The Dream Life I Never Had

by Terri Douglas

  The trip to Asda was fraught as by the time I’d got going it only left a couple of hours to get there, whiz round, pay, get home again, and then put everything away before collecting the children from school. And without a proper list that I hadn’t managed to finish I forgot half the things I was supposed to be getting anyway.

  We had sausages chips and beans for tea which pleased Ben, and a calorific sugar filled chocolate fudge moose thingy which pleased Kate, which in turn pleased me because it was easy and there were no food-fad dramas apart from the usual yucky beans complaint and that wasn’t as vociferous as it usually was so maybe Kate was getting over it. After I’d washed up we played a couple of games of Frustration all squashed up in Ben and Kate’s makeshift den that was becoming a permanent feature of the living room. We sped through bath time but got stalled at story time because Kate had an attack of verbal overload and couldn’t settle until she’d got it all out of her system, so it was nearly half eight by the time I got back downstairs and could call my life my own again for a couple of hours.

  Despite my busy day I was restless and unsettled. On the face of it nothing much had changed, I mean I had been coping on my own for several weeks and although it had been tiring I hadn’t felt particularly edgy or anxious. But now instead of worrying about Martin being so far away and wondering when was he going to come home, I was worrying about him being a ten minute drive away and if he was going to turn up unannounced at any moment. The unsettled feeling stayed with me for the whole rest of the week and no matter how much I tried to reason with myself that I was being stupid and that this was my choice, it refused to go away.

  Before I knew it, it was Saturday again and Martin arrived at half past seven in the morning again. We barely even acknowledged each other never mind had a conversation and when I came home from work that night he’d packed up some of his stuff to take back to Lenny’s.

  So this was really it then, an actual separation. Not just an argument, not just a disagreement or a squabble, an actual parting of the ways. The full impact hadn’t hit me and I didn’t realise until the moment I saw him carrying a bag of his things quite how serious it had all gotten. Stupid I know, I mean I was the one who’d said don’t bother coming home, I was the one who’d said I don’t want you back and told him to stay at Lenny’s. And I meant it every single word of it and still felt justified in saying it, but somewhere in the back of my head it was just an argument, a serious one granted but eventually it would get sorted out. We’d had our ups and downs and our falling out from time to time and sometimes they’d been serious, but this was the real deal. Martin had collected his stuff and was officially living somewhere else.

  I got through the next few hours with stubborn determination but as soon as Ben and Kate were safely tucked up in bed my determination crumbled and I broke down completely. I cried for Martin, I cried for my broken marriage, I cried for my fatherless children, I cried that Martin didn’t love me enough, but mostly I cried for myself.

  For once I didn’t have any of the dream life aspirations that I could hang on to and that would carry me through. All the dream life fantasy’s I’d envisioned where too far removed from reality and all I could think was what am I going to do now?

  20

  Another week passed, a week of wildly swinging emotions from hurt anger to bereft despair; a week of smiling and pretending normality and then breaking down as soon as the children were in bed.

  The school summer holidays were looming and I worried how I’d manage. This was Kate’s first year at school so her first six week holiday. Ben could still go to nursery as that didn’t close during the summer, but the problem of six whole weeks of finding a child minder for Kate was ever-present. I’d left it late I know to be worrying but I’d had so many other things to worry about recently that this particular one had been relegated to the ‘I’ll think about it later’ box, and now that it was later the ever present Mum guilt kicked in big time that I hadn’t sorted something out.

  Then Julie told me about the play scheme she sent her two children to over the summer holidays. It was expensive she said, so expensive in fact that she was effectively working for nothing for those six weeks, but the children were safe and seemed to have a good time. She didn’t know if there were any places left but she’d find out for me. As luck would have it they could take Kate for three of the six weeks so I contacted them straight away and signed her up. It was payment up-front of course which was a bit of a problem and the only solution I could see was to tap the bank of mum and dad that thankfully they agreed to straight away. Thank God for parents especially my parents.

