Perfect Wives

by Emma Hannigan

  Instead of cowering, Cameron spiralled out of control. ‘You’re the most horrible bitch-cow. I hope a dinosaur comes and bites you and hurts you very badly!’ he yelled, tears and snot pooling on his cheeks. ‘I hate you and I wish you’d go back to work and let Annie mind me. She’s better at it anyway. You’re the worstest person EVER.’

  The little boy bolted up the staircase and went directly to his room all right. What he did when he got there shocked his mother into submission.

  He picked up a metal truck, which he used to transport his Dinky cars. It was a sturdy, heavy toy that had survived sandpits through winters and summers alike since Conor had first got it years previously. Now Cameron hurled it with all his might at the mirrored wardrobes on the landing. The safety glass shattered into millions of pieces with a loud bang.

  ‘Cameron?’ Francine shot up the stairs. ‘Cameron!’

  The sobbing from the very darkest corner of his bedroom made her drop to her knees and crawl under the bed. In a swift, swooping movement she plucked him out and pulled him into her arms.

  As they huddled together on the floor, rocking and shaking, Francine knew she had to accept that Cameron was not like her other children.

  Nuala hadn’t been mistaken.

  They all needed to try to make life better. For the past three years when Cameron had misbehaved she’d gone out of her way to make the situation better. As she sat on the floor cradling her fraught son, she realised that she’d been doing them both a disservice in hesitating to take steps to change things.

  Poor Carl had been more than a little stunned at her revelations earlier on. But the shock had only lasted until he’d had the call from his office. He’d gone off feeling certain that this was merely a hiccup and would be sorted in jig time.

  Francine and he were Team Hennessy in every way except one. She’d hidden the extent of Cameron’s problems from her husband. On the occasions when their youngest had kicked off badly in front of Carl, Francine had always managed to throw him off the scent: ‘He’s probably coming down with chicken pox – all the children in the village have it’, or, her favourite, ‘He was up half the night and I didn’t wake you. He’s just exhausted.’

  Carl worked such long hours and didn’t see the children for many prolonged periods. Family holidays were always a bit of a disaster, but again that, too, could be explained away: ‘He’s not good in the heat’; ‘He doesn’t like French/Spanish/Greek food’; ‘It’s the terrible twos’; ‘He’s the last of four, he’s learned from his siblings and added his own five cents worth.’

  It stung Francine to admit that Cameron behaved better with Carl than he did with her. He responded to the rough-and-tumble games Carl played, and saved his worst behaviour for herself and Annie. Carl was a wonderful father. When the children were babies, every night after he got home from work he’d sit on the floor and play. As they grew older, he was the one who taught them to ride a bicycle, go on a scooter, bounce on the trampoline and pretend to be a wrestler. None of those things required manners or calm. Sure Cameron was a disaster when it came to board games. He’d kicked the pieces and emptied the Monopoly box umpteen times. He refused point blank to consider playing Scrabble. Snakes and ladders made him furious on sight.

  ‘He’s too young for sitting still. Leave him off,’ Carl would say. But at the end of the day Cameron was the baby. He’d been afforded a little more leeway than his siblings because they’d pandered to him.

  The real problems had only shown themselves when he’d begun school and the more structured routine had been thrust upon him. Francine couldn’t run from this any longer. Cameron needed special assistance. But, more than that, she needed to learn how to deal with him. She feared that the bumpy ride she’d been experiencing lately was nothing to what might happen in the future. The bus driver had been right about one thing: if she didn’t get Cameron under control before he was older and bigger than her, she’d have a serious problem on her hands.

  Picking herself up off the floor, Francine busied herself with finding fresh clothes for Cameron.

  ‘Go into Mummy and Daddy’s room and change into this tracksuit,’ she instructed.

  Picking up the phone, she called a glazier to come and fix the mirrored wardrobe glass. Then, stepping out of her own soaked clothes, she pulled on a tracksuit. Normally she would never even contemplate going to the school dressed like that, but today was not a normal day.

