by Suzy K Quinn
Evening
Alex turned up at the pub, just after tea. ‘Juliette. I heard the news.’
I burst into tears, right on the doorstep.
‘Thanks for coming,’ I blubbered.
Alex said, ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. That company was clearly on its last legs. At any rate, this is no time to overreact. You have a challenge ahead of you. Wallowing won’t get you anywhere.’
Overreact! Wallowing!
I came to my senses then.
‘What are you even doing here, Alex? After what you said to your mother …’
Alex thrust hands into his pockets. ‘I didn’t tell Anya you weren’t marriage material. That was her … take on things. I said there were issues. There are issues.’
‘A relationship is about being there for each other,’ I said. ‘You’re never in the country more than five minutes, so what’s the point?’
‘Juliette, that’s ridiculous.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘What’s ridiculous is pretending we have a relationship.’
‘I’ll talk to you another time,’ said Alex. ‘When you’ve calmed down.’
Calmed down. The words least likely to calm you down.
Alex left then, which I found even more infuriating.
Mum says I can work at the pub for a bit until I find something more suitable.
The wages aren’t much, but at least I’ll have money coming in.
Thursday 8th June
The mortgage company just called. They need my employment documents URGENTLY, before releasing funds for the house purchase.
I’m terrible at lying, so ended up blurting out the truth.
‘So, you’re working in a pub now?’ the mortgage woman asked. ‘Does that mean you’re on minimum wage?’
I had to admit that yes, it is a minimum-wage job. Although I will get free Guinness and crisps.
They are now ‘reconsidering my application’, because my current income doesn’t match my former income.
Don’t know what’s going to happen, but have this sickly feeling in my stomach.
Hoped Alex would call today, but he hasn’t. I suppose he’s still waiting for me to calm down.
Patronising sod.
Brandi said, ‘If he don’t call YOU, find someone new.’ Then she grinned, like she’d just made an amazing scientific discovery, and posted the phrase on Instagram with a picture of a snowy mountain.
Friday 9th June
Nick called round this morning, wearing faux glasses and his smartest leather jacket.
Daisy seemed pleased to see him, shouting, ‘Baddy! Baddy!’
‘I just wanted to see how you were doing,’ said Nick. ‘I know the Give a Damn thing must have come as a shock.’
‘To all of us,’ I said.
‘Do you want me to take Daisy for a bit?’ Nick asked. ‘So you can do some job hunting?’
Was taken aback by his thoughtfulness, and said so.
‘I’m getting there, Julesy,’ said Nick, offering a hopeful smile.
Thanked Nick for the childminding offer, but still don’t trust him alone with Daisy. He seems to be doing okay with Horatio, but I’m not sure he knows how to handle a child that moves around.
‘Keep in touch,’ said Nick, with a salute. ‘Let me know how the job hunting goes, yeah?’
Afternoon
Job applications have to be the most frustrating thing on the planet. Why do so many companies insist on handwritten forms?
Callum has learned to count up to three hundred now, meaning I keep writing my phone number wrong on job applications.
It doesn’t look good.
Am using my old Canary Wharf address for correspondence, because Mum and Dad’s pub raises too many questions.
Nick is going to forward post for me. He stays in Canary Wharf whenever he and Sadie have a row, so he’s there quite a bit.
Saturday 10th June
Althea came over to help me fill out more job applications.
‘Why do they ask so many stupid questions?’ she asked. ‘Who gives a shit what your hobbies are?’
I’m sure applications weren’t this involved when I left university.
Of course, back then I didn’t have a baby trying to eat the paperwork.
‘The best way to get jobs is through friends,’ said Althea. ‘Wolfy’s Dad is a shit keyboard player, but his uncle knew Mick Jagger so …’
Althea and her ex-husband are having some problems, because he hasn’t seen Wolfgang in months.
Apparently, Wolfgang kicks his dad’s shins whenever he visits.
‘He needs to man up,’ said Althea. ‘If he can’t handle Wolfgang now, what’s going to happen when he’s a teenager?’
God – that’s a scary thought.
Sunday 11th June
Nick just came by and handed me three rejection letters.
Feel like utter shit, and am having sleepless nights about my impending property purchase.
What’s going to happen to Station Cottage if I don’t get a job?
Monday 12th June
Two more rejection letters, care of Nick.
Things are getting desperate.
Took Daisy for a walk this morning and passed Station Cottage.
Daisy said, ‘House! Our house mummy!’
It was her most complete sentence to date.
‘Yes, sweetheart,’ I spluttered. ‘Our house.’
Had a bit of a cry then, but didn’t let Daisy see.
That’s another hard part of being a mother.
The brave face.
Tuesday 13th June
Got a letter from the mortgage company.
‘On careful consideration, we are rejecting your mortgage application.’
Phoned up in a panic, begging them to reconsider.
But they wouldn’t.
‘What if I got a better paying job tomorrow?’ I asked.
‘You’d have to go through the application all over again,’ said the call handler. ‘I’m not sure your seller would want to wait that long.’
