Oliver arrived home late, moaning about his workload and annoyed that he’d missed saying goodnight to Molly. He came into the kitchen where I stood washing the dinner plates.
‘Did she have a good day?’ he asked, picking at the leftover chicken on the worktop. ‘I can’t believe she’ll be starting school this year. How the hell did that happen?’
‘I know,’ I replied, accidentally knocking a glass against the mixer taps. ‘It’s like she’s getting older but I haven’t aged at all. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I’m bushed,’ he said, completely ignoring my joke. ‘I’m going to get my head down.’
‘It’s only half nine!’ I protested. I reached into the fridge to get the two custard doughnuts that I’d bought earlier. ‘Have some tea with me first! I bought those dough—’
But he was already halfway up the hall before I could finish my sentence. It was then that I decided things really had to change. And that I’d eat his fucking doughnut, too.
Thursday January 12th
Dropped Molly with Maggie at a quarter past eight, accompanied by my usual pang of guilt whenever I have to leave her to go to work. It’s fucking ridiculous. How long will this last? Until she’s a teenager? I mean, I’m not leaving her to waltz off and enjoy myself for the day, I’m doing it so we can eat, but fuck me, I still have that little voice saying ‘She’d rather be with you. She should be with you. Hideous parenting. 1/10. Should not breed again.’
Maggie pulled open the door and Molly shouted ‘Hi!’ as she ran towards the sounds of the other two kids that had been forced to come by their parents who probably feel as guilty as I do. Maybe not. I even feel guilty when I leave Molly at Hazel’s house, and she’s one of my closest mates. I think there’s just a part of me that’s scared that – even for a second – Molly won’t feel wanted.
‘Busy day ahead?’ Maggie asked, wiping her hands on her apron. She wore an apron. I looked at her in admiration. She was a proper house-person. She had a tidy blonde hairdo, her tops always matched her trousers, she bakes, and even with three kids to look after, her house is always more orderly than mine will ever be. Here is a woman who has her shit together; maybe I’m just scared that one day Molly will start to question why I don’t.
‘Oh, you know; same old!’ I politely replied. I waved bye to Molly but she didn’t notice. It looked like she was either cuddling a small boy or she had him in a headlock. ‘Her dad will collect her at four, if that’s OK?’
Maggie’s eyes light up at the sheer mention of Oliver. It’s obvious she fancies him. It used to bother me slightly – not enough to make a fuss but enough to neurotically make me wonder if the feeling was mutual.
Work wasn’t horrendous. I manage to arrange a few appointments for next week, dealt with old emails and listened politely to my boss Dorothy’s holiday woes when the romantic all-inclusive couples break she’d booked for her and her boyfriend in Gran Canaria turned out to be the package holiday from hell.
‘They had bingo one night, Phoebe. BINGO. And several children pissed on the floor during the kid’s disco. Honestly, I didn’t sit on a plane for five hours to slip on piss in my Choos.’
Friday January 13th
Day #fuckknows in the Webb/Henderson household.
I tried to gauge whether Oliver might be feeling amorous this evening but as soon as I said, ‘Shall we have an early night?’ I felt like a 1950s housewife and cringed. His response was, ‘Nah, there’s a documentary on Netflix I’ve been meaning to watch’.
I used to be good at demanding sex but, bloody hell, I’m out of practice. Fuckssake, this man has been inside every one of my holes and yet I’m finding it difficult to talk to him about sex! Maybe I’m just scared there’s something else going on . . . what if he’s had enough of my holes?
Saturday January 14th
Hazel texted me this morning to let me know they were all back from their New Year trip to Disneyland Paris.
Finally home. Grace has a present for Molly. When are you free for coffee?
I arranged to take Molly over tomorrow to catch up. Hazel’s daughter is two years older than Molly but they get on like a house on fire, even calling each other ‘sister’ in a slightly creepy way. It’s handy though since Molly is happy to sleep over when Oliver and I have plans.
