Perfect Mishap

by Aimee Horton

  “Yeah,” he says, looking me up and down, before turning and stomping back to his van. I stand, my beautiful flowers at my feet, and watch as he revs his engine and drives off down the street with the message “Make somebody smile today” plastered across the back doors.

  Ironic.

  I stoop to pick up the flowers, and as I stand up, I hear the sound of a bottle landing in a wheelie bin and a lid dropping. I know it’s Tina before she says anything.

  “Ooh, what’s the occasion? Are they meant for Penny? You know she’s had the baby, right?” she says, looking pleased to be imparting gossip.

  “Yes! I was there!” Her face drops, and I try to hide the smug look working its way onto mine.

  “There?”

  “Yes. I went to check on her, and she was lying on the floor in the nursery about to give birth!” I’m trying hard to look her in the eye but am struggling. All I can think of is the noises of her and Izzy’s husband over the baby monitor.

  Nothing happened, Dottie. It was just a bad dream.

  “So what are those for then?” Tina nods towards the huge bouquet in my arms.

  “I have no idea.” I want to get inside and see why my lovely husband has sent me flowers, but Tina doesn’t seem to be leaving without the gossip.

  “The card is sticking out—open it,” says Tina, crossing the road in her pyjamas and slippers.

  Realising there’s no way of escaping inside without looking rude, I put the flowers back on the step and pluck the card out from between some roses and a lily.

  Thank you—all our love, Phil, Penny and Baby Ruby xxx

  “Ruby? That’s quite common, isn’t it?” Tina says, rolling her eyes.

  “I like it,” I say, unable to stop myself from disagreeing with her. “Anyway, better go. Gotta visit the monster-in-law. See you soon!” I scoop up my flowers and shut the door in her face.

  “Monday!” she calls from behind the closed door, and I grimace.

  ~~~~

  We’re walking around our third bathroom showroom of the day. Mabel is on Henry’s shoulders, and Arthur is dragging next to me, attempting to flush every toilet we pass. George is fast asleep in his pram.

  I’m grumpy. Nothing has been right. This is our last stop before we have to go and collect Henry’s mother and her toy-boy. What’s even more annoying is we’ve had to come in my car so we can give them a lift to lunch. I hate going anywhere in my car, much preferring the luxury of Henry’s executive saloon. I might refuse to drive his car, but I do like to be driven around in it.

  Mabel wriggles about on Henry’s shoulders, and I catch her just as she falls backwards, laughing. “Again, again!”

  “No! Dangerous, Mabel. Walk with Mummy,” I say crossly, putting her on the floor. Her legs turn to jelly, and I fear a tantrum. Luckily, she changes her mind and stands properly, refusing to hold my hand in a small act of defiance.

  We pass a corner bath and a poky looking shower cubicle. I turn up my nose as Henry inspects the shower cubicle. He’s too absorbed to notice.

  There isn’t a hope in hell that either of those items is going in my new bathroom.

  I leave him to it and stop to look at a sink cabinet, wondering if perhaps that would be more practical than the floating sink I’d originally set my heart on. Just as I’m getting my tape measure, Mabel legs it. Her best red patent shoes slam down on the marble floor, causing the sales assistants, who have ignored us until now, to look up and glare.

  They wouldn’t have ignored us if we’d come in Henry’s car.

  I chase Mabel, and just as I am about to tell her off, I see it.

  The One.

  The bathroom looks just like the spa I used to go to with my friends before we all had kids. Bright white baths, marble tiles, floor lighting, a separate “wet room” area and various hidden storage units.

  It would be like having my own spa.

  I hand Mabel a packet of chocolate buttons to buy her silence while I float about the show bathroom.

  “You like this one?” Henry asks, having finally caught up with us. Hopefully he’s forgotten all about that horrid bathroom display.

  “This is it, Henry!” I say, jumping up and down.

  “You think?” He frowns. “It’s nice, I guess. How much?”

  How much. Always his first question.

  “Who cares?” I exclaim, jumping in front of the sign with the price blazing across it in bright red. “It’s perfect. It’s the one. Even down to the dimensions, and where the door is and everything!”

  “May I help you?” It’s one of the salesmen who’d been glaring at us earlier. He’s snuck up on us, and is now smiling in that smarmy way that only salesmen can.

  Silent and deadly, just like his aftershave.

  “My wife is interested in this bathroom…” Henry starts, and then falters for a second before finishing, “but actually it’s not my sort of thing. I think we need to keep looking.”

  He’s looking over my shoulder, his eyes wide with panic.

  He’s seen the sign.

  “Henrrryyyyy,” I begin, but then hear a clatter behind me.

  No, no, no.

  Mabel is now standing next to the toilet and fiddling about at the top, trying to flush. I look at her in horror. Has she used the display toilet? I edge backwards, and nod to Henry, hoping this is one of the moments he can read my mind. He has to keep the salesman distracted.

  “No, Dots. I want to look at this one over here,” Henry says, leading the salesman towards a different display. One that we’d both sneered at earlier.

  “OK, let’s take a look,” the salesman says, glancing over his shoulder towards me.

  “You go talk numbers!” I squeak, pulling George’s pram towards me, hoping it will cover up the pair of Hello Kitty knickers on the floor. “I’ll round these little scoundrels up and follow in a second.” I plaster a smile on my face and watch them go. Then I edge slowly towards the toilet.

  Please just be a wee, please just be a wee.

  I lift the lid and do a silent victory dance, as it is indeed just a wee, and close the lid discreetly before helping Mabel into her pants.

  This is a new low, being pleased that my daughter has ONLY done a wee in a display toilet.

  I hand her some chocolate buttons and give a horrified Arthur a little shove in the direction of Henry. I put my finger to my lips, and we make our way over to see if he’s bought us an ugly bathroom.

