Instead she focused on how she was going to get blog material out of these three. Where would she find any humour? There was nothing funny about women who had babies and managed very well. Plus, it was making her feel more than a little inadequate. Just change the subject.
‘Anyone started a diet yet?’
‘I don’t think we should be dieting so soon, should we?’ Naomi smoothed her loose smock top across her flat stomach. ‘Anyway, I think the breastfeeding is doing its job. I seem to be losing the weight without trying.’
Avoiding the urge to stick her fork in Naomi’s eye, Jenny sat up and tried to suck her belly in. ‘Not for me. Breastfeeding makes me want to eat anything I can get my hands on. Speaking of which, are we going to order some lunch?’
They had only just ordered their meals when the babies started to wake up to be fed. Hot and clammy, Jenny realised that she was going to have to feed Henry. In public.
At home, she could strip to the waist and have several attempts at sticking him on and off before she found a position that didn’t make her toes curl; here, she would just have to go for it. Pulling her breastfeeding top apart, she held her breath and pinned him on as quickly and about as accurately as a tail on the donkey. Nose to nipple. Nose to nipple. Agony.
Watching her wince, Antonia raised her glass to Jenny. ‘You’re a brave woman to keep at it, darling. I remember that torture only too well.’
‘Are you sure he’s latching on properly? It shouldn’t be painful.’ To prove her point, Naomi lifted her smock top and slipped Daisy onto her own breast as easily as the stupid bloody video Antenatal Sally had shown them. Jenny added Naomi to her list of people to kill.
‘Yep. That's what the health visitor said.’ Jenny yelped as Henry's gums clamped round her sore nipple. How come Naomi looked so bloody serene? If it wasn’t for the outline of Daisy’s head under her top, you wouldn’t even know what she was doing. Jenny gritted her teeth. ‘She also said my nipples would harden up eventually and it would stop hurting so much.’
Gail grimaced. ‘Oooh, hard nipples? Something else to look forward to.’ She straightened her blazer. ‘Piles, stretch marks, wetting yourself every time you laugh. Childbirth really is the gift that keeps on giving.’
‘How do all these movie stars look so glamorous only days after giving birth?’ Jenny had tortured herself looking though old copies of Hello! magazine at the baby-weighing clinic the day before.
‘They have staff,’ Gail replied.
Antonia leaned forwards. ‘I read somewhere that they have liposuction straight after the birth.’
‘Really? Can that be true? I wish I could have had a bit of that.’ Jenny could understand why she’d put on weight around her belly – to cushion the baby – but why had the size of her backside increased so much?
‘What about me?’ said Gail. ‘I’m going back to work soon, and I can just see the looks from my staff when I roll in on the Monday morning. I don’t think I’m anywhere near fitting into any of my work suits.’
Jenny had further depressed herself by trying on a pair of work trousers the previous week. The two sides of the zip had been so far apart they needed a passport to meet up.
‘Are you really going back so soon?’ asked Naomi. ‘I thought you might have changed your mind.’
Gail shook her head. ‘A large part of being an investment fund manager is meeting with financial analysts to stay on top of the market. If I’m away too long, I’ll be no good to my clients. Frankly, I also need the money. Especially if I have to go out and buy a set of fat suits.’
Jenny wanted to ask about Joe: wouldn’t he be supporting Gail for a while? In all the communication they’d had so far, Gail had barely mentioned him. Could she ask?
Just then, the food arrived and Jenny tried to jiggle Henry around a bit so that the waiter could put her plate down without getting a full frontal. She may as well not have bothered, as Henry chose that moment to fall asleep and drop his head back dramatically, exposing her oversized nipple to anyone who cared to look.
Jenny pulled her top back over her chest then, as if holding a live grenade, placed Henry back into his pram. Sitting back, she realised her shoulders were hunched up almost to her ears and tried to make herself relax. The other three seemed to be coping so well. Naomi was even supporting Daisy with her right hand whilst eating a superfood salad with her left. Jenny wanted to lie face down on the table and go to sleep. In a plate of chips.
