The Bad Mother's Detox

by Suzy K Quinn

  Hope I’m not fucking Daisy up for life, moving her into a concrete-floored house, but she must understand … this is for her. For HER.

  Daisy ‘helped’ with packing by putting the TV remote and old toast crusts into the net compartment of my suitcase.

  This resulted in Mum going ballistic because she couldn’t turn the TV on and missed The Apprentice.

  Monday 23rd October

  Packed all our boxes into Mum and Dad’s Honda Civic Shuttle.

  Would have used my car, but couldn’t remove Daisy’s child seat to tip the back seats forward.

  Carved several deep gouges into my hand trying to pull the seatbelt free from the spikey plastic internals, then gave up.

  Mum drove the two minutes down the country lane, and managed to get a speeding warning from an off-duty police officer out on a nature ramble.

  Tuesday 24th October

  Unpacked boxes this morning, while Daisy ran around the house, all excited.

  One month to turn this place into a nice family home with carpets, painted walls and adequate washing facilities.

  We’ve climbed many mountains, but there’s still a few more to go.

  Mum brought over some ‘cupboard fillers’, raided from the pub catering kitchen:

  5 kilograms smoked back bacon

  1 catering-size Heinz tomato ketchup (too big to stand up in any cupboard)

  5 loaves Chef Essentials sliced bread.

  1-kilogram tub of Chef Essentials butter

  50 luxury mini apple pies

  A box of 20 McVitie’s chocolate digestive packets, totalling 360 biscuits

  A five-litre bottle of cooking sherry

  Very grateful.

  Had bacon sandwiches for lunch and tea, with apple pie for afters.

  When Daisy fell asleep, I treated myself to a chocolate digestive for every wall I painted with undercoat.

  Wednesday 25th October

  Woke up this morning to birdsong.

  It’s very quiet and peaceful here.

  Daisy slept brilliantly.

  I didn’t sleep so well, worrying about court in a month, unpainted walls etc.

  It turns out that living in a very unfinished house is quite stressful.

  When I was at the pub, I could forget about everything that needed doing.

  But not here.

  Ended up painting walls like a mad woman at 3am last night.

  When the sun came up, everything looked streaky.

  But soldiered on after a bacon sandwich, and finished the upstairs before Daisy woke up.

  Will do more painting when Daisy is in bed, because she’s a bugger when the tins are out.

  ‘Paint, paint!’ she cries, trying to jam her pudgy little fingers into chemical emulsion.

  VERY tired today, but couldn’t rest my eyes as I had to make sure Daisy didn’t touch any walls.

  Thursday 26th October

  LOTS of painting.

  Nearly finished the WHOLE downstairs, but ran out of paint at 10pm.

  B&Q had already closed, so put in an emergency call to Dad.

  He keeps a library of half-used paint tins in his garage, neatly arranged by shade and date.

  Within ten minutes, Dad was at the house with just the shade I needed.

  He would have been quicker, but Mum had mis-shelved a tin of Dulux Natural Hessian and thrown out his system, causing a row.

  Between the two of us, Dad and I finished the painting by midnight, and had a bottle of Guinness each to celebrate.

  What a difference paint makes!

  Just the cement and bare-board floors now, plus installing washing facilities upstairs.

  Have no idea how I’ll do that last, fairly urgent, one – there just isn’t enough money.

  Friday 27th October

  This morning, the boiler shuddered to a start, made a popping sound, then stopped.

  Every radiator has now gone cold.

  I only have myself to blame.

  Should never have listened to Dad’s assertions about 1970s boilers.

  Wanted to burst into tears.

  I must admit, right now Daisy doesn’t seem to mind the cold. She must have inherited Dad’s Scottish blood.

  When I take her out in cold weather, she often (rather randomly) removes a single shoe and sock from her left foot, and doesn’t mind her toes going blue.

  I always get tutting grannies telling me to wrap her up better, or alerting me in panicked voices, ‘EXCUSE ME! Your daughter has LOST A SHOE!’