  ~~~~

  We laugh all the way home. Because not only were the children so intimidated by Henry’s eccentric, over-bearing mother that they behaved impeccably, but so was her new toy-boy Martin. It was hilarious.

  “Your mother’s hair is looking…” I pause for a second, searching for the right way to describe the sleek black extensions intertwined with grey curls. “Special,” I finally opt for.

  “I know. God knows why Martin doesn’t just tell her.”

  She had spent the majority of the meal draped over a nervous-looking Martin, who must only be a year or so older than Henry.

  “He’s probably too scared!” What a pair. Him with his glasses and white wine spritzer, her with her drawling false Italian accent and the fact that she literally ate nothing but the cucumber from her gin and tonic.

  Perhaps she’s not as bad as I give her credit for. After all, I found the whole experience less painful than lunch with my own “normal” mother.

  Urgh. I shudder, remembering my telephone conversation with my mum last night. She’d called to find out what we were doing this weekend. Which always rings alarm bells. Turns out she’s found this pub on the Internet, on some sort of cliff overlooking the sea, and thought “it might be nice to go.”

  Might be nice to go to a pub on a cliff with one child who thinks he is an actual superhero and another who can’t be trusted on the side of a swimming pool let alone the side of a cliff.

  Relieved to have other arrangements, I’d told her we were seeing Henry’s mum. Somehow though, that’s
resulted in a Sunday lunch date with my parents next week.

  “It’s only fair!” my mother had squawked indignantly at me, still sulking from when I’d explained that perhaps the pub on a cliff would be better if we waited a few years. “If I’ve got that many left,” she’d sniffed down the phone.

  Great.

  We’re nearly home, and as we approach the turning to Paddock Lane, I spot Penny. Well I spot the pram first—God I love that pram—then her brown hair blowing in the breeze.

  “Stop the car!” I shout, and Henry slams on the brakes in a panic, causing Arthur to drop his iPad.

  “What, what, what?” Henry asks, looking around, bewildered. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s Penny with the baby!” I fling open the door and race across the road. Penny, who’d heard the screech of tyres, has stopped to stare at us. As I run towards her, she looks alarmed, then realising it’s me, breaks into a big smile.

  I can’t believe she didn’t recognise my car. I know everyone’s car already.