  The plan was that I would take a week off work for one of the three remaining weeks, Mum and Dad would take Kate for another of the three weeks, and Martin who was already off work and in theory could have looked after Kate for the whole six weeks but I wouldn’t be very happy about could look after Kate for the third week. I didn’t like the idea of him hanging around at home all day every day for six whole weeks; we were still barely communicating for one thing but for another he was supposed to be finding a job. Separated or not he still needed a job to get us out of the financial hell we were in, and last but not least I was as determined as ever to prove I could manage everything on my own.

  Martin agreed of course and then straight away kicked off saying he could easily have looked after Kate over the holidays and why was I paying money for someone else to do it. I pointed out that we weren’t in fact talking so him being here all the time would be difficult, well what I’d really said was ‘bloody impossible’, and that anyway he was supposed to be trying to find work wasn’t he, hopefully work he was actually going to be paid for? Martin had stormed off after I said that with just a curt ‘I’ll see you on Saturday’.

  On Thursday it was Kate’s first parent’s night at school and Kate had been so nervous on Wednesday night and especially on Thursday morning that she’d talked about nothing else. Was I sure I remembered the time I was supposed to be there she asked worriedly, was I sure Daddy would remember what time to be there, did I remember her teachers name was Miss Taylor, could I make sure Ben behaved himself, on and on it went and when she ran out of questions she started at the beginning again. I’d tried to answer all her questions no matter how many times she asked the same ones, calmly and reassuringly. I told her not to worry and that everyone had parent’s nights when they were at school so unless she’d been misbehaving which I was sure she hadn’t it was nothing to get anxious about, but she was still fretting when I dropped her off at school. I sent a text to Martin for insurance saying ‘don’t forget parent’s night at six thirty’ and he sent one back saying ‘I know’.

  I raced home from work that afternoon, luckily I still had use of the car, and collected Kate from school where she promptly launched into another quick fire round of ‘was I sure’ questions that lasted through collecting Ben from nursery and all through tea. She was so agitated that I was beginning to get quite nervous myself.

  I agonised over what to wear. Should I be all I’ve just got home from work and us hard working mums don’t have time to change, or should I be a bit dressed up to prove I’d made an effort? If I went with the just got home from work should it be the real and faintly dishevelled just got home from work, or the clean and tidy working hard yet slightly glamorous version. Or if I went with the bit dressed up how dressed up should it be, classy but business-like or stylish posh frock more suited to going out to dinner? What would all the other mums be wearing?

  After changing my mind and my outfit a few times I settled on a clean and tidy bit glamorous work ensemble I’d cobbled together. On inspection I got the seal of approval from Kate and breathed a small sigh of relief. I forced Ben to change his paint covered tee-shirt, visit the loo, and extracted a promise from him to be on his best behaviour. I could do no more and at a quarter past six we walked down to the school.

  The three of us waited at the school gate for Martin as arranged, but at six twenty e
ight when Martin still hadn’t arrived and Kate looked as if she was on the verge of tears we went into school without him. When he turned up, if he turned up, I’d kill him there and then on the spot witnesses or not and face the consequences.

  Kate led us to her classroom and outside in the shared area there were several other parents all perched on the small seats waiting their turn and we all smiled at each other in that two second bonding thing you do when you come across other parents. Kate looked through the glass separating her classroom from the shared area and stage whispered to me that Miss Taylor was talking to Reanna’s parents. So this was the infamous Reanna, the scourge of the reception class destined to become a first class bitch and bully by the time she hit puberty. Reanna’s parents stood up all smiles and joviality and Miss Taylor smiled back at them, then they all shook hands and with a last shared joke Reanna and her parents came out of the classroom. This was it then, time for our turn.

