I really wonder what I used to do with my time before I had John. I mean, I must have wasted hours on Facebook looking at holiday snaps of people I didn’t even know very well. I remember a time I could have easily spent forty minutes in the shower, or a couple of
hours surfing TV channels with my feet up on the couch. When I lived with Sally, I never remember either of us rising before noon on a Sunday, and even then one of us
would persuade the other to get dressed and go out to buy fresh croissants, coffees and the Sunday papers. Even that task seemed like a chore at the time. Now I shake my head in wonder when I remember the lazy, spoilt me. Eight o’clock is a lie-in for me these days. Eight thirty is practically a holiday!
Nobody gives you a medal for being a tired, harassed mum. There are no promotions, pay-related bonuses, or congratulations for doing a good job. And that’s understandable. Nobody cares if you’re up all night with a screaming baby, don’t have five minutes in the day to yourself and are struggling to cope. That’s right, nobody cares and why should they? They have their own lives and day-to-day worries without giving your situation a second thought. But you will not get any thanks for being a martyr. You cannot do it all and you shouldn’t try. There is terrible pressure put on mums to get back in shape, look great, be fabulous cooks and supportive partners if there even are partners, and get back to work as soon as possible. Yet there are still people out there who deride mothers for hiring help when they should be doing everything themselves. “Our mothers did it so why can’t they?” they cry.
Well, it was different back in our mothers’ day. There were communities back then. People didn’t live in apartment smiles away from their families and not knowing their neighbours. They helped each other. Now we compete against each other. We all have to be doing better and coping better than anybody else. Rubbish to that, I say. No mother should try and be a saint and do everything, nor should she constantly moan about how tired she is
because nobody wants to know. We’re all tired. Obviously friends and family don’t like being taken advantage of, so you can’t just load babies off on people every time you want to go shopping, and you can’t wait for them to offer because that’s realistically never going to
happen. Some friends will offer to help you out “any time”. This, you will soon learn, translates as “no time at all” as they think up excuse after excuse not to help you
out. But others will help now and again if you really need their help. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without my mum’s help.
I read somewhere that the actress, Anna Friel, recently revealed that she employed two part-time nannies while she worked on set. She came in for a bit of flak after that announcement from stay-at-home mothers. Well, if she can afford the two nannies, why not? I think it makes her a good parent that she is working to provide financial security for her daughter. She is a single mother. She cannot work and look after her child. It’s just not physically possible. I totally get her. I just wish I had her money too!
It didn’t take me too long to walk to the book-club venue which was in a charming old Victorian house on the seafront.
“Don’t drink too much,” my mother had warned.
She always says that, as though I were some awkward fifteen-year-old going to her first school disco, and not a middle-aged woman going along to another middle-aged woman’s house to discuss a dreadfully depressing book for the best part of two hours. Anyway, I was walking home afterwards and not driving so what was all the fuss about? Mum thinks anyone who consumes two or more alcoholic units in one evening is a raving alcoholic. She’ll be sending me off to rehab if I’m not careful.
Joanne had a fire lit even though it was the beginning of July. It was fairly chilly outside though and my eyes lit up when I saw the smouldering coals in her fireplace.
“Will you have a glass of wine?” she offered, taking my coat.
Will I? Are you joking? Of course I will. That’s the only reason I came! I kept my sentiments private however. “Yes, please, white wine would be great, thanks,” I said politely, taking a seat by the fire. “Isn’t the weather just the pits for this time of the year?”
“Oh Lord, don’t talk to me about it,” Joanne sighed. “It’s a nightmare having the kids in the house all day. Thank goodness we’re going to Majorca next week. At least we have a big outdoor pool there to amuse the kids. It’s fabulous.”
I agreed that yes, it must be fabulous. Oh to be rich!
“Tanya? Tanya, a glass of wine for Kaylah, please. And bring in the canapés too.”
My eyes widened. Canapés? Good gracious, Joanne was going all out this evening, wasn’t she? Most people just provided a few crisps and nuts out of packets. And who was Tanya anyway? I thought Joanne had only boys.
The next minute the Tanya in question emerged from the kitchen holding a silver tray with a single large wine glass on it.
“Madame?” she enquired politely.
I looked back at her in amazement. First of all I could hardly believe that Joanne had gone to the trouble of hiring caterers and secondly, this Tanya one was the double of Claudia Schiffer with sallow skin, vivid blue eyes, long dark eyelashes, wavy blonde hair cascading down her back and legs up to her armpits. Good God!
“Thank you,” I said finally, when I found my voice. “That’s very kind.”
She gave a sort of nervous smile and scuttled back to the kitchen. I turned to Joanne, who was by the window fixing her curtains, and raised my glass. “Cheers!”
There was a knock on the door and Joanne went to answer it. Then Heather breezed in a waft of Chanel No. 5 perfume. She is super-glamorous but married to a rather dull, but wealthy man. She has a glossy auburn bob, fabulous translucent skin and always wears designer clothes. I am in total awe of her.
“Hey, Heather,” I said.
“Oh hi, Kaylah. I’m not late, am I?”
Kiss, kiss.
