by Sophie King
Lisa looked at her suspiciously, wondering why she was being so nice.
‘How are you doing, anyway? You’ll be giving up work soon, won’t you?’
Lisa mumbled something about not being sure of her dates and Kiki nodded. ‘I understand, especially after the last time.’
‘It would help if I could get a bit more sleep,’ said Lisa.
‘Still making too much noise, are we?’ Kiki grinned wickedly. ‘Sorry about that.’
Lisa closed the door behind her, pushing it three times to make sure it was really shut, and switched on the computer. After that conversation with Kiki, she needed to talk to someone who would really understand.
From Expectent Mum to What Mums Know: Has anyone lost a baby?
I lost my first daughter when I was neerly sixteen weeks. Its ment to be all right after twelve weeks but it wasnt for me. I woke up with this dragging pain and when I got to the toilet, all this stuff oosed out of me like thik slices of liver that my mum used to make us eat cos it was cheep and good for us. I yelled out for Kevin who was my partner then. But blood scares him. So Kiki – she’s my naybour – she got the ambulunse.
The nurses said it mihgt be all right. It happens, sometimes, they said. But then they strapped me to this machine and the doctor told me my baby’s hart wasn’t beeting any more. He said he was going to give me a general anesthetic but that I could see the baby if I wanted, afterwards.
It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to think about this but now she’d started, she couldn’t stop.
I didnt because I was two scared and cos Kevin said it was sick.
Afterwards, they told me it was a girl. I’d been hoping for a girl. Later, I wished Id seen her. I’m stil not sure if I shoud have done. I rekon she’d have looked like me. I’ve never told anyone any of this stuff. My mum lives miles away, in Totnes, and my best freind isn’t my best freind any more.
Thanks for listning out there. Must go now. Luv Lisa.
PS I called her Hayley. It made her sound happy.
Send.
EMAIL FROM LISA SMITH
Hiya mum. Its Lisa. Just testing that my email is working because I haven’t heard from you.
CV
Susan Patricia Thomas
Age: 33
Previous experience: telesales worker; carer.
EMAIL FROM FLORRIE SUMMERS
Dear Kari,
How’s everything? I really miss you and school. The new one sucks. Guess what? I’ve STARTED! Have you? There’s something I want to tell you about Mum too but not here. I’ll ring you tonight. OK?
EMAIL FROM ANNABEL CRAWFORD
Dear Janie,
Just a quickie before I do supper. Something really weird happened the other day. Nice weird, that is. I met someone I’d been emailing and didn’t know it was the same person. Not ‘met’ as in ‘met’, of course – it was strictly work but quite a coincidence, isn’t it?
WHAT MUMS KNOW
JOIN OUR ONLINE DISCUSSIONS ON:
Affairs. More and more women are doing it. Could you?
Going back to work. Advice needed, please!
TIP FROM SINGLE MUM
Odd socks? Keep them in a pile and get the kids to sort them out on a rainy day.
CHUCKLE CORNER FROM MAD MUM
Why don’t women blink during sex? Because there isn’t time!
THOUGHT TO KEEP YOU SANE FROM MELINDA OF SOUTHSEA
When did you last hear of a man asking for advice on how to juggle a career and a marriage?
PARENTING NEWS
Keep Your Child Safe on the Internet is a free booklet produced by the Home Office. Top tips include remembering that everyone you meet online is a stranger, even though they might seem like a friend.
26
She should have been working but she’d just had to log on to What Mums Know during her coffee break. The current discussion was frighteningly riveting: ‘Affairs. More and more women are doing it. Could you?’
So far, Fran 3 was the only one who’d responded:
To be honest – and I’ve never told anyone this before – I was on the edge of an affair once with this bloke at work. But when he suggested going away for the night, I chickened out. I knew my marriage was pretty bad but I couldn’t risk the kids hating me. It also made me realise what I could be throwing away: the house, the routine, and silly things like the neat, ordered comfort of my linen cupboard.
Caroline could identify with that. When she’d first found out about Roger’s affair, she had briefly considered having a fling – not that she had anyone in mind – as a way of getting back at him. She had dismissed the idea, knowing she wasn’t the kind of person who could cope with the deceit.
‘Hi.’ Zelda breezed in, scattering carrier-bags – a dead giveaway that she’d stopped in Covent Garden en route.
That reminded her. She ought to get a dress for the charity ball at the Savoy that was coming up: the editor had asked her to represent the magazine this year. She needed to get Roger a new pair of cufflinks too: his favourites had gone missing. It was little things like that, to which she wouldn’t have given a second thought before, that disturbed her peace of mind – made her imagination run riot. It wasn’t inconceivable that he had taken her somewhere nice and left his cufflinks behind, along with God knows what else . . .
‘Sorry I’m late, Caro.’ Zelda’s voice jolted her sharply to the present. ‘Did you get those ideas for conference I emailed over?’
‘No. I thought you’d forgotten so I came up with some of my own.’
