Perfect Mishap

by Aimee Horton

  She’s a child genius.

  “That’s adorable! How old are they?” Izzy asks, visibly relaxing.

  “Nearly three years and about two months.” I smile, thinking I owe Mabel some serious chocolate. “Anyway, I better go and get their brother, or the school will think I’ve done a runner, ha ha.” My laugh is a bit fake, but Izzy doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy looking wistfully at Mabel fussing over George, who has drifted back to sleep already.

  I bet she wants another baby.

  “Let me know how you get on with those?” I nod towards the packet in her hands. Then I make a swift exit before it all goes horribly wrong.

  “Mabel, you are the best princess in the whole wide world.”

  7.

  How can three children all stop sleeping through at once?

  Seriously, I thought I was on a roll; all the kids behaved perfectly last night. After school we stopped at the park, and they came away nicely. NO TANTRUMS. Then we had pizza on the sofa watching Monsters Inc. Bath and bed went perfectly. I was a little bit surprised, because bath time usually ends in tears. But as I tucked them in, Mabel held me in a headlock, and after saying “good night, love you, Mama,” she snuggled down and went straight to sleep.

  Arthur was the same. No arguments, no excuses, nothing. But when I went up to bed, it all went horribly wrong. George was restless and hungry; it’s stupid growth spurt time. Mabel started coughing—I mean really coughing—and ended up in bed with me. Then Arthur had a nightmare at five a.m., which meant he wasn’t tired enough to go back to sleep.

  Now I’m shoveling breakfast down their faces, wondering what the hell is going to keep me going until bedtime. I could do with a proper coffee, but that would only make George worse.

  Maybe I should try him on formula.

  I steal a slice of toast from Arthur’s plate. I savor the taste of chocolate spread—a weekend treat used as a weekday bribe since Arthur is sulky and tired after being up for hours.

  Mabel is coughing into her Cheerios, and George is making hungry noises. Realising we’re going to be late anyway, I grab a bottle and carton of pre-made formula that I’d bought for emergencies and shove them in the changing bag. I wipe Mabel and Arthur’s mucky faces as I bark orders at them.

  “Mabel, shoes. Now. Arthur, get your book bag.” My voice is loud, and as much as I want to calm it down, I can’t.

  I hate it when I bark orders.

  “No, don’t go and lie on the sofa. Get your book bag.” I try not to snarl, getting more and more frustrated until finally we bustle out the front door and onto the street.

  “Pick your feet up, Mabel. Arthur, come on, hurry. No, I can’t carry you!” It continues until we make it through the school gates, and I deposit the older children at their appropriate doors.

  Exhausted, I plaster a smile on my face, aware that any moment now George is going to switch from grumbly hungry to ready-to-lose-it hungry. I make it down the drive and around the corner, and that’s when he finally lets it rip. Stopping next to a bench, I fumble in my changing bag, pull out the bottle and formula, and tear the carton with my teeth.

  This stuff tastes disgusting.

  With a shaking hand, I tip the formula into the bottle, all the while rocking the pram with my foot.

  Come on, George, give me a break, man.

  “Eight-week growth spurt?” A voice catches me off guard, and I spill the dregs of the foul smelling formula down my dress. I stuff the carton into the changing bag and wipe my hands on the already spoilt skirt of my dress before looking up to see Tina.

  Great.

  She smiles and takes the pram from me, jiggling it as she coos at George. He stops crying long enough for me to finally sort the bottle. Then I place the bottle in his mouth, holding my breath as I wonder if he’ll take it OK. He does, so I prop it up with a muslin square and watch him as he greedily gulps it down, making squeaky contented noises.

  Thank God.

  Taking the pram back, I look at Tina.

  “First bottle,” I pant, realising I’d been holding my breath the entire time. I force a smile and try to look relaxed.

  “He’s cute.”

  “Thanks.”

  We start to walk home in an awkward silence, as I desperately think of something to say.

  Come on, Dottie. Think… her kid!

