Days Like These

by Sue Margolis

  “Your ego. That’s what I’m talking about. Now, for the last time, my grandchildren are not suffering from separation anxiety and I would thank you to keep your nose out of my affairs.”

  “Judy, please don’t be like this. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I honestly didn’t mean to. But I do think it’s best and fairer on the children if things are out in the open. I can hear that you’re angry—”

  “Angry? Angry doesn’t begin to describe what I’m feeling right now.”

  Nobody knows where to look. People are staring at their feet. But not a soul has moved away. This is gossip gold and nobody wants to miss a second.

  “But my intentions were and have always been completely honorable,” Claudia says.

  “The hell they were. Do you think I was born yesterday?”

  “Judy—you need to calm down and take a breath.”

  “Don’t you dare patronize me. Your caring, compassionate persona may fool this lot, but it doesn’t fool me.”

  “Actually … I’d like to say something if I may.” It’s Tanya. She’s edging through the crowd toward Claudia and me. “Just to set the record straight, it was Cybil who taught Rosie to say motherfucker. So if anybody’s to blame, it’s me. She picked it up from a friend of mine. I don’t want anybody blaming Judy and certainly not Rosie. It’s entirely my fault.”

  Claudia has the decency to turn red. She stammers an apology. “I’m sorry if I got that part wrong. But I don’t think it changes the overall picture of what’s going on with Sam and Rosie.”

  “How dare you … you—” I’m about to call her a bitch, but Ginny interrupts.

  “Come on,” her voice booms over the melee. “Time to go.”

  She’s right. I’m done. A slanging match would achieve nothing. The crowd parts like the Red Sea. Twenty pairs of eyes are on me as I head to the door, followed by Ginny and Tanya.

  “You didn’t need to own up,” I say to Tanya.

  “Of course I did. I wasn’t about to let you take the blame for my mistake.”

  “Well, I’m very grateful. Thank you.”

  Ginny puts her arm across my back. “Well-done, you, for taking Claudia on. You were bloody brilliant.”

  When we get outside, Cybil and Ivo are already there. Rosie and Sam have yet to appear. They both had PE last lesson and are probably still getting dressed.

  “Hi, Rosie’s gran,” Cybil says, all freckles and long eyelashes.

  “Hi, darling.”

  Ginny nudges Ivo. “Come on, you know Judy. Say hello.”

  “Hi.” Ivo’s voice is a whisper. He doesn’t look at me. He rarely does. He’s painfully shy. Ginny blames his mother. She says she’s too strict and controlling and that once Ivo’s testosterone kicks in, she won’t know what’s hit her.

  “Rosie’s gran,” Cybil says, “you look cross.”

  Tanya tells her not to be rude.

  “But I’m only saying.” Cybil turns back to me. “So, are you cross? Sometimes when I get cross it’s because my blood sugar’s low. Would you like some of my egg mayo sandwich from lunch? It’s a bit squished, but it’s very nice. Much better than the school lunches you get here. They had stinky fish today. Yuck.”

  “Cybil, please. Judy is fine.”

  Cybil is pretty and engaging, just like her mother. But she’s in a pickle. One sock is up, the other is down. Her school cardigan is inside out. The backs of her hands are covered in Biro doodles and sparkly stickers.

  I assure Cybil that I’m fine. But I’m not. My heart’s still pounding and pumping adrenaline. I’m thinking that I could do with a very large Scotch. I want to get home.

  “Kids—tell you what. If Ginny and Tanya don’t mind, could you pop back into school and see what’s happened to Rosie and Sam?”

  “Sure.”

  The children charge off, only too eager to oblige. Meanwhile I’m holding my hand out in front of me.

  “Look. That bloody woman has made me so angry I’m actually shaking.”

  Ginny says I need to take a breath and calm down.

  “I can’t calm down. She’s a manipulative, in-your-business, egomaniacal, self-aggrandizing bitch. I loathe her. I absolutely loathe her.”

  “Wow—she sounds like a piece of work. So, is this a private conversation or can anyone join?” The three of us turn toward a man’s voice. Standing in front of us is a chap about my age: close-cropped silver hair, trendy horn-rimmed specs and a jokey grin. I’ve never seen him before and I can tell from Tanya’s blank expression that she doesn’t know him either.

