by Aimee Horton
“Thank you,” I say, and give Henry a kiss on the cheek.
“Remember, I’m late again tonight,” he replies, pulling me in for another.
“Wining and dining again, are you?” I roll my eyes and shoot myself in the head with my fingers. There is nothing Henry hates more than the suck-up late-night client meetings he has to attend.
It’s been ages since I’ve attended one of those. Maybe I should start work again soon.
“Jane is coming over for a take-away anyway,” I say, holding onto his hand for a few more moments. “Are you going to be drinking, or can you give her and Hannah a lift home?”
He promises he’ll be sober enough to drive them home and then climbs into his car and drives off first, with me and the children following close behind.
“Now remember guys, Grandma and Granddad are collecting you today. You’re going to have tea at their house, and then they’ll bring you back, OK?” I help them one by one out of the car, unclipping George from his car seat and balancing him on my hip.
Both children nod, running ahead as I juggle their bags and lunch boxes. I deposit them at their classrooms with a kiss on the head, and then inform their teachers that the two slightly lost-looking old people wandering about the playground will be picking up my kids. Then I hurry back to the car before the Nosy Mom Brigade can slow me down. I want to get home and finish tidying up before I head across the road for coffee.
I wonder if Penny will cancel coffee. What if she cancels me?
The kitchen is a mess when I return home.
The one room I ask Henry to deal with!
Leaving George in his car seat in front of the TV, I race about unloading the dishwasher, and stacking it again with the breakfast pots and last night’s wine glasses.
Just as I open the fridge to grab a yogurt for breakfast, the doorbell rings. Sighing, I leave the yogurt and head into the hall where I open the door to see Izzy.
“Just us today?” I ask, stepping out into the sunshine and shutting the door behind me. I lock up and begin to walk down my drive.
“Er… Dottie… have you forgotten something?” asks Izzy, and I turn to see that she’s still standing on my doorstep with Lola clamped firmly to her hip.
Cake?
“Was it my turn to bring cake? Do we do that?” I think of the biscuits I’d bought for Penny and me, and turn back towards the house. “I have biscuits?”
“George?” Izzy says, and my mouth drops open. Lola’s fingers are happily twiddling with her mum’s hair as she gazes at me, her big blue eyes full of disapproval.
I have never forgotten one of my own children before.
Mercifully, when I get inside, George is exactly where I left him. Watching TV in his car seat, eyes wide open in awe as Lady Gaga dances around without many clothes on.
Scooping him up, I kiss him all over, muttering, “Sorry, sorry, sorry, Mummy loves you,” into his neck. Once I’m sure he’s forgiven me—he doesn’t seem at all fussed—I look uncertainly at Izzy who is standing in the doorway, admiring the kitchen.
“Don’t worry,” she smiles, nodding towards the hall. “I won’t tell.”
~~~~
There’s something in the air. I don’t know if I’m being silly because of what I heard over the baby monitor or what. Maybe Izzy is distracted by the whole returning to work thing, or maybe it’s because Penny usually defuses any “atmosphere.” All I know is I’ve found the last two hours hugely uncomfortable.
Tina’s been grumbling about Penny being too tired to come today. “She doesn’t know what tired is yet.” Izzy, who isn’t really with it at all, isn’t agreeing or disagreeing, and that’s making Tina even grumpier. I watch Izzy from over my mug of tea.
It looks like she keeps trying to say something but then changes her mind.
“I wonder if the baby has been sick in her mouth yet,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
Silence.
“Or exploded a nappy,” I try again. Still nothing. So for something to do, I lift George up and sniff his bum. There’s nothing to smell though, except a bit of wee, but at least it distracted me for a few seconds. “How are things going, Izzy?” I say, fed up with making the effort.
“Oh God. Did I tell you my back-to-work diet starts today?” Izzy grimaces good naturedly at me. I feel like she’s thrown me a bone, so I smile, about to ask what diet she’s doing.
“Bit late for that.” Tina gets there first, looking pointedly at Izzy’s soft middle as she joins in.
