by Amanda Egan
The Darker Side of Mummy Misfit
AMANDA EGAN
Copyright © 2011 Amanda Egan
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the author or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an eBook December 2011
Published in paperback by Lulu December 2011
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My traditional thanks and acknowledgements appear in my first book
‘Diary of a Mummy Misfit’
This time I’d like to thank all the wonderful people I’ve met on Twitter on my journey as an Indie writer. You guys have kept me sane, spurred me on and said such lovely things about the Diary - you gave me the incentive to carry on.
In no particular order - I don’t want to upset any of you:
Gillian Harrison - oh, Miss Moo, you make me laugh and are always so supportive.
Moira Kennard - one of the very first to read the Diary and my loyal unofficial publicist.
Michelle Betham - a fellow Indie and great for a rant and a moan.
Laurel Mayer - another Indie on the other side of the pond.
Rachel Dove - a blossoming writer and excellent reviewer.
Rebecca Scarberry - a huge promoter of Indie writers.
Mark Denton - a true gent who gave my book a go and liked it.
Rachel Gully - you can join Libby’s ‘gang’ anytime!
Elizabeth Hammond - remember, “fur coat, PJ’s and a hat” and you’ll be fine.
Carol Rivers - for your help and inspiring words of encouragement.
Kim Nash, Ananda at Books to Remember and Carol at Dizzy C’s little book blog.
All at Famous Five Plus - a great group of hard working writers.
Hope I haven’t left anyone out!
Lastly, once again, to the best mum, husband and son.
MY STORY SO FAR …
Earlier this year we were so broke we had no idea where Max’s school fees were coming from and were beginning to wonder if we’d made the right decision to embark on the private school route.
To top it all off, Ned lost his job in the middle of the credit crunch.
We were lucky enough to be offered help from the school’s charity, CCL (Changing Children’s Lives) to keep Max at Manor House, the school he’d grown to love.
While I was dealing with all this, I was desperately trying for another baby and also formed what I’m sure will be a long and lasting friendship with Fenella - one of the few decent mums at the school. She kept me sane while dealing with the ‘Meemies’ (it’s all “Me, Me, Me!”). Some of these mothers made my life a living hell, in particular my arch-nemesis, Araminta (AKA ‘Gestapo’).
Then two miracles occurred - my ‘fairy Godmother’, who I hadn’t seen for years, passed away and left me three quarters of a million pounds and a villa in Tuscany … and I fell pregnant.
Oh, and so did Fenella.
Add to the mix an Asian neighbour who was determined to match-make me with her son, a stray dog we thought was male giving birth to six puppies in our kitchen, heaps of bitching and Botox (the Meemies, not me!) and that was pretty much my life.
I wonder what this year holds for me …
NEW TERM
NEW MUMMY
Wednesday 10th September
School starts
Ned wrote the cheque for the school fees this morning and didn’t flinch once. No shaking hand, no fevered brow like this time last year. Not even a gulp or a world-weary sigh.
Not that I took a great deal of notice, as I was too busy admiring my recently acquired golden tan and Italian dress and shoes. But best of all, my ever so slight baby bump.
Max was happily putting on his Manor House uniform, excited to be returning to prep school, and Dog and Dot were having a play fight under the table, pleased to have us back home.
Yep, life’s good. In fact, since inheriting our windfall and villa from Auntie Maisy, it’s never been better. Whoever said “Money doesn’t buy you happiness” was a big fat liar. Or maybe just a miserable bastard. It’s definitely made us happy. Not that we were a manically depressed pair before, but it’s certainly less scary not having to worry about how to pay for next week’s groceries or which credit card to put the gas bill on.
It’s also been rather nice to be able to book flights at the drop of a Philip Treacy and set off to sun ourselves at our Tuscan retreat. It won’t always be holidays of just ‘park, cinema and duck feeding’ now. Although we’ll still enjoy those simple pleasures and I’m not that daft as to expect we’ll be going away every school holiday - after all Ned starts his new high-powered job today and we’ll be raking in even more money.
Not that I’m gloating or anything … but what a contrast to earlier this year when everything hung so dangerously in the balance. Not only do we not now need the assistance of the school charity, but we’ve also been able to contribute a year’s school fees to help another family and I’ve been appointed CCL Head of Fundraising - scary but true!
Yep, what a difference a dead relative and a few more noughts on your back balance can make.
Wonder if Fenella’s up for a quick trip to Knightsbridge once we’ve dropped the kids off and, oh so painlessly, paid the school fees.
Always wanted to say that. “Fancy nipping up to Harvey Nicks for a mooch around? We could do lunch too - my treat.”
Probably won’t actually buy anything because I’m still finding it hard to ditch my frugal ways. Although I may drop into the Notting Hill Trust charity shop while I’m there - just for old time’s sake. I’m sure the Knightsbridge pickings are much richer.
