by Niamh Greene
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ I laughed, flattered. ‘I have no experience.’
‘Experience, schmerience,’ she said. ‘The camera loves you! I am totally going to put in a call. By the way, you’re all set for the auction, right?’
‘Yeah… About that…’ I said, trying to pluck up the courage to admit I had made a terrible mistake. This was my moment to back out.
‘Listen, don’t worry about the minimum-bid thing,’ she said breezily. ‘People don’t stick to the guidelines.’
‘They don’t?’ I was so relieved. The admission ticket had said the lowest possible bid was two hundred and fifty euro.
‘Oh, no, everyone starts with at least five hundred euro – it is for charity, after all. See you later!’ She air-kissed me and took off.
Have decided to lie to Joe and tell him I won the tickets. Only trouble is, I’ll have to raid the children’s savings accounts to pay for them. Am trying very hard not to feel guilty. Like Angelica said, it is for charity.
PS Tossed and turned all night, thinking about Angelica’s remark that I am a TV natural. On the one hand I am a happy housewife and don’t long for the limelight of a TV career. On the other, the buzz of on-air action was electric and I can’t help feeling that having paps secretly photographing my cellulite or trying for shots up my skirt as I get out of my car could be really fulfilling.
24 November
Popped round to Louise’s to find out if any journalists had called looking for me. Louise confided that her mother wants to revel in all the publicity of Dargan’s dramatic arrival and is refusing to change nappies, help with feeds or do anything even remotely useful.
‘She just wants her face in the paper,’ she said fiercely, heaving her enormous bosoms out and waving them in Dargan’s face. ‘She hasn’t called me in six months and suddenly she drops everything to be at my side. The whole thing stinks.’ (I felt like telling her it wasn’t the only thing that stank – those recyclable cloth nappies she’s insisting on using may be fashionable and kind to the environment, but they sure don’t mask the pong like disposables do.)
Tried to console Louise by reminding her that her mother has probably been too busy to keep in touch. Devoting herself to her wealthy second husband and their estate outside Vancouver is a full-time job. The upkeep on her face-lifts alone must keep her very occupied.
Decided not to tell her that her mother has spent a lot of time asking about camera crews, reapplying her face powder and fire-engine-red lipstick from her limited-edition D&G compact.
‘Do you think I should call Steve and tell him?’ she asked sadly, as she cradled Dargan in her arms.
‘Yeah, maybe you should,’ I suggested, hoping she wouldn’t ask me to make the call. ‘He deserves to know he has a new son.’
‘He probably already does,’ Louise said, a tear sliding down her cheek. ‘He always watches the TV7 News at Five – he loves that female newsreader, the one who wears the really low-cut tops.’ She sniffed.
‘Maybe not,’ I said softly, patting Dargan’s crusty little scalp. ‘Maybe you should text him, just to make sure.’
‘No,’ she said grimly, fastening her massive maternity bra. ‘If he wanted to be in his son’s life, he should have made the effort. It’s too late now – he can rot in hell for all I care.’
Left feeling a bit unsettled and empty – although that might have been the aftershock from viewing Louise’s breastfeeding bra up close and personal. Don’t think I have ever seen anything quite so unpleasant in all my life.
25 November
Katie had her first class at Vera’s Dance and Drama School today. Was a bit surprised that Vera didn’t look fit and supple like the super ballerina Darcey Bussell or any of the toned celebrities on Strictly Come Dancing. In fact, wads of cellulite were clearly visible beneath her Lycra dance shorts. (It was a bit comforting to think that she could look like that after hours of dance practice, though.)
‘No mothers allowed,’ her assistant snapped, when I attempted to accompany Katie into the dance hall. ‘It distracts the children. You can wait over there.’ She pointed to a dusty area where dozens of other mothers stood nervously.
Luckily, Katie marched in with confidence, swinging her Bratz bag over her shoulder and flicking her hair back.
‘See you later, Mummy,’ she called, throwing me a dazzling smile.
‘Confident, isn’t she?’ one mother said to me.
