The Bad Mother's Detox

by Suzy K Quinn

  Tuesday 29th August

  Amigo Water STILL hasn’t responded to my complaint, even though I ring them every day.

  They talk about ‘in the queue’ and ‘received on the system’, but apparently they have a backlog. Which doesn’t sound good, coming from a company that handles raw sewage.

  Tuesday 29th August

  Letter from Amigo Water.

  Apparently, they disconnected Hillcrest House from the water supply when the bank sold the ‘unoccupied’ property to an ‘occupier’. At the same time, the sewage pipes were blocked off.

  This was done because maintaining that level of pipework for one house isn’t cost effective.

  So they aren’t going to reconnect me.

  Major crisis.

  Mum suggested carrying shit up the road and dumping it in the pub toilet, adding, ‘I’ve got shed loads of Londis carrier bags – take as many as you need.’

  But the thought of swinging a Londis bag of poo up the lane every day is unappealing.

  Made repeated phone calls to Amigo Water, but am still being given the run around.

  Have lodged another official complaint.

  Wednesday 30th August

  Met Laura at her Bloomsbury house for coffee today. We talked, while Daisy played with Zach’s solid-gold cufflink collection.

  Laura’s life is an interesting contrast to mine right now, in that she is a fairy princess, and I am a shit-covered servant girl.

  Big sis is ‘a little tired’ of pregnancy, because the doctor says she should only run five miles a day and can’t eat sashimi.

  While I was detailing my sewage issues, there was a knock at the door.

  Laura thought it was the laundry company, coming to take clothes to be washed, dried and wrapped in lavender-scented paper.

  But it was Alex. With an envelope of documents.

  I stared at him. ‘I thought we were over.’

  ‘This is a business call,’ he said. ‘Zach said you were here. Read these.’ Then he left.

  Spread out the documents on Zach’s solid-wood dining table and tried my very best to make sense of them.

  Couldn’t.

  Laura interpreted for me, a frown on her lovely, pale forehead.

  ‘It’s to do with your sewage problem,’ she said. ‘Alex has found a loophole. Look here – you see where he’s used five different coloured highlighter pens.’

  ‘But Hillcrest House was uninhabited in the 1990s,’ I said. ‘It was a squat.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Laura. ‘People lived in it.’

  Thursday 31st August

  Phoned Amigo Water first thing, and read out the highlights on Alex’s documents.

  Was immediately transferred out of call-centre hell to the big boss: Jeff Cakebread, Raw Sewage Manager.

  Jeff was a jolly old soul, accepting a toffee from his secretary during our conversation.

  ‘Fax your documents over,’ he said, between appraising sucks. ‘We’ll see what we can do.’

  Friday 1st September

  Hallelujah!

  Just had a call from Jeff Cakebread himself, apologising for the ‘erroneous disconnection’ and saying I’ll be connected ‘as a matter of urgency’.

  WOO WOO!

  Was so happy, I momentarily forgot about problems with Alex, and phoned him.

  He didn’t answer. Got an automated text from his number: ‘I can’t talk right now.’

  Remembered our problems. Decided not to call again.

  But still grateful, none-the-less.

  Saturday 2nd September

  Mediation with Nick.

  We talked about assets and finance, which I suppose is a timely topic, since my renovation budget is dwindling fast.

  Fiona asked us to write down shared ‘assets and liabilities’ – i.e. cars, houses etc.

  Our only shared property was Daisy’s original pram system, which cost £700.

  ‘As much as a second-hand car,’ Fiona pointed out.

  For the first time in my life, I felt grateful that Nick and I didn’t own a house together. At least on the financial front, we have very little to unpick.

  We talked about maintenance, and I was given a full ten minutes to rant about Nick’s untaxed income and little-prince payments from Helen.

  Fiona asked Nick, ‘How do you feel about that?’

  Nick rested his elbows on his knees and said, ‘I just feel like, as soon as I start paying maintenance we’re really over. And I’m not ready to lose my family yet. I still think we have a chance.’