  ‘We’ll leave the alarm turned off until the man comes to fix the wardrobe,’ she said to Cameron, as they climbed into the car.

  ‘Will Daddy know the truck jumped into the glass?’ Cameron asked.

  ‘Yes, but we’ll explain that you’ll never do it again,’ Francine said numbly. ‘We don’t need to tell anyone else about it either. Okay?’

  ‘Like who?’ Cameron asked.

  ‘Like Mr Matthews or other mummies. They mightn’t like it, so we’ll just have it fixed and that’ll be that. I know you’re very sorry so that’s all that matters.’

  Francine drove like a ninety-year-old, crawling along in second gear. Pulling into the school car park, she tucked the car in beside a van. The other mothers were already congregating near the door. She could see them chatting and laughing without a care in the world.

  ‘Let’s go, Mum.’ Cameron was getting impatient.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Stay here until we see Cara and the others coming out.’

  Francine had never felt less like being at the school. The overheard conversation from this morning suddenly came back to her, and a cold, empty feeling invaded her. She felt alienated and very alone.

  Cameron undid his seatbelt and tried to get out of the car. ‘Open the door, Mum! I want to go and play! There’s Martha from my class. I’m going to tell her why I wasn’t at school today.’

  ‘It’s still too wet on the ground. You’ve been soaked once already. Wait here until the others come out,’ she said.

  Cara appeared and looked around in mild confusion. Her mother was never late to pick them up. She was always there, chatting to all and sundry. Francine managed to catch her eye and beckoned her over.

  ‘Here’s Cara. We’ll just stay in the car. We need to get home for the wardrobe man, remember?’ she said.

  ‘Mum, what are you doing over here?’ Cara asked. ‘Why aren’t you in the usual place near to the others?’

  ‘We got caught in the rain earlier on and I’m in my tracksuit. I didn’t want to make a show of myself,’ Francine said, through the window. ‘Throw your bag in the boot and call your brothers.’

  She had to speak to a few of the committee members that evening to make final preparations for the Hallowe’en party the next day, but she hoped she could deal with them over the phone from home. She’d avoid speaking to Andrea by asking someone else, like Jane, to pass on the message.

  Francine drove away from the school with a full brood and a heavy heart.

  Chapter 18

  The bleak weather and dark evenings should have made Jodi feel depressed. Instead she was enjoying the cosiness of the cottage while immersing herself in Saul’s new world. Over the last while they’d had Max over to play, followed by Steven. Both were sweet and Saul had had a ball.

  ‘I like having friends over all the time,’ he said. ‘I love Bakers Valley and our cottage.’

  ‘I do too, dude,’ Jodi assured him. ‘Tomorrow is your last day of school before midterm break. You’ll have your first Bakers Valley Hallowe’en party. I think it’s going to be fantastic fun!’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ he said, as his bright eyes shone in the darkness of his bedroom.

  ‘Now, let me tuck you in and you listen to the raindrops tapping on your windows. It’s so good to feel safe and warm in here, isn’t it?’ she said, as she curled up beside him on the bed.

  ‘Did you love listening to the rain when you were a little girl in Ireland?’ Saul asked her sleepily.

  ‘I don’t remember being able to hear the rain from my bed,’ Jodi sa
id. ‘I didn’t have a lovely cottage like ours.’

  ‘What was your house like?’

  ‘It was small and not so comfy,’ she said simply. She decided to omit the fact that the noises she had been most familiar with at his age were police sirens and the sound of her mother’s drunken giggling mixed with the animalistic grunts of visiting men. Sometimes she’d taken fright and crawled into the wardrobe in case any of them came looking for her.

  She stroked Saul’s cheek as she said a silent prayer of thanks that her son knew nothing of the life she’d worked so hard to leave behind.

  Once he was asleep she took a book into her own bed, feeling safe and happy.

  Until swirling thoughts of Mac threatened to spike her calm. The situation with him was headed for closure. Of that she was certain. She just wasn’t sure how much damage he would cause. She took a deep breath and did what she was brilliant at: she blocked it out. It could wait until tomorrow at the least.

