‘Phew, thanks Nell, you’re a total star!’
‘It’s just . . . well . . . I’m not a mum,’ I blurt, stating the obvious.
‘You’re Izzy’s godmum – I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ She bats away my concerns. ‘10 a.m. still OK?’
‘Yes, fine—’
‘OK, great! Oh, and don’t forget to bring your trainers!’
Izzy’s school is impressively set in several acres of grounds and is a world away from my tatty comprehensive school days. The neighbouring roads are lined with expensive cars belonging to parents attending the sports day, while the car park looks like a Range Rover dealership’s forecourt.
I feel slightly intimidated as I get off at the bus stop and walk through the gates, where I’m greeted by some very glamorous mums milling around. There seems to be lots of competition, and not all of it reserved for the track. I feel like I’m back at school, only as a grown-up. I’ve heard Michelle complain about what it can be like at the school gates, but now I’m seeing it for real, it’s actually all a bit scary.
Glancing around, there appear to be a few different gangs: the Glamorous Mums, the Popular Mums, the Goody-Two-Shoes Mums (they’re the ones wearing the ‘helper’ badges) and the Messing Around at the Back Mums.
I think I’d be one of those.
I spot Fiona hobbling towards me with Izzy and Lucas. We haven’t met up since the baby shower when everything was so awkward, and I’m really glad to see her. I’m hoping that today we can get things back on track and return to normal.
Izzy breaks free of Fiona’s hand and runs up to me, her red gingham dress billowing around her. Scooping her up, I give her a big hug.
‘You’re running the race instead of Mummy!’ she chatters excitedly.
‘Yes, I am,’ I smile happily.
‘Nell, you superstar . . . thank you so much.’ Bringing up the rear with Lucas, Fiona limps over to me, rolling her eyes at her predicament. ‘What would I do without you?’
‘Completely let down your daughter,’ I grin and she swats me, laughing.
‘Are you going to win?’ asks Izzy eagerly.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I say. ‘Are you going to cheer me on?’
She giggles and nods.
‘But let’s remember, it’s not the winning but the taking part that counts.’
A loud voice behind us makes me turn around and I see a figure sprinting towards us, ponytail swinging, in head-to-toe lycra.
Annabel. My heart sinks. She’s like a gazelle in Lululemon.
‘Isn’t that right, girls?’
‘Yes, Mummy!’ cheers Clementine, nodding her head furiously as she runs alongside her. While Izzy looks unsure and clings on to me tighter.
‘Annabel, you look amazing!’ cries Fiona as they greet each other. ‘I’m rather glad I’m not racing now.’
‘Fiona, you poor darling, how are you?’
‘I’ve been better,’ she smiles dolefully, showing her bandaged ankle.
‘You know, I’ve got an a-maz-ing osteopath, he works miracles – he’ll have you good as new in no time.’
‘Really? Oh, wow, thank you. That would be fantastic.’
‘Absolutely. I’m calling him right now.’ She reaches into her designer handbag for her phone.
‘Luckily Nell stepped in to do the race for me.’
‘Oh, Nell, hi,’ she says, finally forced to acknowledge me. ‘Such a trouper. Always stepping into the breach.’
‘That’s what friends are for,’ I smile.
Bitch.
‘You left the baby shower early.’
‘Yes,’ I nod. I’m still holding Izzy, who’s refusing to be put down.
‘We haven’t seen you for a while, have we, Fiona?’ Flashing Fiona a smile, she adjusts her position slightly by taking a small step alongside her, then turns to face me. So now we’re on opposite sides. Fiona and Annabel on one side. Me on the other.
I promise I’m not making this up.
‘I’ve been helping Fiona with her house. It’s looking amazing, isn’t it?’
‘Annabel has amazing taste,’ nods Fiona, smiling.
‘Where’s Clementine? Oh, there you are.’ She turns to her daughter, who’s skirted around the back of my legs. ‘Clementine and Izzy, why don’t you two go and play?’