  “Hey, your son is in Arthur’s class, isn’t he? Miss Groves?” I hope the common ground will break the ice.

  It does, and soon we are chatting about school and the teachers, and her job. It’s nice. I begin to properly relax and hope builds up in my stomach. By the time we reach the street and are standing between both our houses, George has dozed off, bottle still in his mouth.

  “Some of the other girls from the street, Izzy and Penny, they’re coming over for coffee in about half an hour if you fancy coming?” She smiles.

  Yes yes yes yes yes!

  “Oh, that would be nice! Hopefully George will still be asleep,” I say, trying to sound cool.

  “Oh don’t worry. Izzy’s little girl, Lola, she’s a complete monster. I’ll get them to knock for you on their way.” And she’s gone, smooth red hair flying behind her.

  As soon as I’m inside, and I’ve checked the little window next to the door, I do a little dance. Then I pull out my phone to text Henry.

  “Been invited for coffee with the gang! Wish me luck!”

  “That’s my girl… You don’t need luck. Just be you. X”

  Smiling, I leave George in his pram downstairs and change out of my milk-stained clothes and touch up my make-up. In a whirl of positive energy, I make all the beds and hunt out the baby sling. Back downstairs, I scoop George into the sling and rock gently as I pack the changing bag.

  Glancing at my watch, I see it’s been a bit longer than half an hour, so without even meaning to, I grab the baby monitor and turn it on to channel B.

  Just to check they’ve not forgotten to knock on me.

  I can hear the radio and Tina singing along to it, and just as I’m about to turn the monitor off, the doorbell goes. I rush back into the hall, and taking a breath, I casually open the door to reveal Penny and Izzy’s smiling faces.

  Don’t be yourself, Dottie. Be cool.

  “Hi!” I’m surprised by my nerves; I’ve never been this bothered about making friends before. But then I’ve never been this desperate for adult company before. “Shall we?”

  Izzy knocks loudly on Tina’s door but then opens it without waiting for an answer.

  Tina’s house is a lot bigger than it looks from the outside. Built from stone like ours, it doesn’t have a long entrance hall; you walk straight into the lounge. Behind that is a smallish kitchen, a dining room and a conservatory. We’re ushered into the conservatory, and as I take in the white walls and minimalist design, I can’t help but feel totally intimidated.

  It’s immaculate.

  Penny lowers herself onto the sofa, and Izzy sits down next to her, plonking Lola on the floor with a couple of toys. Smiling nervously, I settle myself on the edge of a chair opposite them and gently place my changing bag on the floor next to my feet. Looking out the window, I see a large garden with perfectly green grass and not much else apart from a trampoline and a child’s bike leant up against the fence.

  How is everything so minimalist when she has a kid?

  “One sugar or two, Dottie?” Tina asks, head to one side, eyes slightly narrowed as if she knows I’m trying to work out how she does it.

  “One please,” I reply, and turn back to the other girls.

  Come on, think of something to say.

  “She’s beautiful.” I gesture to Lola playing quietly with a book.

  “Thanks!” Izzy beams, then nudges her daughter with her foot. “Lola! Say ‘hello’ to Dottie.”

  Lola looks at me, all big blue eyes and blonde curls like her mother.

  “What a lovely name!” I pretend I hadn’t known her name. “That was on our list if George had been a girl
.” I’m lying through my teeth. I once went to school with a girl named Lola, and she was a total bitch. I wouldn’t touch that name with a barge pole.

  “Oh yes, Penny said something about there being a mix up,” Tina says, coming back into the room with mugs of tea for everyone except Penny, who has a glass of water. “Sorry Penny, no fruit teas in.”

  I’d kill for a biscuit.

  “Yeah, they told me he was going to be a girl. I thought I’d be more bothered, but what annoyed me most was the fact that I’d literally finished painting the nursery pink the day my waters broke.” I force out a laugh to show how not bothered I am.

  I’m really beginning to hate this fake laugh.

  “Yeah, you’d not moved in long when you’d had him, had you?” Tina asks. “I said to the other girls: One day you were pregnant, and the next you were home with a baby.”

