The Bad Mother's Detox

by Suzy K Quinn

  But it was a pound!

  Saturday 25th November

  Ten days until the court hearing.

  Feeling VERY bloated and booby and hormonal, and keep bursting into tears – I imagine because of stress.

  In a feat of spectacular bad timing, it’s Nick’s visitation day.

  Dad has taken Daisy, which I hugely appreciate.

  The world is turning Christmassy around me, but I’m too anxious to care.

  Sunday 26th November

  Watched YouTube videos about family court today.

  It’s illegal to film real court cases, so have watched lots of actors pretending to argue over children.

  Some of them are very convincing, resorting to actual physical violence.

  I wonder if the scenes are based on real events.

  Monday 27th November

  Alex phoned to ‘check up’ on me, prior to the final court hearing.

  Told him I was unbelievably stressed and anxious.

  ‘I want to be there for you at the court hearing,’ he said. ‘As a friend.’

  ‘Friend seems best,’ I said.

  ‘I hope you can forgive my behaviour,’ said Alex. ‘Relationships don’t come easily to me. Growing up the way I did. Would it help if I told you I’ve been closer to you than I have anyone my whole life?’

  Yes,’ I said. ‘It does help. But we both know it’s not going to work. I need more than a few crumbs of attention, before you get jealous and run out the door.’

  Tuesday 28th November

  Woke up last night worrying.

  You’d think, after everything that happened last year, I would be immune to anxiety.

  Surely I’ve sapped the worry pool dry?

  But I’m really scared.

  Althea keeps telling me to live in the moment. But I don’t want to live in the moment. I want to live in a shiny, glittery future where my ex-partner has lost the residency battle and my little girl is safe at home with her mum.

  Wednesday 29th November

  Boobs still massive and stomach bloated. Had a paranoid moment and did a pregnancy test. Of course it came back negative – Alex was the careful and responsible gentleman you’d expect, and used what I imagine he’d call ‘precautions’.

  It’s easy to get paranoid about pregnancy, though – especially when you’re under stress. Someone always has a story about a teenage friend of a friend who got pregnant by shaking a boy’s hand, and ended up giving birth in the school toilets on prom night.

  Thursday 30th November

  Court five days away.

  Am distracting myself by hanging tinsel, eating Poundland mince pies and listening to Christmas tunes on Radio Two.

  Brandi and Callum came over, and Callum taught Daisy a new game: ‘Stinky Father Christmas.’

  Brandi and I had a minor argument over tinsel swags (she favours an obscenely low hang), but other than that, it was a lovely afternoon.

  Made cheese on toast for tea, and got the fire going.

  Brandi and I had a few Christmas sherries while the kids watched Home Alone on TV.

  Callum loves that movie because of all the violence.

  Daisy seemed to be getting bad ideas from the movie though, and kept asking me, ‘Mummy leave home please? Mummy go away, Callum Daisy have FUN!’

  Friday 1st December

  Nick called round this evening with sherry, mince pies and a large sprig of mistletoe.

  ‘I’m here to make peace before court,’ he said. ‘Season of goodwill and all that.’

  I suppose it’s brave of him. Although he also mentioned something about ‘getting away from Sadie’.

  ‘I thought we could have a drink,’ said Nick. ‘Maybe talk about Christmas plans.’

  In some ways, things were better when Nick was absent.

  Now he’s trying to get involved, it means potentially sharing Daisy at major Christian festivals.

  ‘You’d better come in,’ I said. ‘We’ll both need a drink for that discussion.’

  ‘I see you’ve done your usual Poundland Christmas shop,’ said Nick, hanging his jacket on the tinsel-covered antler coat stand.

  I poured us both a large measure of cooking sherry.

  ‘If you wanted to have Daisy at Christmas, you should have said before,’ I told him. ‘We’ve already made plans.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ said Nick. ‘It’s just I thought … Christmas Day, maybe I could pop over? While you’re at your Mum and Dad’s? Just to say hello.’

  From her cot upstairs, Daisy called out, ‘Baddy?’