  He even managed to squeeze out a few tears.

  Fiona said, ‘But can you understand Nick, no matter how you’re feeling, your daughter needs support?’

  Nick nodded. ‘I’ll sort it,’ he sniffed. ‘I will.’

  He agreed to pay £200 each month, and signed a document to that effect.

  Couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Is that legally binding?’ I asked Fiona.

  Fiona nodded sadly. ‘Yes. If you get sole residency, the court will sign it off.’

  I did something a little inappropriate then.

  Shouted ‘YES!’ and punched the air.

  Sunday 3rd September

  John Boy has had tattoos done for Daisy and Callum: Ariel the Little Mermaid on his right thigh, Optimus Prime on his left.

  Callum is ‘well chuffed’ with the huge, red-and-blue transformer tattoo, and continually demands John Boy pull up his cargo trousers.

  Daisy strokes the wonky-eyed Princess Ariel and says, ‘Piss-cess.’

  Her Disney princess allegiance changes on a weekly basis, but I won’t tell John Boy that.

  Very sweet gesture.

  Monday 4th September

  The water people came first thing to hack great big holes in the floor.

  There is now rubble everywhere, but I couldn’t care less.

  I’m getting WATER and pipes to take my shit away.

  Cha cha cha, cha cha cha!

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Mum, when she saw the smashed-up concrete. ‘Even an estate agent would have trouble describing this place now.’

  I’ve decided to keep the bile-yellow 1970s toilet, because it feels like a lucky mascot.

  Will call the colour ‘sunset’ yellow, and work out a retro design around it.

  Have spent the morning flushing the toilet and clapping with delight.

  Sent Alex a ‘thank you’ message and a video of the flushing toilet.

  Alf will be back onsite tomorrow. He’s planning on a long day, saying he’ll bring cement mix and eight tins of pilchards.

  Tuesday 5th September

  Alf is really cracking on.

  Offered my services as his labourer, but he just blinked and said, ‘S’all right. I can open my own pilchards.’

  So am taking a backseat to spend precious time with Daisy, work in the pub and nag the council, re: the roof planning application. The council are still, as expected, illusive about timescales.

  Will keep nagging.

  The squeaky wheel gets the grease.

  Wednesday 6th September

  My nagging phone calls have yielded results!

  A council planning inspector called Brian Bush is coming out tomorrow to sign off the listed roof.

  Mum can’t believe the council has responded so quickly, saying, ‘They must have brought in a new load of pigeons to fly the post around.’

  Thursday 7th September

  Visit from council planning officer, Brian Bush, today.

  Dad and I met him at Hillcrest House, under the small section of roof that still keeps the rain off.

  Brian took an instant liking to Dad, shaking his hand and complimenting him on his practical helmet and clipboard arrangement.

  ‘So, tell us the news, Brian,’ said Dad. ‘How long will Juliette have to wait for this thing to be signed off?’

  ‘Signed off?’ said Brian, straightening his tie. ‘This roof needs to be restored to its historic glory.’

  My heart d
ropped to my feet. ‘But the estate agent said this was a “rubber stamp” sort of thing. Just a formality. They said no sensible planning officer would consider restoring a burned-down roof.’

  ‘Well they haven’t met planning officer Bush before,’ said Brian, tapping his clipboard. ‘I stick to the rules. ALL the rules. Call me petty, but if you let the little things go, you end up with a five-storey car park on Windsor Castle. It’s a slippery slope.’

  ‘What exactly does restoring burned timbers involve?’ I asked.

  ‘There’ll be specialist firms who can help you,’ said Brian. ‘It’ll cost a fair bit.’

  ‘I don’t have a “fair bit”,’ I said.

  ‘As I say, rules are rules,’ said Brian, slipping his pen into his clipboard case. ‘No matter how silly they are, we still have to follow them.’

