I asked her if Mark’s solicitor had been difficult about splitting the money and she had laughed and said, ‘They tried to stamp their feet but soon realised it would be pointless.’ It made me feel a tinge of sadness, that Mark was so wealthy he could have bought me out when I first left for Cornwall without waiting for the house to sell but he wanted to make things difficult and drawn out. And now, he still didn’t want to hand over enough money to ensure his children are taken care of. It also, for me, felt a bit surreal. Jamie earned a good wage; he was happy to pay for the things we needed over the past few years – shopping, when we ate out or got takeaway – but it never sat comfortably with me. I had been ‘kept’ by Mark for so long, then when he left so did any access to money, and I lived hand to mouth most weeks. Despite looking to everyone like he allowed me to still keep the lifestyle he had ‘given me’, the reality was I was surviving off income support – and I promised never to allow anyone to financially take care of me again. When Jamie and I got together, it felt different, it was a decision we made together, but I was so happy to be contributing now.
For so long I had penny-pinched, bought clothes for the kids off eBay or from charity shops, and learned how to cook meals on a budget – so now, to know that I will have this amount of money coming to me is crazy – because it is enough to ensure we’re OK, and being OK is something that we weren’t for so many years after Mark left.
After work, we took Stanley for his second lot of jabs so he can now be walked in public. I thought it would be nice to do it ‘all together’ as a family, but it needed doing asap so we went without Will and Ruby. It was hell. The three of them fought over who held the lead, and he sat on his back legs being dragged along, refusing to walk anywhere. Every time I end up trying something new with this dog, I end up sitting on Google for half an hour as I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. Today I was stood at a crossing, waiting for the green man to appear, trying not to scream at my kids for having a full-blown punch up over walking a dog that was refusing to be walked, and at the same time I’m on my phone googling, ‘Why won’t my dog walk?’. Fuck my life ….
Friday
Laura’s dad dropped the kids back tonight. Jamie wasn’t home from work, and as I answered the door, I noticed he looked tired. He was very sweet and told me to call if I needed anything and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
Will and Ruby were quiet at first but after ten minutes of Belle pretending she was Anna from Frozen and allowing Ruby to be Elsa, and Will and Art kicking the ball at the back fence then rolling around on the trampoline, they were fine. I didn’t ask them any questions about their week and when Jamie rolled in with our usual Friday night fish and chips takeaway, the house turned crazy, busy – and happy. We played Twister and Junior Monopoly, which was chaos because Ruby and Rex didn’t get the rules and kept losing their shit, but Twister was fun after Jamie and I had finished a bottle of wine. I thought we would be spending the evening pretending everything was fine and dandy – but actually it felt pretty fine and dandy.
Saturday
I’m fucking livid. With Belle, and myself.
Belle asked to sleep at her friend Gracie’s tonight. I’ve met Gracie many times and she’s sweet and chatty, and as I’ve met Gracie’s mum numerous times, I had no problem agreeing.
But Belle wasn’t staying at Gracie’s like she had told me. And Gracie wasn’t staying at ours like she had told her mum.
Instead they were camping in a field with another load of girls – and boys – where they all got shit-faced on alcohol they’d stolen out of their parents’ cupboards.
I got a call just after 10pm from a wailing Belle to tell me Gracie was dying. I could tell instantly she was pissed, and the panic kicked in. They were in the field next to the beach and Gracie was out cold. I didn’t have Gracie’s mum’s number and Belle started shouting about police and ambulances and uncontrollably crying, as I started putting my shoes on.
‘Stay there, I’ll go,’ Jamie said, as by this point I was wailing and crying more than Belle, while shouting things like ‘Hold on, baby’ as if she was saying her last goodbye in a zombie apocalypse.
I kept Belle on the phone as Jamie drove down to her, and as we spoke I could hear sirens in the background. By this point, she was a drunken hysterical mess that couldn’t get her words out and I could hear the paramedics shouting that he needed them all to move back. Belle was sobbing, saying, ‘I’m sorry, this is all my fault,’ and I wanted to physically hurt her for being so stupid as much as I wanted to hug her and tell her everything was going to be OK. But more than anything I wanted to know her friend was OK. Jamie came on the phone and told me he’d got her and that everything was OK, and that he was bringing her back. Gracie’s mum had somehow since been notified too and was getting in the ambulance to go to hospital with Gracie, who was unconscious.
Now that we know that Gracie is OK, I can see a way to imagining that this will actually be quite amusing to look back on in the future – Jamie carrying Belle through the front door in a fireman’s lift while she was singing ‘Umbrella’ by Rihanna then lying on the sofa over a sick bucket, shouting ‘I just love you all. All of you’ to no one. The room was empty – not even Stanley (who doesn’t ever leave her side) wanted to keep her company tonight.
It’s now 2.20am and I’m sat with her chatting away as I write this, like a little old drunken sailor, making no sense. She has repeatedly vomited a concoction of Jack Daniels and gin by the smell of it.