  ‘Daisy boo!’ said Nick, sounding choked up.

  I let Nick go up and give Daisy a quick kiss and cuddle.

  It is Christmas time, after all.

  ‘So,’ said Nick, when he came back down. ‘Court on Tuesday. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Terrified,’ I said. ‘And hating you for putting us through this.’

  Nick said, ‘Try and see it from my point of view, Jules. I’ve lost everything.’

  Saturday 2nd December

  Jeremy says that Nick could win joint residency.

  It’s a ‘possibility’, even though I’ve now got a house.

  ‘The courts are looking for stability,’ said Jeremy. ‘If you still haven’t got a fully functioning boiler … well let’s not dwell on that, it’s too late now.’

  The thought of my little girl living half her life in a madhouse with two rowing, irresponsible, selfish actors … oh god.

  Asked Daisy how she felt about living with Baddy sometimes.

  ‘Baddy house,’ she said.

  I tried to explain again.

  ‘Daisy,’ I said. ‘Would you like to live at Baddy’s house sometimes?’

  ‘Yes, Baddy house,’ she said.

  I rephrased the question.

  ‘Daisy, do you want to live at Mummy’s house all the time?’

  ‘Yes, Mummy house,’ she replied.

  ‘No Baddy house?’ I asked.

  ‘No Baddy house!’ she replied.

  I ended the questions there.

  This is what Johnny Jiggens, even with the help of emoji cushions, didn’t understand. Two-year olds don’t make much sense, and have no idea what’s best for them. If I asked Daisy to call the shots, she’d wear swimwear in winter and eat cake for breakfast.

  Sunday 3rd December

  Althea came round this morning while I was touching up the paintwork.

  She was appalled I was covering up Daisy’s biro vandalism.

  ‘The last thing the world needs is another bland, white house where kids aren’t allowed to be creative,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a box of spray paints in the car. Why not let the kids express themselves?’

  Told her no way.

  Actually, I may have screeched a little bit, because Althea said, ‘All right, all right. I get it. You’ve spent hours painting your sodding house.’

  Told Althea how worried I am about court.

  ‘They’re not going to let Nick have residency, joint or otherwise,’ she said. ‘He’s been an absent father.’

  ‘He’s not absent now,’ I said. ‘And his solicitor told the judge I kept Daisy from him. Plus, he’s got a nice house with a bee hotel in the garden.’

  ‘You have a nice house too,’ said Althea. ‘It just needs brightening up a bit.’

  Monday 4th December

  Court tomorrow.

  Sick with worry.

  Can’t stop cuddling Daisy.

  Tuesday 5th December

  Final court hearing.

  Woke up three times last night, fretting and chewing my nails.

  Went through the usual routine of giving Daisy porridge, then muesli, then relenting and giving her Coco Pops when she rejected the nutritious options.

  Felt too sick to eat myself.

  Dad came over at 8am for babysitting duties.

  He’d already had a gentle stroll around the frosty village lanes, and was full of the joys of nature.

  ‘I�
�ve got a grand day planned for this little one,’ he told me, dusting frost from his bobble hat. ‘We’re going on a winter nature ramble, and then we’ll make some wholemeal bread and eat fresh winter radishes from the garden.’

  Felt a bit sorry for Daisy then.

  Luckily Mum will be at the pub, so she’ll probably give Daisy Warburton’s thick-sliced bread with Billy Bear ham slices.

  The drive to court was a blur, although I recall someone tooting me on the giant quadruple roundabout. But you have to be a bit pushy there, or you end up veering onto the pansy display.

  I was nervous when I arrived, but felt better when I saw Alex and Jeremy in the waiting area.

  Jeremy has that reassuring loud voice, and Alex … well, he always makes me feel safe. Maybe it’s the suit.

  I was so glad Alex was there, regardless of our messy year. His friendship means a lot.

  Nick was at the far end of the waiting area, with Penny Castle and Helen. He was smartly dressed in a suit and faux glasses, balancing a Starbucks on his jittery knee. He gave me a tired smile and half salute.