  “Let’s see her then!” I squeak, peering into the pram. I see the scrunched-up face of a two-day-old baby, and my uterus explodes. “She’s beautiful! Well done! Ruby, isn’t it? What a lovely name!” I say, before tearing my eyes away from baby Ruby to look at Penny. Hesitating for a second, I give her a quick hug. “Thank you for the flowers,” I say shyly.

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for your help.” She smiles, and we both return our gaze to the pram and the beautiful snoozing baby. Henry honks his horn, and I jump out of my skin.

  I’d totally forgotten he was there.

  “Go home, I’ll walk back with Penny,” I call, waving him away. I glance at Penny. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all.” She waves at Henry and the kids, and we start to walk slowly down the street. “They’re cute.”

  Looking up from baby Ruby, Penny notices my dress. A pretty maxi I’d selected for the day. “You look nice. Have you had a good day?”

  “Bathroom shopping, then out to lunch with Henry’s mother.” I do a mock shudder and look at the baby again. “She is so tiny. It’s hard to think George was ever that tiny—not that he ever was, the big fat chunk.” I’m wistful for the newborn stage all over again.

  Stupid growing up and them getting older.

  “Yes, she’s lovely. She’s been so good.”

  Oh she’ll learn; they’re always good to begin with.

  “Thank you so much for coming to my rescue. How did you know?” I knew the question would come sooner or later. I’ve prepared myself for it but am still nervous.

  I can feel a blush working its way up my chest and onto my face. I will it to fade.

  “You didn’t look ‘right’ at Tina’s,” I say, almost too dismissively.

  I’m shit at lying.

  “Then I had a funny feeling in my stomach.” I begin my well-rehearsed explanation. “I thought I’d eaten too much so had come home, leaving Henry with the kids. But I couldn’t shift it, so I thought I’d check on you. I’d had some fruit tea that I was going to give you. I don’t have it now that I can drink coffee again. Will you still use it? If you do, I’ll pop it around with the clothes I promised you.” I talk fast and blink a few times, concentrating hard on baby Ruby’s small face.

  Kids in prams are such good distractions. What will I use when George starts walking?

  “Then I knocked, and you didn’t answer,” I continue. “I don’t know… I just didn’t feel right, so after a few more goes, I tried the door.” The weight lifts off my shoulders as I move onto the truthful part of the story. “Thank God I didn’t have to help you push!” I force a laugh, even though I’m still horrified at the thought.

  “God yeah, I haven’t known you long enough for that!” Penny laughs, clearly feeling awkward about that too.

  We reach her front door. “I’ll bring the clothes across before we go to Tina’s tomorrow morning,” I say. “Yell if you need anything? Do you have my mobile number?”

  She shakes her head, so I grab my wallet and search around until I find an old, slightly creased business card.

  I really should memorise my own number.

  “There you go. Ignore the other stuff. I have no idea what’s happening with that yet. I’m pretending I don’t need to think about it for another few months.” I’m referring to the information about my textiles design business.

  “Wow! You run your own business?” Penny examines the card and looks impressed.

  “Yeah!” I beam. Feeling proud for a moment, I forget about the stress of handing everything over before I went on maternity leave. I also forget how hard it was fitting it around the nursery and school run.

  Oh God. It was hard enough with two kids; it will be a total nightmare with three!

  “Anyway!” I smile at her, pushing my work worries aside. “I’d better be going and let you get inside with your beautiful little bundle.” I turn to leave when I feel her hand on my arm.

  “I’m… I’m not sure I’m up to coffee tomorrow you know.” She looks nervous.

  “Then don’t come!” I’m indignant on her behalf. She shouldn’t feel like she has to. “Isn’t Phil still on paternity leave?”

  Actually, where is Phil? Surely he’d be doing the first walk.

  “He’s having a nap,” she says reading my mind. I raise my eyebrows at her until she laughs. “No, no, no, he’s been helping out with the nightshift where he can. So we’re taking turns to have a nap in the day.”

  Perfect husband.

  “Ha! I need to get him and Henry together someday.” I grin, although I’m a bit grumpy that Henry was never that thoughtful.

  I’m sure he was when I had Arthur. Just wait until number two comes along. That’s when it all changes. Not that I’m bitter.