  Friday 8th September

  Brian just phoned.

  He’s written his report stating that the burnt timbers can’t be removed, and must be painstakingly restored by a listed-building expert.

  Wish I could go back to last month, when I only had raw sewage to worry about.

  ‘You can always appeal,’ said Brian. ‘But we never change our minds.’

  Phoned a local roofing specialist to get an approximate quote.

  As predicted, the cost for restoring burned roof timbers is likely to run into tens of thousands.

  Lodged an appeal with the council.

  Now all I can do is wait.

  Saturday 9th September

  Couldn’t sleep for worrying last night.

  A roof is one of those living essentials you can’t really do without.

  Had red-rimmed eyes this morning, and the whole family watched me anxiously over breakfast.

  Callum very kindly offered me some of his Coco Pops and said, ‘Don’t worry, Aunty Julesy. You’ll fix things. My teacher says anything is possible.’

  I wanted to tell him his teacher lives in childish La La Land and had probably never dealt with the local council.

  But obviously, you can’t say that.

  Apparently, there’s going to be rain all week.

  This pretty much fits my mood.

  Daisy’s not old enough to do craft stuff or knitting or anything, so it’s a nightmare keeping her inside.

  VERY worried about the roof.

  Checked on the status of my planning appeal, but apparently it’s in the non-urgent pile.

  Which means it could take months to be processed.

  Without a home, I could lose my little girl

  Weather warnings on TV.

  The world is ending.

  Sunday 10th September

  11.30pm

  Just finished a shift in the pub.

  Terrible storm.

  Daisy is sleeping through it, but Callum is wide awake, watching thunder and lightning through his bedroom window and shouting, ‘WOW!’ every five minutes.

  Monday 11th September.

  More weather warnings.

  A bad storm predicted tonight.

  The Co-op couldn’t get its deliveries today or yesterday, and people are panic buying bottled water and cupboard goods.

  The only sensible things left on the shelves are baked beans and sliced white bread.

  Mum is always happy for an excuse to stay indoors, but very annoyed that the Co-op has run out of coconut sponge cake and Cadbury’s chocolate trifles.

  Baked beans on toast for tea.

  Tuesday 12th September

  Bad weather has FINALLY cleared.

  Blue skies this morning.

  Mum was in the kitchen first thing, fully dressed.

  ‘Where’s your dressing gown, Nana?’ Callum asked.

  ‘I’ve been out stretching my legs,’ said Mum. ‘It’s been raining all bloody week.’

  ‘You left the house already?’ said Dad, blinking at her.

  ‘You never get dressed before nine,’ I added.

  ‘I think all that NHS stuff must be getting to me,’ said Mum.

  Pleased Mum is finally starting to think of her health, but also a little suspicious.

  Mum rarely walks anywhere, unless there’s some kind of sugary treat at the end of it.

  Took Daisy to play in the garden as soon as she was dressed.

  Noticed the sledgehammer had been left outside Mum and Dad’s shed.

  Don’t know what Mum’s been smashing up this time, but lucky I was around to put the sledgehammer away. Who knows what damage Callum could have done with a tool that size.

  Wednesday 13th September

  Something astonishing has happened.

  The roof frame at Hillcrest House has totally collapsed.

  All the timbers have fallen in – I suppose due to the storm.

  ‘Someone up there must like you,’ said Dad. ‘The council can’t make you restore it now.’

  ‘Really?’ I said.

  ‘Of course,’ said Dad. ‘The frame has gone. There’s nothing left.’

  Cried happy tears.

  Promised Dad I will definitely start going to church.

  Thursday 14th September

  Dad has got all religious, talking about God and the ‘miracle storm’.

  Went to church this morning, and the vicar (after a brief four-letter rant about the bell ringers dropping litter) said a special prayer of gratitude for ‘Juliette’s broken roof’.

  Friday 15th September

  Spoke to Brian Bush first thing, and he agreed to an emergency site visit.

