by Gil McNeil
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
‘Great. Well, have you got a birth plan or anything?’
‘No, but I’ll tell you what I want, if you like.’
‘OK.’
God, I hope it’s not a water birth. I don’t really fancy having to plodge around for hours in a lukewarm paddling pool.
‘I want to start off naturally, with no drips or monitors or bright lights. And no popping.’
‘What?’
‘I hate it when they say just pop yourself over there, pop up on to the bed, that sort of thing. I hate it. It makes me want to scream.’
‘Right.’
‘I mean if anyone is less likely to be popping herself anywhere it’s got to be a woman who’s nine months pregnant. Stagger would be better, or heave. The Consultant says it all the time. I’ve only seen him once but he didn’t actually make direct eye contact once, and he’s really pompous. Mr Hamilton-Parr. It might be good if you could give him a quick slap if he turns up.’
Actually, I’m not really sure I’m up for this after all, but it’s a bit late to say so now.
‘OK. Well, that sounds good to me. Slapping, and no popping. I can do that. No problem.’
9
September
If You’re Happy and You Know It Clap Your Hands
Garden Diary
Plant winter cabbages and spinach, clean borders and take cuttings. Plant bulbs by throwing them in handfuls and then plant them where they fall to give a natural effect, avoiding clumps or dark shade. Put netting over ponds to keep out leaves.
Plant bulbs in a tub by the back door: I tried the throwing-them-in-handfuls thing but half of them disappeared under the hedge. I also rake up some leaves and add them to the bonfire pile. At the weekend I try to light it, after spending ages poking through with a rake trying to make sure we’re not about to cremate any hedgehogs. Actually getting the bloody thing to light isn’t as easy as I’d thought and I end up using all the Sunday newspapers and three long-burning fire lighters before it finally catches, and then flames shoot into the air and look like they’ll burn down the fence, and possibly the house. Alfie goes into pyromaniac mode, and leaps about being a Red Indian. I stand by with a bucket of water to throw on him if he doesn’t calm down. He’s desperate to throw things into the fire, and just when I’ve finished explaining that this is in fact very dangerous and completely forbidden by Boy Scouts etc he throws one of his slippers into the flames, and cackles in a Lord of the Flies -type way. Jesus. Who knew bonfires could be so stressful.
Alfie’s first day at school turns out to be less traumatic than I feared, and he looks really sweet in his school sweatshirt: I don’t understand why some primary schools insist on jamming four-year-olds into stiff shirts and ties. It looks vaguely fetishistic to me.
Both Alfie and Lily go in perfectly happily, Alfie swinging his new Batman lunchbox and Lily chatting to the teacher, who seems very jolly. It’s slightly disconcerting when she walks up to us and says hello, mummies, are we excited about our first day? but Alfie and Lily seem to like it. I’ve had nightmares about Alfie clinging on the gate and refusing to go in, but in fact the only one near to tears is me. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He liked the practice afternoon, and he knows loads of the other kids. But still.
When I get into work Mum is on the phone straightaway, wanting a full account. She says she’s been sitting on the edge of her seat since dawn, but didn’t want to ring in case it made us more nervous.
‘Oh well, thank heavens he went in happy.’
‘Yes, and he knows lots of children already, from playgroup.’
‘He’ll be fine.’
‘Yes.’
‘Ring me the minute you get in – promise?’
‘Yes, Mum, I promise.’
‘Or you could call me on your mobile in the car, when you’re driving home. As long as you pull over and stop. I’m not having you driving along talking into that headset thingy. I saw a man doing it the other day, and he was swerving all over the place. I wrote down his number plate, just in case, and I’ve got a good mind to ring up the police, so they can keep it on file, in case he does it again.’
‘All right, Mum, I promise.’