  In the dream life Miss Taylor would say ‘I’m so pleased to meet you at last, I’ve been eager to meet Kate’s mother and father since Kate started school’. I’d look at Miss Taylor enquiringly and she would explain that Kate was so bright, that her behaviour so exemplary that she couldn’t help but wonder what her parents were like. I’d smile a knowing smile as if to say ‘I know isn’t she a wonder’, and then Miss Taylor would proceed to list all the truly amazing things Kate was doing that in her experience no other five year old could achieve. She’d ask had we thought about sending Kate to a special school for gifted children and I’d reply no we wanted Kate to have as normal a childhood as possible.

  Miss Taylor came over to us and said hello to Kate and then she said to me ‘I’m Miss Taylor Kate’s teacher and you must be Mrs Cromby Kate’s mum; I’m pleased to meet you’. She shook my hand and as we followed her into the classroom she said ‘sorry you’ve had to wait but these things sometimes tend to run on a bit’.

  I sat down in one of the waiting chairs beside Miss Taylor’s desk and she sat in her own chair facing me. ‘Why don’t you show your little brother where you sit and what you do all day while I have a little talk with Mummy?’ She said to Kate.

  Kate dutifully and without a hint of hesitation or question dragged Ben, who had a barrel load of hesitation and questions, off to show him her seat near the back of the room.

  ‘So how is Kate doing?’ I asked.

  ‘Kate’s doing very well, she’s on reading level four now’ Miss Taylor said smiling.

  ‘Is that good?’

  ‘It’s about average for her age, and she’s progressing nicely with her maths skills, again about average.’

  ‘That’s good’ I said kissing goodbye to the notion that I might have nurtured a child genius.

  ‘I’m glad to have this opportunity to meet you as there has been something I’ve wanted to bring to your attention and talk to you about.’

  ‘Oh?’ I said my genius hopes rising again. If it wasn’t reading or maths maybe it was art or music, or shoelace tying.

  ‘The thing is . . . well not to put too fine a point on it . . . the thing is . . .’ Miss Taylor prevaricated obviously struggling and slightly embarrassed to say whatever it was that she needed to say; you didn’t have to be Einstein to work out that whatever it was it wasn’t going to be good.

  ‘Has Kate been misbehaving?’ I asked dreading the answer.

  ‘No not really what you could call misbehaving. You see there’s been one or two complaints, well perhaps complaint is the wrong word more questions than complaints as such.’

  ‘About what, whatever did she do?’

  ‘I take it you’ve had the little talk with her?’ Miss Taylor said.

  ‘Little talk?’

  ‘The birds and bees talk.’

  ‘Oh that little talk, yes a bit we have. When I was pregnant with Ben obviously Kate had a million questions and I explained everything to her then, well not everything but everything she needed to know at the time. And we have talked about it a few times since then, once or twice we have in fact only last week we . . .’ I said slowly grinding to a halt as I began to get an inkling of what I thought the complaints might be about. ‘She hasn’t attacked some boy and tried to . . . has she?’ I added incredulously and fearing the worst.

  ‘Oh no nothing like that.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that’ I said breathing again. ‘Well what has she done?’

  ‘Evidently one lunchtime she explained in some detail to a group of the other children exactly how babies are made.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Some of the children had no idea and in fact hadn’t even wondered about things like that so it came as quite a shock to them, and when they asked their parents about it that night the parents became quite alarmed and demanded to know why the school was giving sex education to their five and six year olds’ Miss Taylor said with a mixture of relief that it had been said and concern at my reaction.

  ‘I see’ I said slowly.

  ‘It’s not that I disapprove of her knowing you understand, quite a few of the children know about these things particularly the girls, but not all children are ready for this sort of information at such a young age. Well that is to say not all parents are ready or able to impart such knowledge to their children at this young age, the children themselves would probably be fine about it. The thing is as I’m sure you will agree it’s probably best if it’s explained to them initially by a parent and perhaps not in quite so much detail. It’s not the sort of thing parents want their five year olds finding out about or talking about in the playground, plenty of time for all that when they become teenagers’ she said laughing awkwardly.