  After kicking around charred timbers, Brian admitted restoration was probably impossible.

  ‘Although you might want to ring a few specialists,’ he said. ‘Just to be sure.’

  Lost my temper then.

  ‘The whole frame has collapsed,’ I said. ‘The specialist would have to be trained at Hogwarts.’

  Brian looked a bit frightened, and agreed to go back to the council offices to think things over.

  Saturday 16th September

  Nick’s visitation day.

  Took Daisy to his new house, the Gables.

  I have to admit, it’s lovely.

  As I yanked the old-fashioned doorbell pull, I gazed enviously at honeysuckle climbing sunset red bricks.

  Nick met us at the door, wearing oversized black glasses and a grey hipster suit with black lapels.

  ‘You’re looking smart,’ I said.

  Nick gave a casual laugh. ‘This is my look these days. You can’t manage a factory looking like a student. How is my Daisy boo?’

  He knelt down to help Daisy out of the Maclaren.

  ‘This is a lovely house,’ I said, as Daisy stamped her neon Nikes on the herringbone bricks and stroked the fragrant lavender bush.

  ‘Sadie hates it. She says its old.’ Nick led us inside, along the parquet-floored hallway, and into a large, farmhouse-style kitchen with a butler sink and views over a tree-filled garden.

  Daisy stroked the warm, bright-red Aga and said, ‘Baddy cook. Baddy cook.’

  Nick told us casually that he’d bought pizza dough, and would Daisy like to make her own Margherita?

  Had an unexpectedly nice time, helping Daisy roll out dough on the oak countertops and scatter cheese all over the floor.

  It didn’t quite work out how Nick planned, because Daisy’s pizza was basically a pile of sweetcorn.

  ‘The pizza should look like this picture,’ Nick fretted.

  He held up Kidaround Magazine, which showed smiley face pizzas and adorable children waving tomato-sauce covered fingers.

  Reassured Nick that Daisy didn’t know or care what her pizza looked like, and that she was enjoying her sweetcorn bread creation.

  Nick said, ‘Yeah, I know you’re right. I just wanted today to be perfect.’

  How much he still has to learn.

  With kids, nothing ever goes to plan.

  Nick asked if Daisy could spend the night. He had a room made up with a pink cot and a giant Peppa Pig stuffed toy, apparently.

&nb
sp; I told him one thing at a time.

  ‘Oh come on, Julesy,’ said Nick. ‘Daisy could be living with me soon. She has to get used to the place.’

  If it had been earlier in the year, I would have gone into a huge rant about Nick never getting residency.

  But right now, I can’t be sure of anything.

  Sunday 17th September

  Extremely tired today, but have a shift in the pub tonight.

  Feel like Anneka Rice, but a really stressed, tired version in need of a root touch-up.

  Monday 18th September

  Brian Bush was too scared to take my call today, but a lady on his team spoke to me instead.

  ‘Good news,’ she said. ‘You can put a brand new roof on. Brian is drafting a permission order as we speak. You got lucky with that storm, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I told her. ‘Very lucky.’

  Told Mum and Dad the good news.

  ‘You see, Shirley?’ said Dad. ‘God really does perform miracles.’

  Mum winked at me and said, ‘Sometimes we make our own miracles.’

  Tuesday 19th September

  Whoop whoop!

  Work has started again on Hillcrest House.

  Alf wants me ‘out the bleedin’ way’, which suits me just fine right now.

  Am sick of all the renovation stress and want to forget all about it.

  Wednesday 20th September

  Laura’s doing hypno-birthing classes.

  Apparently, they’re so relaxing that she and Zach often fall asleep.

  ‘So birth should be no trouble!’ Laura laughed.

  Ha!

  I shouldn’t laugh, though.

  What she’s about to go through isn’t funny.

  Thursday 21st September

  Alf keeps telling me off for bothering him onsite, so Laura suggested I accompany her to the giant Mothercare at Lakeside today.