That’s not kind.
“Did you try those Zero Noodles yet?” I ask, trying not to glare at Tina.
“Yeah, they’re not great, but I’m going to carry on. Got a lot of weight to shift.” Poor Izzy looks sad.
I look at Tina, wondering what she’s thinking, but she’s busy rubbing an invisible bit of dirt off the pale yellow sofa cushion.
“I think you look great as you are, but what are you hoping to lose?” Before she has time to answer, I add, “Don’t overdo it. Going back to work is tough. Just focus on getting into the routine first.”
I’m overcompensating.
“Yeah.” Izzy sighs and opens her mouth to say something else, then closes it again. After a few seconds, she clears her throat. “Thanks for those clothes by the way. They are a bit tight, but it shouldn’t be long until I fit into them, if I’m strict.”
I smile at her reassuringly as Tina glares at me.
She really is grumpy today.
“Joe says I should start as I mean to go on though. I suppose he’s right.” Izzy’s shoulders are slumped, and as I take in her appearance, I really don’t see the problem. I mean, she’s a bit soft around the middle but so are most women our age, especially those who’ve had kids. I feel my own stomach folded over as I lean forward to set down my mug.
“He’s right,” interrupts Tina. She stands up, pulling her vest tight down on her hips to reveal her firm, slim waist.
I am totally jealous of her jutting hipbones.
I bite my tongue as Tina continues. “You have a gym membership, don’t you? Or perhaps you don’t, and that’s the problem.”
Oh my God, I know I can be tactless, but this is ridiculous.
I stand up. “No more coffee for me thanks, Tina. I’ve got a few bits to do, and I need George to have a good nap!” Holding George to my hip, I ruffle the ever-silent Lola’s hair. “Good luck tomorrow, Izzy. You’ll be great. Let us know how you get on.”
At home, I change George into a fresh nappy. After a quick cuddle, I put him down in his cot and stroke his forehead until his little eyes begin to droop.
As I’m about to leave the room I catch sight of the base unit of the baby monitor glowing orange next to the window. For a moment, I’m tempted to listen to what Tina and Izzy are talking about now that I’ve left.
I must not listen. I promised Henry.
I leave the room before I can change my mind. Heading down to the kitchen I wonder if I have time for a late breakfast. I open the fridge, and as I gaze at its contents, I can’t help but wonder what sort of person has people over for tea and coffee without offering cake or biscuits?
The sort of person who has a firm stomach and visible hip bones.
Just as I’m reaching for the bacon and eggs, my phone vibrates in my jeans pocket. Dumping the food on the counter and switching the hob on under a frying pan, I pull it out and read the screen.
“Are you OK for me to pop over in about an hour?” A message from an unknown number.
That’ll be Penny then.
I quickly reply with, “Lovely, I’ve got biscuits x” and then turn to the hot frying pan.
Don’t want the house to stink of fried food.
Sighing, I turn off the heat. I put the eggs and bacon back in the fridge and pull out a yogurt along with a handful of grapes. Walking around the house while I eat, I make sure everything is in order. Then I go to the loo three times in a row.
Nerves. What an idiot.
Finally the doorbell rings. I take a deep breath, and then, flinging open the front door, attempt a non-nervous smile. “Helloooo!” I sing before calming my voice down so that I don’t sound overenthusiastic.
“Hi!” says Penny, before nodding at the car seat containing a scrunched-up, fast asleep, Ruby.
Oh.
“Come in,” I whisper. “Tea or coffee?” I ask as I lead her into the conservatory.
“Fruit tea if you’ve got some?” Penny sits gently on the sofa. Her voice is soft, but she’s not really whispering, so I attempt to follow her lead. I’m not sure I’ve ever whispered around my children. Maybe Arthur? I don’t think I even talk quietly around them.
“Oh yes! I’ve got that box I was going to give to you!” I chirrup, trying hard, but failing, to keep my voice low.
I had no idea how loud my voice was until now.