‘Yes,’ I said proudly, suddenly delighted with my childrearing capabilities.
‘Vera will soon knock that out of her,’ another mother said, nodding wisely.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, instantly alarmed.
‘Knock ’em down to build ’em up. That’s Vera’s motto, love,’ the first mother said, offering me a stick of gum. ‘It really works. My Beyoncé dances like a pro now. She can do fifty head spins in a row.’
‘She can,’ the second agreed approvingly. ‘She’s got a leading part in Vera’s next big production – Be-bop on Broadway.’
‘They’re actually travelling to New York?’ I breathed, thrilled I’d chosen such a prestigious stage school for Katie.
The other mothers looked at each other in disbelief.
‘No. It’s on in the community college.’ The second mother snorted. ‘But it is the biggest stage-school production in the city.’
Spent the next hour watching all the mothers pressing their ears to the door to hear how the class was progressing. Eventually felt obliged to try it myself but I couldn’t hear a thing. Suspect the hall may be soundproofed to discourage earwigging. Anyway, was very alarmed by their behaviour. Children should be allowed to develop at their own pace, not an artificial one inflicted on them by their over-ambitious parents. Luckily, I watched Stage School Moms and Dads last season so I can spot the signs of a parent who is out of control.
Came home and emailed David for tips to help Katie get a starring role in Be-bop on Broadway. He wrote back:
Showbiz is dog eat dog, honey. Try a diamanté manicure and if all else fails get her an all-over spray tan – that should make everyone sit up and take notice. David xoxo
26 November
Called Louise to find out how Dargan was settling.
‘OK,’ she whispered, ‘but he seems to be having a bit of trouble latching on.’
‘You shouldn’t whisper, Lou,’ I said, feeling authoritative and a bit smug that I was qualified to dole out advice on childcare (even if I was a little squeamish about the latching-on talk). ‘The baby needs to get used to noise.’
‘It’s not him I’m worried about,’ she whispered again. ‘I’m trying not to wake my mother. If she asks me how her bum looks in one more outfit I’ll strangle her with the cord of the baby monitor.’
‘Well, guess what?’ I said, trying to distract her. ‘Angelica says she can hook me up with a producer and maybe get me a job on TV!’
There was silence.
‘You’re not serious,’ Louise said eventually.
‘Yeah,’ I went on. ‘She says I have natural talent. Apparently I glow on the screen.’
‘She’s up to something,’ Louise growled. ‘I don’t trust her.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said. ‘She’s a lovely person – you’re just feeling a bit down in the dumps. It’s perfectly natural after you’ve had a baby. You’re probably suffering from post-natal depression.’
Then Louise burst into uncontrollable tears.
‘You see? I told you.’ I tutted. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll pass. And if it doesn’t there’s always drugs. I hear they can really help.’
Louise howled even louder. ‘I’m going to kill my mother if she tells me one more time my boobs will never be the same again. She’s enjoying this – I swear she is,’ she sobbed.
Hung up feeling uneasy. Irrational rage with a tendency to weep and feel out of control are textbook signs of baby blues. Maybe I should call the health visitor and alert her that Louise is at high risk of causing serious bodily
harm to someone. Most likely her mother.
PS Katie has announced that she wants to be a Pussycat Doll. She also wants to launch her own perfume and design a blingin’ range of clothes. She spent all day singing, ‘Don’t Ya Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me’ to herself in the glass oven door, intermittently pouting and gyrating at the temperature knobs. Was quite alarmed that one session with Vera had reduced her to this.
Told Joe his only daughter wanted to flaunt herself on TV in a tight-fitting catsuit for fame and fortune.
‘Do you think she has any talent?’ he asked, perking up immediately. ‘Those Pussycat Dolls probably earn a fortune.’
Was saddened to see he has learnt nothing from poor Britney’s downfall. Having millions of dollars and access-all-areas passes to the best parties is not the key to happiness and fulfilment. Although I’m sure I be able to handle it once Angelica decides that I can be her plus-one on a regular basis.
