‘Jus’a’min,’ Emma mumbled, her face pressed into the pillow. Chris Hemsworth’s back muscles under her slippery hands. Chris Hemsworth’s lips on her neck.
‘We’re going to be late!’ Ruby said, her voice becoming shrill.
‘Ruby!’ Emma said, rolling onto her back and scrubbing her hands over her face. ‘Could you just let me wake up?’
‘But it’s eight o’clock,’ Ruby said, indignant.
‘What?’ Emma said, opening her eyes. Watery golden sun was bleeding around the edges of the curtains. It didn’t look like eight o’clock. Emma groped around her bedside table for her phone and squinted at the too-bright screen.
‘Oh fuck.’
She turned her head and saw that Paul was still in bed, flat out.
‘Paul.’ She stretched her leg across the bed and pressed his calf with her toes.
He groaned and pulled his leg away.
‘You go and get dressed, Rubes,’ Emma told her daughter. ‘And maybe wake your brother up?’
‘I am dressed,’ Ruby said. ‘And I did already. He’s wet the bed.’
‘What?’ Emma started to sit up. This was all too much to take in when her head was this fuzzy.
‘He wet the bed. And his pyjamas. I told him to take them off, but he cried.’
‘God,’ Emma said. ‘OK. Just … I don’t know. Go and read your reading book or something. OK? I’ll sort Sam out.’
‘We’re going to be late,’ Ruby said, walking out of the door. ‘Mrs Walker said that she’s going to start putting people in the late book and—’
‘Ruby!’ Emma snapped. ‘Please just go downstairs and let me get ready.’
Emma saw her daughter’s lip quiver, but then she was out of the room and heading down the stairs.
‘Shit,’ Emma said.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t wake me!’ Paul shrieked fifteen minutes later in the kitchen, yanking a teabag out of his travel mug, his hair wet from the shower, shirt still unbuttoned, tie loose around his neck.
‘I mean, I did,’ Emma said. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t set an alarm.’
‘My phone ran out of charge,’ he said. ‘But I thought you had an alarm set too.’
‘Nope,’ Emma said, popping the p. ‘I wake up when yours goes off. Can you stop yelling. These things happen.’
‘I’ve got a fucking meeting this morning,’ he said.
‘Daddy!’ Ruby shouted from the front room where she was reading her book in front of the TV.
‘Sorry!’ Paul called back, before turning back to Emma. ‘My wallet?’
‘I am not your fucking valet,’ Emma said, through her teeth. ‘It’s probably on your bedside table where it always is.’ Try behind your lube, she mumbled under her breath, as she ran up the stairs, dodging a Lego helicopter Sam had left there, presumably as some sort of passive aggressive murder attempt. When she got back downstairs with the wallet, Paul was already at the door, satchel over his shoulder, briefcase in one hand, travel mug of tea in the other.
‘Have a good day, darling,’ Emma said, sarcastically, tucking his wallet into his jacket pocket.
He stepped out onto the path and then turned back.
‘I need to take Matt Jackson and his wife out for dinner. With you too. Can you get a babysitter for Friday night?’
Emma’s stomach dropped. She opened her mouth to ask for more details, but the door was already closed, with her husband on the other side.
After the school drop off – they’d been half an hour late and Emma had been warned to expect a letter in both Ruby and Sam’s school bags at pick-up, which Ruby was not at all happy about – Emma had got home and filled the dishwasher, stripped Sam’s bed and put the sheets and duvet cover in the wash, propping his mattress up against the radiator. She’d trawled the house with a big plastic storage bucket, collecting every bit of loose death-trap Lego. And then she’d roused Buddy from his basket, clipped on his lead, and headed for the beach.
It was another perfect autumn day: brisk and bright. Too warm for a winter coat but a bit too nippy for no coat at all. Emma was wearing her yellow mac that she suspected made her look like the kid from It. At the beach, she watched while Buddy ran wildly through puddles and barked at seagulls and wondered just how awkward the Jackson dinner was going to be. She’d hated those dinners when they were in London. Paul was always self-consciously blokey – talking and laughing too loudly – and Emma and the wives never had anything in common.