  “Maybe we can arrange that,” Penny replies. “Maybe, instead of being surrounded by everyone at once, I can come over for a drink at yours in the afternoon? You know, ease myself into it… if Henry isn’t still off?”

  I feel warm inside. She wants to be friends.

  “Of course! That would be lovely!”

  Shit. I’m going to have to blitz the house tonight.

  “Just drop me a text!” I’m being breezy. “Mum and Dad are picking up Mabel and Arthur, so at least it will be nice and quiet for you and Ruby.” Secretly, I’m thrilled I don’t have to worry about the other two letting me down the first time my new friend comes to visit.

  “Do you think Tina will mind?” Penny asks, and she’s not smiling any more. She looks worried.

  Does it matter?

  I bite my tongue. “I’m sure she’ll understand. You’ve just had a baby for Christ’s sake.” I give her arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. Just take care of you three—that’s what’s important.”

  Then I dash home, impatient to get the hoover out. Is there any chance Henry could paint the hall before we go to bed tonight?

  11.

  Why do kids wait until their hands are covered in something sticky before they touch things?

  “DO NOT TOUCH THE WALLS!” I bellow down the stairs. My hair is still wrapped in a towel, and I’m rubbing fake tan into my arms as I race about. Henry and the kids are making their way downstairs for breakfast.

  I can’t believe Henry refused to paint last night! I guess I should have left it, but after I’d gotten home, I couldn’t stand the idea of my new neighbour seeing the first coat patches and sticky finger marks. Realising my nagging wasn’t going to work, I rummaged about in the garage for a tin of old paint and spent the evening touching up. Sadly, knowing my luck, Mabel will have a meltdown and throw a welly at it again, spoiling all my hard work.

  Racing around in my underwear, I make the beds and pour some bleach down the toilet. Then in a sudden flash of inspiration, I hang up a couple of print outs of bathrooms on the wall. That way, if she needs the loo or goes to change Ruby, she’ll know it’s not my choice. Even though I’ve told her, I want her to be sure.

&nbs
p; When I’m happy that the fake tan has dried, I pull on a pair of jeans and vest top. Scraping my slightly damp hair back into a ponytail I quickly apply my make-up. After glaring at my reflection in the mirror, I apply more concealer under my eyes.

  Mabel has made me age ten years.

  It’s definitely Mabel who’s added the extra bags. Not George. George has been a dream sleeper. Mabel is the real problem. She was up every hour last night for a long list of reasons. Because she’d dropped her cup or she needed a wee, but nothing came out. Any excuse, really. Eventually I got so fed up, I fell asleep on the floor next to her bed.

  Trying to hurry everyone along, I nearly fall over piles of laundry and toys strewn around the house.

  For crying out loud.

  I march into the kitchen and grab a couple of carrier bags from under the sink. I begin firing out orders.

  “Shoes on.” I glare at Mabel, who’s already taken her socks off. “Teeth brushed,” to Arthur, who is lying on the sofa flicking through the cartoons. “Whooosa gorgeeeoussss boy?” I rub noses with George, who is propped up in his bouncy chair.

  “I do think I look rather dapper,” replies Henry, rather predictably, before standing up and smacking my bottom.

  “Ha, ha.” I tweak his cheek, then go into the hall and sweep the clutter into the carrier bags. Then I march them upstairs and stuff them into my wardrobe, slamming the door shut before everything falls out. “I mean it, Arthur,” I shout as I’m coming downstairs. “Start brushing those teeth!” Because, even though I can’t see him, I know he’s not moved from the sofa.

  I hurry into the lounge and kick things under the sofa. Glancing at the clock, I see we really have to go or we’re going to be late. Henry is leaning against the breakfast bar, scrolling through his phone, and I feel steam building up in my ears as I smell poo coming from George’s nappy.

  “HENRY!” I shout, and he jumps. I point at the kids, and sighing, he slips his phone into his pocket and attends to the older children as I change George’s nappy quick-as-a-flash. For once, I don’t get caught out by a shower of wee, and by the time I’m downstairs, the children are bundled into my car and waiting for me.