Zelda checked her face in her powder compact. ‘Don’t worry. Mine weren’t up to much anyway. And my internet connection's playing up so I wasn’t sure if they’d gone through. God, what do I have to do to make Aurora sleep?’ She turned to Caroline. ‘You look pretty knackered yourself, if you don’t mind me saying so. How’s everything?’
Caroline poured herself a glass of water. ‘Not brilliant.’
Zelda raised her eyebrows. ‘Want to tell me?’
Caroline hesitated. There were times when she regretted having told Zelda anything about Roger. Although not a day went by without her thinking of it – it was like a black cloud hanging over everything she thought or did – there were times now when she needed to be able to forget, which was difficult when the person you worked alongside knew your history.
‘Maybe later. I’ve got to catch up on something first.’
‘Me too.’ Zelda clicked her compact shut. ‘By the way, apologies about the EFT bloke last week. I’d forgotten he was coming.’
‘That’s OK.’ Caroline finished her water to cool the flush creeping up her face at the mention of Mark. ‘He had some good stuff, actually. I’ve almost finished the feature.’
‘Fantastic.’ Zelda looked at her. ‘And the affairs piece?’
Her eyes, which were brimming with sympathy, made Caroline wince. ‘That singles group came up with a case history who’ll be ID’d. And a freelancer found two non-ID’d.’
‘Probably made them up.’
‘No. I checked them out with a phone call. They just don’t want their names in the magazine.’
Zelda smiled ruefully. ‘Understandable.’
‘Yes. Anyway, I’ve written my bit and edited theirs so it’s gone to Diana.’
‘Brilliant!’ Zelda leaned back in her chair. ‘Looks like I’ll have an easy day or two. Thanks.’
Job-sharing could be like that. Sometimes, you did more work than your partner and at others they did. It was a bit like a marriage that functioned well.
The phone rang.
‘I’ll get it.’
‘Thanks.’ Caroline was scrolling through her emails.
Zelda held her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘It’s that PR chap from EFT. What’s-his-name – Mike someone.’
‘Mark,’ corrected Caroline. Her hand shook slightly on the mouse. Maybe he was ringing to cancel lunch. Or just to talk. She wanted to talk to him too, but every nerve in her body
told her it was dangerous. Think children. Think safety. Think ordered linen cupboard with labelled shelves for sheets and towels, and a life that didn’t tumble on to the floor in an unsortable mess. ‘Can you ask him to email me?’ she said crisply. ‘I’m a bit tied up at the moment.’
Seconds later, a message popped up on her screen.
Just wanted to confirm lunch next week. Looking forward to it.
Best, Mark
She’d reply later. It would give her time to concoct an excuse, if that was what she decided to do.
The following week, she found herself clothes shopping for the first time in months. She hadn’t intended to but a rather nice jersey top had caught her eye in Next’s window. It was perfect for a lunch although, as she told herself firmly, not necessarily the one on Friday. And no, she added, Mark wasn’t the reason for her rediscovered shopping zest.
Meanwhile Georgie had settled into the school term, although it was still a nightly battle between homework and Facebook. Ben was even less easy to deal with. Even though his A-level grades had come through satisfactorily, he continued to lie in bed, much to Roger’s disapproval – ‘At his age, I was working.’
Caroline agreed, and did her best to make Ben see sense but it wasn’t easy: Roger’s lengthy hours meant she had to discipline him and Georgie single-handedly. You could punish a younger child by withdrawing pocket money, but what could you do with a boy who was almost a man and who, just when you lost patience with him, put his arms round you and said he loved you?
Ben had already planned a gap year but, unlike Annabel’s, it involved hanging around London, practising with his band – made up of exhausted post-A-level friends – and sending off demos to record companies. He also spent hours on Facebook, ‘talking’ to friends, and wrote lyrics for his guitar. She’d seen some, when she was tidying his room. One, in particular, had haunted her. ‘It’s so easy to get hard but so hard to find a girl.’ Lewd, but poignant. Sometimes she felt jealous of Roger and that woman. At least he had known what it was like to experience true passion. Would she ever have that or was she stuck with the pebbledash of life because she took her family responsibilities seriously? And how ironic that both she and her eldest son needed love – or should that be sex? – as badly as each other.
She waited until Ben had sloped off to the pub with his mates before logging on. Supper was in the oven. Roger was going to be late. Georgie was glued to EastEnders. The house was blissfully peaceful.
From: Mark Summers
To: Caroline Crawford
Didn’t hear back from you about Friday. Is it still OK?
Yes. No. Don’t know.
Fine at the moment unless something happens. How’s your week been? My husband’s home late – again – so I’ve actually got some time to catch up. Unbelievably, Ben has got out of bed and Georgie is improving her vocabulary courtesy of Albert Square. Work has been mad. I’m going to have to go in for an extra day this week. So much for working ‘part time’!
Her reply, which she’d intended to be light but which, after she’d sent it, seemed to say more than she’d meant to, elicited an immediate response.
My week crazy too. Not just work. Florrie’s missing her mother big-time and she started her periods – in the school outfitters of all places. Probably shouldn’t be telling you this but, believe me, it’s quite something for a man to cope with.