Once, a footballer had slid his socked foot up the inside of Emma’s bare leg and she hadn’t known whether he was making a pass at her or had mistaken her leg for his wife’s. Another time, the wife had asked Emma to go to the bathroom with her and then made her hold the door closed while she did cocaine off the vanity unit. Paul had promised Emma that she wouldn’t have to do them any more once they’d moved. She hadn’t entirely believed him – it was part of his job – but still. And not only did she have to do dinner, she had to do it with Jools fucking Jackson.
And she was meant to have made the appointment with the psychologist for Sam – even though she was sure he didn’t need one – and find a new dentist for all of them and there was something else she’d forgotten, nagging at the back of her mind. She hoped it wasn’t anything too important.
She turned to look for Buddy and spotted him wriggling on his back on top of a dead seagull. Marvellous.
Chapter Sixteen
Maggie was late. Again. She’d woken up suddenly at six and realised Jim was still in bed next to her. He usually left for work at 5.45, his alarm going off at five. For a second, she thought about ignoring it and going back to sleep – or trying to go back to sleep – but she couldn’t do it.
‘Jim,’ she whispered, shuffling across the space between them until she could feel the heat emanating from his body. ‘Jim.’
He huffed in his sleep, but she knew he wasn’t anywhere close to awake. She reached for his shoulder and pushed lightly. ‘Jim.’
The thing Nick had said about Simon floated through her head: I looked at him one day and I couldn’t remember why I was with him.
Jim jerked, huffing again, and said, ‘Wha’?’
‘It’s six.’
‘What?’
It was still dark, she couldn’t see him at all.
‘Six o’clock.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’ He rolled onto his back and Maggie knew he’d be rubbing his face with both hands, stretching his legs down the bed.
She shuffled back to her side.
‘Sorry.’
‘Fucking phone,’ he said and then the room was briefly illuminated by the light from the screen. ‘Switched itself off,’ Jim said.
Maggie snuggled further under the duvet. She didn’t need to get up until seven. She could get another hour’s sleep if Jim left soon. The mattress shifted as he clambered out of bed, groaning and muttering. He’d slammed the wardrobe door, swore violently when he’d banged his leg on the bottom of the bed, and then finally he was gone and Maggie could relax. But she’d relaxed too much and didn’t wake again until eight. They had to be out of the house by half past.
On the way to the bathroom, she crept into Amy’s room and up to the bed. Amy wasn’t even visible among the dozens of soft toys she’d filled her bed with. Maggie pulled the duvet back and moved a Cookie Monster, Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon, and at least three different puppies before her daughter’s sleeping face was visible.
‘Baby,’ Maggie said. ‘You have to wake up.’
Amy’s eyebrows pulled together in a frown, her lower lip pouting out. Maggie could smell her breath and it still smelled the way it had when she was tiny: like milk and something biscuity.
‘Baby,’ Maggie said again, pushing Amy’s tangled hair back from her face. ‘You’ve got to wake up. We’ll be late.’
Amy groaned and it sounded like Jim.
Maggie knew the road to the school would be crammed with cars – people started arriving not long
after eight, which was ridiculous, but it was eight forty now. She pulled in and parked on the side road on the far side of the green.
‘I think I need my PE kit,’ Amy said, as Maggie opened her door from the outside.
‘What? Haven’t you got it?’
Amy shook her head. ‘Sorry. I forgot.’
‘OK. Don’t worry. After you go in I’ll go home and get it and drop it back at the office.’
‘Will they tell me they’ve got it?’ Amy asked.
Maggie reached for her daughter’s hand as they crossed the road towards the green. ‘I’ll ask them to do that. Or you might have to go and ask them at break.’
‘OK.’
Maggie skidded a little on the gravel path in her heeled boots and steadied herself with a hand on Amy’s shoulder. Other parents and children were still walking up the road, so the whistle obviously hadn’t gone yet.
‘We’re not late,’ she told Amy. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Can I go and walk up with Flora?’ Amy asked, spotting her friend heading up the other side of the road with her mum pushing the double buggy that Maggie knew contained her twin boys.
