by Amanda Egan
PM
Nic called to say that the test results were back and, although it’s still too early to be certain, Mikhail may be suffering from something called Hunter’s Syndrome.
Wanted to console him and offer words of encouragement but it’s an illness I know nothing about and, from what he was telling me, the outlook isn’t encouraging.
Tuesday 9th December
Spent most of last night on Google looking up Mikhail’s possible condition. Ned was working late so I had nothing else to occupy myself.
Well it’s true, it probably is too early to tell, as children aren’t usually diagnosed until about two, but I’d say that Mikhail is already displaying physical signs of the illness. Depending on the severity, he could lead a long and happy life or he may not live beyond fifteen.
Went to bed feeling thoroughly miserable - poor Nic and Rick aren’t in for an easy ride and they’re going to need all the help they can get. I vowed to myself I’d be there for them every step of the way and help whenever or however I could.
I may have lost my baby but this is one way I can feel useful again.
PM
Well the goss on the gates is already out that Gestapo will soon be welcoming back her rogue-dealing husband, AKA ‘Rudeman’. All the Meemies are delighted that “justice has been done” and are planning a welcome home drinks party for him.
Kept a very low profile when they were asking for someone to volunteer their home as a venue - don’t think our ramshackle cottage is up to the job and, in any event, I have no desire to host a jailbird’s homecoming. Actor-Wankor looked as though he was about to offer when I realised that Patience had stepped forward to speak. “As the newbie on the block, I’d be delighted to open my home and I’ve just moved into the area so it can be a house-warming too.”
Wish I’d had the opportunity to fill her in on the details before she compromised her values by offering to host such a shady event.
There was a lot of uncomfortable mumbling and nervous coughing and the crowd gradually disbanded after Actor-Wankor diffused the tension by insisting that the celebration be at his house on Friday.
“Well! That went well, didn’t it?” Patience laughed. “Thought it might be time for me to ‘come out’ but, clearly, I was wrong. It’s almost as if I speak another language! Fancy coming round after school drop off tomorrow and seeing the new pad? I’ll buy sticky buns and gooey cakes and I’ll get in extra Irn Bru,” she added to Fenella.
I’m amazed that Patience could take this most recent snub so casually. It’s not even as if she has anyone to go home to and use as a sounding board. When they were giving me a hard time last year, at least I had Ned to offload to - she has no one.
Must remember to call her regularly and never let her feel like she’s struggling on her own.
Wednesday 10th December
Spent a lovely morning at Patience’s new house. IT IS STUNNING! Directly on Wimbledon Common and straight from the pages of ‘Homes & Gardens’. Although it’s huge and beautifully decorated, it’s still got a lovely homely feel and is jam-packed with her personality and amazing artwork.
How she didn’t manage to sell anything at the Christmas fair, I’ll never know because she really is very talented and quite unique.
Fenella ‘waddled’ from room to room ooh-ing and aah-ing - at one point I thought she might go into premature labour, she got so excited about Patience’s pure silk bed cover.
Maybe it’s because, up until now, we’ve never been able to afford expensive things that I just don’t quite get them. I wouldn’t know a Poggenpohl kitchen from a Smallbone of Devizes and I’m certainly not about to become an expert now. The same with paint colours - is there really any difference between Dulux or Farrow & Ball? And who gives a shit? Beige is beige is beige in my book.
Although, after a morning spent in luxury, I did decide that it might be time to give our humble abode a bit of a facelift - I’m quite nifty with a paintbrush and now we’ve got some cash there’s really no excuse.
Picked up a few Dulux paint charts on the way home.
PM
I plan to knuckle down and get all of the downstairs decorated before Christmas. No Polish workers for me, just good old elbow grease and graft. I’m spending most of my evenings in by myself anyway, so it will give me something to do.
Left the paint charts with my chosen colours circled and a note for Ned for when he got in from work, at whatever time.
He may only be here part-time but figured I ought to include him in the decision-making process.
Thursday 11th December
Woke from a lovely dream where Ned and I were decorating our first flat together. We were so in love and totally tuned in to one another. Got up and stared out of my bedroom window feeling very sad - how had we gone so wrong? And how could we ever put it right?
Went downstairs to find a note from Ned agreeing to the paint choices with an ‘I love you. See you later x’
Max breaks up from school tomorrow so spent my morning buying paint and stocking up on teachers’ presents - in other words, wine. It’s all they ever really want so why lumber them with bath salts and chocolates?
I was just loading up the car at B&Q when I heard the dulcet sounds of Barbie chasing up the rear.
“Oooh-ooh, Libby! My, my! Buying paint are we?” She peered into my boot. “Oh do you do DIY? How positively quaint. I didn’t think anyone indulged in home décor themselves nowadays. Are you finding things terribly tight? I’d just nipped in to look at their baubles but they’re really quite hideous.” This was said as she saw me adding a bag of Christmas decorations to the boot.