Wednesday 14th June
Phone call from Belle Homes.
‘The mortgage company won’t release funds,’ said Clarke. ‘Are you still continuing with the purchase?’
I did a lot of fast talking, saying that everything was just on hold, and that as soon as I got a new job the mortgage would progress. But I could tell Clarke wasn’t really listening – I could hear him typing on his keyboard.
‘There’s been a lot of interest in this property,’ he said eventually. ‘The buyer wants to complete sooner rather than later. We’ll have to contact other interested parties.’
Thursday 15th June
I’m still holding onto a dim hope that I can sort everything out with Station Cottage before we go back to court.
If I get another job in the city. If no one else buys Station Cottage in the meantime. If I reapply for a mortgage …
If, if, if …
With just under a month until the next court hearing, I need a miracle to happen.
Will start praying.
First shift in the pub tonight.
I haven’t worked behind the bar since I was a teenager, so Mum wrote me a reminder list:
No vaping inside OR outside the premises. This is a pub, not a youth club. Smoke properly or don’t smoke at all.
Polish Malik is forbidden from using the jukebox.
If Mick tells you he’s having a heart attack, check his pork scratchings intake. The last time we called an ambulance, it turned out to be indigestion.
The ‘last orders’ baseball bat is located next to the pickled egg jar.
Don’t let Yorkie near the pickled eggs.
Friday 16th June
Very tired this morning and did a bad mum thing.
Plonked Daisy in front of In the Night Garden for two hours, while I filled in application forms.
Accidentally wrote ‘Ninky Nonk’ as a previous job title.
Saturday 17th June<
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SOOO tired.
Worked in the bar until midnight last night.
Lucky John Boy was on shift too, because Yorkie was fighting drunk.
Usually, Mum is the only one who can keep him in line, but John Boy did a good job – luring Yorkie outside with Scampi Fries, then locking the door and calling his mad girlfriend to take him home.
We ended up closing the pub late, by which time John Boy’s prosthetic leg was giving him grief.
John Boy took his sleeves and leg off, and his stump was red raw, with two huge, angry blisters.
‘Bollocks,’ said John Boy.
Apparently, the stump, once aggravated, takes a while to heal.
I asked John Boy if he could hop around, but he said phantom leg syndrome means he ends up falling over a lot – especially after drinking four pints of Stella, which he had done on shift. The NHS won’t give him another wheelchair, after he wrecked the last one in a downhill go-cart race.
I helped John Boy to the sofa upstairs and cleaned his stump, putting Savlon on the worst bits.
John Boy was very insistent that I lay his prosthetic leg horizontal on the carpet. Apparently, it startles him at night if stored in a standing position. He sometimes mistakes it for a knife-wielding Odd Job from James Bond, and tries to wrestle it into a restraining hold.
More job applications, while Daisy watched TV.
Daisy said another sentence!
‘Iggle Piggle, Iggle Onk’.
Texted everyone I knew, and put a picture of Iggle Piggle on Facebook.
Sunday 18th June
Alex phoned asking if I’d ‘calmed down yet’.
This provoked me to rage.
‘You’ve got a bloody cheek,’ I shouted. ‘After what you said to your mum.’
‘Have you been seeing Nick Spencer,’ Alex asked.
‘Yes, I bloody have,’ I said. ‘And you should have no opinion on it, since I’m not marriage material.’
‘I knew this would happen,’ said Alex darkly. ‘The minute my back is turned, you see him. I should have called sooner.’
‘So why didn’t you?’ I asked.
Alex said he was giving me space.
Why do men think women want space?
WE WANT ATTENTION!
Monday 19th June
Met Nick for coffee in Great Oakley today.
He had another pile of job rejections for me.
Weird him living nearby.
Nick asked about Alex.
‘I don’t really know what’s happening,’ I said.
‘If he’s so fantastic, how come you hardly ever see him?’ Nick asked.
It was a fair question.
One I couldn’t answer.
Poor John Boy still has blisters on his stump.
He had to sit on a bar stool during his afternoon shift, and reach glasses with Callum’s monster grabber claw.
Tuesday 20th June
Someone else has offered on Station Cottage.
Feel totally and utterly gutted.
Mum found me blubbing in the kitchen, and made me her patented super-dooper hot chocolate, made with instant hot chocolate, milk, single cream, double cream, Lyle’s golden syrup and mashed-up bourbon biscuits, plus a shot of brandy. She topped it with whipped cream and broken up Aldi disco biscuits.
The drink was so sugary it made my teeth itch, and it didn’t make me feel any better.
Althea texted me some photos – one of bombed-out houses in Syria, another of refugees camping in Calais.
‘Count yourself lucky you have a roof over your head,’ she wrote. ‘These people have nothing.’
I told her Daisy’s life could be ruined soon.
Althea wrote back, ‘Live in the moment. It’s not ruined now, is it?’
It’s true that Daisy and I are warm, well fed and together at this moment in time.