Maybe she just needed a couple more weeks to get the hang of it all. So she wasn’t a natural like Naomi. She would just have to try a bit harder. Henry was only six weeks old. In a real job, she wouldn’t have even completed the induction period yet. It had probably been the same when she’d started on the magazine.
Except, on the magazine, she had been given some useful training, not left to fend for herself with a handful of baby manuals and a brief meeting with a health visitor. Why hadn’t Antenatal Sally taught useful skills, like how to eat lunch with one hand, dress a baby octopus and survive on five hours’ sleep? She should have ditched the antenatal class and spent a week on special ops with the SAS.
An alarm started to beep on Gail’s mobile. ‘That’s my cue to go,’ she said. ‘I promised I’d dial into a conference call from home this afternoon.’ She stood up and put a £20 note on the table. ‘That’s should cover my bill and a tip. Sorry I have to dash. I’ll see you all soon.’ She waved and was gone.
‘I should go, too, really,’ said Jenny. ‘I promised to visit the girls at the magazine and introduce them to Henry.’ This was a lie, but she had a sudden urge to be somewhere where she knew what she was doing. She could check in with Eva, see what she thought about the blog – and make sure that no one had started using her desk.
Antonia motioned to the waiter for the bill. ‘Would you both like to come to me next time, ladies? It might be more comfortable than sitting around a table.’
Jenny rummaged around her cavernous changing bag, trying to locate her purse. She wasn’t particularly thrilled about the thought of seeing them again so soon, but what else was she going to do for blog ideas? Plus, she wouldn’t mind having a nose around Antonia’s house: it was bound to be huge. ‘Found it!’ she said, pulling out her purse and bringing two nappies with it. ‘It would be lovely to meet at yours. Just let me know when. Will you let Gail know, or shall I?’ She stuffed the nappies back into the bag.
Antonia shrugged. ‘Feel free to ask her, but she may be too busy having important meetings.’
Jenny glanced at her watch. It was 2 p.m. Eva was usually back in her office by now, which meant that Jenny could have an important meeting of her own.
Chapter Nine
When I was pregnant, I imagined our new family life as a romantic film montage: the baby lying between us in bed, or the three of us rolling around on the rug together, laughing, or my husband and me pushing a pram around the park with my perfect hair flowing in the wind.
Spoiler alert: it is not like this.
For a start, The Boy can’t lie between us in bed because he rotates himself ninety degrees to stick his feet painfully between my lower vertebrae. We never lie on the rug together because it’s covered in crumbs from the slice of toast I have been trying to eat since breakfast, and he regards his pram as solitary confinement, which means I have to balance him in one arm whilst trying to push the pram with the other. And in none of these scenarios is my hair looking perfect…
From ‘The Undercover Mother’
* * *
As soon as Jenny walked through the door, women appeared from everywhere to worship Henry. Jenny knew how handsome he was, but it was gratifying to have it confirmed.
Eva came out of her office to find out what the noise was. ‘Hello, stranger.’ She stopped and looked at Jenny intently. ‘You look different.’
If Jenny had felt self-conscious about her clothes over lunch, it was much worse now. ‘Do I?’
Eva looked closer. ‘Has your hair always been… w
avy?’ She said the word ‘wavy’ as if it was an insult.
Jenny’s hand went to her head defensively. ‘I usually straighten it for work.’
‘Hmm.’ Eva shrugged. ‘How's life on the outside?’
Jenny smiled. ‘Good. Good. Little bit repetitive at times. But good. Are you missing me?’ She hoped fervently that the answer was yes.
‘Every day. Although each month when Lucy files her column on time, my loyalties are divided.’
Jenny ignored this joke. What were deadlines for, if not to be met at the last minute? ‘This is Henry.’ She held him aloft proudly, like a homemade sponge cake, although she knew better than to expect any kind of infant worship from Eva.
‘Ah. Very nice, well done.’
‘Have you been looking at the blog posts? What do you think?’ Jenny was proud that she had written anything at all. Sleep deprivation was not the mother of creativity.
‘Ye-es. Shall we have a quick chat about it?’ Eva motioned towards her office. ‘Maureen won’t mind watching the baby for a moment, will you?’
