by Amanda Egan
My unscheduled drinking session with Mrs S resulted in my forgetting to collect Max from school yesterday.
Not big and not clever, I know. Feel mortified. I am an unfit parent. A misfit mummy.
Fenella (oh perfect and gobby one) realised that he’d been left abandoned at the classroom door and brought him to Mrs S’s, after trying our house, to find us both sprawled on the sofa, sobbing and singing ‘Can’t smile without you’ whilst sharing a desperate bottle of cooking sherry.
I have vague recollections of her taking me home and putting me to bed saying that she’d feed the kids and wait until Ned came home.
Have had to deal with a very disgruntled husband all day and nurse a humdinger of a hangover. Babycham with a cooking sherry chaser are not a good mix.
Sunday 12th October
Nic called and told me that he’s booked a couple of nights in Brighton for us to have a little “girlie time”.
“Now Libs, you can’t say no. I’ve squared it all with Neddy-Boy and he thinks it’s a great idea. He’s got Fenella sorted to take Max to school and look after him until he gets home from work. It’s a done deal. We leave on Wednesday and you vill say yes. Resistance iz futile.”
Felt a bit railroaded into it all. And a bit miffed that Fenella had been roped in. Why doesn’t she just move in with my husband and be done with it?
And of course, she’ll find it a breeze to care for three kids as she grows another oh so perfect one.
Ha! Bet she doesn’t realise she’ll have to chair the rescheduled fundraising meeting on Thursday.
I shall be on a jolly in the gay capital of England and, because of my monumental stuff-up at the last meeting, she’ll have to pick up the pieces.
A teeny-tiny part of me feels a bit guilty - I’m obviously not 100% bad yet.
Monday 13th October
Decided to do the charity shop rounds to cheer myself up. I know I can easily afford something more upmarket now but it’s just not me and I love the challenge anyway.
Picked up a great Chloé top and some Joseph trousers - for the grand total of fifteen quid.
Dropped them at the dry cleaners feeling smug.
Once upon a time I would have had to choose between buying the top or the trousers and I certainly wouldn’t have been able to afford the dry cleaning.
Tuesday 14th October
Bit of a tricky one with Max on the way to school today.
“Mummy, I don’t understand. How can our baby have died if it wasn’t born?”
Found I had to pull the car over to answer that one and replied, after a long think, “Oh Maxie! The baby wasn’t strong enough to grow anymore. There’s really no other way I can explain it to you. Some babies just aren’t lucky enough to be born.”
He thought this one through for a minute and then added, “I was lucky Mummy, wasn’t I? I’m a big strong boy and I’ve got you as my mummy.”
Drove the rest of the way to school through a haze of tears.
PM
Spent the evening packing for my break with Nic.
Could almost hear Ned’s sigh of relief as he watched me close my case.
Tomorrow night he’d have the house to himself and his boy with no miserable, hormonally-charged wife around.
And I’ll be dancing in a gay club, pretending I don’t have a care in the world.
Pretending.
Wednesday 15th October
Nic and I left at ten this morning and travelled first class on the train to Brighton.
It’s been a good few years since I’ve been away with him and I’d totally forgotten how even the simplest of outings turns into a major production in his company. He gathers friends and followers along the way, like some sort of camp Pied Piper.
We’d barely left Victoria Station when we found ourselves sipping champers with a German lesbian, an eccentric and incredibly deaf granny called Morag and a gay guy with the most frightful stutter.
By the time we arrived in Brighton we’d played charades, sung dirty ditties and all revealed a secret about ourselves.
We’ve arranged to meet up with them all tomorrow for a night on the town.
Nothing like immersing yourself in a bit of complete and utter madness to help you forget your troubles.
PM
Nic treated me to a lovely lunch and then some relaxing spa treatments back at the hotel. My oh so tiny and perfect masseuse told me that my back was a mass of knots and tension and that my chakras were totally out of sync.
So tell me something I don’t know!
Have to admit I’m looking forward to the distraction of a fun night with Nic - just the two of us, like in my happy-go-lucky days.
Spoke to Max on the phone before he went to bed. He said he missed me but Fenella had cooked yummy lamb burgers and couscous to cheer him up - well bully for bloody Fenella.
Ned said he missed me too but I think he’s just as grateful for this break as I am.
I know I’m not easy to live with right now but I don’t know how to change things. When I look back to last year we were so happy - broke but happy - now we’ve got the dosh to be enjoying ourselves and all I can think about is the baby I lost.
My baby who checked out too soon.
And I have no idea how I’m going to get through this fog.
Thursday 16th October
Drinking is not the way to get through a fog.
