yourself.”
“I don't think this is really for me, Elle.”
“Alright, no worries. Just let me go in and get your name off the list so I can free up the equipment for someone else.”
“Equipment?”
“Yeah, it's a boogie bouncing class,” she explained. “Come take a look, it's fun I promise. You can watch from the balcony if you want, it's just little trampolines, some music and you bounce. It's not hard.”
“Why the paint?”
“Why not? It's a nite club, Amy, let's pretend we are having a social life?”
“Tiny trampolines don't sound that scary unless – I pee myself.”
“That's the spirit!” she replied, with an unsure sideways glance.
We walked into the main dance floor and I saw the thirty evenly spaced out trampolines with very protective looking women standing
next to each one.
I followed Elle to the front of the room and dreaded the thought of being stuck at the top with the instructor judging my terrible rhythm.
As we stood at the top of the room, Elle pointed out my tiny trampoline, right in front of a podium – which I assumed belonged to the instructor. I wondered what her job title would be. Master Trampoliner? I resolved to ask Elle afterwards.
I looked to either side of me and was horrified to find she was nowhere to be seen. Had this all been some horrible revenge for Smug Club? Was it too late to run out of there? My question was answered when the thundering beat of a new song began and I heard an all-too-familiar voice coming from the speakers.
“Alright, bitches, let's sweat!” The distinctive accent sent a shiver of fear up my spine. I looked towards the podium and there she was. Her megawatt smile was accentuated by the black light and the little touches of UV paint on her face made her look like some sort of formidable Aztec Priestess.
Not only had she dragged me to this bizarre early morning rave, she was the leader of it.
“Now, we've got a newbie at the front here ladies, you can't miss her she's the one that looks like a Simpsons character in that beautiful ensemble. Everyone give a big, boogie bounce, welcome to Big Bird!”
A resounding ‘Hi, Big Bird!’ echoed through the room and I prayed that the ground would swallow me whole, or if there was a God he could see fit that I bounced through the ceiling and into an A&E Department.
“Now you know the drill, ladies, we're here to sweat and if you're slacking off, you're out. I've got a waiting list coming out my arse so earn your place!”
Her words of encouragement, which sounded more like a threat, were greeted by a resounding scream from everyone around me.
What the hell have I got myself into?
“Amy! Shift your bum onto that trampoline or I'll call you Big Bird for the rest of your natural born life,” she shouted.
“Oh, yes, eh, ok!”
I can do this, it's just bouncing up and down after all!
I gave a weak smile to the woman on my left but she was already lost in ‘the zone’ or whatever these people call it. The gentle bouncing was nice, the rhythm was steady – not too fast – even I could keep up and was feeling a bit more relaxed with every passing second.
Amy Cole has lost her mind: The perfect laugh out loud, feel-good comedy (The Amy Cole series Book 1) Page 8