  “Mike, hi,” Ginny says. “How are you?”

  “Oh, you know—getting older.”

  “Ha. Aren’t we all? But look at you with your trendy specs and posh jacket. You’ve got nothing to worry about. You don’t look a day over fifty.”

  “That’s a nice thing to say to a man of forty-five.”

  “Idiot!” Ginny gives Mike a friendly slap on the shoulder. They’re clearly old friends. “So, are you here to pick up the kids?”

  “I am.”

  Ginny is moving herself into position to introduce Mike to Tanya and me, but he doesn’t give her a chance. “So come on, which one of the teachers has got you lot so worked up? Or is it Mrs. S.J.’s new secretary? I’ve heard she yells at the kids and everybody hates her.”

  I watch Ginny hesitate, so I jump in: “Actually it’s not a member of staff. It’s one of the mothers.”

  Ginny shoots me a strange look. It manages to be both fearful and beseeching. I have no idea what she’s trying to say. Tanya looks just as confused.

  “Well, whoever she is,” Mike says, “she sounds horrible.”

  I tell him she is. “Her name’s Claudia Connell. If you have any connection to this school, you’re bound to have heard of her.”

  “Oh God,” Ginny mutters. She’s looking at the ground. She clearly wants it to swallow her up. But because I’m still so caught up in adrenaline-fueled emotion, I’m confused and can’t work out why.

  Mike is frowning. “Really? What’s she done?”

  “She’s told the entire school that my grandchildren are having behavioral problems when they don’t. Granted Sam brought an assault rifle into school and Rosie said motherfucker and painted a nude picture of me, but Claudia took it entirely out of context. All she’s interested in is spreading dirt. She’s a vile, hateful woman and I want to throttle her.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you don’t,” Ginny simpers. Ginny isn’t prone to simpering, so it sounds almost comical.

  “I bloody do.”

  “Well, I can quite understand why you would,” Mike says. “That’s a terrible thing to have done.” He glances at his watch and starts to move away. He looks embarrassed and agitated—as if he’s desperate to make his escape. “Sorry. I should go and look for my daughter and her children. She’s got a train to catch and I need to get her to the station. Do excuse me.”

  Mike disappears into the school.

  “Strange man,” I say to Ginny. “Who is he?”

  “Claudia’s dad.”

  CHAPTER

  nine

  “And in other news this Sunday lunchtime: Thousands of homeless survivors of the recent earthquake in Nicaragua are facing what a UN spokesman has described as a serious and concerning outbreak of typhoid and cholera. In a press conference to be held later today, the Nicaraguan president Daniel Ortega will appeal for more doctors and international aid… .”

  “I hate cholera and typhoid,” Sam says, chewing on a cheese and Marmite bagel.

  “I don’t think anybody’s keen.” I break off from unloading the dishwasher and hit the off button on the radio. He’s heard enough. I should have turned it off the moment the item came on.

  “But I hate it because it means that now Mum and Dad will be staying longer in Nicaragua.”

  “I know, darling. It’s rotten for everybody. But maybe the doctors will cure all the people quickly and stop others from getting sick. If that happens Mum and Dad will
be home sooner than you think.”

  The outbreak of typhoid and cholera has been a game changer. Abby and Tom Skyped last night and broke it to the children that they might be away for more than six weeks. “The thing is,” Abby said, “people are getting very sick and there just aren’t enough doctors.”

  “Are children getting sick?” Rosie said.

  “I’m afraid they are.”

  “So, if you came home instead of helping them, would they die?”

  “They might.”

  “Then you have to stay and make them better. Sam and I are fine with Grandma and Nana. And I’ve got my star necklace to look after me.”

  “That’s good. But remember that the star necklace is very precious. I hope you’re looking after it.”

  “I am. I promise.”

  Sam agreed with Rosie. Their mum and dad had to stay.

  “But if I get worried or sad,” Rosie said, “I can still tell you, can’t I? You won’t be too tired and busy to listen?”