‘Not at all, I’ve been waiting for a cuddle!’ Maureen was Eva's PA and substitute mother to most of the office.
Jenny handed Henry over a little reluctantly and followed Eva.
‘I like your writing, of course.’ Shutting the door behind them, Eva cut straight to the point. ‘And it is mildly funny. But it’s just not very…’ She paused for the right word. ‘Exciting.’
Jenny laughed. ‘I don’t want to shatter any illusions here, but there aren’t many James Bond moments for a stay-at-home mum.’
‘Well, that’s what I assumed when you suggested it. So what’s the point? Why would people want to read it?’
‘You should look at the comments.’ Jenny had been surprised herself by the reaction she’d had so far. Other mums had been writing that they agreed with her, that she had made them laugh and that she had made them feel ‘normal’. Although some of the comments included acronyms such as DD and SO and BLW and, at first, she hadn’t had a clue what they were talking about. ‘People like it because it’s realistic – it’s the same as “Girl About Town”. Women read that to feel like they aren’t the only ones meeting dodgy blokes and spilling wine over themselves in equally dodgy nightclubs. Mums are the same, although it’s worse for them because it feels like every single thing they do is being judged.’ Jenny had found article after article online that told parents exactly what they should, and shouldn’t, be doing. When she got her column in the magazine, it would tell everyone they should do things their own way, and to stick a teething ring in the mouth of anyone who said otherwise.
‘Ye-es.’ Eva still didn't look convinced. Staring at Jenny, she stroked her lip. Jenny knew better than to interrupt: this was Eva's thinking face. Interestingly, it was quite similar to Henry’s weeing face. ‘I think we need more on the other mothers – your new crew. It worked perfectly in your old column, writing about the lives of the girls you knocked around with – really fleshed it out.’ Eva sat back in her chair. ‘That’s what you need to do.’
‘You must have read my mind!’ Jenny lied, relieved that Eva was still sufficiently interested in her idea to make a suggestion. ‘I've already got a group of women I met at antenatal and I was just going to ask your opinion on including more about them in the blog!’ She beamed with fake confidence.
‘How fortuitous.’ Eva’s eyes showed that she knew Jenny was lying. ‘We have an advertisers’ event next month. You could come along and work some magic on our corporate friends. If you can get some sponsors for your idea, we can talk.’ She looked at Jenny’s hair again. Then at her leggings. ‘If you’re feeling up to it.’
‘Great idea.’ Jenny’s heart sank. ‘I’ll be there.’
A knock on the door and Lucy’s face appeared, her annoyingly beautiful long hair swinging. ‘Sorry to interrupt, E,’ she said. Since when was she shortening Eva’s three-letter name? ‘But I wondered if you’d remembered to ask Jenny about her book?’
‘Ah, yes.’ Eva nodded. ‘Thanks for reminding me, Lucy.’
Jenny wanted to ask why she wasn’t shortening her new best buddy’s name to ‘L’.
Eva turned back to Jenny with a smile. ‘I was wondering if you’d mind giving Lucy a copy of your contacts book.’
* * *
Jenny slammed the cupboard shut and banged two mugs down onto the kitchen counter. She had completely forgotten to go to the supermarket after her trip to the office, and Dan was now eating a mixing bowl full of Shredded Wheat and Crunchy Nut Cornflakes for his dinner. He looked like he regretted accepting her offer of a cup of tea.
‘Can you believe it? Not only has she stolen my job, she now wants a copy of my black book. My bible.’ She paused for emphasis. ‘It has taken me years to build that up. The names and numbers of everyone who organises any kind of social event in the city. Every bar owner, club manager and tour manager. I’ve even got personal mobile or home numbers for most of them.’ A fresh wave of anger hit. ‘When I started, all my predecessor left me was a sheet of A4 paper with a list of venues and her own unintelligible rating system. And Eva – I mean “E”, apparently—’ she mimicked Lucy’s breathy, enthusiastic voice ‘—Eva thinks I should just hand it over to Lucy.’