Home time turns out to be a bit of an anticlimax too, thank god, and Alfie doesn’t announce that he’s never going again or has already been bullied by a horrible big boy at playtime, which were my top two worries. Instead he comes out, looking shattered, with only one sock on, for some reason, and no lunchbox, and says it was quite nice, and he did drawing, and Mrs Trent said he was a very good boy, and then he wants to know what’s for tea, and says he hates pasta, in fact he has always hated pasta and will not be eating it under any circumstances.
I offer baked potato and tuna, which apparently would be even worse and would make him actually have to be sick, and we end up compromising on sausages and peas with mashed potato, but only if I make sure it isn’t lumpy, and doesn’t have those black bits in. I only put pepper in once, but he’s never really got over it.
Molly says Lily seems fine too, although she says her lunch was horrible and other girls had juice, not bottles of water, and she wants Sunny Delight like Natasha.
‘It’s started already. Now we’re at the mercy of what the other kids have.’
‘I know. And Sunny Delight’s full of rubbish. Do you think if I bought a bottle I could fill it up with something less disgusting?’
‘Yes, but I don’t think it’s a very good idea.’
‘I know, but in her first few weeks I just want her to be happy.’
‘Well, maybe you could do it for a bit. Oh, and buy a few bottles.’
‘Why?’
‘Because once Alfie works out she’s got it, he’ll want it too.’
* * *
Patric calls just after tea to talk to Alfie about his first day at school, which is quite sweet of him. Actually, I’ve noticed he doesn’t seem to be annoying me so much lately, and at least he turns up to see Alfie fairly regularly, and that’s what counts. He made a big fuss of his new school sweatshirt at the weekend, and took photographs and everything.
Even though he usually finds something to be irritating about, I just don’t feel so angry with him any more. I think it’s finally starting to fade. I can’t see that he’ll ever be top of my list of people I’d want to be stuck on a desert island with, because apart from anything else he’d be moaning so much I’d probably have to drown him, but as long as he carries on being around for Alfie then I think we’ll be fine.
I’m even starting to feel slightly sorry for Cindy. She told me at the weekend that the holiday was a bit of a disaster. Apparently he insisted on working for most of the first week, and was either on his laptop or the mobile, and then the heat-rash situation went to code red and she had to call a doctor who turned up and gave him an enormous injection, for some reason, probably just for a laugh because he was making such a fuss. And then he slept for nearly forty-eight hours and she was worried he’d gone into a coma.
I’ve just finished making Alfie’s packed lunch ready for the morning when Jim phones, to see how his first day was, and then he asks me how Molly’s doing, and ends up confessing that he thought something might happen, because when he went to the pub with Dan he sort of hinted that something was going on with Lola.
‘And you didn’t think to tell me? You total pillock.’
‘Oh well, Scouts’ honour and all that, and anyway he didn’t actually say anything. It was more vague than that, and I did tell him to steer well clear.’
‘Well, he obviously took that to heart then, didn’t he? What exactly did he say?’
‘Not much, just that she was always flirting with him, when he was round doing the garden and stuff, nothing definite, and how he was finding it pretty hard-going with Molly.’
‘Well, I still think you might have told me. I could have kept an eye out, and warned Molly or something.’
‘You couldn’t have, you know. You c
an’t go around accusing people of having affairs until you know they are. And by then it’s too late.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Anyway he’s a silly sod – she’s lovely, Molly, and that Lola’s a nightmare, if you ask me. Anyone could see that. What a prick.’
‘Well, if he rings you I’d avoid that line, if I were you. Try to talk to him.’
‘Oh I’d never have thought of that. Thanks so much. Anyway I don’t think he’ll call me – he knows I’ll be on the girls’ side on this one. I was telling him about some bloke in the office who left his wife when she was pregnant, and we agreed that it was real pond-life behaviour.’
‘He hasn’t left her, you know – he’s just staying with his mum while they sort things out. Molly can’t handle any more drama until after the baby’s born, but they haven’t decided anything.’
‘Back at his mum’s. Poor sod. I bet she’s giving him a right bollocking.’
