The Bad Mother's Pregnancy

by Suzy K Quinn

  My little girl.

  All the family are with us. Even Nick’s mum, Helen, and she hates NHS hospitals.

  Dad sobbed when he saw Daisy.

  Mum cried too, but then she started shouting at the midwife because the vending machine was out-of-order.

  I’m tired and sore and I don’t think my body will ever be the same again. I’m not going to lie – the labour was bloody awful. It went on and on, and I’ll have nightmares about those supersized tongs for the rest of my life. But this little baby is amazing.

  Uh oh.

  Better go.

  Helen just opened the bedside cabinet.

  THANK YOU for finishing my book.

  You’re now part of my reader family and I love you ever so much.

  If you have a minute, PLEASE review.

  I read ALL my Amazon and Goodreads reviews (yes, the bad ones do make me cry) and good reviews mean EVERYTHING.

  Reviews don’t have to be fancy. In fact, just one word is great (as long as it isn’t ‘shit’ …). And they do more good than you could ever imagine.

  So GO AHEAD and review – I would LOVE to see what you have to say.

  Click to write your review on:

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  Please let Amazon know if you loved it.

  Huge hugs and kisses

  Suzy K Quinn xx

  What to Read Next?

  How about the first book in the series?

  BOOK 1: The Bad Mother’s Diary

  UH OH! JULIETTE HAD A BABY WITH THE WRONG MAN. NOW WHAT?

  So I’ve had a baby. But motherhood isn’t quite how I imagined. I don’t live in a lovely cottage with roses around the door. I don’t know how to get Daisy to sleep. I don’t own a baking tray. And then there’s Daisy’s sh*tbag of a father …

  Search your Amazon store for:

  Bad Mothers Diary Suzy

  Or visit:

  Amazon.com

  Amazon.co.uk

  And enjoy the next instalment.

  And since you’re here, I’d like to show you how well I look after my readers with … (drumroll please) dum, dum, de, dummm – a free seven-minute sample!

  Oh yes! I really do look after my readers. Coming next is your sample of The Bad Mother’s Diary with my love and thanks.

  If you’ve already read it and or it’s not your sort of thing, you can just close the book and go about your day / evening.

  Thanks as always for being my reader, and know that YOU make these books possible.

  Suzy xxx

  Friday January 1st

  New Year’s Day

  Back at Mum and Dad’s after HUGE argument with Nick.

  Am FURIOUS.

  Asked him to look after Daisy while I went to the supermarket (when I take her along, I get distracted by the 2-for-1s and buy random things, like jam-filled wagon wheels).

  Got home to find Nick playing computer games, with TEN empty bottles of original Guinness beside him.

  TEN BOTTLES! In TWO hours!

  I went mental.

  ‘I’ve got a high tolerance for alcohol,’ he slurred. ‘If I were drunk, I’d never have cracked this part of Assassin’s Creed.’

  I demanded he walk in a straight line, and he fell over.

  As I was screaming at him, Nick’s mum let herself into the apartment.

  She saw Nick on the floor and said, ‘Do sit up straight, darling.’ Then she asked what all the fuss was about.

  I said Nick was getting pissed when he was supposed to be looking after Daisy.

  ‘Oh Nick,’ said Helen. ‘But Juliette, he has been working all day. He’s obviously stressed.’

  Working! All Nick’s done today is read a two-page script for an online poker commercial.

  ‘If I ever need relationship advice from a divorcee,’ I told Helen, ‘I’ll let you know.’

  Then I screamed at Nick at bit more, threw a bag together and said I was taking Daisy to my parent’s house.

  I would have made a strong, dignified woman exit, except I had to come back for Daisy’s pink waffle blanket, Teddy Snuggles, blackout curtain with suckers, spare nappies and finally her Lullaby Light Bear.

  Saturday January 2nd

  Nick just phoned begging for forgiveness.

  ‘I need you, Julesy, I need my little girl. I’m lost without you.’