I guess I’ll have to leave Fenella outside though as her poor over-sensitive pregnant nostrils are unable to take the “revolting body odours left on other people’s cast-offs.” It took her a long while to accept that I had a guilty charity shop secret and she makes me swear to boil wash everything before I wear it - tricky with silk and linen.
Aah, dear Fenella. I’ve missed her this summer. The one Manor House mummy with her Jimmy Choos still firmly on the ground. Can’t wait for a catch up and to compare our growing bumps.
Here’s to a new school year and the ‘new me’ dealing with the bitching and the back-stabbing with renewed vigour.
I’m as good as any of them now and this is my time to prove it.
Thursday 11th September
God I’d forgotten how totally obnoxious and small-minded those mothers are.
The Meemies (who think the world is unable to revolve without them) were out in full force yesterday - Gestapo, the Gnome, Dress-up Mummy et al.
It’s always the same at the beginning of a new term. They’re there for the first few days to ‘mwah, mwah’ one another, admire tans, surgery or weight loss and then, kerblam, it’s over to the hired help or the car share. It would be too much to expect them to see their kids to school every day. That would interfere with the Pilates, colonic irrigation or aura cleansing - although it would take a few gallons of industrial strength Cillit Bang to cleanse some of those auras.
The hateful Gestapo was there this morning, talking at the top of her voice and letting all and sundry know that she’s dumped her dodgy dealer City husband ‘Rudeman’, who’s currently doing time at Her Majesty’s pleasure, and she’s now having a fling with my next door neighbour’s son, Pritesh.
This news could be the death
of Mrs Sengupta! For so long she’s dreamed of Pritesh and me becoming a couple (much to Ned’s amusement) and now, not only have her hopes been dashed, she has to put up with one of the most intolerable mothers in the school. Just hope she’s able to cope after so recently being discharged from hospital after her fall. Must go round to see her later. I’ve got a new Barry Manilow CD I know she’s been waiting for and some velour trackies with ‘Hot Mama’ sequined on the bottom - her choice of garment to keep her ‘booty’ warm under her sari.
Gestapo actually came over and air kissed me in a cloud of something putrid. “Oh, Libby. Thank you so much for introducing me to the divine Pritesh. He’s changed my life you know - such cultural differences, so interesting and enlightening. And, of course, he’s hung like a donkey.”
Poor Pritesh! She’ll eat him alive and spit out the pips. And he’ll never be able to sustain her expensive way of life. Still, at least CCL pay Gestapo’s school fees now - much to her shame of course. But then she was pretty vile about supporting the school charity until she actually needed help herself.
Fenella and I had a long chat with Olga, ‘Lydia-Boss-Lady’s’ au pair. It’s official. Olga is now definitely a lesbian (this month!) and has moved her lover in. “Vot funny! Boss-Lady not ‘appy but I know who is de real boss. She cannot function vizout me around, so I just tell her de vay it is. Zsa-Zsa move in or I move out, I say. Ve had proper lesbo love-nest before you could say “Tipping de velvet!” Next veek I push for de pay rise.”
Which reminds me of some of the things I love about Manor House.
Friday 12th September
Mrs Sengupta doesn’t seem to have brought a complete set of marbles home from the hospital.
Ned was up at midnight last night preparing a presentation and heard her in the garden calling for Lassie to come home. Then this morning she told me how much she missed Princess Diana and how she never visits anymore. “Oh, Libbybeta (her cultural term of endearment for me). She was such a good friend to me and now she is never writing, never phoning. Do you think I have done something to be offending her?”
I assured her that, no, I didn’t think that at all and then rushed home to email Pritesh. Is she safe to be left on her own, I ask myself?
Saturday 13th September
Methinks the love bug has struck Pritesh and turned him into just another mindless, insensitive son - something I never had him down as. Gestapo must have him well and truly under her seductive spell.
He reckons Mrs S is only saying and doing all the daft stuff for attention because she’s bored and lonely and that we shouldn’t take any notice of her.
That’s all very well but, as Skunk (Mrs S’s punk friend from computer class and business associate) pointed out, “What if she’s a bloody danger to ‘erself? I’d be well gutted if summink happened to ‘er. She ‘elped me turn me life around, Lib. Without ‘er I’d never ‘ave got involved in the pickle business and it’s goin’ great guns now.”
In fact, ‘Ba’s Kitchen’ is doing so well Skunk still insists on paying Mrs S a hefty percentage of his profits even though she’s become a sleeping partner since her fall in the summer.
Seems that Skunk has taken on the role of proxy carer in Pritesh’s coital absence. No doubt the prodigal son will return when Gestapo has totally shagged him out. In the meantime, I guess we’ll just have to cope. How hard can it be?