  The next morning, Saul was awake and bouncing on Jodi’s bed before dawn.

  ‘Hey, dude, what’s the story?’ she asked, pulling the duvet up to her chin.

  ‘It’s the Hallowe’en party tonight. Get up quick – we need to get ready,’ he said.

  ‘Lie here with me for a minute – the heating hasn’t even come on yet and it’s freezing,’ she croaked. ‘Besides, you have school as usual. Then we have the whole afternoon to wait. So crawl in here and give me a hug.’

  ‘If we get dressed and go to school now, that part can be over. Then the dark will come quicker and the party can start.’

  Jodi grabbed her son. He was so cute standing there in his Spiderman pyjamas with his hair all fluffy from sleep. If only the world could work the way he wanted, it would all be so easy, she mused.

  ‘What do you think everyone else is going to dress up as?’ Saul asked. Jodi hoped if she hugged him close that her warmth might make him drowsy and he’d sleep for a little longer, but he carried on jabbering away.

  ‘Um, I dunno,’ Jodi mumbled.

  ‘If there’s too many Batmans there could be a massive blowout. ’Cause Max is being Ben 10 and there’s two Spidermans.’ He furrowed his brow as he tried to work out what kind of superhero war would take place in school.

  Jodi giggled softly. ‘At least if there are any bad witches, the heroes can save the innocent people.’

  ‘It’s all wrecking my head. Little Bo Peep and Cinderella are coming. Do they like each other?’

  ‘Where did you hear “wrecking my head”?’ Jodi laughed.

  ‘You say it when you’re talking to Daddy on the phone. It means you don’t know how to think right, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Sure does, dude!’ Jodi said. ‘You’re not going to go back to sleep, are you?’ She sighed.

  ‘No! Am I wrecking your head now?’

  ‘You’re a goose!’ she said, kissing him all over his face and head.

  ‘Ugh! Yucky kisses, Mum! Stop!’

  Over at Verbena Drive Francine was having a crisis. She’d been awake for most of the night. Unable to lie in the bed, let alone sleep, she’d gone to the kitchen at four that morning and was still there. Francine usually looked forward to the big parties at the school. Usually she couldn’t wait to mingle and chat. But today she was struggling. What if one of the parents took her to task over Cameron’s behaviour? Thanking God for the invention of makeup, she trowelled it on and hoped her bright smile would mask her inner anguish.

  She had brief respite from her anxieties when Carl came down for breakfast. She enjoyed fussing over him and having some light banter with him.

  She was glad to have tonight’s party to focus on. It was one reason why she’d been doing so much baking recently. It had thrown Carl off the scent too. She didn’t want him to know the extent of her stress and anxiety. Constant obsessive baking for no reason would certainly raise an alarm.

  ‘I can’t believe the amount of work you’re putting in this year,’ Carl had worried yesterday. ‘Didn’t you delegate anything? Why aren’t any of the other committee members doing their share?’

  ‘It’s no problem. After the fiasco with the buffet last time I figured it would be best if I did most of it,’ she explained.

  ‘Well, I can understand that you were miffed with Jane for buying buns and putting them on plates last time you asked her to bake, but this is verging on ridiculous, love,’ Carl said. ‘You could open a bakery at this rate!’

  ‘I don’t mind and, besides, I’ve had confirmation that there’ll be two full busloads coming from the pensioners’ association. Those ladies and gentlemen appreciate a bit of home baking. Sure what else would I be doing, love? I’m not used to having all this time on my hands during the day.’

  ‘You’re a good person. Kind and thoughtful. The mould was broken the day you were made,’ he said, as he kissed her.

  ‘You’re one in a million yourself,’ she said.

  ‘See you shortly,’ he said, as he made for the front door. ‘I have the tubs for the apples and the large box of windfalls from Mr Willis. Call me if you need anything else.’

  ‘Thanks, love, I will,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll be at the hall by twelve-ish, if that’s okay with you, love?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  The usual military operation of getting four children up, dressed, fed and out of the door took over.