Woke in my hotel bed with Nic snoring and farting by my side. We were both fully clothed, of course, and the room smelled like a brewery.
“Sheesh, Lib! What did we get up to last night?” he said when he woke up. “I can’t remember feeling this bad for years!”
I explained that, from what I could remember, we’d started very sedately with a civilised drink in the bar, then dinner and cocktails. I appeared to have lost a chunk of the night somewhere but my next memory took us to a gay bar where I had vague recollections of us beginning to dance like everyone else on the dance floor and ending up gyrating on the tables.
If the bruise on my bum is anything to go by, I fear I may well have lost contact with the table at some point too.
“Ooh, Lib. Bits of it are coming back to me now as well. I almost snogged that really cute Russian guy, didn’t I? Oh my days! Thank heavens I didn’t. I love my Rick and we’re about to become parents. I’d never have been able to live with myself.”
He groaned and rolled away from me with another almighty fart.
“Well, I almost turned a gay man straight,” I told him as I recalled my slow dance with Sid from Essex, “so I must be one hot mamma at the moment.”
We both snuggled down then and snoozed until three when we decided to gradually rise and ready ourselves for yet another night of partying with our new-found train buddies.
Friday 17th October
I was a very good girl last night and limited myself to white wine only and huge amounts of water - which, as it turns out, was just as well.
Our new friend Tarquin-the-stuttering-gay kept telling me not to drink water because “fish piss in it” - don’t think he’d cottoned on to the fact that that’s an old joke and no one finds it particularly amusing any more. That didn’t stop him though - we must have heard it ten times. Along with all his other tried and tested one-liners. (Feel a bit mean, because I think he can only do short jokes because the others take so “Llooonnng!”)
Morag-the-deaf-granny was a scream and kept us constantly entertained with tales from her days as a Madame in a brothel in the 70’s. We heard some pretty eye-watering stuff and even the unshockable Nic looked a little perplexed at times - particularly with her goldfish anecdote. I still don’t believe that’s possible or legal.
Anna-the-German-lesbian was rather forthright and a little on the prickly side but, once the lovely Morag had plied her with a few brandies, she loosened up and told us that she’d had her heart broken by her gym teacher at sixteen and had never been the same since.
So many stories … so little time.
>
We had a fantastic meal at an Italian and then headed off to a piano bar.
And we certainly turned a sleepy bar into a joint that was ‘a-jumpin’!
We were the only people in there apart from a couple of very sedate gay gentlemen and a rather odd looking businessman sipping on his scotch in the corner.
We decided to put money into a kitty for our drinks and, for once, I didn’t feel the fear of God rush through me as I heard the idea mentioned. This ‘having cash’ thing is great!
Within an hour we had the pianist playing everything from ‘I Will Survive’ to ‘Dancing Queen’ and we were all strutting our stuff on the dance floor. What an odd bunch we must have looked.
The sedate gay couple ended up joining us - they were celebrating 30 years together and said we’d made their night. The ‘odd businessman’ pinched my bum whilst in a high-kicking circle of ‘New York, New York’ and I had to have a quiet word with him. A year of dealing with Letchy has made me more than capable of taking on the likes of him.
He was very apologetic and, once he realised that he was barking up the wrong tree, proceeded to tell me that he was a divorcee and hadn’t had a shag for fifteen months.
Like I care!
Finished a particularly wild version of the ‘Lambada’ and went off to powder my nose and have a pee, checking my mobile as I shimmied.
That’s when I saw I’d had twelve missed calls from ‘Home’ and six from ‘Fenella’.
Saturday 18th October
This ‘having money’ lark is also a bonus when you need to make an emergency dash from Brighton to London in a cab. Big bucks!
My poor Max had spiked a seriously high temperature and had to be taken to A&E. The doctors were taking precautions, as he was delirious and there had been a few cases of meningitis in our area lately.
The journey home was a nightmare. Nic and I left the club as soon as I heard the news and legged it to the hotel to grab our cases and book the cab.
I was shaking so much, Nic had to do my packing (or chucking, as it turned out) and settle me down with a brandy.
We arrived at the hospital at just gone midnight and found Ned by Max’s bedside. They’d managed to get his temperature down slightly and he was sleeping peacefully but still looked very hot and clammy.
“The test results are back, Lib and it’s not meningitis,” Ned told me as he folded me into his arms. “They think it may be a virus. He’s going to be OK.”
I slumped into a chair and sobbed uncontrollably. It was every mum’s worst nightmare - not being there when your child needed you most.
What was I thinking, skiving off to Brighton for a bit of footloose and fancy free fun? I’m a wife and mother and I should have been at home where I belonged.