Izzy finally allows me to put her down and they both go running off across the grass, towards where Lucas has found a gang of friends. I turn back towards Annabel and Fiona, who are now in conversation about light fixtures. The fun run has suddenly taken on huge significance. I’m not racing to cross the finish line first; I’m in a race for Fiona’s friendship.
Annabel sees me looking and gives me the once over, as if weighing up the competition. She seems smugly reassured.
‘Are you going to run in flip-flops?’ She raises an eyebrow at my footwear.
‘No, I’ve brought my trainers.’
‘Nell used to run track at uni,’ boasts Fiona.
‘For one term,’ I laugh, ‘before I discovered the bar on campus and could never make it out of bed before noon.’
‘What’s your best time for the hundred metres?’ challenges Annabel.
‘Time? I thought it was a fun run?’ I try to joke.
‘I recently did it in fourteen seconds.’
‘Erm, well, it was a long time ago . . . I can’t remember . . .’
‘Look at you two! I had no idea you were both so competitive,’ laughs Fiona.
‘Well, it’s not me, I thought it was the taking part that counts—’ I begin to protest, but we’re already moving off and now my voice is lost in the cheering as the dads’ race begins.
It’s afterwards, as Izzy and I walk over to the refreshment stall, that I bump unexpectedly into Johnny. He’s with Oliver, chatting to some of the mums. I’m surprised to see him. A little crowd has formed around him, and they’re listening to him attentively and laughing. I feel a tiny beat of pride, as well as pleasure.
‘Oh, hi!’
He stops talking as he sees me and smiles. I feel myself blush a bit, remembering the kiss on the doorstep.
‘Hey, fancy seeing you.’ I smile as he kisses me on the cheek. It’s a bit different from last night, but I’m not expecting a repeat in public.
‘What brings you here?’ he asks, and I can feel the eyes of all the women upon me.
‘This is Izzy, my goddaughter.’
Izzy gives a little wave. ‘Auntie Nell’s going to win the race,’ she informs him authoritatively.
I laugh. ‘Her mum’s twisted her ankle, so I’m taking her place in the fun run.’
‘I’ll have to make sure to watch that then,’ he grins.
‘Hi, I’m Fiona.’
Fiona reappears with several bottles of water and bobs her head at the group.
‘This is Izzy’s mum,’ I say, doing the introductions. ‘Fiona, this is Johnny.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ He smiles graciously, then turns to Oliver who’s tugging on his arm. ‘OK, I’m coming!’ He laughs good-naturedly, then looks back up to us. ‘Well, lovely to meet you, Fiona and Izzy. Nell, I’ll catch you later at the fun run.’ Giving me a wink, he disappears through the crowds.
‘Phwoar! Who was that?’
Fiona looks at me agog.
‘Johnny, the guy I had a date with!’ I hiss, my face still flushed from seeing him.
‘That’s him! Oh my word, I want to know all the details—’
‘Did I miss something?’
Annabel pops up. She’s holding a bottle of coconut water and looking irritated that she missed out on the introductions. ‘I saw you talking to my tennis coach.’
‘Johnny’s your tennis coach?’ I feel a jolt of surprise.
‘He’s Nell’s new boyfriend,’ says Fiona.
‘He’s not my new boyfriend,’ I protest, elbowing her as she giggles. Honestly, it’s like we’re eighteen again and back at university. ‘We’ve had one date,’ I explain, trying not to look as pleased as
I feel.
‘Remember when we were single,’ sighs Fiona, glancing at Annabel.
‘I know,’ she smiles, then laughs lightly. ‘Can you imagine still being single?’
And reaching out, she gives my shoulder a little supportive rub.
Seriously. I could kill her.
Failing that, I have to win this race.
We’re gathered at the starting line. I look around at the other mums and see they’re mostly in various outfits of leggings and trainers, though there are a few in dresses. I’m wearing my jeans, and a bra that’s not supportive enough. Meanwhile, after a winter of muddy dog walks, my trainers have lost their whiteness and are now the shade of chewing gum on the pavement.
Where’s Annabel?