  The hearing ended up being delayed, because the judge had some kind of medical emergency.

  It didn’t take place until gone lunchtime.

  My stomach was growling by then, and even Penny Castle had cracked open some parmesan and herb straws from her briefcase.

  Finally, the decrepit judge wheeled past us, oxygen tank strapped to his chair, and we were allowed to enter the courtroom.

  Alex and Helen waited outside.

  In the courtroom, the judge coughed, sucked from his asthma inhalers, made honking noises and turned pages of court documents.

  Then he said: ‘Has any agreement been reached in mediation?’

  Both solicitors confirmed no agreement had been made.

  ‘Well then,’ said the judge. ‘It’ll be down to me to make a residency ruling today.’

  He asked questions about my new living arrangements, and listened to Johnny Jiggens’s report about Hillcrest House.

  As expected, Johnny talked about potentially unsafe gas appliances, combined with an open fire, but also mentioned a large garden with ‘potential for meeting early learning requirements’.

  The judge must have been watching the X-Factor or similar, because he kept us on tenterhooks, waiting for his decision.

  He began with a long preamble about how terrible separation was for children, and how he liked the Saudi Arabian model, where couples were shamed into staying together and imprisoned for divorce.

  Then he rattled on about the lost art of letter writing.

  Eventually, he tapped papers meaningfully on the desk and told us his ruling.

  ‘I believe children should primarily be with their mother,’ he announced. ‘Therefore, I am awarding sole custody to Ms Duffy. Mr Spencer will be allowed unsupervised visitation one weekend every fortnight. And let me sign off that maintenance agreement.’

  There were more orders noting the specifics of Nick’s visitations, but I didn’t really hear them.

  I was too busy crying happy tears.

  Jeremy shook my hand and put an arm around my shoulder.

  ‘Well done,’ he said.

  Penny Castle was whispering to Nick about an appeal, but he muttered, ‘Yeah. Can we just get out of here now?’

  Outside the court, Helen took one look at Nick’s crestfallen face and said, ‘Oh, Nick.’ Then she glared at me. ‘For the judge not to see the truth.’

  ‘The judge did see the truth, Helen,’ I said. ‘Happy fucking Christmas.’

  A bit childish, but sometimes maturity is overrated.

  Alex took my arm, and we went outside.

  Mum, Dad and Daisy were waiting for us on a metal bench.

  I grabbed Daisy and squeezed the life out of her.

  ‘They’ve given me sole residency,’ I told Mum and Dad. ‘And Nick has to pay maintenance every month. Everything’s going to be all right.’

  Then I started crying again.

  ‘Oh, love,’ said Dad.

  ‘That hearing took bloody forever,’ Mum complained. ‘We ended up eating your packed lunch.’

  ‘Don’t blame me, Shirley,’ said Dad, incensed. ‘All I had was one buffet sausage roll and half a ham sandwich.’

  ‘Oh don’t lie, Bob,’ said Mum. ‘You had those ready-salted Walkers too.’

  While Mum and Dad were rowing, Jeremy Samuels strolled towards us.

  ‘A fair result, I think,’ he declared, shaking everyone’s hand. ‘Well done, Juliette.’

  Alex said, ‘Juliette, I’ll leave you with your family. But may I take you and Daisy out tomorrow to celebrate?’

  In the emotion of the moment, I agreed.

  Alex kissed me on the cheek, hailed a cab and then he was gone.

  ‘It’s like having an assassin for your boyfriend,’ Mum commented. ‘One minute he’s there, the next he vanishes.’

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I said. ‘We’re just friends.’

  ‘At least he dressed appropriately for court,’ said Dad.

  ‘But inappropriately for Eurovision,’ Mum pointed out.

  Maybe there’s a message there.

  Either way, I’m looking forward to seeing Alex tomorrow.

  Wednesday 6th December

  Alex’s driver picked up me and Daisy mid-morning, and drove us to Nona’s Italian in Kensington for lunch.

  London was freezing, but Nona’s was warm with steaming pasta and pizza.