  But I’m not going to start feeling sorry for him. He needs to shape up. It’s bad enough all these hangovers. But to be pissed when he’s actually looking after her …

  Weighed myself this morning on Mum and Dad’s 1970s scales, because they’re usually kinder than our modern ones.

  I am 30 POUNDS heavier than before I was pregnant.

  And that is standing completely naked on the scales after I’ve been to the toilet.

  Blaaaaaah.

  Sunday January 3rd

  The trouble with motherhood these days is you’re expected to:

  Be slim(ish), well-groomed and fashionably dressed, with a brightly coloured designer baby bag covered in little forest animals.

  Have a perfect IKEA home with quirky little child-friendly details, like a colourful chalkboard stuck on the fridge and designer robot toys.

  Be an all-natural, organic earth mother and not use any nasty plastic Tupperware with chemicals in it, only buy organic vegetables, breastfeed, have a drug-free birth, etc. BUT at the same time …

  Be a super-clean chemical spray freak with hygienic clean surfaces and floors at all times, plus wash your hands ten times a day.

  All this AND get out of the house without mysterious white stains all over you.

  How do women do it?

  Nick’s been calling and texting all day. Promising he’ll never drink again. Begging to see pictures of Daisy.

  It’s a start I suppose.

  Monday January 4th

  Laura visited the pub today, and suggested we go marathon training together.

  Like an idiot, I agreed.

  Running beside my beautiful, athletic older sister … so not a good idea. Especially with my big, fat post-baby arse.

  I was like a lumbering cow puffing behind a long-legged, shiny-haired racing horse.

  We ended up jogging in the woods by the train track. It was so dark that I lost Laura completely.

  While I was swearing about ‘fucking jogging’, I saw a shadow that looked like a dog poo.

  I went ‘arg!’ and somehow ended up falling right into an icy puddle.

  The next thing I knew, an iPhone torch shone in my face.

  A curt voice said, ‘What are you doing out here? On your own?’

  It was Alex Dalton, in his ninja-black running gear.

  ‘I’m not alone,’ I said. ‘I’m out with Laura.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Alex asked, helping me up.

  I said Laura was up ahead somewhere.

  Alex said he’d walk me to her. ‘This is a dark path and you’re alone. Take my arm.’

  I ended up holding the scarred part of his arm, where he got burned.

  ‘It doesn’t hurt, does it?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘It stopped hurting years ago.’

  I asked if he enjoyed running, and he said yes, adding, ‘It’s one of the few times I can be anonymous. I’m totally inconsequential when I run. Just a regular person.’

  I said, ‘If you like being anonymous, why do you drive that silver Rolls Royce?’

  ‘To show I’m my own man.’

  ‘I don’t think people would confuse you with anyone else,’ I laughed.

  ‘Some people do,’ said Alex. ‘They confuse me with my father.’

  ‘But no Rolls Royce today?’ I asked.

  Alex gave his quirky half-smile and said, ‘No, not today. I’ve never seen you running before.’

  I admitted I’d been stupid enough to sign up for the Winter Marathon.

  More specifically, Sadie had pressured me into si
gning up, while I was pregnant and sitting around eating cake.

  ‘You’re training early, aren’t you?’ said Alex. ‘It’s eleven months away.’

  I said I needed all the practise I could get.

  Conversationally, Alex told me he was running the Winter Marathon this year, too. Like it was a perfectly normal thing to do, rather than a gruelling physical challenge.

  I told him I didn’t think I’d finish.

  ‘That’s a terrific attitude, Juliette,’ said Alex. ‘Forecasting failure before you even start.’

  I said I was being realistic, and that Nick had bet I wouldn’t finish.

  ‘Christ, don’t listen to Nick Spencer’s pearls of wisdom,’ said Alex. ‘Anyone can run a marathon, as long as they train. It’s more mental than physical.’

  I told him I hardly ever listened to Nick. But on this rare occasion, the father of my child could be right.

  ‘Rubbish,’ Alex said. ‘Let me train you, and we’ll prove him wrong.’

  I told him there was no point wasting his time on me. I’ll be very lucky to make it to Tower Bridge.