I look for her but can’t see her. For a brief moment I wonder if she’s changed her mind. Decided, perhaps, that a fun run is not up to her Olympic ability. But no, there she is, further along the starting line. She springs towards me until she’s just a few mums away, before unzipping her hoodie to reveal a bra top that shows off her insane abs. I watch as every dad’s head swivels towards her when she begins limbering up, while their wives shoot evil glances.
My heart is sinking into my muddy trainers. I can barely touch my toes and the last time I sprinted was for the bus. I glance over at Fiona and the children, who are standing on the sidelines – they wave and smile cheerfully – then back at Annabel, who is doing hamstring and hip flexor stretches.
Most of the other mums are laughing and not taking it very seriously (though there is one in a pair of shorts who looks quite scary), but as Annabel meets my eye, there’s no mistaking that look.
All I can say is, have you seen Gladiator?
The headmistress appears with a flag. ‘OK then everyone, if you’re ready . . .’
There’s an audible hum of anticipation.
‘On your marks, get set – go!’
And we’re off.
As we hurtle down the playing field, the Chariots of Fire theme tune begins playing in my head. Annabel is sprinting ahead, bounding along like a gold-medal winner, but I’m keeping pace. Chest heaving, heart hammering, I pump my arms as hard as they will go, filling my lungs as I race only a few inches behind her, my feet pounding on the grass.
Focus, Nell, focus.
I push harder. My mind is fixated on the finishing line, but as I draw nearer it seems to disappear and all I can see is a montage of every moment of my friendship with Fiona: that first day at university when I saw her unloading her car and helped carry in her boxes of old vinyl records; the time she went to blow out the candles on her twenty-first birthday cake and her hair went up in flames and I put them out by throwing a pitcher of margaritas all over her; our trip to Paris when we were so broke we survived on just baguettes for a week and were so bloated we couldn’t fasten our jeans; the laughter and muddy tears at Glastonbury; her face when she told me she was marrying David; my face when I first held Izzy and she asked me to be her godmother . . .
And now I feel like Annabel is stealing all that away from me. And I can’t let her. I have to catch up and overtake her. I can’t let her win.
I dig deep. From somewhere I get an extra burst of energy. I feel myself gaining speed. The young girl that used to run track is coming back, and as I edge closer Annabel looks across at me, her eyes glinting with determination and disbelief and panic that we’re neck and neck, and now I’m overtaking her—
I don’t know what happens. Out of nowhere, I suddenly feel a sharp elbow in the ribs and I’m pushed sideways. I try desperately to keep my balance, but there’s a huge collision and I trip and go flying, landing face down on the ground. While ahead of me Annabel races to victory, crossing the finishing line to a cheering crowd.
She’s won.
I’m grateful for:
Johnny, who got me some ice so my black eye isn’t as bad as it could be.
Not feeling like a complete loser after faceplanting in front of everyone, as it was just an accident and not like Annabel deliberately tripped me up or anything.*
Izzy, who gave me her own medal for winning the egg-and-spoon race and told me I was the best godmum ever.
ABBA’s ‘The Winner Takes It All’, which I play loudly through my headphones all the way home on the bus.
What Would Frida Do?
‘It sounds hideous, but look on the bright side: it’s better than a funeral, which is the only kind of event I get invited to these days.’
It’s a few days later and I’ve gone to meet Cricket at the V&A museum to see the Frida Kahlo exhibition, which has just opened. The collection of personal belongings is fascinating, but as she’s just got back from Dublin we’re multi-tasking and catching up as we move around the exhibits. Standing in front of a case of Frida’s colourful Mexican clothing, I’m telling her all about what happened at sports day.
‘I guess so.’ I smile ruefully. ‘So you didn’t hear from Lionel and Margaret about the dinner party?’
‘Of course not. I’d upset the table settings, being on my own. Plus, Margaret probably thinks I’ll make a play for Lionel.’
‘Lionel?’
‘As if I’d want someone else’s husband, just because my own has died.’ She tuts. ‘And if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be Lionel. Did you see the size of his ears? Monty always said he looked like a Toby jug—’ She breaks off. ‘Just look at these amazing ruffled skirts.’