  Nona – a cuddly, smiley Italian lady – showed us to the table herself, then pinched Alex’s cheeks and told him how he’d grown.

  ‘Do you know every restaurant owner in London?’ I asked Alex.

  ‘Almost.’

  Nona cooed and clucked over Daisy, lifting her to her huge bosom, then whisking her off to see pasta being made.

  Wasn’t sure Daisy would like being stolen, but she seemed fine in the open kitchen, stuffing fresh basil and pasta into her mouth.

  Within minutes, a giant, hot pizza appeared at our table, and Alex asked: ‘You know, my mother asked about you. She couldn’t remember your name, but she remembered you had curly hair and a little girl.’

  ‘Does your mother like children?’

  ‘Actually, I have no idea. When Zach and I were growing up, we hardly saw her.’

  ‘What about your dad?’

  Alex laughed. ‘My father? We saw him even less. Not that we minded. It saved us a beating.’

  ‘That’s horrible.’

  ‘No worse than boarding school. But I suppose it gave me a certain determination. Toughness.’ He smiled. ‘And various psychological issues I’ll never get over.’

  After lunch, Alex suggested a trip to the Natural History Museum.

  Daisy loved it.

  The tiled floor kept her entertained for ages.

  We had a walk around London, looking at the Christmas lights and the huge tree on Trafalgar Square, while Daisy stuffed her happy little face with hot chestnuts.

  Then Alex hailed a cab, saying, ‘Bond Street Dalton. Don’t go via Oxford Street.’

  ‘We’re going to your hotel?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s getting too cold for Daisy to be out,’ Alex explained. ‘She can sleep in a suite with a member of staff. And we can have supper.’

  So that’s what we did.

  We drank wine, ate posh steak pie and talked.

  Alex told me about his business this year and how difficult he’s found it, being away from me.

  ‘I understand my father more now,’ he said. ‘His mood swings and bad temper. Buying a business is one thing. Building one is quite another. There’s a lot of responsibility.’

  I asked if he regretted taking on such a big workload.

  ‘I don’t regret the business,’ he said. ‘I’m building something no one can ever take away. But I regret … other things.’

  We held hands then, and I said, ‘You never needed to be jealous of Nick. You do know that, don’t you?’
/>   ‘No,’ he said. ‘You have a child together. That’s something I can’t compete with. So of course I’m jealous.’

  ‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ I asked.

  ‘Let me guess,’ said Alex, giving me a meaningful look. ‘You love Christmas.’

  ‘Who doesn’t love Christmas?’

  ‘Lots of people. I don’t.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’

  ‘In my family, celebrations are like dodging bullets,’ said Alex.

  ‘So what will your family do at Christmas?’

  Alex took a thoughtful sip of wine. ‘Zach will go to his father’s. I don’t know what my mother has planned. And I’ll be heading to the Bahamas with a laptop and ignoring all calls.’ He put his wine glass down. ‘Will you stay here tonight? With me?’

  ‘You mean sleep over?’ I asked, my voice all high-pitched.

  Alex laughed. ‘If you want to call it that.’

  I fiddled with my napkin. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Alex. I mean, we’re friends. Let’s not muddy the water again.’

  ‘I don’t have an answer to that.’ Alex took my hand across the table. ‘But my whole family nearly died in a fire, once upon a time. It’s given me a certain appreciation of the here and now.’

  ‘Oh I see,’ I said. ‘Let’s have sex now, in case we die tomorrow.’

  ‘This isn’t about sex. There are hundreds of women I could have sex with.’

  ‘How lovely for you.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  It’s Christmas – a perfectly acceptable time of year to live in fantasyland.

  Right?

  Alex and I held hands all the way to the hotel suite, and then I ducked inside to check on Daisy.

  She was sleeping in one of the four bedrooms, under the watchful eye of a cuddly female concierge (whom Alex had known for ten years).

  Alex requested clothes for the morning and extra toiletries, then dismissed the concierge.

  The two of us watched twinkly, Christmas London through the panoramic window.

  Then we decided which double bed we were going to sleep in.