‘Not yet. Wait ’til we’re a bit closer. You can’t cross the road on your own anyway.’
They were about to cross the road when Maggie heard the first whistle, which meant they only had two minutes to get to school. Still holding Amy’s hand, she stepped out between two parked cars, looking left to make sure no one was attempting to drive up to the school. The parked car to her left started to move: slowly at first and then suddenly jerking back so quickly that Maggie had to jump out of the way, pulling Amy along with her. Amy yelped with fear and Maggie’s stomach flipped over as she pushed her daughter back onto the pavement, stormed to the front of the car, opened the passenger door and punched the person in the seat.
‘What on earth were you thinking?’ Mrs Walker, the head, asked her. They were sitting in Mrs Walker’s bright, plain, organised office. Maggie had both hands wrapped around a cup of hot, sweet tea, but she was still shaking. Not just her hands, but everywhere. Her teeth were chattering with it.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It was like an out of body experience.’
‘Ms Catchpole is very upset,’ Mrs Walker said, sipping from her own mug of tea.
Maggie knew exactly how upset Ms Catchpole – Mandy – was, because she’d leapt out of the driver’s side and screamed that Maggie was a ‘stupid bitch’ who shouldn’t have been crossing behind the car at all and certainly shouldn’t have smacked Mandy’s boyfriend. Maggie still couldn’t believe she’d done it.
‘Is everything OK at home?’ Mrs Walker asked and Maggie had that feeling again. The out of body feeling. She was no longer a thirty-year-old woman, sitting in the office of the head of her daughter’s school, but a fifteen-year-old girl who’d just spat in her best friend’s face in the playground. Even now, remembering it made her shudder.
‘Fine,’ she said and drank some tea.
She glanced at Mrs Walker over the top of the mug. She looked concerned. Maggie had always hated people looking at her like that.
‘Honestly,’ she said. ‘Everything’s fine. I just overslept. I’m tired and we didn’t want to be late and, honestly, she could’ve hit us with the car. She didn’t even look.’
‘I appreciate that,’ Mrs Walker said. ‘And I will be speaking to Ms Catchpole as well. But this isn’t actually the first time I’ve had … concerns.’
‘About me?’ Maggie asked before she could stop herself.
‘About Amy,’ Mrs Walker clarified. ‘She often seems subdued. She doesn’t really have any friends apart from Flora Wilson. She’s … timid, I think would be the word.’
‘Timid,’ Maggie repeated. She’d never thought of Amy as timid. Amy was gentle and kind and funny and sometimes horrendously stubborn. But never timid.
‘Perhaps you might suggest she spend more time with some of the other girls?’ Mrs Walker said. ‘Arrange some playdates? Get her out of her shell a little. Do you know Emma Chance at all? She’s new to the area. Her daughter Ruby’s in Amy’s class? And apparently they’ve played together a little.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Maggie said. She could vaguely picture a new mum – shoulder-length dark blonde hair, one of those bright yellow coats everyone seemed to have – but she’d never spoken to her.
‘I was thinking it might be an idea for you to get Amy and Ruby together? Ruby’s friendly with Flora too, but it would be nice if the three of them could spend some time together. Obviously it’s up to you and Mrs Chance …’
‘Right,’ Maggie said, nodding. She’d almost finished her tea now without even realising she’d been drinking it. ‘Yes, OK, I’ll talk to her.’ She glanced out of the window. It had started to rain.
‘Amy is a lovely girl,’ Mrs Walker was still talking. ‘I just think she’ll blossom more with more friends.’
Maggie wondered if she could ask Jools to bring Violet round to the house. Or maybe it would be better if they went to Jools’s house, although she could hardly invite herself. And Jools wouldn’t want to have Flora Wilson round for a playdate. Amy and Violet had played together as toddlers, but once they’d both started at school, they’d seemed to drift apart. Maggie had wondered what had happened, but since the same thing had happened between her and Jools, she hadn’t been too surprised.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Mrs Walker asked.
Maggie leaned forward and put her mug down carefully on the coffee table. It still made a sharp ringing sound against the glass and Maggie winced.
‘I’m fine. Thank you.’