  Despite all the pixels on the screen, I could see that this had both of her parents close to tears. “Oh, sweetie, of course we won’t,” Abby said. “No matter what we’re doing, Dad and I will always make time for you.”

  “And if anything serious happened,” Tom said, “like you were really unhappy or you weren’t well, we’d be home in a flash.”

  “’K.”

  “Where did we get such wonderful, mature kids?” Abby said a few minutes later, after Sam and Rosie had disappeared and we were able to Skype alone. I decided this probably wasn’t the time to tell her about the assault rifle incident or Rosie saying motherfucker and lying about where she heard it. Ditto my spat with Claudia. I also chose not to mention that I’d taken Bogdan to task. No matter what Abby says, I won’t have him bullying Sam.

  It was during his Thursday evening lesson. Bogdan was laying into Sam as usual. “Nyet. Eed-y-ot! What are you thinking? Stupid boy. What have I told you about developing your knights before your bishops and not bringing your queen out too early? And look at you—weakening your pawns in front of a castled king.”

  I was eavesdropping from the doorway as usual. All I could hear was Bogdan shouting and bashing the table: “No! No! No! Remember, look at the whole board! … Nyet! I geev up … What have I told you? Castle early and often.”

  By the time the session was over, Sam was white and exhausted. I went into the room, handed him a bar of chocolate and told him he could go and watch TV. Bogdan was standing with his battered briefcase under his arm. For my benefit he was all smiles. “Sam is coming along very well. He needs to concentrate more. But he is excellent pupil. My best.”

  “Then for goodness’ sake, why don’t you tell him that?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve heard you. You’re always so hard on him. You’re always calling him an idiot.”

  “This is good. He shouldn’t get beeg head.”

  “But he needs encouragement. You’re undermining him. He’s losing his confidence.”

  “No. I make him tough.”

  “That’s ridiculous. What you’re doing is turning him into a nervous wreck. Please—you need to ease up on him and stop calling him an idiot.”

  By now Mum has joined us. “What my daughter is trying to say is this …” She moves in on Bogdan, so that she is inches from his face. Then she speaks to him very quietly, in fluent Russian. Since when did my mother speak Russian?

  Whatever she has said, it seems to have worked, because Bogdan is red in the face and can’t get out fast enough.

  “Bloody hell, Mum, what did you say to him? He looked like a scared rabbit. And where did you learn to speak Russian?”

  “I once dated a Russian Jewish refugee. So I told Bogdan that if he carries on bullying Sam, you would cut off his balls.”

  “What? You didn’t.”

  “I most certainly did.”

  “Marvelous. You do realize he’ll never come back. Have you any idea the trouble you’ve got me into?”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He wants another champion to add to his list. Why wouldn’t he come back?”

  Back on Skype, I was reminding Abby that contrary to her belief, she was doing a fantastic job of raising her kids.

  She wasn’t so sure. Here they were, on the other side of the globe, putting other people—albeit injured and sick ones—before their own children. “It’s bound to have an effect. I don’t want them growing up with abandonment issues.”

  I wanted to say something along the lines of “Oh God, you’re as bad as bloody Claudia.” But I didn’t. Instead I told her the kids were fine and that she and Tom needed to focus on their work and stop fretting.

  I’ve just put away the last of the clean dishes when Rosie appears, all dressed up. She’s going to Lilly’s birthday party this afternoon. Lilly isn’t one of her special friends, but—as per school etiquette—her mother has invited the whole class to the party. I left it to Rosie to choose her outfit. She’s teamed a bright pink layered net skirt with stripy tights, a Save the Tundra T-shirt and a sparkly headband that has a fluorescent yellow rose at the side.

  “Wow, look at you, pretty girl.”

  She does a twirl. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it.” My granddaughter is only five and already she’s pulling off boho chic.

  “Well, I think you look stupid,” Sam says.

  “I don’t look stupid! I look pretty. Grandma said.”

  “Sam, that’s a horrible thing to say. Why are you being so mean?”

  “And that’s my tundra T-shirt,” he says.

  “It’s not! It’s mine!”

  “Liar. And anyway, you’re a baby. You don’t even know what tundra is.”