  “Yes, he was nearly a month early.” I look at Penny, who is looking huge and uncomfortable. Perhaps it’s time to change the subject for her sake. Racking my brains for something I heard that I know we all have in common, it comes to me in a flash. “I don’t suppose any of you watch Breaking Bad, do you?”

  We launch into a discussion about that, and what we’ll watch next (we have no idea). Halfway through my mug of tea, I feel George tense up, before making a grunting noise, and I know what’s coming next.

  Shit. Why can’t he keep it in his nappies?

  The other girls look in horror as a damp patch begins to form on the sling, and looking down, I realise it’s all over the dress I’d changed into before coming over.

  “Right… er … well this has been lovely, thank you so much for inviting me.” I stand up, nearly knocking my tea over the floor. “I better head off and sort this boy out.”

  Tina, nose scrunched in disgust, doesn’t argue as she guides me out of her immaculate house. I pray to God nothing drips onto the white carpets.

  “Thanks for coming. See you soon!” She practically shoves me out the door, and before I can say goodbye, slams it behind me.

  Thanks, George.

  I make my way across the road, and it’s only when I’m at my front door that I realise my house keys are in my changing bag. Which is still on the floor of Tina’s conservatory.

  Sighing, I turn around and am met by Izzy, who is carrying my bag.

  “You left this,” she says, then seeing the distraught look on my face, gives me a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry. Lola used to throw up on one of Tina’s rugs every time I went over. It’s what they do, isn’t it?” Patting my arm, she turns and heads back to the house.

  I don’t hang around, and feeling the warm patch on my stomach grow, I hurry home.

  “She seems a bit dippy.” The words bounce off the walls in my silent house while I’m changing George. “Nearly knocking her tea over and leaving her changing bag.” That’s Tina’s voice. I must have left the monitor on earlier.

  When George is clean, I carry him into the kitchen and put him in his bouncy chair. I peel my dress over my head and throw it across the room so it lands in the doorway leading to the utility room.

  Nice shot.

  “Yeah, but her baby did poo all over her, and your house is very, very clean,” Izzy’s calm voice replies.

  “I told you her kids were green for several weeks, didn’t I? And her husband is never there! I wonder what’s going on,” Tina continues.

  Hmph.

  There’s a silence, and I stand in my bra and fat pants, waiting to hear what else they have to say about me.

  “She admits she’s Dottie by name, Dottie by nature,” says Penny. “It’s not like she thinks she’s perfect or anything.”

  Is she having a dig at Tina there?

  “Yeah, she’s just down to earth.” Izzy joins in my defence. My shoulders begin to relax. “Her kids were beautiful yesterday when I saw her. Remember, she’s just moved, and George is only a couple of months old.” I feel a rush of gratitude towards both Izzy for her kind words and Mabel for her little stunt yesterday.

  “Yeah, true. She wasn’t coping very well with George this morning, though,” Tina comments after a moment. “Screaming his head off, the poor little thing. And she was giving him formula.”

  Silence.

  Then it’s like she realises they’re not going to agree with her, and she starts to backtrack.

  “You’re right. I’m being a bit hard on her. After all, I only have one child—what do I know? She must have a lot on with them and the move… Anyway, Izzy, where’s Joe? I haven’t seen him for a while.” The subject is smoothly changed.

  Joe. So was it Joe and Izzy I heard having sex?

  “Oh. Well… he’s been working a few extra shifts, negotiating changing his hours for when I go back next week. I can’t believe I’m going back.”

  She’s going back to work?

  “Next week? I can’t believe it’s been a year since you’ve been off,” booms Tina. “What hours are you doing? Has work been OK about it? Are you looking forward to it?”

  “Not really. My days are still a bit iffy. We’re trying to work it around Joe’s shifts. Also things like month end and busy periods make it difficult.” Izzy starts talking about work, and as I listen, I carry the monitor upstairs to the bedroom, where I hunt out my third dress of the day. Just in time to put George back in his pram and pick Mabel up.