I potter about, making Penny a fruit tea and myself a normal one. Then I open the packet of biscuits and tip them onto a plate.
“You’re honoured!” I joke. “Usually I nibble a packet of these behind the fridge door when the kids are in the other room.” She laughs, and I relax. At least she doesn’t think I’m a terrible mother. I nod at Ruby. “How are you getting on then?”
“Good.” Penny smiles and reaches for a biscuit. “I’m not saying she doesn’t have her moments.” A loving look down at the bundle in her car seat. “But as a whole, I think I lucked out.”
“She sounds like George!” Just as I say his name, I hear him stir through the baby monitor. “Speak of the devil! I’ll be right back.”
Scooping my baby boy out of his cot, I breathe in his baby smell. “Hellooo handsome boy, did you have a good sleep?” He responds with a huge grin, which makes my heart melt. As I walk back into the kitchen with my chubby baby boy, I catch sight of the baby monitor. I turn it off, paranoid that it might randomly pick something up.
“George, say ‘hello’ to Penny!” Right on cue, George beams at Penny.
That’s my boy.
I strap him into his bouncy chair, and then plonk myself on the sofa and reach for a biscuit.
There are only two left!
“Sorry… I might have got a bit peckish!” Penny blushes, and I laugh. Grabbing the rest of the packet from the kitchen, I offer her another, not even bothering to tip them onto the plate.
“I think I’ve just found my biscuit buddy,” I say, and from then the afternoon flows. It turns out Penny works for the same large retailer as Izzy. They have a massive online and in-store presence and sell a lot of kids’ clothes, which makes me really excited.
I’d love to turn my designs into clothes and not just fabric.
She asks what I do, and I tell her I design fabrics for some online stores. I used to work for a company but went freelance after I’d had Mabel and the commute had just got too much. Freelancing had taken off pretty well actually. There were a lot of local companies that designed their own kids’ clothes, then sold them online, and I’d managed to build relationships with them. Just before we fell pregnant with George, one of the companies had opened up a shop on the high street. I got on well with the owner, and she’d suggested that if I ever wanted to design my own children’s wear range, she’d take a look at it.
I’d really like to do that.
I look at Ruby and George, and think how I could dress them in some awesome designs.
“Have you thought about trying to design kids’ clothes?” Penny asks, as if she’s reading my mind.
“I’ve done some!” The words pop out, and I cover my mouth. “I’ve not even shown Henry or Jane,” I say, suddenly embarrassed.
“Jane? Is she your friend who comes over a bit?” asks Penny. Happy to change the subject—not sure I’m ready to tell her any more—I stroke George’s cheek and start to tell her about Jane.
It feels like no time at all, but two packets of biscuits, and lots of mugs of tea, coffee, water and squash later, Penny glances at her watch. She’s been here for three hours.
“Oh my gosh! Where has the time gone?!” She lays Ruby back in her car seat. “I should go.”
Suddenly, I get brave.
“Before you go… Do you fancy seeing something I’ve designed?” I know I should probably show Henry or Jane first, but Penny’s in the business. She works in the sales and marketing department of the kids-wear section.
She gets it.
She nods and sits down.
I race into the study—the study Henry has taken over but if I decide to go back to work, I will reclaim—and grab my sketchbook.
Once back in the conservatory, I thrust it at her, then scoop George up from the floor and walk away under the guise of rocking him.
Please don’t hate my designs, please don’t hate my designs.
The silence—except for the turning of pages—seems to last forever. I feel uneasy.
“Oh my God, Dottie!”
Oh shit, she hates them.
“These are amazing.”
I swing around. “Really?”
“Really. But I do have to go now!” She stands up, then says, “Do you fancy trying out the toddler and baby group at the village hall tomorrow? I don’t fancy going on my own.”
I don’t really, but it would keep Mabel entertained, so I nod in agreement. I walk her to the front door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, leaning in for a hug. “And thanks for having me.”
“Thanks for coming!” I trill.