  Then we saw Laura up ahead, and Alex said, ‘I’ll see you at the ball this weekend.’

  I was all confused then, because the Dalton Ball is supposed to be on New Year’s Eve. I thought it had been cancelled. But Alex explained it was late this year, because Catrina Dalton is still in Italy, sourcing a special type of marble.

  Us Duffy sisters have never missed a Dalton ball – we’ve been going since we were teenagers. So I said we’d be coming, as long as Mum could take care of Daisy.

  Alex said, ‘See you Saturday then’. And off he went, all tall, dark and athletic, jogging into the woods.

  ‘Was that Alex Dalton?’ Laura asked, as I limped up to her. ‘Did he mention Zach?’

  Oooo!

  Something’s going on there.

  I always suspected Zach Dalton had a thing for Laura.

  Tuesday January 5th

  Decided to give Nick another chance.

  Got the train home this morning, and he met me at the station – just like the old days.

  We had a long heart-to-heart, and he told me how down he felt.

  ‘But it’s no excuse for my behaviour,’ he said. ‘I’ll try to do better. I WILL do better.’

  And then he asked me to marry him.

  Cried happy tears, tainted somewhat with annoyance.

  All these years together, and he FINALLY proposes after a big row, when I’m carrying 30 pounds of baby weight and have a car-crash downstairs area.

  Wednesday January 6th

  Back in London.

  It’s nice to be able to buy a fresh croissant 24-hours a day. It’s not nice seeing Helen.

  The apartment is small enough with me, Nick and Daisy in it, plus all the baby paraphernalia that’s slowly drowning us. With Helen perched at the breakfast bar, sipping an espresso through pursed lips, I can barely breathe.

  Thursday January 7th

  Nick can’t make the Dalton Ball. He’s got a part up north, playing a road sweeper on Coronation Street.

  He only has one line: ‘That can happen if you eat too much chicken pie.’

  I’m happy that he’s got a part, but Nick always seems to go away when I need him.

  I can guarantee that if Daisy has a temperature or has woken up five times in the night, Nick will be in Manchester.

  Spent the afternoon making Christmas thank you letters, supposedly from Daisy. I got a bit ambitious and decided to photograph Daisy with each and every present. Then she fell asleep, and it all looked a bit weird.

  Nick’s mum turned up and asked me what the hell I was doing arranging a set of Neal’s Yard toiletries around a sleeping baby.

  ‘Helen,’ I said, ‘for once could you knock?’

  But I don’t think she heard me properly, because she said, ‘Yes alright then, I’ll have a decaf.’

  Friday January 8th

  Tried to de-clutter the bathroom today, in preparation for Dalton Ball preening tomorrow.

  I haven’t done any preening since Daisy was born, and I’m a little worried about what I might find when I get started. But hey ho.

  I divided the bathroom into pre and post-pregnancy.

  Pre-pregnancy

  Va-va-voom! mascara, neon eyeshadow, glittery nail varnish, fruit face mask, waxing strips, tampons and general pampering stuff.

  Post-pregnancy

  Sanitary towels big enough to absorb a bath-load of water, a vaginal toning weight kit, stretch mark cream, suppositories, a big Velcro belt to help my stomach muscles knit together and hospital knickers made of stretchy netting.

  How can something as natural as pregnancy and childbirth mess your body up so badly?

  Saturday January 9th

  Too tired to preen. Daisy slept a grand total of three hours last night. Barely have the energy to shower.

  Sunday January 10th

  Dalton Ball was awful. Just awful.

  New mothers shouldn’t be required to go out in public, especially not to fancy places requiring unstained clothes and plucked eyebrows.

  Kept glimpsing my tired face in the ballroom mirrors and wishing I’d worn more makeup.

  I have an English-rose complexion (pale skin, instant sunburn) that usually looks okay natural, but right now a bit of colour is sorely needed.

  My hair (which my hairdresser politely calls ‘not quite blonde, not quite brown’) could do with some attention too. It’s been ages since I had highlights, and my curls are past my shoulder blades and need a trim.