One of Molly’s chickens has run away from home. Actually, it’s probably been eaten by a fox, but Molly’s convinced it ran away and is getting really obsessed with it. I think it’s some weird version of the nesting phase you’re supposed to go into just before you give birth.
‘It must be so horrible living with me – even the chickens are running away.’
‘Molly, Frank said it was bound to be a fox, didn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, then. Stop it. How was the doctor’s?’
‘Oh my blood pressure’s still up a bit, but nothing serious.’
‘Pop up on the couch?’
‘Yes. That’s probably why my blood pressure was up. And all this lounging about is driving me mad, and I really am worried about the chickens, you know. I thought maybe I could get another two. That would take it up to six, and that’s a good number, apparently. I’ve been reading up on it, and you have to be really careful introducing new ones or they get henpecked.’
‘So what do you have to do then? Get them all counselling or something?’
‘No. But you have to make sure the new hens are old enough, at least twenty weeks, and you have to let them get used to each other. You can buy special rubber things called bumper bits, to put on the beaks of the bullies to stop them pecking the new girls. I wish we had them at school.’
‘Blimey. It’s not very Little House on the Prairie, is it? Rubber devices for chickens.’
‘I know, but will you come with me? I want to get them tomorrow, and start getting them settled.’
‘Oh all right.’
Great. I’ve got loads of work to do, and now I have to go out and help Molly choose chickens.
We go to some batty birdwoman Elsie recommends, who breeds chickens and ducks, and end up with two hens who take ages to catch. We put them in the run when we get them home, while the others are roaming round the garden, and they all eye each other up a bit. God, even I feel a bit tense, and we haven’t actually got the rubber things, and Christ knows how we’d get them on even if we did. Molly thinks Poppy in particular would very much mind having a rubber device stuck on her beak. But they all seem fairly friendly, thank god, so we let the new girls out for a trial run and there’s a bit of barging and shoving, but no seriously threatening behaviour.
‘What a relief. But I think I’ll still keep them separate at night, though. They can sleep in the run when the others are in the henhouse, and I’ll introduce them gradually.’
‘OK.’
‘You think I’m losing it, don’t you?’
‘No. Well, maybe slightly. But I can see it would be pretty tragic to end up with a bullied chicken on your hands on top of everything else. I’m just glad you didn’t decide to go in for sheep. God knows what they get up to.’
‘Did you know chickens can only count up to two, so if they’re really broody you only have to leave them two eggs and they’re fine. I think I might let Poppy have some chicks. She keeps hiding her eggs in the hedge and she seems very keen. And she really pecks at you when you try to collect them.’
‘Right.’
‘Don’t look at me like that. I do realise I sound like a total nutter, you know.’
‘Good. You had me worried there for a minute.’
‘Coffee? It’ll have to be decaff, I’m afraid – it’s all I’ve got.’
‘Fine.’
We sit in the kitchen watching the chickens bonding and Molly says Dan came round last night with a cardigan from Doreen for the baby.
‘But I think he was just hoping for a chat.’
‘And how did that go?’
‘I went and had a bath – I couldn’t face it. I just don’t want to see him at the moment, I really don’t. It’s like I can almost pretend he’s off on some job if I don’t actually see him. Lily showed him her new reading book, though, and it was nice for her, I think, him coming round. But I just can’t cope with it, not when I’m feeling like this. It’s just too much. Actually getting myself out of bed’s a bit of a challenge at the moment. Do you think that’s just the baby and everything, me zoning out ready for the birth?’
‘I’m sure it is.’
‘Good, because I can’t seem to get the energy up to do anything much. I was going to go up and see the garden today, but I was just too tired. And I really want to see it, before tomorrow. Did Charles say what time the judges are due?’
‘Any time after ten, I think.’
Charles rang up in a state of high excitement yesterday. The judges came down last week and they’d just called to say we’d made it through to the final round of the competition. Apparently Mrs Pomeroy got so excited she actually kissed Mr Channing, so now they’re both in shock.