  Mum said she’d lend me money for a plumber, but all the local ones are on urgent jobs, or in Florida, or the Bahamas and can’t fit us in until mid-December.

  If I’d realised tradespeople went abroad so much I would have seriously reconsidered my post-college training.

  Saturday 28th October

  Pub shift last night.

  Returned home with Daisy this morning to a VERY cold house.

  Daisy seems positively enlivened by the freezing temperature.

  She took off all her clothes and played for hours in a washing-up tub of icy-cold water.

  Have asked everyone I know for emergency plumber recommendations, but no one is free.

  Phoned Dad, but he refused to help with the boiler because he’s not Corgi registered.

  Asked Mum if she had any bright ideas, and she offered to watch a YouTube video on boiler maintenance.

  ‘You don’t know the first thing about plumbing,’ I said.

  ‘Bollocks,’ Mum replied. ‘Plumbing is just hitting things in the right places, then charging eighty quid.’

  I have to admit, that’s pretty much what Alf did – although he didn’t charge me.

  Mum says she’ll be here tomorrow morning.

  Hopefully I’ll have found a plumber by then.

  Sunday 29th October

  Mum turned up at 11am with a Chef’s Kitchen catering-sized apple strudel, a three-pint carton of cream (elevenses!) and a large hammer.

  She’s of the ‘bang it until it works’ persuasion. To be fair, she has a 50% success rate. But it didn’t work this time.

  Sambuca followed Mum from the pub, and is still here, preening himself and leaving cat hair on my bed.

  Daisy loves Sambuca, so I don’t have the heart to throw him out yet.

  I’m sure Daisy will change her mind when he scratches her.

  Monday 30th October

  Had a nightmare last night about Daisy drowning under blankets.

  Not sure what to do for the best.

  Is six too many? Or not enough?

  Phoned Althea and asked about cot death.

  ‘Cot death went out with the eighties,’ she said. ‘Just go with your mother’s instinct.’

  But mother’s instinct, anxiety and paranoia all feel exactly the same.

  I remember when Daisy threw up her milk as a newborn.

  I was convinced that:

  A: She was seriously ill

  B: She would starve to death

  C: Members of the medical profession were irresponsible and uncaring and not to be trusted

  But Mum was right.

  Daisy was just fine.

  Although a quick Google of cot death proves it has happened since the 1980s. Quite a bit, actually.

  Sambuca still hasn’t returned to the pub, so I’ve bought him some cat food. Hopefully this will stop him knocking our bin over and tearing through the bag for scraps.

  On the positive side, Sambuca hasn’t scratched Daisy yet, even though she keeps dragging him around by his tail.

  Tuesday 31st October

  Halloween

  Sadie called round this evening, as Daisy and I were heading to the pub for my evening shift.

  She was dressed in a sexy witch costume. Baby Horatio was in the pram, wearing a fluffy, blue monster baby gro.

  In my confusion, I nearly offered Sadie a choice of milk-chocolate skull lollipop or pumpkin-shaped all-butter shortbread.

  Withdrew the treat bucket when I rea
lised who she was.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’ I asked.

  Sadie gave a tentative, ‘Trick or treat!’, and took a small pink pot plant from the pram’s beverage holder.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘Look, I know something’s going on with you and Nick,’ said Sadie, presenting me with the plant. ‘He’s been sneaking around for months. I thought – I’d bring this and we could talk. I mean, it’s only from the Co-op. But it’s a peace offering.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about me and Nick getting back together,’ I said. ‘You’re welcome to him.’

  Sadie gave a gay little laugh, eyes slightly manic and said, ‘But what if I don’t want him anymore?’

  I just said, ‘Um … look, talk to your boyfriend. I can’t help you.’

  Sadie placed the pot plant cautiously on the doorstep, then left.

  Later, Sambuca dug the plant out of its pot.

  I gave Sambuca apple strudel and a few spoons of cream to say thank you.