27 November
Second relationship-counselling session was much better than the first. In fact, it was quite fun. Probably because this time it was Joe’s turn in the hot seat so I could relax and enjoy myself a bit. Just before the end we made a significant breakthrough.
‘What was your childhood like, Joe?’ Rita the counsellor asked.
‘Fine,’ Joe answered, shifting uncomfortably in the battered leather chair.
‘His father had an extra-marital affair and his mother smothers him,’ I babbled, unable to keep it in.
Rita raised her eyebrows knowingly.
‘Let’s give Joe an opportunity to speak, Susie,’ she said, with a half-smile so I knew she was secretly on my side.
Joe glared at me, but I avoided his gaze. I was concentrating on trying to work out what Rita was thinking. Unfortunately she was very good at maintaining her I’m-an-objective-professional face, even when confronted with the shocking discovery that Joe’s dark family skeletons had probably shaped his psyche from an early age.
‘My mother is lonely,’ he said. ‘She only really has me to depend on.’
‘So, you’re an only child, Joe?’ Rita made a note on her jotter.
‘Oh, my God!’ I burst out. ‘I totally forgot – his brother’s gay but he hasn’t come out yet even though he’s thirty-five.’
‘Susie, you really must let Joe speak. You’ll have your turn.’
Rita was obviously shocked by this revelation, which must have been why she was looking a bit tense.
‘Yes, but it’s a very toxic situation,’ I went on. ‘His mother is incredibly controlling, which is probably why David can’t come out to her.’
I was getting into my stride when Rita’s little clock buzzed. It was the end of the session.
‘Susie, for next time I want you to think about respect,’ Rita said, eyeing me sternly.
‘Respect?’ I gazed back at her.
‘Yes, you don’t seem to have much for Joe’s opinions. I know it’s difficult for you not to interrupt but you must learn to listen to him. Only then can true communication begin.’
I asked Joe in the car on the way home if he thought I didn’t listen to him.
‘Sometimes,’ he said, indicating left even though I’d told him the shortest way home was to turn right.
‘But why didn’t you tell me?’ I asked, a bit shocked he felt that way.
‘I suppose I was too busy with work. But that’s all changing. Almost dying has made me realize there’s more to life than professional success. Communication with your partner is crucial. I’m really looking forward to getting down to the nitty-gritty and trying to find out why we had that blip. Aren’t you?’ He patted my hand.
‘I guess so,’ I said, feeling my stomach heave and turn over. Hopefully there’ll be weeks of faffing about and talking about our childhoods before we tackle any of that.
28 November
Less than four weeks to Christmas. Have made a detailed Christmas list.
Joe – a selection of non-iron shirts.
Mum – M&S tie-dye multiway sarong (she definitely admired mine when we visited last time).
Dad – self-help book on emotional maturity (ask salesperson for recommendations. Make clear it is not for myself, but for an older gentleman with a penchant for putting his foot in it).
Katie – stage-school stories and other tales of inspiration for girls, plus assorted array of dance accessories.
Jack – something other than the dog collar and lead he wants.
Louise – Trinny and Susannah super-duper Lycra knickers to pull in saggy post-partum tummy.
Dargan – a baby-walker. His legs are so enormous he may well need the support soon.
Mrs H – George Michael biography.
Rita the counsellor – a large box of expensive chocolates. Hopefully that will put her off asking unnecessary probing questions about infidelity, etc.
Joe’s firm is not having a Christmas party this year. Not even in January. Am quite relieved after last year’s débâcle when I had to endure the attentions of a lecherous eighty-year-old director, but Joe seemed a bit upset.
‘But where’s the joy?’ he asked, when I said I was delighted I wouldn’t now have to put up with endless small-talk with old fogeys over a reheated dinner and a swing-along dance session. ‘Christmas is supposed to be magical, you know.’
‘Well, I may have just the thing to cheer you up, darling,’ I said, seeing my opportunity. ‘We’ve been invited to a fabulous charity auction next week. It’s very exclusive – the tickets are like gold dust.’
‘How did you manage to get some, then?’ He was looking at me suspiciously.
