From: Lucy Jacobs
To: Phoebe Henderson
Subject: Re: That was nice
It wasn’t bullshit – well, not the budget-cut stuff. I saw a memo on the system. Chances of us getting any new staff, pay rises and even bonuses are slim.
HAPPY TUESDAY!
Oh brilliant. Just brilliant.
Friday October 13th
Right, the schools are off on holiday again. Who the fuck do I complain to? Oliver has taken some time off to watch Molly and we’ve paid Maggie a big wad of cash to have her on the days where we both have to work. Sometimes I think having a job where I work from home would be ideal, but in reality Molly would constantly interrupt me, I’d work stupid hours and spend most of them in my dressing gown.
To make matters worse, my parents will be here next Thursday and I’ll have to entertain them so they don’t think I’m a terrible, ungrateful child.
Monday October 16th
From: Lucy Jacobs
To: Phoebe Henderson
Subject: Halloween
I don’t know whether to have a Halloween party or not this year. It’s close to the wedding now and one party full of ghouls might be enough.
From: Phoebe Henderson
To: Lucy Jacobs
Subject: Re: Halloween
I don’t know why you’re consulting me on this, considering you ban children from attending and I’ve only been able to come to one in the last five years, you mean bastard.
I heard her snort from across the office.
From: Lucy Jacobs
To: Phoebe Henderson
Subject: Re: Halloween
Haha! If it wasn’t for my Halloween party, you might not have let Oliver knock you up, remember? Just because you make children at my house doesn’t mean I’ll let you bring them to my fabulous adult party. Besides, Jenny Tyler tried to dook for apples using her tits last year. No child needs to be subjected to that, I’m doing you a favour.
Now I was the one who was snorting. Jenny Tyler was notorious for getting her tits out when pissed. I heard that she did it on the night bus last year and got fined £200. Pretty certain she’s done it since though. She’s not well.
From: Phoebe Henderson
To: Lucy Jacobs
Subject: Re: Halloween
I think you could do without the stress of a party this year but it’s up to you. I shall be taking Molly to her school Halloween disco if you’d rather join me at that?
From: Lucy Jacobs
To: Phoebe Henderson
Subject: Re: Halloween
Are you serious? Halloween is supposed to be fun, shithead. Stop trying to involve me in your life.
Wednesday October 18th
This month’s session with Pam was far less snot-covered and stressful than the previous. There’s part of me that wonders if she just rolls her eyes whenever she sees our name in her appointment schedule. I would. I’d be all ‘OH GOD NOT THESE WHINY LITTLE BITCHES’ but then again, I’m not getting paid to listen to us.
For once she wasn’t scribbling away in her book. She just listened and nodded and at one point sneezed so expectedly it scared the shit out of me.
‘I think you’ve both made excellent progress,’ she said. ‘You came here to address the sexual concerns in your relationship, but it became apparent that they were hiding deeper issues for both of you, which may never have surfaced had you not taken the first step. You have the tools now to work with each other on your issues. Talking is obviously crucial but don’t forget the power of music. And written communication – whether it’s using your jar or just leaving a simple note that acknowledges the other person.’
And with that, we left Pam’s office and headed home, feeling smug that we hadn’t given up on this. Or on us.
Thursday October 19th
My parents arrived at quarter past eleven this morning, exhausted from their flight and ecstatic to see Molly, who to be fair was only interested in hearing about their dog.
It doesn’t matter how old I get, my parents coming to see me will always make me anxious. It’s like I’m presenting my life for them to judge. I judge myself enough for everyone.
I was really pleased to see them though – they were both looking well. Mum had died her hair a darker blonde that suited her and while the remainder of my dad’s hair was either still in Canada or had exited his head for good, he looked cheerful and tanned. As I hugged him it struck me that he always smelled like Mum’s perfume. Not in the sense that he’d been spraying himself with it, more like she lingered on him. It was comforting.