  ‘Please be careful of the cakes!’ she begged, as she got the children to help her stack the boxes in the boot of her car.

  ‘How many did you make?’ Cara asked with wide eyes. ‘Everyone’s going to think you’re Super Mum!’ she said.

  ‘Ah, thanks, lovie.’ Francine glowed. ‘I wanted to make sure it’s all extra special this year! I’ve more time, seeing as I’m not working right now. So it’s all good. Don’t throw your school bags on top of the cakes. Take them into the back of the car with you.’

  Mercifully, there was no arguing on the way to school. The anticipation of the party and the midterm break meant they were all in top form.

  Cameron ran happily into class and the others raced off to join their friends. Francine strode back to the car, where she found her clipboard and grabbed an armful of boxes.

  The other committee members were already there, stringing up pumpkin lights and hanging the orange and black paper chains the children had made during arts and crafts that week. As Francine carried in a high stack of plastic boxes, Andrea came to offer help. ‘You must’ve been up all hours every night this week to bake that lot,’ she said.

  ‘Almost,’ Francine said, without making eye contact. She could still hear every word of Andrea’s spiteful conversation. She had no idea which of the women in this room had been at the other end of the phone, so her paranoia was heightened. The only person who was off the hook was Jane because she’d spoken to Carl in the car park that morning. Any of the other chirpy mothers in this room might be the culprit.

  ‘Francine. …’ Andrea began.

  ‘Just leave it, please,’ she said, holding up her hand. ‘I’ve nothing to say to you right now, Andrea.’

  She’d had so many imaginary confrontations with Andrea this week, but now that she was in the same space as her Francine felt numb. She couldn’t be bothered to talk to her, let alone consider a confrontation.

  It hurt to know that she and Carl were viewed with such pity. She longed for him to arrive and be there with her. Part of her wanted to tell him what Andrea had said. But she knew he’d be crushed to hear how spiteful Andrea had been. The last thing she wanted was to upset him.

  Sighing, Francine decided to put her energy into sorting the table. She had a small window of time to get as much done as possible before the children were out at twelve. She could bring them up to the hall to wait while she worked but odds were Cameron would get overexcited and something awful would happen.

  Balancing cake-stands, she made her way to the table. ‘That’s coming along beautifully,’ she said, gazing at the collage of bats made by the second for
m children. ‘Betty, I think the pumpkins the kindergarten little ones made would be lovely as a door surround. You know, dot them around the frame of the entrance? Can I leave that in your capable hands?’ She handed the woman a pile of painted paper pumpkins and a lump of Blu Tack.

  ‘Sure!’ she said.

  I wonder was it her on the other end of the phone? Francine mused.

  ‘Where will I hang this, Francine?’ Jane asked.

  ‘The piñata needs room to swing, so over near the stage would be safest,’ Francine said. ‘The sweets and lollipops to fill it are in that yellow bag in the corner,’ she reminded her. ‘Sandwiches will be brought later on, yes? Margaret and Sarah, are both of you sorted with that?’

  ‘Yes!’ Sarah shouted from the back corner, where she was stacking the chairs out of the way.

  ‘Hello, ladies! Where will I set up the amp with the iPod for music?’ a young man shouted.

  ‘Derik! Gosh, I wouldn’t have recognised you!’ Francine rushed over to him. ‘How are you getting on in secondary school?’

  ‘Very well, thanks, Mrs Hennessy,’ he answered. ‘I have some flashing coloured lights to make the place more disco-like.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ Francine crooned. ‘How’s your mum getting on?’

  ‘She’s great,’ he said.

  ‘Tell her we miss her on the committee,’ Francine said. ‘She’s a huge asset to your secondary school, no doubt.’ Derik’s mother Pam had been a great woman for organising along with Francine. But Derik was her youngest child and had gone to secondary school that September. Francine missed Pam. They’d had a great connection. She worked at a bank and, like Francine, was always juggling a great number of things.

  ‘She was only saying last night that it’s all very different from the atmosphere here at Bakers Valley national school. It’s so big and the mums aren’t half as friendly as they are here,’ he said.