Before I’d even opened my mouth to answer, she’d tippy-tapped off on her ridiculous leopard skin heels.
Honestly, is there no escape from their constant jibes?
PM
Made a good start on the hallway once Max had gone to bed. I now have paint under my broken nails, and a rather attractive shade of beige streaked through my hair and eyebrows, but I’m enjoying losing myself in the work.
Got so distracted with my roller and paint, singing away to ‘I Will Survive’ on the radio, I didn’t hear Ned come in. He was simply standing looking at me with a smile.
And he came over and kissed me gently on the cheek. “You’ve got paint on your nose! And you look as cute as you did the day we decorated our first flat!”
Maybe there’s still hope for us after all.
Friday 12th December
Max breaks up, Nativity, Welcome home drinks for Rudeman
Ned didn’t go into work today as we’ve got Max’s nativity later. We spent the morning working quietly together in the hall and we’ve practically broken the back of it now. The new colour looks really welcoming and, with a few framed pictures I spotted in the local Oxfam (can’t help myself), it should look totally transformed.
At around midday, Ned suggested we go somewhere local for lunch. It’s not often we get to be just the two of us so it seemed like a good idea as we didn’t have to be at the school until three.
It was great to be out together, chatting like we used to and forgetting about what had come so close to breaking us.
Realised I hadn’t had time to fill him in on all the details of Mikhail’s condition and he seemed quite shocked when I told him.
“That’s going to be tough on Nic and Rick, isn’t it? We need to make sure that we give them all the support we can. Guess that wouldn’t have been so easy if we’d gone on to have our own baby, eh Lib?”
Wondered how it was possible to love and despise a man in such equal measures.
PM
Wept my way through the nativity - partly sentimental and partly because it was so funny. There’s nothing like a group of over-hyped kids on stage at Christmas to make your heart sing.
Max was a very believable inn-keeper, until he remembered where he was and gave us a wave and blew a kiss. Solomon, as Joseph, then realised he had a very itchy bottom and proceeded to deal with
it there and then. So ‘Mary’ decided to have a go at him and turned into the typical nagging wife.
“That’s just yucky. Don’t touch me now I know where your hands have been. Miss? … Miss, did you see what he was doing?”
Patience was cracking up beside me, albeit with mortified embarrassment, and Fenella was snorting into a hanky next to Josh and Ned.
The production finally ended with an interesting version of ‘Away in a Manger’ while they all fidgeted, picked noses and hiccupped. It was the last day of term and they were all eager to get home - pretending to be in Bethlehem was just too much to ask of them when they knew that Father Christmas wasn’t that far away.
While the kids changed and gathered their end of term belongings we were offered tea and coffee in the hall.
Jenny sidled up to me with the biscuit tray and whispered “I’ll give you a call in the next few days - got some more goss for you!” Then she added, in a slightly louder voice, “Biscuit, Mrs Marchant?”
The Meemies partook of their usual guffawing and bragging.
“Oh Barbados? We’re off to the country. A quiet British Christmas this year - staycating is all the rage apparently.” (Read “Times are hard, but I’m not letting on to you”)
“The older boys are home from boarding next week but we won’t see them until Christmas Eve because we’re off to Paris on Sunday.” (Read, “The nanny’s been paid overtime because we really don’t give a shit about our kids”)
“I’m off for a brief stay with some friends this weekend. Need a bit of R&R by myself.” (Read “My botox is in need of topping up before I start on the Christmas binge. You’ll be amazed at how refreshed I’ll look when I come back.”)
Hinge & Bracket made a lovely end of term speech and once more I was reminded why I put up with all the crap from the parents.
I spotted Fenella stuffing Duchy Original biscuits in her mouth and washing them down with Irn Bru from a silver hipflask and Patience creeping out for a sneaky fag at the back of the bike sheds again and I chuckled to myself - I wasn’t alone.
Saturday 13th December
Forgot to mention that Dan gave me a kiss on the cheek and thanked me for his Christmas gift as I made my way out to the car to meet Ned and Max when we left school yesterday.
Nothing wrong with that, is there?
Also nothing wrong with the hand on the small of my back - just a friendly, teacherly gesture.
Moving swiftly on … we went to Rudeman’s drinks party at Actor-Wankor’s last night. We didn’t really want to go (felt a bit hypocritical) but Fenella and Patience insisted it would be a laugh (gluttons for punishment, those two!)
Ned and Josh did their usual and settled in the corner with their drinks and nibbles, putting the world to rights and avoiding the bitching and gossip at all costs - wise move!
Fenella, Patience and I did our best to mingle but it just felt too much like hard work. Fenella then insisted on standing right by the buffet table and systematically working her way through half a salmon, a bowl of couscous and about a pound and a half of cheese.