‘Mm.’ Dan mumbled through a mouthful of cereal, then swallowed. ‘Maybe she just thought you wouldn’t be using it at the moment. You know, being on maternity leave.’
‘That’s irrelevant! The book doesn’t belong to the magazine. It’s mine! I kept those notes on everywhere I went, everyone I met. That book, those names, those numbers – it’s everything I’ve done as “Girl About Town”. It’s my life! It’s who I am!’
Dan looked confused. ‘You’re a large, black address book with a silver star on it?’
Jenny laid her head on the table. ‘You don’t understand, either!’
‘I’m trying, Jen. Really I am.’ He laid down his spoon and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don't bite me when I say this, but… do you really need it any more?’
Jenny’s head shot up again. ‘Of course I’m going to need it! What happens when I go back to work and she’s already wormed her way in with all the people who used to save the best tables and seats for me?’
‘Okay, Jen, humour me for a minute.’ Dan was using the calm tone of a police negotiator trying to talk someone down from a window ledge. ‘Because I don’t understand what the problem is. Before we decided to have a baby, you were complaining that you were getting too old to write a “singles life” column. Right?’
Jenny gave a small nod. She didn’t want to commit herself until she saw where he was going with this.
‘But now Eva has given the column to someone else, you’ve decided that you don’t want to lose it?’
‘Yes. No. Well, kind of, but…’
Dan held up his hand. ‘But you’re writing a blog about being a mum, which you’re hoping will become a column in the magazine and then you can write that instead?’
‘Yes. But it might not work. Eva hasn’t made me any promises. I might do all this work and she could say no.’
‘Do you enjoy writing it?’
Did she enjoy writing it? It was new. It was challenging. She found herself thinking about it when she wasn’t writing it. ‘I think I do.’
Dan shrugged. ‘Then we’ll work it out. If Eva doesn’t go for it, you can write the blog until it does take off, and we’ll just have to live on bread and water for a while.’
‘But it’s a blog.’
Dan looked confused. ‘I already said that.’
‘I’m a journalist, Dan, not a blogger. I get paid to write. I’m a professional.’
Then Henry started to cry and Jenny stomped up the stairs, muttering about people changing your life for you without even asking.
* * *
That night in bed, Jenny told Dan what Eva had said about the blog. ‘I need to step it up a level,’ she said. ‘Eva looked decidedly unimpressed with it so far. I need to
make it more exciting – especially now I’m competing with Little Miss Perky.’
Dan nodded, slowly. ‘What did you actually say to Eva about your contacts book?’
‘That I’d try and look it out for her. What else could I say?’ She turned to face him. ‘I’m not going to give her the actual book, though. I’ll buy another one and copy some of it over. I’m not giving her everything.’
‘Good idea.’ Dan looked relieved that she hadn’t recommenced her rant from earlier.
‘Eva thinks I should write about the other mums in the blog. Like the Girl Crew I used to have for “Girl About Town”.’ She and her crazy friends from her twenties had had some good times together over the years. They’d visited en masse when Henry was brand new, but they were all still single and had been out until the early hours of the morning; they’d seemed oblivious to Jenny’s own exhaustion. Obviously, she would just pick up with them again once she had got the hang of this motherhood business.
‘That sounds like an interesting idea.’ Dan was clearly keeping his language as non-committal as possible so that he didn’t say the wrong thing. ‘Will you be writing about personal stuff? Have you asked their permission yet?’
Jenny looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Not exactly. I was planning on giving them pseudonyms and just writing about things that they do and say. If they know about it, they might not like it.’
Dan gave a lengthy whistle. ‘I bet they wouldn’t, particularly that posh one. Antonia, is it? Or that scary one who came on her own. She’s got enough balls to have conceived without the absent boyfriend.’
Jenny sat up in bed, her creative brain whirring into action. ‘Husband, you’re a genius! You’ve got it! Posh, Scary…’ She thought for a moment. ‘Naomi is a yoga teacher, so she must be pretty sporty, and Ruth is ginger! Well, auburn,’ she conceded. ‘They’re the flippin’ Spice Girls!’
The Undercover Mother_A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy about love, friendship and parenting Page 6