‘Angelica Law invited us.’ I smiled. ‘It’s a real privilege to be asked, you know. And it’s the perfect way to celebrate the season. We have a romantic night out and get to contribute to charity. It’s ideal.’
I left out the small detail that we had to pay an enormous sum of money to attend.
‘OK,’ he said, brightening. ‘It does sound fun.’
Then he hugged me and I felt a bit guilty. But I absolutely cannot lose face in front of Angelica. Find myself thinking more and more about her promise to fast-track me to a high-profile TV career.
PS Katie and Jack are suspiciously quiet about Christmas. Think they may already be jaded and bitter. Or they are waiting to launch an offside attack when I least expect it.
29 November
Took Katie and Jack to see Santa in the Centre to capture some Christmas spirit.
He’s been there for two weeks already, now that Christmas is so commercialized. It did not go well. Suspect the project on civil liberties Katie is doing at school may be to blame. She has become quite militant.
She marched into the grotto, stood in front of a petrified Santa and demanded to know if Rudolph was getting enough protein, why Mrs Claus was banned from flying with him on Christmas Eve and whether the elves were on the minimum wage. Jack, meanwhile, concentrated on pulling Santa’s nose hair to see if it was real. ‘Women have the right to work as well, you know,’ Katie announced, as she stared levelly at Santa. ‘They aren’t just slaves in the home. Mrs Claus could have a discrimination case against you. And the elves could too.’
‘Of course, dear,’ Santa agreed timidly. ‘Now, what would you like me to bring for Christmas?’ He looked at me pleadingly to intervene.
‘I would like an iPod,’ Katie said, staring him down. Then she leaned in close and whispered something in his ear. ‘Do you think you could manage that?’ she said. He nodded at her in terror.
Later she quizzed me in the car. ‘Would you like to work outside the home, Mummy?’
‘Um, sometimes I think I might,’ I admitted, Angelica’s praise about my star quality ringing in my ears.
‘But what could you do?’ she asked, her face crumpling in puzzlement. ‘Unless maybe they need mummies to pack lunches in an office?’
30 November
Katie has been assaulted at Vera’s Dance and Drama School!
‘A mean
girl kicked me,’ she wailed, as she limped through the door after her lesson, a shamefaced Joe trailing behind.
After detailed questioning, Joe admitted he had sat in the car for the entire lesson, instead of pressing himself to the door and trying to ascertain what was going on inside or patrolling the parents’ area and eavesdropping a bit at the very least.
‘I did stay for a while,’ he grumbled, when I reminded him how important it was to keep a close and vigilant eye on events, especially when there were showbiz mothers about. ‘But it’s like bloody boot camp – they take it way too seriously. Some of them were putting makeup on their kids and everything.’
I was outraged. No wonder the other children had looked so groomed last week. I had underestimated showbiz mothers, with their underhand use of cosmetics. David had been right – I’ll apply lip-gloss and bronzing powder next week. It’s obvious that Katie’s rhythm and natural ability are causing jealousy – which is then manifesting itself in physical assaults. Can distinctly remember hearing that poor Christina Aguilera was bullied as a child because of her enormous talent. Luckily it didn’t stop her becoming a multi-award-winning singer-songwriter – although it may have impinged on her fashion judgement just a bit. Those bumless leather chaps definitely erred on the side of bad taste.
Must remember to watch her Behind the Music special more closely next time it’s on for tips on how to deal with this outrageous behaviour. Must also remember to have a quiet word in Vera’s ear and discuss her bullying-on-the-dance-floor policy.
PS Louise called in a hysterical panic at eleven p.m. ‘You don’t think there’s anything wrong with Dargan, do you?’ she wailed. ‘He won’t stop crying.’
‘All babies cry, Louise,’ I replied, trying to sound comforting. ‘It’s probably colic. He’ll get over it soon. By three months anyway.’
‘Three months?’ she screeched. ‘If I don’t get a full night’s sleep soon, I’ll lose my mind. And my eyes are so puffy. I think I’m actually developing crow’s feet.’ She broke into heartrending sobs.