Gestapo looked on disapprovingly and called over, “You’re going to find it frightfully hard to shift those pounds when you have that baby. When are you due, this month?”
Fenella nearly sprayed a mouthful of pitta bread over her. “This month? Don’t be so ridiculous, I’m not due until March but I believe in nurturing a baby and giving it the best possible start. I’m not bothered about a few pounds. I always find they make one look younger - saves a fortune in fillers you know.” And she stuffed a few more pieces of bread into her already full mouth in an act of defiance.
Actor-Wankor regaled us with stories of auditions sprinkled with a liberal dose of name-dropping and his poor wife, ‘Long Suffering Mel’, rolled her eyes in the background - I always get the feeling she’s more than slightly conscious that he’s such an arse.
Dress-up Mummy looked like the fairy from the Christmas tree and flitted from group to group - all she was missing was the wand.
After an hour and a half we decided we quite simply couldn’t take any more so, using Fenella’s heartburn as an excuse, we made our apologies and left.
Rudeman was gushingly appreciative to us for showing our “support of his innocence” - little did he know we sincerely doubted it - and slurred his thanks as we left. His enforced Moët drought had been lifted and he was making the most of it.
Went back to F&J’s for a nightcap, where Fenella demolished a tub of Ben & Jerry’s and proceeded to belch her way through a wild game of charades.
Sunday 14th December
Having our festive visit to Mum and Bert today, as they’ve decided to have a quiet Christmas together.
Saw Ned doing the usual surreptitious check for antacids in his jeans pockets and Max asked if Bert would be cooking yummy food today. “Or will it be Granny’s weird stuff what always gives me a tummy ache?”
Silently prayed that it would be Bert’s offerings today and not burnt ones.
PM
Back from seeing Mum and Bert after an OK day but with fantastic food. (Phew, meant I didn’t have a night of Ned moaning and farting).
Elle came along with baby Gracie and High Powered Harriet managed to pop in for an hour but was far too busy to hang around for any longer - deals to do, people to step on.
Gracie is adorable now and very content.
Max said “She doesn’t cry and look cross all the time like Mikhail, does she Mummy? He gives me a headache.”
Mum decided to muscle in with her usual insensitive comments. “Yes Libby, what are Nic and Rick going to do about that, can’t they get a refund or something?”
Our shocked silence and horrified looks told her that she’d over-stepped the mark and she began busying herself with bringing through the tea things.
Heard Bert having a quiet word with her in the kitchen but the cat was out of the bag and the wheels had been set in motion in Max’s little brain.
“What did Granny mean, Mummy?” Why does he always ask me? “You only get a refund if you buy something and there’s something wrong with it. Like my metal dictator you got my in Early Learning Centre.”
Told him it was a metal detector as I played for time, pulling faces at Ned to come to my rescue.
Thankfully, for once, he took the hint and, fiddling with a bit of Max’s Lego, said “Well sometimes when you adopt a baby from another country you have to pay some money to them, that’s all, Maxie.”
Max balanced the final brick on his grand creation and said, “Well that’s OK but what’s wrong with him? Why would they want to get their money back?”
Ned obviously felt he’d done his bit and looked at me imploringly to save him. Thanks for nothing!
“Nobody’s saying that Nic and Rick want to get their money back - Granny was being silly.” I silently cursed my mother. “They love Mikhail and he’s their son now. He might be a bit poorly but they will care for him and make him better. That’s what mummies and daddies do, Max”
As he fiddled with his Lego tower he looked at us and smiled. “Or daddies and daddies.”
We laughed at his simplicity and Ned added resignedly, “Yes Maxie, that too!”
As Max skipped out to the kitchen to get a drink, Elle looked down at Gracie and said “Boy, they don’t come with an instruction manual, do they? Well fielded you guys. I’ll definitely be on the phone to you for diversionary tactics when the time comes.”
“Yeah, well don’t expect much help from my darling husband, will you?” I told her. “He’ll take the easy parts and leave the shit to everyone else.”
Where we once would have laughed at this, Ned looked put-out. “Well if you didn’t have bloody bum-boys as friends, we wouldn’t have this problem, would we Lib?”
And he left the room.
Monday 15th December
Fenella offered to have Max and the dogs today so that I could get on with some decorating. Probably not my wisest decision when I’ve got the
drinks party to organise for Ned’s birthday on Friday, but at least it’s given me something to focus on.
Mrs S rang at about eleven to say that she was “very much looking forward to” the party on Friday and that she would be bringing Pritesh now that he was single again.
“My poor lonely boy, Libbybeta. Will you never come to your senses and leave that Neddy-Man to make my son happy?”
Oh great, here we go again. Come back Gestapo - all is forgiven.
Made an extra strong coffee and retrieved a Silk Cut from the drawer - desperate times called for desperate measures.
Settled at the breakfast bar with my notepad and pen.