Mrs S phoned earlier to say not to open the door because the Nazis were coming and she was going to hide in her air raid shelter if I wanted to join her.
Knowing full well she doesn’t have a shelter, I went next door to find her in the cupboard under the stairs and it took me a full half hour to coax her out.
If she’s only doing this for attention it’s certainly having the desired affect.
Sunday 14th September
Left Skunk in charge of Mrs S today as the time had come for us to make our dreaded first Sunday lunch visit to Mum and Bert’s since they moved in together. Feel really mean when I put it like that. Of course it’s always great to see them but our digestive systems tend to pay for the privilege of Mum’s cooking for a few days afterwards and I’m still shaking off the last of my morning sickness.
My ears suffer for it as well because I have to listen to Ned harping on about how my mother’s lack of culinary talent could be shortening his life by a few years. Trouble is he’s been too spoilt by my own prowess in that department - Nigella taught me everything I know. Well, not how to put squirty cream and jam on a digestive, admittedly, but I am rather partial to them at the moment and I’m sure she ate some pretty odd things when she was pregnant. She can’t be so bloody perfect all of the time. And she didn’t get that figure from living on air!
Skunk also said he’d take Dog and Dot for the day, as they always cheer up Mrs S and Mum’s flat’s not really big enough for us all to visit.
Our dotty next door neighbour and the dogs sorted, we set off to Mum’s for … well, what can only be described as a gift from heaven. Bert can cook!
Not only does he know his way around a kitchen but the meal was delightful, delectable and mouth-wateringly marvellous. Ned was practically beside himself with both his gastric and complimentary juices flowing. Anyone would have thought he was a ‘Masterchef’ judge, the twaddle he was spouting, but I think he was just so relieved to be eating something at Mum’s that wasn’t likely to rupture his spleen or burn the lining of his stomach.
Luckily Mum took it all in good grace and basked in Bert’s glory. He was her man so, if he was being complimented, then so was she. So typical of her.
“Oh yes, we often dine on escargots or foie gras now, don’t we Bert? You get to our age and food becomes one of the only things worth living for. But don’t worry, Ned, I’ve not left it all to Bert. I’ve prepared dessert - your favourite! Apple pie - with my own pastry!”
She looked so proud, bless her.
And Ned tried so hard to look enthusiastic but I could see the panic in his eyes and the subtle check for Rennies in his jeans pocket.
Went home, burping all the way - with Max asking why Granny’s pastry tasted like burnt cardboard and her cinnamoned apples looked like cat puke.
Such a poetic child. Manor House is clearly teaching him so much.
Monday 15th September
CCL meeting
Think my morning queasiness might be letting up a bit now - unless Mum’s pie is some kind of miracle cure - because I actually felt a lot better this morning.
Poor Fenella is really suffering though and rarely has an hour when she’s not chucking. “Honestly Sweedie, I didn’t have it with Todd or Charlotte - Josh says it’s because I’m so old and decrepit my poor body can’t handle it. Charming husband! What if I’m ripped asunder by a ten-pounder? I may never walk again without a zimmer and I bet they don’t do a designer range.”
This has become one of our favourite pastimes - envisaging the worst possible birth scenarios so that the reality won’t actually seem so bad. Last week Fenella decided her ultimate nightmare would be to go into labour whilst trapped in a Harrods lift with Pierce Brosnan. “Oh Lib, can you imagine? The one time I’d ever get to be alone with him and none of my bits would be in working order. What a waste!”
But I’ve waited so long for the baby I thought I’d never have, I’d walk over hot coals and have my genitals pierced if I had to. I’m just so pleased it’s finally happened again.
Got my first CCL committee meeting at the school in my official capacity tonight, with Fenella as second-in-command. Through our ideas and fundraising we can make a difference to less privileged children’s lives by giving them the chance of a fantastic education at Manor House.
I feel I owe the school at least that much when I consider how close we came to being on the receiving end of their help ourselves last year. Now we can pay our own way and help others.
Boy, I hope I’m up to the job and they take me seriously. What do I know about fundraising, other than my first foray with the cooker
y book and Christmas fair last year? Why should they listen to me? Am I prepared enough? Oh, so many questions and concerns.
I might be on an equal financial footing now, but the old insecurities still kick in from time to time.
Oh well, at least I’ve still got Fenella as my side-kick and partner in crime. I can always rely on her to calm troubled waters. Even if it usually involves a good few expletives, a flick of the hair and finishes with, “Oh for heavens sake, Sweedies. Will someone open a bottle of Moët and put an end to all this nonsense. Everything looks better with bubbles.”
With our growing baby bumps though, we can’t even fall back on the fizz to keep us sane. Just hope we’re man enough for the job.
Tuesday 16th September
Went to dinner at Fenella and Josh’s tonight to celebrate our official start to fundraising and Ned’s new job.