Jamie, unlike me, is far more laid-back with this sort of stuff. ‘Remember what you were doing at fifteen?’ Only I wasn’t doing this. I never did anything like this, but then I also remembered throughout life I had missed out on so much fun and so many experiences and perhaps this was ‘normal’. Perhaps I should have done this. Perhaps if I’d have done this I wouldn’t have walked into the trap with Mark. Either way, it made me see how hard it is parenting a teenager.
I thought back to when she was born and I had a huge selection of books all about getting her to sleep, weaning and teething. Now what? There is no manual that I can order from Amazon that teaches me that when I trust my teenage daughter is staying at a friend’s and doing coursework, she’s actually in a field, downing spirits, getting shit-faced and getting up to god knows what. There is no ‘mums of teenagers’ group I can sit at on a Wednesday morning and instead of discussing baby-led weaning or whether your toddler could be allergic to dairy with other mums we talk about the best ways to understand our children and just somehow know when they begin lying, drinking alcohol or becoming sexually active. I don’t know how to manage or discipline this stuff or how to prepare for the ‘next stage’ when I have absolutely no fucking clue what the ‘next stage’ could be.
God help me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gearing Up for a Fight
Monday
Belle spent yesterday in bed hungover and left for the school bus this morning without saying good morning or goodbye. I am going to speak to her properly tonight once the boys are in bed. When she walked out the door, Jamie gave me a smile and a head shake, as if to remind me things aren’t as bad as my head is telling me. He spent all day yesterday singing ‘Umbrella’ – Belle didn’t get the joke, but he found himself hilarious.
Jamie did the school run again today, and although Art and Rex went into breakfast club fine, he had the same issue with Ruby when he took her into her class. Her teacher said that they had received a social services referral and although she was unable to discuss the details, she was aware that Jamie had parental responsibility, so urged him to contact them as she had concerns over the children’s welfare. He called Laura’s dad but there was no answer.
He came into the café to tell me and it was the first time I realised how exhausted he looked. His face was pale, his eyes sunken and he just looked physically drained. We talked for a bit and he told me he was going to collect Will and Ruby from school that afternoon and take them out for dinner so
he could speak to them about things before he dropped them back to Laura’s parents.
I felt a bit excluded when he told me this, but then almost instantly felt guilty. I was so lucky to have a partner like Jamie who cared so much about his kids that he wanted to spend time with them to check they were OK, and that he cared so much about my kids that he didn’t do it in their home – where they might overhear and get upset or worried. And he cared that much about me that he’d wanted to get my take on it all before he actually did any of it. As shit as this situation was, I realised how lucky I was to have him. He cared about all of us. All six of us.
He came home just before 7pm, with both kids in tow. It was clear from Will’s tear-stained face that he had been crying and from Jamie’s false, happy, high-pitched voice telling Will to go jump in the shower and get in his jammies and telling Ruby to pop up and see Belle before he ran her bath, that he had brought the kids back to our house to sleep, rather than take them home as planned and that things were not OK.
In fact, things were much, much worse than we thought.
It turns out that Laura has been drinking – a lot. Will said that when they were staying with Laura, he was finding her asleep on the sofa most mornings with empty bottles of alcohol surrounding her and that she was getting the neighbour’s teenage daughter to babysit most nights. Then one day Laura’s parents had turned up unannounced and there had been a huge row, which is when they had started staying with their grandparents. Will had told Jamie about how bad it had all got, all while being in floods of tears because he was frightened about telling him because he didn’t want everyone fighting and falling out. What I found most distressing with it all is that all Will seemed worried about was upsetting everyone. He was desperate not to cause arguments by explaining his feelings and it made me wonder how many children there are right now, out there, carrying the weight and burden of adult issues on their shoulders – keeping secrets for Mum or Dad so they didn’t cause fights, but ultimately to keep themselves safe so they didn’t get into trouble or have to carry the responsibility of upsetting anyone. Heartbreaking.
Jamie called Pete and said that Will had told him what had been going on and that the children would now be staying with us permanently until Laura sorted herself out. We were disappointed that Pete hadn’t told us the full extent of it when we’d spoken before, but I guess he was hoping she’d get better and things would get back on track.
I don’t know where we go from here. Jamie is going to take the kids in to school tomorrow and speak to the teachers. He is going to call David Metcalfe and discuss beginning court proceedings. I don’t know how much stress this will put on us or what it will entail and I have no clue what it will cost financially. We have the equity in the bank from Jamie’s house sale. I haven’t heard back from my solicitor since last week about the sale of my house but I worry this court case could go into the tens of thousands – and we didn’t know yet how much Laura would fight.
But it’s clear to all of us that Ruby and Will can no longer stay around Laura. She needs time to get herself sorted out, but who knows how long that will take?
I also have no idea how we will manage five children at three different schools full-time from September. I’m now working during school hours and I wonder where I will fit in keeping on top of the house, washing, cooking and looking after Stanley, who has decided he enjoys taking a morning piss on a random bed and chewing only my shoes, and no one else’s. I also worry about giving the kids the time they all need.