‘We’ve booked you into the Travelodge up the road from us,’ I informed them as we helped wheel their cases to the car. ‘I’ve also arranged for your rental car to be dropped off there tomorrow.’
‘When did you become so organised?’ Dad laughed, giving me a squeeze. ‘Molly, I remember when your mum used to be such a scatterbrain. She was hopeless.’
Why do grandparents do that? Why do they try to make you sound like a dick in front of your kids? I’m quite capable of doing that myself, thanks all the same. Besides, if I was an idiot child, it’s their fault.
We dropped them at their hotel and I arranged to see them for dinner later, then headed back to the house where Oliver was busy not meeting my parents at the airport.
‘They get in OK?’ he asked, sprawled out on the couch.
I nodded. ‘We’ll eat with them later. They look good!’
‘Remember Molly has Adam’s birthday party tomorrow. I’ll take her – let you catch up.’
Oliver hates kid’s birthday parties but would offer to disembowel himself with a spoon if it meant wriggling out of a family get-together. Still, he had to endure dinner later so I let it slide.
We’d booked a table at a Thai place for six but we still had to wait fifteen minutes for our table, which gave me time to down a double Jack and Coke. When we finally got seated, they handed over presents they’d brought for Molly, including a framed picture of their dog, a plush beaver toy and a couple of t-shirts she feigned interest in before returning to the beaver, which admittedly was pretty cool. It had a hat on.
My parents talked incessantly throughout dinner; they are a very endearing couple to be around. They enjoy listening to each other and they both get overly involved – finishing each other’s sentences and finding the other hilarious. I was also thankful that they were mindful of the content of their stories while Molly was around. The same rules don’t apply when it’s just me. I think Molly sees Oliver’s parents as grandparents – they’re grey and old and they creak a lot when they move – whereas mine are just slightly older weird people who happen to be my parents.
Friday October 20th
Day Two of the Henderson Invasion. I took Mum and Dad out for lunch while Oliver took Molly to her friend’s birthday party. The restaurant was reasonably quiet for a wet, Friday afternoon; I’d have expected chaos during the school holidays.
Dad excused himself to give his neighbour a quick call to check on Daphne while Mum and I were seated at a window table overlooking the pissing wet beer garden.
‘Any recommendations?’ Mum asked, taking a menu from the holder.
‘I always have the fish and chips here,’ I replied. ‘It’s great.’
Mum mumbled something about sustainable haddock and continued browsing the menu, shortly followed by Dad who announced that Daphne was ‘well’ and in good spirits.
What the fuck did he expect to hear? That she’d taken ill with fever and was walking the moors until his return? She’s a dog.
‘So what’s been going on with you then, darling?’ Mum asked, rearranging her napkin. ‘Any news for us?’
My parents and I have always been able to discuss anything and they’re generally more forthcoming than I am when it comes to matters of love or sex, often making me cringe with their frankness and willingness to say, unfiltered, whatever the fuck comes into their head at any given moment. But I took a leap of faith.
‘Oliver proposed,’ I informed them, casually looking through the menu. ‘On my birthday.’I didn’t look up from my menu but was aware of them glancing at each other. ‘I said no.’
‘Why on earth would you say no?’ Mum enquired. ‘Oh, let me guess. It’s an archaic institution and it’s nothing more than a piece of paper.’
Now my eyes were on her. ‘Well . . . yes!’ I replied. ‘We’ve been together for years. We have Molly. There’s no reason to change anything.’
Dad laughed. ‘Honestly, Phoebe, I’ve never met anyone so frightened of change. What are you afraid of? Why would you want everything to stay the same for the rest of your life? That’s not living, it’s just existing.’
Before I had a chance to reply, the waiter came to take our order, hovering impatiently while Mum tried to decide whether she wanted potatoes or chips with her steak. In a feeble attempt to prove I wasn’t scared of change, I ditched my plans for fish and chips and impulsively ordered the Chicken Schnitzel instead. That’ll show them.