  ‘Yes’ I said.

  ‘I’m glad you understand I was sure you would, so if you wouldn’t mind . . .’ Miss Taylor began.

  ‘I’ll talk to her’ I interrupted. ‘I had no idea she was . . . had . . . I’ll talk to her tonight.’

  ‘Thank you Mrs Cromby. Well if that’s all’ Miss Taylor said back to her more normal self now that for her anyway, this difficult and slightly embarrassing conversation was over. She seemed now to have dismissed the whole subject and was pretending it had never happened.

  She stood up so I stood up as well and we shook hands politely. I shepherded Kate and Ben out of the classroom door and marched them out of school as quickly as possible.

  Once outside I took in great gulps of air. I was mortified and amused all at the same time; at least I would have been amused if it had been someone else and someone else’s child.

  Martin arrived while I was still breathing deeply and Ben and Kate ran to meet him. ‘Sorry I’m late’ he said to me over the top of the children’s heads.

  ‘Where’ve you been, I texted you and everything so you wouldn’t forget’ I said angrily.

  ‘I’ve been on a job.’

  ‘A job? You got a job?’

  ‘Someone needed the sockets in their kitchen moving and . . .’

  ‘Oh you mean private work’ I said disappointed that it wasn’t a proper job. ‘And how did you manage that?’

  ‘Someone Lenny knows was . . .’

  ‘So it was a favour rather than a job?’

  ‘No it was a paid job. Lenny knows this girl and her parents were putting in a new kitchen and needed the existing sockets moved.’

  ‘And they paid you?’ I said sceptically.

  ‘Well they will do tomorrow. So how did the meeting with Kate’s teacher go?’

  ‘Fine, it was fine’ I said looking meaningfully at Kate and trying to signal that I couldn’t talk properly while she was listening.

  ‘Well what did they say?’ Martin said failing to pick up on any signals.

  ‘Let’s go home and have a cup of tea’ I said still trying to silently communicate the difficulty of talking while Kate was around.

  ‘Was it bad, did they say she was stupid or something?’ Martin demanded.

  ‘No of course not. She’s doing fine, on level four reading Miss Taylor said and doing wel
l at maths. Look I’m really gasping can’t we go home and have some tea?’

  ‘Okay tea then’ Martin said doubtfully while turning to walk. ‘And they didn’t say anything bad?’ He persisted.

  Ben and Kate ran on ahead of us and I took the opportunity to speed talk through what Miss Taylor had told me, adding that I’d been trying not to say anything in front of Kate.

  ‘Oh I see’ Martin said exaggeratedly and finally getting it now that I’d spelled it out for him, and then he started laughing.

  ‘It’s not funny’ I said.

  ‘It is a bit. I wish I’d been there.’

  ‘I wish you’d been there, but you weren’t were you?’ I said accusingly.

  ‘I was on . . .’

  ‘Yes you were on a job’ I said stone-faced.

  When we reached home Martin went straight to the kitchen to put the kettle on and I told the children ‘no bath time tonight it’s late, just teeth and then go and get changed into your pyjama’s’.

  ‘Are you going to talk to her?’ Martin said when we heard Ben and Kate squabbling upstairs in the bathroom.

  ‘I have to’ I said sitting down.

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yes the sooner the better. If you could put Ben to bed and read him a story I’ll talk to Kate down here.’

  ‘Okay’ Martin said and straight away went upstairs.

  ‘Are you alright Mummy?’ Kate said two minutes later when she came back down in her pyjamas. ‘Daddy said you wanted to talk to me.’

  ‘Yes I do. Come and sit down’ I said trying to smile.

  ‘Did Miss Taylor say something?’ Kate said worriedly as she sat in her usual chair.

  ‘Yes she told me that you’d been explaining to some of the other children about how babies are made.’