I feel like things are so stressful right now and that we are losing control. I love having all seven of us here but in these stressful moments it can feel a bit out of control, and I look at other families, like Lou’s, and wonder why my life can’t be that simple.
I can see Jamie is feeling exactly the same as I am yet we’re both here, pretending to be positive, like it’s all OK and we can manage it, both walking around using those fake, high-pitched happy voices in front the kids. I can see from the looks Belle keeps shooting us across the room that we’re fooling no one.
It’s only Monday but I need a glass of wine. A large one.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lawyer Up
Friday
What a week …
I had a really long chat with Belle about the drinking episode. She was really embarrassed, and had been terrified for Gracie, but I feel like she was also honest with me. She said she had wanted to try alcohol and so had been siphoning off measures of gin from the bottles in the cupboard. A bellyful of spirits, as your first drink – now if that wasn’t enough to put you off in future …
We walked along the beach – because I’ve learnt it’s impossible to have a private conversation in our house – and as the sun began to set, we moved on to talking about other things that were worrying her too. It felt really good to just spend some time with my biggest girl. She told me most girls in her year had done ‘sex stuff’ with boys and that the girls had asked her if she had done stuff with boys back in Canterbury and, although she’d told the truth and said no, she worried they would take the mickey because she hadn’t. I realised that teenagers growing up now live in such difficult times. The pressure upon them to do things that they’re not ready for, or worse still, don’t want to do, is so strong, and the stuff flying round on social media is utterly crazy – then there’s the bullying they endure if they remain strong enough to go against the grain and not do what everyone else is doing. They’re damned if they do and damned if they don’t. Such an awful world we live in at times.
I explained to Belle that I was upset that she had lied to me. That I was worried about her drinking at such a young age, but that the outcome could have been far worse, which scared me.
I realise she’s growing up; she is going to try things and make mistakes and me trying to stop her or tell her she isn’t allowed is only going to cause more Saturday nights where she lies and puts herself at further risk. We agreed that if she is honest with me, she won’t get into trouble. I feel very lucky that I can have a calm and rational conversation with her about things and that we can get to an outcome where we both agree rather than one of us being annoyed or angry, and I can only hope she keeps to her promise where she tells me her plans, good or bad, and I can support her and offer advice. It’s all we can do.
We actually ended up having a real giggle, and she told me several stories about different things people were getting up to in her school – one kid was so embarrassed that the stubble that was kicking in on his face was so pale and patchy that he’d pinched a mascara from his mum and lightly coloured it in. He’d somehow managed to get away with it, right up until PE at the end of the day, when it started melting down from his top lip in the middle of the hockey pitch. Not all of the examples were so endearingly naïve though; some were downright terrifying, and I thanked my lucky stars that I had only had to cope with my daughter getting shit-faced in a field. I felt quite privileged she trusted me enough to confide in me with stories that I would have never been able to talk about with my mum.
Jamie took the kids into school on Tuesday morning this week and met with the head of their pastoral care, Mr James, to explain the situation. He told Jamie that until a court order was in place, both parents had parental responsibility and could collect and drop off the children at any time, and the school would not be getting involved. Knob. Jamie tried to explain he wasn’t asking them to get involved but was simply informing them so they could ensure the children could be safely monitored at school.
But Mr James was really off throughout the meeting, repeatedly telling Jamie this was a civil matter for the family court and that there were to be no incidents between him and Laura in the school playground, should they turn up to collect the children at the same time – as if he was some kind of yob who was about to go to war with his ex-partner in front of a playground full of people. I could tell Jamie felt defeated and upset when he was just trying to do right by his children and protect them as best he c
ould right now.
He then went to see David Metcalfe to begin preparations for family court. He also had to go and get a certificate from a mediation company to say that mediation was unsuitable for him and Laura so that it could go to family court. The application was just over £250. With David’s fees and the mediation certificate, we were over £1000 down already.
David said for now he would send Laura a letter stating that the children would be residing with us due to what they had disclosed and in response to their wishes and feelings. He said he would make the letter detailed enough that she would hopefully agree for us to keep the children and concentrate on getting herself better.
Then Jamie spoke to his boss this afternoon who agreed he could spend the next two weeks working from home three days a week, which meant he would be able to do all the school runs for Will and Ruby. In fairness, his workplace was being good and flexible about things, and they were really family focused, which helps us massively.
I am worried that if I attempt to collect the children from school and Laura also turned up to collect them, then they would legally be allowed to leave with her over me as I have no parental rights. My anxiety was in overdrive just thinking about her rocking up to the playground and kicking off, and the effect on Will and Ruby would have been devastating.
But despite all this tension and anxiety for Jamie and me, the weirdest thing right now is that the kids seem really calm and happy. Neither of them have asked any questions about why they are here every night and what’s happening, and that fills me with a little bit of hope that everything is going to be OK.
A Different Kind of Happy Page 9