But what if the courts decide Daisy should live with her irresponsible father and crazy girlfriend? Even if it were only joint residency, Daisy would still be so frightened and unsettled living at Nick’s house without me.
Can’t stop crying.
Wednesday 21st June
Am throwing myself into work and job applications in the hope of demonstrating to the courts that I am a responsible mother.
If I get a good job and offer on another house before the court hearing, Jeremy Samuels says it will, ‘carry some weight’.
Nick turned up at the pub last night, wearing a suit, faux glasses and red-laced brogues.
‘I had to get out of the house,’ he said, over a pint of soda water and orange juice. ‘Sadie is just so fucking insane. I’m literally living in a mental house.’
‘And this is the house you want Daisy to live in?’ I said.
‘Sadie won’t be around for long,’ said Nick dismissively. ‘She packs her bags every other day.’
‘Nick, you are a selfish, spoiled child stamping your feet to get what you want,’ I shouted. ‘Think of your daughter, for once in your life. Daisy needs a stable environment with a mother who loves her.’
‘The courts will know what’s best,’ said Nick. ‘Let’s see what they say.’
Went quiet then. Nick doesn’t know about Station Cottage yet.
Commented on Nick’s smart appearance and non-alcoholic drink choice.
‘Yeah,’ he said, looking down at his suit. ‘Henry’s giving me a chance as factory manager. It’s boring, but it pays well and it’s only down the road. I’m off the booze for a bit too.’
Typical.
After a life of irresponsibility, Nick gets handed a management job on a plate, while I get nothing but job rejections.
Teachers tell you to pass exams, but that’s bullshit.
No matter what qualifications you have, you can’t compete with people like Nick, whose stepdad owns the company.
Thursday 22nd June
Sports day at Callum’s school.
We all went along to support him, including John Boy – who won the Fathers’ race.
Even with his metal leg and blisters, John Boy was much fitter and stronger than the other racers, and ran backwards to ‘make it fair’.
Mum made us ‘Team Callum’ T-shirts, and waved a big ‘CALLUM NO.1’ flag.
It was BOILING hot.
We were all right, because visitors and schoolchildren got to sit in the shade, but the teachers were lobster red and kept losing their temper.
Very proud of Callum. He came second in the 10m sprint and first in the three-legged race (which he ran with his girlfriend).
Callum wasn’t so good at the skipping race, but was very determined and kept going – even as a sweaty-faced teacher packed away the finish line and shouted at him to hurry up.
Friday 23rd June
Took Daisy for a walk this evening to post more job applications.
Passed Station Cottage.
Daisy said, ‘Our house, Mummy. Our house.’
‘Not anymore, sweetheart,’ I told her. ‘But I’ll find us another house. Just as soon as I get a good job.’
‘Okay,’ she said.
Just like that.
Althea’s right about kids. They really do live in the moment. But maybe because they’re too young to notice the shit storms gathering overhead … like this impending court hearing.
Posted all my job applications, then walked a different way home.
Evening
Alex called to say he’s flying back to London on Tuesday.
I’m still furious with him, but have accepted an offer of dinner so we can ‘talk’. Which in my case, could mean ‘shout’.
Probably should walk away from Alex with my head held high, but fuck it.
I’ve lost my house and job.
What dignity do I have left?
Saturday 24th June
Nick’s first official visitation day.
Met him on the village green, after loading the Maclaren with picnic things.
As soon as I took Daisy out of the pram, it f
ell on its back like a drunken horse.
Nick was quite useful for a change, shouting, ‘Fucking hell!’ quick enough for me to prevent a squashed picnic bag.
It was a bit awkward at first – Nick and I having a picnic together. But I sidestepped all questions about ‘moving house’ and in the end, it wasn’t so bad.
Nick didn’t bring his usual six-pack of Peroni, which was a shock. And we had some nice chats about Daisy.
I want her to grow up happy, healthy and strong.
Nick wants her to be a musical theatre star.
Sunday 25th June
Ugh.
Alex can’t make it back to London after all. At least, not for a few weeks.
We did have quite a good chat on the phone, and he apologised again for all the stuff with his mother.
‘Neither of us is perfect,’ he said. ‘You come with Nick Spencer.’
It was a fair point.
‘Just don’t talk to your mother about me,’ I said.
‘Agreed.’
Feel like maybe we’re making progress, but still wish I could see Alex in person today.
Mum tried to cheer me up with a bacon sandwich and the offer of a shift in the pub.
‘You can make some money while you’re missing him,’ she coaxed.
John Boy will be working too, so at least I’ll have a laugh.
Very fond of my one-legged cousin. Underneath his tough exterior, he’s soft as anything. He lets Daisy cover his prosthetic leg in Tinkerbell stickers, and Callum often plays drumsticks on his metal foot. Plus, John Boy mouths along to ‘A Whole New World’ whenever we put Disney’s Aladdin on.
Monday 26th June
Hung-over today and full of remorse.
It’s John Boy’s fault.
He gave out free out-of-date toffee vodka shots, and dared me to drink the last two so he could wash-up the tray.