  “I do. It’s lots of snow.” Rosie is pink with fury. She’s fighting back tears. Any second now she’ll lash out at Sam.

  “Sam, what on earth has gotten into you?”

  “She stole my T-shirt.”

  Rosie bursts into tears. “I didn’t. I didn’t. It was in my stuff.”

  “No, it wasn’t—you stole it. And you know it.”

  Rosie lunges at her brother and starts punching him. “I didn’t steal it. I hate you. I hate you.” Sam is bent over the table, his arms protecting his head.

  I pull Rosie away, but she’s struggling and yelling at me to get off. “Rosie. That’s enough. Calm down.”

  “I won’t calm down. He called me a liar. I’m not a liar.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “Well, tell him.”

  “I will, but only if you stand still and stop punching.”

  I point out to Sam that the tundra T-shirt is far too small for him and that I’m guessing his mother realized that and passed it on to Rosie.

  Sam doesn’t say anything. Instead he pokes his tongue out at his sister and stomps off, taking what remains of his bagel with him. I give chase and catch him at the bottom of the stairs. “Sam, what on earth’s the matter with you? Why are you being so horrible lately?” Stupid question. I know why.

  “I’m going to play chess in my room,” he says by way of reply, and carries on upstairs. I let him go. There’s no point trying to talk to him while he’s like this.

  Meanwhile Rosie is fretting about something else. She can’t find her sparkly shoes. I tell her to check under her bed.

  Once Rosie has her shoes on and I’ve wrapped Lilly’s present—a decorate-your-own twinkly tiara and necklace set—I head into the living room to say good-bye to Mum. She’s minding Sam while I’m out. They were planning to play Minecraft, but I’m not sure that Sam is going to feel like it. I’m not sure my mother is either. She’s been a bit odd, a bit remote ever since she found out that Estelle Silverfish is dating Big Max. Right now she’s sitting with a book on her lap and staring into the middle distance. It’s the reason I haven’t said anything to her about my confrontation with Claudia. She’s far too wrapped up in her
self.

  “Mum, you all right?”

  “Goodness, you made me jump,” she says, slapping her hand to her chest. “I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “I dunno. Lately you seem a bit out of it, that’s all. I was wondering if it had anything to do with Estelle.”

  “Estelle? Why should it have anything to do with Estelle? I’ve got a bit of a backache, that’s all. I’m not sleeping. It’s that mattress.”

  The mattress is new. That’s not what’s upsetting her. My elderly mother is jealous that Estelle Silverfish is seeing somebody.

  • • •

  Lilly’s mother, Felicity, is greeting parents in her grand oak-paneled hallway and insisting they stay for a glass of “fizz.” Most seem more than delighted to accept. As I join the queue to say hello and deposit Rosie, a couple of mothers behind me are trying to arrange a playdate for their daughters. They’re both checking the calendars on their phones. “OK … Tamsin can do next Saturday— Oh no. Oops, it’s Mabel’s party.”

  “Really? That’s odd. Livvy hasn’t had an invitation. I wonder if her mum made a mistake. I should speak to her… . OK … Livvy can do the twenty-fifth. She’s just had a cancellation. How would that work?”

  “Sorry, no. Tamsin’s got ballet.”

  “What about the twenty-ninth?”

  “Fully booked, I’m afraid.”

  “Thirtieth?”

  “Mandarin. Ooh … she’s got a slot on Saturday the first, though.”

  “Yes, that’s good. But it would have to be after her trombone lesson and she’s got a bowling party late afternoon.”

  “Perfect.”

  When did kids get to be so busy? And when did mums turn into their diary keepers? When Abby was growing up, weekends were pretty much commitment free. If there was a birthday party, it was attended by a handful of the birthday girl’s or boy’s closest friends. Playdates weren’t called playdates. They weren’t called anything. Mums would approach other mums in the playground and ask if so-and-so would like to come for tea. Kids were never “fully booked.” I never had to check my diary.

  I get exhausted just thinking about this hectic new world, where kids and mothers are always on the go. Lilly’s mum gushes a greeting, says how lovely it is to meet me and tells me how proud I must be of Abby. “You absolutely must stay for a drink.”