Once the waiter had scurried off with our order, I picked up the conversation again, stubbornly trying to get my ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ point across, but a little voice in my head repeatedly reminded me that he was right. I do fear change. I’ve been in a job I’ve hated for years. I’ve had the same hairstyle for as long as I can remember. Apart from the list I created a few years ago to change my sex life, I haven’t actively gone out of my way to rock whichever boat I might be in at the time. My life exists around routine, which I thought was for Molly’s sake, but now I realise might actually be more for mine.
‘He kissed someone else,’ I confessed, not caring that the waiter was now placing a dreadful-looking chicken dish in front of me. ‘A while ago. We’ve worked – are working – through it . . .’
Mum placed her hand on mine. ‘Hmm . . . a kiss isn’t the worst thing he could have done.’
‘What? He felt her up too!’
She shrugged. ‘Oh darling. We all get bored. I’ve been married to your dad for four hundred years – sometimes these things happen . . .’
I wasn’t sure whether she was trying to tell me that she had personal experience in this area or that they’d each been tempted to stray, but she didn’t volunteer any further information and I wasn’t about to ask for it. I’ve heard enough about their sex life over the years without bringing new players into it.
‘Just be careful you don’t dismiss something that could offer even a brief moment of joy. Grab your happiness, darling,’ Mum continued. ‘It’s those moments that make all the bullshit we endure worth it.’
As we sat in silence eating our lunch, it struck me that my parents are actually more level-headed than I give them credit for. Despite their cavalier attitude to life, when I need them to be my parents, they come through for me.
‘And you know, if you’re struggling to keep the flame alive, you should try Viagra, Phoebe. Your dad and I have been experimenting with it. It’s strong stuff.’
Oh fuck right off.
Saturday October 21st
Molly and I were there to say goodbye to my parents this morning as they jumped into their hire car and headed for the ferry to take them to Arran. As usual, Dad asked me if I needed any money and I told him no, but I knew he’d have already transferred some into my online account. I’m nearly forty – he shouldn’t be doing that, but will there ever come a point where I stop making sure Molly isn’t skint if I can afford to help? Probably not.
I’ve never understood these really wealthy celebrities who insist they’re not leaving their fortunes to their children because their children should make their own money. I don’t get that. I would give every penny to Molly if it made her life easier. I guess when you’re rich it’s easier to be an asshole.
I used to wonder whether I was a disappointment to my parents. I wasn’t incredibly successful, wealthy, married and or in any way remarkable. However, after becoming a parent I realised that all they wanted was for me to be happy. And I’m almost there.
Monday October 23rd
October school break is over and if I’m right, the next holiday won’t be until Christmas which is encouraging. Also, HOW THE FUCK IS CHRISTMAS THE NEXT HOLIDAY? I want my year back. Once I have it back I can waste it in a far more organised manner.
Tuesday October 24th
Sarah Ward-Wilson was in my office at lunchtime, waiting for Frank to finish some calls so they could go and stuff their faces, which Frank would expense as a ‘client lunch’ because he’s cheap as fuck. I made sure I was busy on calls to avoid having to listen to her brag or bitch. I did hear her have a conversation about Shellac nails with Kelly that sounded riveting.
Lucy’s decided not to do a rehearsal before the wedding as she wants it to be as laid back and informal as possible and also ‘It’s a total waste of money. I know how to walk a few steps towards someone and then eat a dinner, for God’s sake’.
She handed out invitations to the evening reception to Kelly, Brian and Frank. Pretty little cards with silver writing which sparkled if the light caught them at the right angle. I already had mine as I was a full-day guest/chief bridesmaid, which basically makes me the most important person who ever lived.
Wednesday October 25th
This morning as I dropped Molly off at nursery, I overheard Lord Wilson talking on the phone. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but, well, I was walking behind her with my ears and she had no idea.