  My life is just so rock and roll it hurts.

  ~~~~

  Mabel is sick. I knew she would be. When I picked her up from nursery she was as white as a sheet.

  She spent the afternoon lying on the sofa feeling sorry for herself, and even let me put her in the pushchair when we went to fetch Arthur from school. He wasn’t himself either, so in the end, we all crashed on the sofa.

  Then Henry called to check in. After he said goodnight to the kids, I sent them off to brush their teeth so I could have a quick chat with Henry.

  I’m so happy he’s coming home tomorrow!

  It turns out his client’s wife is about to have a baby, and after hearing how Henry nearly missed George’s birth, he’s decided he wants to be closer to home.

  Yeah, totally his horror story, not mine at all.

  Tell you what though, this new promotion gives Henry more flexibility. Never before has he come home early from a meeting. Often he’s had to stay an extra night, but he’s never ever left early—except of course when I went into labour.

  I throw the kids in bed without baths. I know I should go to bed soon, but I can’t be bothered. Instead I stay on the sofa in the lounge, the TV on mute, a glass of wine in my hands. I’m listening to the baby monitor. I’m listening to Tina’s TV, tuned to the same show as mine. I had been listening to Izzy’s house, but it got a bit uncomfortable, so I switched over.

  I’m beginning to think Izzy’s husband is a bit of a shit. I know I’ve not met him, but I’ve heard him over the monitor giving her grief over her weight. She was having a bit of a wobble about going to work next week. Apparently she works for a big retail company in the finance offices, and she’s nervous about going back after a year off. I totally don’t blame her. Working part-time is hard when you’re used to giving 100 percent of your time to your job, and now you give 100 percent to your child. Izzy seems so happy when she’s with Lola. Anyway, he suggested if she shifted a few pounds, then she wouldn’t have to waste money they don’t have on new clothes, and she could fit into her old stuff.

  Prick.

  Then she mentioned those Zero Noodles, and he said he didn’t want to eat “that crap.”

  Supportive.

  So I turned over to listen to Tina, who judging by the TV choice and the fact that a pizza delivery man turned up at about eight p.m., is obviously on her own tonight. I wonder what her situation is?

  I’m turning into a curtain-twitcher.

  Suddenly the room goes quiet, and I realise Tina has turned off her TV. I hear lights turn off before the gentle buzz of the monitor, as I presume she switches her base unit off. I wa
it, expecting the sound to change to white noise like it does with no signal, but instead I hear the murmur of voices.

  What—or who—is this?

  I hold the monitor closer to my ear, hoping that in some weird way, it will mean I can hear more. There are two voices, but I can’t make out what they’re saying or what they’re doing.

  Who else has a baby around here?

  I try to think. It can’t be the two middle-aged couples that live either side of Tina. Just as I’m working through the houses, George, in his Moses basket next to me, stirs. I take it as a sign I should put him to bed and give up.

  Snuggling down in bed, I decide that tomorrow I might take Izzy a couple of my old work blouses. I haven’t worn them in years, not since I set up my own business after I had Mabel. Those, and one of my many briefcases that are too small for my sketches, might cheer her up.

  8.

  I still can’t decide which is more annoying: Children who are ill, or men with “man flu”?

  It’s after bedtime, but we’re all lying on the sofa under a blanket. None of us can find the energy to even think about climbing the stairs. Above the buzz of the cartoons, I hear the front door open, and I tense up. I listen for the familiar footsteps of Henry, not the unfamiliar ones of an axe murderer. I recognize them immediately and smile as he clears his throat in that familiar way.

  At last, I’m not the sole person in charge of this family.

  “Daddy’s home!” he calls. The two older children jump off the sofa and run into his arms.

  Those don’t look like two children who have spent the entire day on the sofa, coughing and being too pathetic to even ask for a drink.

  Too tired to move, I lift my hand in a half-hearted attempt at a wave. He grins and comes over to give me a kiss on the forehead.