I think losing our baby may have resulted in me losing the plot ever so slightly and things need to change. I have to get my act together and start being a proper mum again.
I’ve also been thinking about my unreasonably bitchy scribblings about Fenella and I think I need to start being a friend again too.
Thank goodness no one ever reads my diary.
Sunday 19th October
They let us bring Max home from hospital yesterday morning and, although he’s still got a very sore throat and a runny nose, he seems much brighter in himself.
It’s half term next week so I think lots of treats and TLC should soon have him back on his feet - gave us quite a scare though.
Called Lou in Scotland to fill her in on all the details.
“Och, no Lib! He could have died, poor wee lamb. Is he alright now? Are you sure he’s OK now? These fevers can come back just when you least expect them to. You need to set your alarm and check him every hour in the night - I’d do every half hour but I think hourly would be OK.”
I’d expect no less from Lou and assured her he was fine.
I called Fenella and thanked her for everything she’d done while I was away and I even invited her around for coffee with the kids tomorrow.
‘Operation Be Nice’ is now in action.
PM
Max was snuggled in bed by seven and Ned and I shared a bottle of Pinot (the seven pound variety and not three-for-ten. We’re posh!)
Felt I had to tell Ned how sorry I was for the way I’d been acting in the last few weeks. He was very sympathetic and said all the right things.
Until he stupidly suggested an early night …
Monday 20th October
I love my husband, I really do, but the whole idea of the sex thing just threw me a bit. I’m still not ready and he has to realise that.
He took my refusal very well, I have to say, but I don’t know how much longer I can stall.
Are there any guidelines or regulations in the marriage contract that tell you the ‘acceptable length of time for withholding conjugal rights after a miscarriage’, I wonder?
Decided I wouldn’t ask Fenella for advice on this particular topic as I had a feeling her answer would probably be something along the lines of “Just get back on that horse, Sweedie!”
Trouble is, I don’t want to get back on the horse (or under it) and I can’t imagine when I will.
Tuesday 21st October
Coffee with Fenella was a little strained to begin with. The kids went up to Max’s bedroom, taking the dogs with them to play vets. Fenella had brought Splodge and Brown too, so Dog was delighted to have three of ‘his’ babies at home.
Fenella broke the ice in typical Fenella-esque style.
“Go on, Hun, tell me you hate me. I know I would if the situation were reversed.”
That was the moment I knew we were going to be OK.
I told her, as openly and honestly as I could that yes, I resented her and her healthy baby. I said that she had two already and that didn’t seem fair. I even confessed that I’d called her ‘Gob Almighty’ in my diary.
“Oh, Libs!” She laughed. “I love it! ‘Gob Almighty’. Cripes, don’t tell Josh that one, he’ll never call me anything else. Everything you’ve been feeling is totally natural and I know I’d feel the same way too. I bet you don’t even want to get down and dirty with Ned, do you?”
Typical Fenella - straight to the point! Yeah, we’re definitely gonna be OK. It’s not going to be easy but we’ll get there.
And we both had a jolly good giggle when the kids joined us in the kitchen with the four dogs sporting bandages on various limbs and appendages.
Wednesday 22nd October
Received a lovely email from Hinge & Bracket today, despite it being their half term break too, and it really cheered me up no end.
‘Dear Libby
We were so sorry to hear of your loss.
After discussions with Mr Rooney, we apologise for the behaviour of some of the mothers in your last meeting. It could not have been an easy meeting for you to chair at such a difficult time.
We understand that Fenella Hunter-Barnes took the meeting in your absence of last week and all is now back on track with fundraising and Christmas fair preparations.
Thanking you once again for your dedication and commitment to CCL and we look forward to seeing you at the next meeting on 4th November.
All good wishes for a relaxing half term’.
I then went on to read an email from Barbie which had the reverse effect.
‘Libby
Just a quickie from my hotel in Barbados, hope you’re enjoying the break too.
I know I took on the responsibility of organising the Poetry and Prose Anthology for the Christmas fair but I’m afraid I’m going to have to bail out.
I feel it would be terribly time-consuming and, on reflection, a little boring as a means of raising money.
Could we not go ahead with the Beauty Pageant idea instead?
I will of course continue working on the Christmas fair.
Ciao!
Millicent Finnigan-Potts’
The cheek of the woman!
Thursday 23rd October
“A bloody beauty
pageant! What’s wrong with the brainless little tart?” was the response I got from Fenella when we took the kids out to lunch today. Poetry and Prose were probably just beyond her intellectual capacity. I hope you told her where to shove her pageant? We’ll sort the Anthology ourselves, Lib. We did the cookery book last year so it’s not a biggie.” Fenella finished the last of her pizza and emitted a reverberating belch.