The rest of the day was spent doing bugger all. I had a nap while Oliver played Pie Face with Molly and I yelled at them both when whipped cream got on the rug. Fucking hell, I’m becoming a bore. If this continues, they’ll need to stage an arsehole intervention and force-feed joy into me intravenously.
Sunday January 15th
I took Molly over to Hazel’s house, where she was presented with a Disneyland mug and a tiny Jungle Book elephant plush toy. Delighted, she went off to play with Grace while Hazel pointed me in the direction of the kitchen, pushing the door closed behind her.
‘So how was—’ I began, but Hazel quickly interrupted me.
‘Never again,’ she blurted out, whacking the kettle switch on. ‘Overpriced, freezing and mobbed. Kevin wasn’t keen either. He said that Gaston “sighed” at him. Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, thanks,’ I replied. ‘Gaston’s an arsehole. I bet Grace enjoyed it though.’
Hazel shrugged. ‘She announced on the second day that she was a bit old for Disney. We’re standing in the middle of the fucking Magic Kingdom, up to our arse in Disney and she’s all “whatever”. She enjoyed the New Year fireworks though.’
I started to laugh. ‘At least you got away for a few days. I’d kill for a holiday.’
She shook her head. ‘This wasn’t a holiday. This was an exercise in not losing your shit when you have to queue for an hour to sit on a twirling teacup in sub-zero temperatures.’
She filled up the teapot and placed it down on the table before rummaging around for biscuits, while I filled her in on my incredibly dull New Year, including my current predicament.
‘Am I being unreasonable?’ I asked, hoping not only that she’d have some wisdom to impart but also that she had something other than custard creams. The smell of them made me sick during my pregnancy and I’ve never fully recovered.
‘You know, Kevin and I went through something similar, when Grace was two,’ she began, retrieving some cleverly hidden, single-finger Twix from the back of a cupboard. ‘We actually went to counselling.’
‘WHAT?!’ I replied. ‘You never told me any of this!’
‘Yeah, Kevin made me promise not to discuss it . . . so you cannot say a word! But it helped us. We’d lost the passion. It happens.’
‘And now?’
She grinned. ‘Let’s just say we’re back on track and it’s easier for us to talk about it when we’re not. I’d give you the name of our therapist but he retired a year or so ago.’
‘That’s OK,’ I replied, pouring some tea. ‘I think I know someone who could help.’
Monday January 16th
I watched a couple of strangers flirt on the tube this morning. In fact, I think the whole carriage was aware of the spark between them. I don’t think anyone would have been surprised if they just mounted each other there and then. I won’t lie, it made me pine for something. For that feeling of lust that makes you repeatedly stare at someone until they stare back or have you arrested.
The snow has finally fucked off which made my walk to the office slightly less treacherous. It never fails to amaze me, the women I see in heels trying to negotiate ice and slush, like having sexy shoes makes you immune from sliding in public. Or from the effects of gravity.
Kelly was already in the office, eating something that definitely wasn’t made by nature. It looked like it was made by Greggs. Her face went into full panic mode when she saw me.
‘Do not tell anyone you saw this,’ she begged, wiping the crumbs off her shirt. ‘I was starving.’
‘My lips are sealed,’ I reassured her. ‘But seriously. Fuck what anyone else thinks. You enjoy that . . . is that a pie?!’
She
nodded, stuffing the last piece into her mouth.
I wish I had a pie.
*
Ten minutes later, Lucy and Brian appeared, quickly followed by Dorothy who was keen to start the morning meeting and make us all feel shitty that we were behind target for the month.
‘We need to work on new business, people! And don’t tell me that you can’t just magic it out of thin air because it already exists; I’ve just torn it out of our competitors’ publications and placed it on your desk. I will be adding incentives to the board for anyone who brings in new business.’
This meant wine. It always meant wine.
With Brian first on the phones to claim his weekend ‘carry out’, I decided to quiz Lucy on my conversation with Hazel.