She was taken aback but also impressed by the way he could mention such an intimate subject. Roger would rather die than say ‘periods’.
She probably knows more about it than we did at her age. The other day Georgie announced that if I ever needed the morning-after pill, I could buy it over the counter at the chemist.
She hadn’t meant to say that either but somehow she knew he’d empathise with her dismay, and admiration, at how street-wise kids were.
Freddy tells me there are condom machines in the loos at the local toy shop.
Sometimes I think they have far more fun than we do. The other week Ben caught me dancing in the kitchen on my own, Jean-Brodie style. Sad, isn’t it?
The delay of ten minutes was long enough to confirm the answer. When it finally came, she was overwhelmingly relieved.
Not sad at all! I’m always singing in the car which really embarrasses the kids, especially when the roof’s down.
Roof down? So he had an open-top. That was on her dream list, with walking along a white-sand beach.
How’s the pushing and kicking?
Still going strong. Am thinking of wearing a label round my neck saying, ‘Dysfunctional dad. Please make allowances for my offspring.’
‘Mum. Mum?’ Georgie yelled up the stairs. ‘When’s dinner? I’m starving.’
Got to go. Or, as the kids would say on Facebook, gt2go. Maybe we should try Facebook ourselves except I’m not sure how to do it.
She waited for a reply but none came. After dinner, when Roger still wasn’t home, she checked again. Yes, he’d replied.
Facebook is quite simple, really. Explain when I see you. Remind me to tell you about a very rude teen site that keeps popping up when I don’t ask for it. Freddy swears he’s not responsible but I don’t believe him.
I’ll swap it for an anecdote about Ben.
Done.
‘Mum, I need the computer. You’ve been on it for ages.’ Georgie squinted at the screen. ‘Who’s Mark?’
‘Someone from work,’ said Caroline, logging off.
Her daughter gave her a hard look. ‘If it’s work, why were you talking about Ben? And who’s Freddy?’
‘Mark’s son,’ said Caroline, lightly. She busied herself with papers on the desk to give herself time to think. ‘It was just chitchat. And move that glass. If you spill your drink on the keyboard, it can ruin the computer. It happened to someone at work.’
She was aware that she was babbling, talking rubbish to hide her confusion. ‘By the way, Georgie, can you tell me how to go on Facebook?’
‘Why? You’re being really strange at the moment. What’s wrong?’
A picture of the bed at the hotel after David’s party flitted through her head, followed by an open-top car zooming over a white-sand beach. ‘Nothing,’ she said, getting up and stretching. ‘Nothing at all.’
27
When did you last hear of a man asking for advice on how to juggle a career and a marriage?
Sometimes What Mums Know was just too sexist. He could do with some advice right now. But it wasn’t something he wanted to advertise online and he didn’t feel he could keep bothering Caroline. He’d have liked to have told her about the terrible argument with Florrie and how he’d finally convinced her that Hilary had been moved to a different part of the bank in New York, which was why it had been hard to find her.
In reality, he had succeeded in getting a message to Hilary, impressing on her the urgency of ringing home. She did so – but not for some days – and he’d allowed the children to talk to her first, desperately hoping she would be more communicative this time.
Judging from the children’s voices, she was sounding reasonably normal. Fingers crossed, Florrie might be fooled.
‘When are you coming back, Mum? Really? I can’t wait.’ Florrie dropped her voice. ‘And I’ve started. You know, started. Yes, Dad got some stuff in but I wish you were here too. Freddy’s still kicking me and Dad gets really mad at him.’
‘Shut up, Florrie. Let me talk to her.’
Mark allowed Freddy to take the phone and then it was his turn.
She sounded brighter. Thank God. ‘How’s school going?’
‘Seems all right.’
‘Is Florrie OK?’
‘I think so.’
She was like the old Hilary as they ran through domestic details, like whether Freddy should go on the too-expensive school skiing trip and Daphne’s forthcoming cruise – a week up the Norwegian coast with Saga. By the end, they were almost chatty.
‘Can you ring later this week?’
‘I’ll try. Lo
ve you, Mark.’
That took him by surprise. She hadn’t said it for months.
‘And you.’
Slowly he put down the phone, realising with a horrible slow dawning that it wasn’t true. Not any more.
It was a busy week. EFT was a demanding client, always wanting to know which magazines were planning a write-up. Somehow he had to make sure his other clients didn’t feel neglected. Since he had turned freelance after Hilary’s departure, so that he could be at home for the kids, Mark had built up a diverse range of clients, ranging from a kitchenware manufacturer to a company that produced nursery goods. The latter wanted to see him on Friday and the meeting made him ten minutes late for lunch with Caroline.
She was already at the table – bottle green to match the restaurant’s botanical colour scheme – when he arrived. He spotted her immediately but she was flicking through a magazine and didn’t see him at first. A chap at a neighbouring table was eyeing her, he noticed. Not surprising. She really was very pretty – slim, blonde . . . intelligent . . . and sexy too.