‘Well it’s still early days but I quite like him. Divorced. Loaded. A bit desperate. You know the type. Works with one of the mums I know from school . . . Pardon? Oh, not friends as such, she’s just the only one who hasn’t aged horribly after forty.’
My ears started to burn. I AM NOT FORTY.
‘Anyway, we’ll see how it goes,’ she continued, her leather boots causing puddle splashback as she clomped towards her car. ‘If anything, it shows that cheating bastard that I’m not hanging around. Just a shame I couldn’t have found someone a bit younger. Still, it’s nothing serious; he’s a useful distraction while I work out my next move.’
I arrived at my car first and watched her walk further up the road, still unaware that I’d overheard her conversation. Climbing into my car, my first instinct was to tell Frank what she’d said. That she’d called him desperate. That he was only a distraction. I felt strangely protective towards him and it was completely disconcerting. However, by the time I arrived at work, I’d come to the decision not to get involved. It was none of my business. For all I knew, Frank could also be using her. When it comes to women, he’s not the most earnest man I’ve ever met. Sarah though – she’s really wound me up. What a shifty little fucker she is.
Friday October 27th
Molly insisted on reading her own book tonight and I have to say, I felt rather deflated. Like I’m surplus to requirements now. I wonder if other mothers are totally up their own arse like I am, or whether they just feel happy that they’ve raised a literate child. Sometimes it feels like every little milestone in Molly’s life is a reminder that things will continue to change whether I want them to or not and it happens so quickly.
Sunday October 29th
Tonight Molly informed us that she is the only one in her class and possibly the world who doesn’t have a brother or sister to play with. So we’ve been advised to get her a sibling as soon as possible.
‘What do you think about having more kids?’ Oliver asked as we lay in bed. ‘Seriously, not just for Molly to push around.’
‘I haven’t thought about it,’ I replied. ‘Maybe that’s quite telling.’
‘I have,’ he replied. ‘Fleeting thoughts. Like whether we’d get another good one or an evil little nosepicker who kills small animals.’
I laughed. ‘Aww, our very own serial killer, honey. Nah, I can’t imagine having anymore. I don’t think I want to be doing nappies and sleepless nights in my forties. I’d quite like to have the house to myself again one day. Which means you’ll have to m
ove out too.’
He chuckled. ‘Do you remember we used to just call her “the baby” because we’d be too tired to remember her name at 3 a.m.?’
‘Oliver Webb, stop being broody this instant!’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’d have to go through childbirth again and that’s not happening,’ I replied. ‘I’m a fucking coward. I have no idea how women with multiple children do it. Being in labour for fourteen hours before they finally gave me the good drugs was the worst fucking agony I’ve ever felt in my life. Not to mention the indignity of having to sit and bounce on a giant inflatable ball in the name of pain management.’
Oliver turned to face me, resting his head on his arm. ‘What does it actually feel like? Pain-wise?’
I thought for a moment. ‘It’s hard to describe accurately, but you know when something is so fucking sore, you might vomit? Well, if vaginas could vomit, it would happen then. It genuinely feels like your entire arse region is falling out.’
‘Jesus.’
‘So yeah. Molly might just have to get a goldfish instead. You too.’
Tuesday October 31st
‘You haven’t let me know what you want to do for your hen night,’ I reminded Lucy. She stopped typing on her keyboard and looked up at me. I waited with bated breath for her list of hedonistic demands, convinced there would be at least one illegal activity involved.
‘Oh. Right. God, I hadn’t even thought about it. We could go for dinner, I guess?’
‘Dinner? Wait . . . is that code for strippers or something? I’m confused.’
‘No, it’s code for dinner. Actual food. We could get some Chinese – I quite fancy trying that new place near the golf course. Have a couple of drinks, maybe?’
‘Who are you and what have you done with my friend?’
She chuckled. ‘Honestly, I can’t be bothered being hungover, I’m too busy. Just something low key is fine by me.’
Relight my Fire Page 21