“No, not at all. I’m the only one here so far.”
“Thank goodness. We were delayed on the golf course. Longest game ever. I had barely time to shower when I came home. Thank God for the nanny laying out my clothes on the bed. I wouldn’t have known what to wear otherwise.”
“She picks out your clothes?” I was gobsmacked. Had I heard right?
“Oh, Nanny is like my right hand!” laughed Heather, showing a perfect set of pearly teeth. “What would I do without her? She even helps me apply my fake tan when I don’t have time to go the salon.”
“Really? She does all that? I’m surprised she doesn’t shave your legs too!”
My comment caused Heather to chuckle.
“But seriously, how does she manage to do all that and still look after the kids?” I probed, intrigued.
Heather accepted a large glass of wine from Tanya who had suddenly appeared again with her tray. “Matthew is in school. She only needs to help him get ready in the morning and help him in the evenings with his homework when we go out.”
Oh yeah, I had forgotten that Heather only has one child. I was still surprised she had a nanny for her school-going son though, considering that she doesn’t even work.
The next minute Tanya was handing around canapés. I took a little cracker with cream cheese and Heather helped herself to a mini-pizza. Joanne practically shooed Tanya away before she came too close to her with the tray. I always secretly believed that Joanne didn’t eat. Now I was convinced she didn’t. At the moment she was sipping slowly on a glass of
sparkling water with a slice of lemon in it. She kept checking her watch nervously. “I hope people aren’t late.”
Oh, for God’s sake! I didn’t know what she was stressing about. It wasn’t like we were at a special occasion like a wedding or christening or anything where we were pressed for time. Honestly, it’s just a get-together to discuss some crummy book, I thought. I came here to relax, so why can’t she?
As I was draining my first glass of wine (oops!) there was another knock on the door. Next to arrive
in was Karen, who owned two city-centre chemists. She arrived in wearing a comfy-looking, well-worn beige Juicy Couture tracksuit and her hair back in a messy bun. Karen is probably the most well-off among us and therefore seems to have no interest in dressing to impress anyone. “Hello, girls, sorry I’m late. Traffic was mental. Oh, I’d love a white wine, thanks. I don’t think we’ve met before. What’s your name?”
“My name is Tanya.”
“How do you do, Tanya. It’s nice to meet you. Where are you from?”
“I’m from the Ukraine.”
“Are you enjoying Ireland?”
Tanya glanced nervously at Joanne who gave her a stern smile in return. Talk about putting somebody on the spot! She was hardly going to say she hated the country and her job in front of her new boss now, was she? But before she had time to answer the question the doorbell sounded again. In came Anita. Anita, with her shock of white hair, is by far the loudest of the group. She has the most vulgar laugh. It gets louder and dirtier after a few scoops of wine. She is a separated mother of five and runs a successful bakery in Wicklow. She doesn’t have a nanny and I really take my hat off to her. How on earth does she do it? Mind you, two of her children are in their late teens so they help out looking after the younger ones, I believe.
Then Deirdre arrived in, apologising profusely. Apparently the DART had stopped on the tracks for about fifteen minutes and no reason had been given for the delay. Deirdre, probably in her late sixties, is the oldest member of the book club and the most cultured.
She lives in Dalkey, always sips the same glass of wine all evening and discusses whatever book is on the menu in depth. In fact, I’m convinced that if it weren’t for Deirdre, our little book-club group wouldn’t keep going. Oh my God, I’ll never forget the stress of hosting one
of our evenings! You would have sworn I was cooking a three-course meal onCome Dine with Meinstead of just having a few ladies over for some wine and a casual chat about a book. But seriously, I nearly had a breakdown in advance of the evening, fretting that my apartment would be too small to accommodate everyone and worrying that John would start crying and I’d have to attend to him at the expense of my guests.
Deirdre had hosted the evening the week before in her adorable Dalkey mansion where she is neighbours to the rich and famous and has glorious views of Dublin Bay. Her marble bathroom alone is about the same size as my apartment, complete with Missoni hand towels and Jo Malone hand-cream. It’s like a five star hotel. I wanted to move in straight away and never leave! When she took us on a little tour of her immaculate back garden, complete with its own herb garden and a pond with a spectacular fountain like something out of Powerscourt, I couldn’t help being frozen with fear at the thought of shoving all these people together the following week into my cramped little rented home. I was dreading it!
In the end I spent the whole day scrubbing and cleaning, I bought flowers to fill the sitting room, Mum took John away for the night and I overcompensated for my humble abode by buying in expensive sparkling wine. Were they impressed? Well, certainly nobody complained. At least not to my face anyway. Did I read the book on our reading list that week? You must be joking. I didn’t have time. In fact, now that I think of it I can’t even
remember what the book was about that week! I was so relieved when they had all said their goodbyes and left. I honestly don’t understand people who take great pride in entertaining other people at home on a regular basis. The stress of it just isn’t worth it. I’d rather just meet people in a pub or restaurant and foot the bill any time.
“So, I think we’re all here now,” said Joanne in a clipped voice. She sat at the edge of her cream-leather settee now and, giving a stiff smile, said: “It’s time to talk about the book now.”