From: Phoebe Henderson
To: Lucy Jacobs
Subject: Idea
Hazel suggested Oliver and I go for some couples therapy. Was going to call Pam Potter. What do you think?
x
From: Lucy Jacobs
To: Phoebe Henderson
Subject: Re: Idea
If you think it’ll help you get back on top (pun intended) then it can’t hurt to ask.
But I think Oliver will tell you to shove it up your arse. Soz.
From: Phoebe Henderson
To: Lucy Jacobs
Subject: Re: Idea
Ugh. You might be right. Still, nothing ventured.
Wednesday January 18th
Parents emailed photos of their new dog, Daphne. I FUCKING KNEW IT. Daphne is a mongrel with half an ear missing and Dad is convinced she understands French. Apparently, Daphne enjoys long walks, her new heated bed and barking at the wall for no reason. I think Daphne and I would get along famously.
Thursday January 19th
It occurred to me earlier that not only have I not been having sex but I haven’t been masturbating either. Not for weeks. This is more than just a dry spell, it’s a fucking drought.
I know I’ve been busy (and there’s little to no privacy in our place) but I just haven’t felt that turned on. I used to be this ball of sexual energy and now I just feel invisible. I’m the Invisible Mum. Soon my vagina will be writing its own monologue on how it’s been forsaken by its terrible owner. I thought about mentioning this to Lucy over lunch but she’d immediately stop eating and declare a state of emergency. Instead we discussed her current living situation.
*
‘Kyle wants to move in,’ she revealed. ‘I know it makes sense – he’s paying rent on a place when he spends most of his time at mine, but I just don’t see myself living with anyone. Like, ever. I think it’s a bit soon anyway.’
I chuckled. ‘Lucy, you’ve been seeing Kyle longer than I’ve been dating Oliver. And we live together. And have a child. I think it’s probably time to take the next step . . .’
‘Yeah, but you guys aren’t even shagging anymore. What if that happens to us?’
‘Um . . . ouch!’
Realising her unintentional insult, she desperately tried to backtrack. ‘No! I didn’t mean it like that! I meant that everything is great the way it is. I’m scared that will change.’
‘It’s fine,’ I replied. ‘I understand what you mean. You’d need to actually live with a boy. You’ve never lived with a boy. They’re really fucking annoying – more so than children.’
I envy Lucy having her own space. There are moments when I’d kill to have an entire house to myself for weeks at a time, but to be honest those moments are fleeting; sharing my space with my little family is the only normal I know now. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Friday January 20th
Still annoyed about my lack of self diddling, I took Molly to nursery and came back to address the matter head on . . . well, vag on. I’ve had nearly thirty years practise, so I was smugly confident that I could overcome any hurdles . . . but it just wasn’t happening. Every time I tried to think dirty thoughts, I’d remember all things I should have been doing in the three hours of nursery time, like mopping floors and sorting washing. Eventually I just gave up and did them. By the time Oliver got home, the place was sparkling and I was exasperated.
‘What’s up with you?’ he asked, watching me mooch around my impressively clean living room after Molly went to bed. He looked around. ‘Hang on. Did you get cleaners in?’
‘No! I bloody did this!’ I snarled unfairly. ‘And do you know why? Because I have all of this extra energy – energy saved from not having wanked in an eternity!’
He snorted. ‘Fucking hell, Phoebe.’
‘Well, it’s true. And I cooked for tomorrow night. AND I started teaching Molly how to play chess!’
He pursed his lips while I sorted the magazines on the bottom shelf of the coffee table for the tenth time before finally saying, ‘The place looks great, though. Maybe this is a good thing. I mean, look how much you can get done when you’re not busy putting things up yourself.’
‘Oh fuck off,’ I replied, laughing. He’s fucking infuriating.
He grabbed the remote and turned the telly on. ‘You should just knock one out in the shower, like I do.’
‘How often do you do that?!’
‘Most days,’ he replied, without looking away from the television. ‘Fancy watching a bit of Parks and Recreation?’
‘Nope. Why don’t you ask Pam and her five sisters to join you.’
He stared at me blankly.