  Wednesday 1st November

  Alex phoned this afternoon, while I was giving Daisy a bath in the sink.

  As usual, Daisy was oblivious to the cold. In fact, she was thoroughly enjoying sink bath time, splashing me with freezing water and doing her Sid James laugh when I screamed in shock.

  I wasn’t looking forward to washing after her. One of the taps had ice around it.

  I asked Alex why he was calling, and he said he wanted to see how I was.

  ‘So, you’re calling as a friend?’ I asked.

  ‘As a friend who cares about you a lot.’

  Told Alex about the broken heating.

  He was sympathetic, but I don’t think he could get his head around the temperature, because he was on Bondi Beach, where they’d just had a severe heat warning.

  Back to the pub now for a long shift tonight.

  Time to pack up Daisy’s things and get going.

  It’s tiring going back and forth, but not half as tiring as renovating a house.

  SO many things still to do.

  And even if I get the renovation stuff done, what’s Johnny Jiggens going to think if the heating doesn’t work?

  Thursday 2nd November

  Went to bed at 8pm yesterday, wearing all my clothes under three duvets.

  Unconsciousness was a blessed relief from the cold.

  Sambuca slept on the bed with me, which was actually quite nice – like a little hot water bottle. He’s in no hurry to return home. I suppose, like Daisy, he doesn’t mind the cold.

  On the positive side, we’re having carpets fitted after the weekend. This will go some way to insulating the house and keeping us warm.

  The local carpet company, ‘All For Floors’, can fit me in early next week because one of their customers died yesterday, and no longer needs a cream Berber on her hall and landing.

  They’ve offered me a heavy discount on her brand-new cream Berber carpet roll, but Sambuca’s still here and I don’t trust him near a chunky weave. He’s already clawed my pyjamas to pieces, and attacks the free newspapers and junk mail with frantic yowling noises.

  Friday 3rd November

  A huge bundle of ski-gear arrived today, special delivery from Alex.

  It was a lovely gesture, but deep down I still want ALEX to keep me warm.

  Silly, I know.

  We tried. It didn’t work. Time to move on.

  I really enjoyed the ski-gear, and stayed up late watching Apprentice episodes on my phone.

  You could tell a man had designed the thermal all-in-one suit though, because a woman would have added an escape hatch.

  It wasn’t easy stripping off the whole suit to use the toilet. But on the positive side, it has cut down my late-night Guinness consumption.

  Saturday 4th November

  Was so sick of the heating not working that I took a hammer to it myself, and guess what? It spluttered to life!

  The pipes make a weird, groaning noise every so often – sort of like a cow giving birth. But the house is warm! WARM!

  Cha cha cha, da da da, cha cha cha!

  Mum was over the moon when I told her how I fixed the boiler.

  ‘See, Bob!’ she crowed. ‘I told you all those counter-balancing, measure wrench things of yours are a waste of time. It WAS a hammer that fixed it.’

  The flooring delivery man arrived to find Daisy and I running around the house, arms outstretched, singing, ‘Feeling Hot Hot Hot’.

  We now have two huge rolls of carpet and one roll of underlay spanning the open-plan dining area, plus boxes of solid-wood flooring – all ready for fitting on Monday.

  Can’t walk on the kitchen floor right now, because it’s covered in latex floor leveller.

  Alex’s birthday tomorrow. This poses a few dilemmas:

  A: Should I get him a present, given the current state of affairs, or would that be a humiliating act?

  B: If I did get him a present, what on earth would I buy him?

  C: He said his family aren’t big on birthdays anyway, so maybe he just wants to forget about it. I mean, I would. If I’d nearly burned to death on my birthday.

  Considering all of the above, I won’t get Alex anything.

  It’s just too much of a minefield.

  Sunday 5th November

  Bonfire night

  Had a mini bonfire party before my pub shift, because the kids can throw whatever they like on the floors today.

  New carpets and wooden flooring tomorrow!

  Poor little Daisy deserves some fun – I’ve been like a zombie these last few months.