As Penny heads up the road, Tina walks from her recycling bin to her front door, slamming it behind her.
12.
How come online shopping becomes so much more fun after a bottle of wine, or two?
I think Jane is drunk.
I know I am.
We’re having a great evening. We’ve had one large pizza and two bottles of Rioja, and have been watching repeats of Sex and the City—the one where Aiden proposes to Carrie. I never liked him.
It’s the advert break, and I tiptoe upstairs to check all four kids while Jane goes to the kitchen to grab the Maltesers from the fridge.
Who keeps their Maltesers in the fridge other than Jane? She keeps ketchup in there too.
All the children are fast asleep, and by the time I get downstairs, Jane has opened another bottle of wine. She has also started shovelling chocolate into her mouth at an alarming rate.
It’s like she’s on a mission.
Grabbing the remote control from me, she pauses the TV before the next installment of Carrie and her friends begins. “I have something to tell you.”
“What?” I ask, not really looking at her. I’m far too busy topping up our glasses and grabbing another handful of chocolate.
“I’m seeing somebody.” The words bounce off the walls, and I drop the three Maltesers I was just about to throw into my mouth. They land in my glass of wine one after the other, making a plopping sound and sending sprinkles of red over my hand.
“Arse! Shit! Bollocks!” I try to fish them out, hoping not to get anything on the sofa or carpet.
After watching me fumble around, Jane takes the glass from me. She plucks the chocolates out, feeds them to me one at a time, then sets the glass down and takes a deep breath.
“I’m seeing somebody. Have been for about six months.” She’s looking at her fingers now, picking at her perfect nails. “His name is Ben. I want you to meet him soon.”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME SOONER?!” I shriek. She glares at me, then looks away. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I whisper, repeating myself, hurt that this is the first I’m hearing of the new man—the first man she’s dated since Adam.
This is massive news.
“You’ve been busy, Dots. I didn’t want to give you extra stress. Plus, well, there’s an added complication.” I try to stop my eyebrows from shooting up in alarm. Jane doesn’t need added complications. “He’s in the middle of a divorce. It’s quite messy, and apparently his ex is a bit tricky.” She looks at me. “Are you cros
s?”
Yes.
“No! Of course not. It’s your life.” I’m quiet for a second. She’s nervous. This is a huge deal.
I wish you’d told me.
“Are you happy?”
“Yes. Yes, I am. Really happy. I am.”
But…
“But… Well. I can’t help but think Adam would have liked him. They’d have been friends if…” She stops and bites her lip. I stay quiet, letting her sort herself out; she doesn’t often talk about Adam. “They would’ve probably been friends. So I feel like I’m cheating on him. That’s stupid, isn’t it?” She sniffs and looks up at me, eyes full of tears.
Shit, Jane never cries.
I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, trying hard not to cry myself.
Be strong for her, Dottie. It’s your turn to be strong.
“It’s not stupid, you daft bat,” I say, stroking her hair. It still smells like apples, like it has ever since we were kids. “But, you know he’d want you to be happy. You’ve done so well over the last five years.” I can feel her nodding into my shoulder, and her tears make my top wet. I shut up, knowing she just needs a hug and a bit of a cry. I twitch my nose, trying not to dribble my own snot and tears into her hair.
After a few minutes, she pulls herself together and sits up again. “Thanks.”
“I’m really happy for you, you know,” I begin, and when a little smile starts pulling on her lips, I go in for the kill. “Sooooo, what’s he like?!” I hand Jane her wine glass and then reach for mine. Curled up on the sofa, I watch her face light up as she talks about her new bloke. He sounds perfect.
I wonder if she’ll get married and have more babies.
Will Hannah like him?
Will I?
I’m very protective about Jane. She might look after me and keep me out of trouble, but actually I worry about her. I worry that she’s lonely. Living with her mum and dad can’t be good for a thirty-something widow with a child.
“Show me a picture!” I say, passing her the iPad. She logs on to Facebook, and after a few minutes of flicking through her friends, she hands me the iPad.