‘I’ve taken the morning off work, but I should go in for the afternoon. I hope they don’t hang about.’
‘I’ll come to you after the school run and we can walk up the lane, if you like. If you promise to go slowly.’
‘OK. I can’t work out what to wear, though. I mean I know we’re supposed to be amateurs but I want to make the right impression.’
‘You look lovely in your new skirt. That velvet one. And that’s not too businessy.’
‘OK, I’ll wear that. God, I hope they don’t ask me any tricky gardening questions. I don’t want to let the side down.’
‘You’ll be fine.’
I’m really nervous about the judges. I so want them to like the garden, and I’m terrified they’re going to ask me something and I’ll get it wrong. Name this plant, that kind of thing, or a trick question about the best way to pollinate fruit trees.
Molly and I are sitting in the summerhouse waiting for them to arrive, and I’m trying to take deep breaths in the hope that I’ll stop feeling quite so sick.
‘They’re here, don’t panic, they’ve just arrived.’
Mrs Pomeroy looks very close to panic to me.
‘You stay here, and we’ll introduce you on our way round.’
We catch glimpses of Charles and a huddle of judges, being tailed by Frank and Bill and Mrs Pomeroy and Graham Poltney. They spend ages looking at plants and we can hear them talking. It all sounds pretty technical to me, and lots of Latin plant names are being bandied about, although occasionally you hear something familiar like carrots or lavender from Charles.
‘And this is Alice, and Molly. They both helped us get the project started. Alice is our designer and this is her first garden, but I’m sure it’s just the first of many. She’s obviously got a talent for it, don’t you think?’
Blimey, Mrs Pomeroy’s laying it on a bit thick. But the judges nod and start asking me about the ideas behind the design, and why I went for such a linear water feature, so I blather on about wanting moving water, both for the noise and the light reflected on to the plants and the bricks, but nothing too deep since the children use the garden quite a lot, and they all nod and say very sensible, terribly dangerous some of these deep ponds.
The two older judges are very friendly, especially the woman, who’s got a lovely smile and very
nice earrings that look like silver daisies, but the younger man is more tricky and says I seem to have drawn on lots of influences in my design and did I have one overall concept, or what? Oh dear. I’m assuming it won’t go down very well if I say I just looked through stacks of books and nicked anything I liked the look of and then tried to put it all together.
‘Well, I wanted to suggest a secret garden, but one with a structural sense to it. And I wanted it to feel like you’re going on a journey as you walk round the different pathways. I knew the Garden Society would come up with wonderful planting ideas, but I wanted to give them a definite framework. And I didn’t want it to feel totally traditional so I tried to make it a space that could be used differently by different people, especially the children.’
Everyone seems rather impressed by this. In fact I’m pretty impressed with it myself. I knew reading all those gardening books would come in handy one day.
‘If you follow me, I’ll show you the children’s play house, and their vegetables. They’re particularly proud of their tomatoes.’
Right on cue Mrs Bishop arrives with Mabel, in her party dress, and she leads the way, taking the hand of the younger judge and telling him all about growing beans, and how Jack climbed up his beanstalk but we don’t do that because it might break. God knows how Charles arranged it. He must have had Mrs Bishop on standby hovering just outside the doorway, but the judges are enchanted.
They make another circuit of the garden, and ask a few more technical questions, and there’s a slightly tricky moment when Mr Poltney and the woman judge end up bickering about the best type of apple for a really reliable crop, but then we all move into the house where Mrs Bishop’s made lunch.
The judges say there’s really no need to feed them, and coffee would have been fine, but Mrs Bishop says oh no, you can’t come all this way and only have a cup of coffee, and anyway it was no trouble, the ladies from the WI did it, and they love any excuse to put on a spread.
Elsie introduces herself and says they’re a terribly nosy lot and didn’t want to get left out, more like, while Mrs Pomeroy glares at her. The judges all smile.