  None of my old party dresses fit, so I wore a maternity summer dress with tights and a sort of shawl thing.

  I ended up two seats away from Alex Dalton, who looked like he’d just finished a Gucci photoshoot – sharp, cleanly-shaven jaw, fitted black suit and tastefully dishevelled black hair.

  I asked him how the hotel empire was coming along, and he asked me how the running was going.

  ‘Crap,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how anyone can run twenty-six miles.’

  ‘A marathon is twenty-seven miles,’ he said.

  I suggested that maybe he could give me a piggyback.

  ‘Listen, Juliette,’ said Alex. ‘Don’t pay any attention to Nicholas Spencer. I’m serious about training you. I’m in London this week – are you still at Helen Jolly Piggott’s place?’

  I had to admit that yes, Nick and I are still living in his mother’s apartment. A glossy pied-a-tierre on Canary Wharf, designed for weekday executive sleepovers and microwave meals, not a couple and their new baby.

  I mean, we don’t live with Helen. Obviously. That would just be unbearable. But she ‘pops round’ pretty often because she works at Canary Wharf.

  A little later in the evening, when I was coming back from the loo, Catrina Dalton was leaning over Alex’s shoulder, all rock-hard white French pleat and finger-fulls of diamond rings.

  She was whispering about ‘Shirley Duffy’s girls’, and saying, ‘Steer well clear if I were you.’

  Hopefully Zach and Laura will get married and Catrina Dalton will have us all as in-laws.

  Including Mum and Brandi.

  Ha ha ha!

  While I was at the bar, the horrible charity auction began.

  Doug Cockett (local businessman and red-nosed drunk) did the hosting.

  He owns Cockett Fitness, but is fatter than most darts players.

  Doug boomed about what an honour it was to be at yet another Dalton charity event, and asked Alex and Zach if they’d be bidding on any ‘lovely ladies’.

  Zach said he ‘certainly would be’, and looked at Laura.

  Alex slid his hands in his pockets and said, ‘No thank you, Doug. Paying for women isn’t really my scene.’

  When he stood up to leave, Catrina clutched his suit sleeve and said, ‘Oh Alex, it’s only a little fun.’

  Alex said, ‘Somehow, I don’t see it.’ And strode out.

  A few giggling girls were volunteered by their
dates, and Zach walked Laura right up to the stage.

  Laura looked absolutely beautiful. Shiny, long blonde hair. Pink, fitted silk dress that stopped mid-calf. It’s amazing she comes from a mother who thinks black lycra is formal dress.

  Brandi, of course, shot up on stage without anyone having to ask. Her dress looked like it had been shrunk in the wash, then glitter bombed.

  My little sister is a natural blonde, but that isn’t blonde enough for her, so she adds platinum streaks and backcombs it to look three times the size.

  She is SO much like Mum. Loud. Likes a drink or three. Has been known to fight men and win.

  I tried to sneak off, but Doug was too quick for me.

  ‘JULIETTE DUFFY! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?’

  I said I didn’t want to do the auction this year because Nick couldn’t make it.

  But he wouldn’t take pity on me. Instead, he got the whole room to chant ‘Juliette! Juliette!’

  So up I went.

  I was wearing my big summer maternity dress with winter tights, and my feet were too swollen for high heels so I’d settled on brown boots that were a tiny bit muddy.

  My cheeks were bright red, my curly hair was frizzy with brown roots – all in all I felt like I was worth less than a fiver. Quite a bit less.

  I ended up standing between Kate Thompson, who plays professional tennis, and Laura whose nickname at school was ‘Princess Beautiful’.

  Brandi was at the end of the line, back-combing her hair with her fingers.

  As usual, loads of men bid on Laura. And as usual, she looked genuinely surprised.

  Zach cut out the competition pretty quickly by bidding four-hundred pounds. He said, ‘But she’s worth a lot more!’ And got a round of applause.

  Brandi didn’t do badly either. Her date bid against some guy Brandi had a one-night stand with. She ended up raising a highly respectable one hundred and fifty pounds.