‘Perhaps you might like to call Ms Catchpole too,’ Mrs Walker suggested.
What Maggie actually wanted to do was lie down on the floor and have a little nap. Maybe stay there until it was time to collect Amy. But she had to get the PE kit. The thought of going all the way home and then coming all the way back again was too much. Even though it was only five minutes each way.
‘Yes,’ she said, standing. ‘Thank you.’
At the office door, Mrs Walker steered Maggie with a hand on the small of her back and then, as she said goodbye, gave her upper arm a quick squeeze.
Maggie had no idea why, but it made her want to cry.
Jools couldn’t get out of bed. Her limbs felt stiff and heavy, her head fuzzy. She’d been warned that the chemo might knock her out and that it might get a little worse each time, but she’d felt so well after the first round that it had obviously lulled her into a false sense of security.
Matt had an early call and had left her sleeping and when Eloise had clambered into bed with her, chattering about a game Violet had shown her on her iPad, Jools had listened for a while and then asked her to go and get Sofia.
Sofia had stood at the side of Jools’s bed, listening, then she’d taken the girls downstairs and come back up with a cup of tea, a plate of toast and a bowl of fruit salad for Jools, along with Jude the Obscure, the book Jools was reading for book club. It had been Eve’s choice and Jools really wasn’t enjoying it at all. It was much too depressing. It had been her idea to read classics for book club, but that was before her diagnosis and she was almost regretting it now. She’d love to be able to read something light and fun. Maybe something romantic or sexy. But no, she was stuck with poor Jude and his dead kids. She picked up her phone instead.
Maggie recognised Eden, Jools’s youngest daughter, before she saw Sofia. They were sitting in the corner of Saucer with a colouring book open on the table between them, Sofia’s head bent in concentration. Eden looked confused when she saw Maggie looking at her, a tiny frown line appearing between her eyebrows, her mouth dropping open. Maggie waved at her, then watched as she muttered something. Sofia looked over at Maggie, smiling.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ she asked Sofia from across the room.
Sofia shook her head. ‘I’m good, thanks.’
Maggie bought herself a coffee and a slice of chocolate cake before
heading for a table on the other side of the room.
‘Maggie!’ Sofia called and then gestured with her eyebrows.
Maggie crossed the room again, smiling.
‘Sorry,’ she said, sitting at the third side of the square table. ‘I didn’t want to interrupt.’
‘Jools asked me to talk to you,’ Sofia said. ‘About bringing Violet round for a play with Amy?’
‘That’s funny,’ Maggie said. ‘I was planning to ask Jools about getting them together.’
‘You’ll let me know when’s a good time?’
‘You’d be bringing her?’ Maggie clarified. ‘Not Jools?’
Sofia bit her lip as she glanced at Eden. ‘Jools is not available so much. She has appointments. So she asked me.’
‘Oh OK,’ Maggie said. She’d love to ask what appointments, but no doubt it was eyelash extension or botox or something. ‘That sounds good anyway.’
Maggie looked down at her cake. For a second there she’d thought it had come from Jools. That Jools would want to bring Violet over, and the girls would play and Maggie and Jools would talk and maybe get back a bit of the friendship they’d lost over the past few months. She should have known better.
Emma had spent the day sitting at her dining table, staring at her laptop. She’d intended to see if she could find any freelance opportunities, maybe email some of her old contacts, instead she’d started reading lifestyle blogs and hadn’t stopped until the alarm on her phone alerted her that it was time to go and get the children. Her neck had been stiff, her eyes dry and itchy. And she’d wasted an entire day. So she was relieved to be outside. The earlier rain had stopped and while it was still a bit chilly and damp, the sun was struggling to emerge and the air smelled of ozone. Emma breathed in deeply.. She should start running, she told herself not for the first time. Or maybe swimming. Something anyway. She needed something.
‘Excuse me,’ a woman called from the opposite side of the road. ‘Are you Emma Chance?’
Emma stopped and blinked at her. ‘Yeah. Hi. Sorry, I don’t …’
The woman crossed the road to join Emma. ‘You’re Sam and Ruby’s mum, right?’
The Bad Mothers’ Book Club Page 9