‘Your palm!’ I replied, waving my open hand at him. ‘And your five fingers. Pam and her – oh, forget it.’
Even as I flounced out the room, I knew that this was the most childish fucking thing I’d ever said. I’m cringing as I write this.
Sunday January 22nd
Exhausted today. There are dead people with more energy than I have. Oliver took Molly out to the TokyoToys shop while I tidied up and went food shopping. I warned them both not to come back with anything weird. I’ve seen those body pillows used by grown men for dry-humping anime characters. It’s fucking disturbing. Luckily all Molly got were some Pokémon cards.
It’s now 8.50 p.m., I have a glass of awful red wine, Molly is asleep and Oliver is snoozing on the couch. I don’t have the heart to wake him up – or the energy. Ugh, maybe it’s not just him who’s not making the effort here. I should totally wake him up! I should wake him up with my mouth.
*
9.35 p.m. I’m in bed. He scowled at me for waking him up.
Whatever. I give up. ENJOY THE FUCKING COUCH, DICKHEAD.
Monday January 23rd
Oliver had indoor football this evening, so I picked Molly up from Maggie’s after work before popping to the supermarket to buy dinner. I told Molly that we didn’t have money for toys but of course bought her something anyway because I have no discipline whatsoever. I ate a giant bag of Maltesers on my way round the store and they were totally worth the judgemental look the checkout woman gave me while she scanned the empty wrapper. I did see a blonde woman with a wonky trolley trying to catch the attention of a guy in the cheese aisle, though. Thank fuck I’m not single anymore. Looking for love is grim. Even if I’m not shagging Oliver, he’s still the love of my life.
Wednesday January 25th
Highlights today were:
1. Twenty-seven minute power nap.
2. Unashamedly hoover-dancing to Bruno Mars.
3. The pasta I cooked for dinner was the food equivalent of being wrestled to the floor by Tom Hardy; it was messy and I wanted it in me.
Unfortunately the low points included:
1. Molly being pushed over by a little shitbag at nursery.
2. Pulling a muscle in my back because of the hoover-dancing.
3. Being in told in no uncertain terms that Oliver will not consider couples therapy with Pam Potter.
*
‘I’m not discussing our sex life with your weirdo therapist!’ he fumed in bed beside me. ‘So we haven’t had sex in a while; it’s not the fucking end of the world. We could do it right now. Problem solved.’<
br />
‘She’s not a weirdo!’ I insisted. ‘She’s a smart, insightful woman who—’
‘You told me she once conducted an entire session wearing earmuffs shaped like a monkey.’
I paused and smiled. The heating in her office had packed up that day. It was actually a really productive session, even with the earmuffs.
‘Well . . . I don’t remember telling you that. So she’s a little offbeat – who cares? She’s still wonderful. I told you she looks like Tina Fey, right? You like Tina Fey.’
‘Not in earmuffs.’
‘Forget the fucking earmuffs. This is about sex and the problem isn’t just the lack of it – it’s the reason why we’re not doing it!’ I protested. ‘I could count on one hand the number of times we shagged last year!’
‘Y’know, the more you keep going on about it, the less I want to shag you.’ He turned over on to his side, letting me know the discussion was over. But I wasn’t finished.
‘Why won’t you discuss this with me? Why is this not bothering you?’
He turned around to face me. ‘Look, I’ll shag you if you want me to. If not, I’m going to sleep, alright?’
‘Oh, fuck you. I wouldn’t let you near me now.’
Teary-eyed, I got out of bed and went and sat in the living room. That was an hour ago. So I guess we’re still fighting.
Thursday January 26th
Dorothy announced that due to the current climate we won’t be replacing Stuart, which is kind of a relief. The last thing I need is another attractive man in the office to distract me; I’ve had enough office indiscretions to last me a lifetime. She did however hint that there might be scope for me to come back full-time with Molly starting school this year. I told her I’d need to discuss it with Oliver, which I do . . . Of course the extra money would come in handy but my immediate thoughts are ‘No’ and ‘Fuck No.’
Relight my Fire Page 3