I sat up straight as though I was back at school again wanting to look like I was actually paying attention. Aware that I was midway through my second glass of wine now, I thought it would be best to get my rehearsed review out of the way in case I forgot what to say later.
I had no intention of debating the book – I just wanted to say what I thought of it. Or at least thought of the first few chapters and the last chapter that I hurriedly read while simultaneously trying to paint my toenails before leaving my apartment (I hadn’t had time to check out the Amazon reviews). Then, all going well, I could sink back into my chair again and enjoy my evening off, chatting about more important things such as childcare.
“So,” Joanne looked sternly at the group over her reading glasses. “Who would like to start?”
I put up my hand. “Em, I think I’ll kick off with this one, if that’s okay,” I offered.
Joanne looked visibly surprised since I am never ever the one to volunteer first.
“Be our guest then, Kaylah.”
I cleared my throat. “Well,” I began, trying to sound like the book had deeply affected me on some level, “I found it a harrowing read but thought-provoking on many different levels. I thought the heroine was stoical in her approach to day-to-day living, trying to keep her children safe in a war-torn environment full of trauma and tumult, but it is a novel of great intricacy.”
I stopped suddenly. Everybody was looking at me with great interest as though they expected me to continue but I had said my piece. That was all I had to say on a book that I hadn’t even properly read. I picked up my wine and gave it a sip to let people know I was finished and it was now their turn to speak.
I caught Joanne’s gaze. Her head was tilted in thought. “I do agree with you,” she said. “But I find your use of the word ‘stoical’ interesting.”
“Right,” I said. “I see.” Jesus, would she ever move onto the next person now? I’d had my say. I was done and dusted as far as I was concerned. It was supposed to be a book club here, not a private conversation between Joanne and myself about a book that only one of us had read!
“Well, I mean she has to be stoical in the face of adversity,” I said and then quickly turned to Deirdre. “What do you think?”
I thought it was a fairly safe bet to bring Deirdre into the conversation as quickly as possible. Knowing Deirdre she would have read the book at least twice and analysed it to death. She was like the school lick!
“I do agree that the heroine was stoical in the first half of the book, but then her emotions got the better of her in the second half, especially after what happened with Ahmed.”
Nobody said anything. I felt under pressure to continue the conversation since I had been the one to kick it all off.
“What happened with Ahmed was dreadful, yes,” I mumbled even though I didn’t know what I was taking about. Who was Ahmed anyway? It was the wine talking. I wanted to be finished with the book. I wanted to drink another glass of wine and talk about au pairs. I wanted to tell them all about what had happened with Bernadette. I was sure they’d all be shocked!
Suddenly Joanne was eyeing me again. I felt like a schoolchild who hadn’t done their homework properly. It felt like being back in the classroom, you know, the one time you hadn’t done your homework was the very time you would be picked out by the teacher to answer a question.
“Do you think it was right for her to go back to Ahmed though? After all, it was a terrible risk given the circumstances.”
“A terrible risk, but worth it in the end I suppose,” I continued spoofing. I desperately needed the ground to open and swallow me up.
Nobody else spoke. I felt a conspiracy. Had they not read the book either? Why was Joanne picking on me? It was our last night all together before the summer break– this was supposed to be fun for goodness’ sake!
“I don’t believe,” said Joanne, in a tone of voice I didn’t care much for, “that it was a good thing for a woman to take such a terrible risk when she was the mother of two small children. In fact, I would go so far as to say –”
My phone rang suddenly. Phew! Thank God for that!
I never did get to hear how far the hostess would go to say.
“S
orry, I really have to get this,” I said. “It’s my mum. I told her to phone if there was a problem. You girls carry on without me.”
I leaped out of my chair and shot outside. It was Sally. I was both surprised and pleased to hear from her. Since I gave birth to John I’d only seen Sally once. She called over for a bite to eat but she was afraid to hold the baby in case she dropped him and she was absolutely appalled when I lifted him up at one stage during our lunch to sniff his nappy. Of course she didn’t say anything but she didn’t have to. The horrified look on her face said it all.
“Hi, Sally,” I said.
“Can you talk?”
“Yes, but I can’t stay talking long. I’m at a book club.”
“A book club?” Sally sounded shocked. “Where?”
I found myself smiling. Sally isn’t much of a reader, although she does love fashion magazines. However, I don’t recall ever seeing her with a book in her hand in all
the time that we shared an apartment.
“Here in Bray. I saw a notice in my local library and I joined so I could meet nice cultured people in the area.”
“Oh, excuse me,” Sally giggled. “It all sounds a bit highbrow for me. Any nice men in the club?”
“Haha, are you joking me? No, it’s a ladies’ book club, so no men allowed.”
“Jesus, that’s a bit of a waste of time, isn’t it? How are you going to find love if you’re stuck inside reading books all the time and then when you do go out you just meet a bunch of literary-type women?”
“Good question,” I answered. “Hmm, I don’t have an answer for that. Listen, I’d better not chat too long. We’re in the middle of discussing a book right now. We must meet up soon though.”
Secret Nanny Club Page 9