  Althea and Brandi came over with their kids, and we drank mulled wine and held sparklers in the overgrown garden, while Callum, Wolfgang and Daisy ran around the house shrieking.

  We threw some hotdogs in a pan and let the kids eat outside, while we set off a few Tesco fireworks.

  ‘I’ve always been pro the European Union,’ said Althea, as we watched the pathetic fireworks fizzle and die in seconds. ‘But I have to say, all these EU safety requirements have ruined fireworks night.’

  Sambuca didn’t like the fireworks, and ran back to Mum and Dad’s house.

  Mum was pleased to have him home.

  She texted to say her ‘little boy’ was back, and that she’d given him two cans of Whiskas and a toffee apple.

  She’s since texted to say Sambuca has vomited on her bed and attacked Brandi’s big television.

  Texted Alex, ‘Happy Birthday’.

  He didn’t reply.

  Monday 6th November

  The carpets and flooring have been fitted and the house looks so much better. Four men came at 7am, and had everything done before lunch.

  NO MORE CONCRETE.

  The wooden kitchen floor looks especially beautiful, and I’m loving the sophisticated grey-beige carpet everywhere else. Feel like I’m living in a hotel. And a good one – like a Dalton hotel. Not a purple-carpeted Premier Inn.

  It’s made such a difference to my mood, running up and downstairs with soft carpet beneath my feet, and sweeping up Daisy’s discarded lunch from real wood.

  Ah … home!

  After paying the carpet people, I have now completely run out of money.

  This has led to an uncomfortable realisation.

  I won’t be able to fit the bathroom before the court hearing.

  On the positive side, the heating still works. The boiler needs a daily whack with a hammer to get it going, but the house is warm.

  WARM!

  Will just have to hope that Johnny Jiggens sees all the work I’ve done, and overlooks the lack of washing facilities.

  Tuesday 7th November

  Yesterday was such an amazing day. But now …

  Life.

  Why isn’t it ever simple?

  After the new carpets were fitted yesterday morning, Mum came over with a load of leftovers from the pub Sunday roast, and we ate cold beef and talked about Laura’s baby.

  Made scones during Daisy’
s afternoon nap, and had a fun afternoon tea on the kitchen floor when she woke up, watching the cows in the field through the sliding doors.

  Poor cows.

  They must be so cold.

  Put Daisy to bed at seven, and made spaghetti bolognaise for my own tea.

  Had some red wine left over from Bonfire Night, so threw a splash in the pan, then took a medicinal swig from the bottle.

  Just as I was doing that, Alex walked in.

  He had a potted rose bush under one arm, and a brown-paper deli bag under the other.

  ‘Bad day?’ he asked, a half-smile on his face.

  I put the wine guiltily back on the counter.

  Was tempted to say, ‘I don’t usually drink out of the bottle.’ But that would have been a lie, provable by dozens of Facebook photos.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, feeling a huge smile light up my face.

  ‘Visiting my good friend Juliette.’ Alex gestured to the painted walls. ‘This place is coming along. I can’t believe how good it looks, actually.’

  ‘Nearly there,’ I said, still smiling. ‘And then I’ll need to think about Christmas trees and all of that.’

  ‘Ah yes. The yearly race towards Christmas Day.’

  ‘Has your tree gone up yet?’

  ‘It’s November, Juliette. I very much doubt it.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘I haven’t been home in a while. And the housekeeper sorts out the Christmas decoration schedule.’

  ‘Don’t you decorate your own Christmas tree?’

  ‘No. I’d make a pig’s ear of it. I leave that sort of thing to people who know what they’re doing. Where’s Daisy?’

  ‘In her cot,’ I said. ‘She’s wiped out.’

  ‘Shame,’ said Alex. ‘I brought you a house-warming present.’ He passed me the rose bush. ‘You said you wanted a cottage with roses around the door. So … I thought this could be a good start.’

  ‘I would offer you a drink,’ I said. ‘But I’ve just downed the last of it.’