‘Gorgeous,’ I nod. ‘Look at the embroidery on this one.’
‘That Annabel woman sounds like a piece of work.’
‘That’s one way to describe her.’
Since the race I’ve had several messages from Fiona, saying how upset Annabel is about the whole incident and how she wants my address. ‘Between you and me, I think she wants to send you some flowers; she’s really thoughtful like that. She’s been letting me sit in her jacuzzi with my ankle and even arranged for me to see this amazing osteopath, so it’s feeling so much better.’
‘Brilliant,’ I messaged back, along with my address, though of course no flowers ever arrived. It was probably a hit man she was thinking of sending.
‘Have you seen this hand-painted plaster corset?’
We move over to the glass case where it’s illuminated.
‘She must have suffered so much pain.’ I step closer to the glass to study it.
‘How’s your eye?’
Talk about going from the sublime to the ridiculous. ‘Still sore, but the bruising’s gone down a bit.’ The last few days, I’ve hidden behind my sunglasses as it went from black to purple and now yellow. ‘Hopefully it will have nearly gone by Saturday, as I’ve got my second date with Johnny.’
Cricket’s face lights up at the mention of his name. I told her all about our first date earlier when we were standing in line for the cloakroom. ‘Where’s he taking you?’
‘Some fancy restaurant. He wants it to be a surprise.’
‘How exciting.’ She looks genuinely pleased for me. ‘Monty used to surprise me with dinner dates. He’d always say, “Put on something marvellous, Cricket, we’re going out.”’ She smiles, then sighs. ‘I do miss him.’
I think about the letter and the photograph in my bag. I still haven’t mentioned it to her. Despite my reservations, I planned to give it to her today, but now doubts resurface. Why risk upsetting her and changing the narrative? What good will it do?
‘You know, I’ve been thinking about downsizing,’ she says as we move into the next room.
‘Moving?’
She nods. ‘I don’t need such a big house any more; it’s just me rattling around in it. It seems silly. I’ve been thinking I should sell it and buy myself a nice little flat.’
‘But you love that house.’
‘I do, yes, but it holds so many memories of Monty.’
‘Isn’t that good?’ I reason.
‘In many ways, yes, it can be of great comfort . . .’ She pauses, then gestures around her. ‘But life isn’t a museum, Nell.
I don’t want to live in the past.’
My protests fall silent.
‘I don’t want to spend whatever time I have left looking backwards. I want to look forwards. To new things. New places. New adventures. Otherwise I’m just living a life where a part of me is missing.’ She smiles bravely but her face crumples a little. ‘I feel his loss so keenly in that house. I miss the sound of his laughter filling the kitchen. The smell of his cigarettes . . . he was only supposed to smoke outside, so he would perch himself by the French windows and argue that technically he was.’
Listening to Cricket, I can feel myself identifying with her. Our circumstances are so very different, but so many of the feelings are the same. Ethan might not have died, but our relationship did, and that was a huge part of the reason I moved back to London. I needed a fresh start, a life where I wouldn’t be constantly reminded of him at every turn.
‘I understand,’ I say, rubbing her arm supportively. ‘I think that sounds like a good idea.’
She smiles gratefully, then: ‘Look at these amazing shawls!’
‘It’s wonderful they’ve kept all her possessions,’ I note.
‘I’ll have to get rid of so many of mine when I sell the house, and not just clothes. All our books alone would fill a library . . .’
I cast my mind back to Cricket’s main hallway, lined with bookcases that reach up to the high ceiling, and remember my own, much smaller bookcase, in California. There must be hundreds of books in her house. Thousands, maybe.
‘I suppose we could take them to the charity shop, though even they might not have room.’
‘My local charity shop in California wouldn’t take my books,’ I say regretfully, ‘but luckily I heard about the free mini libraries.’
‘What’s that?’ She turns to me, curious.
‘They’re these little bookcases, filled with books that are free to take and read. People put them up on street corners or in front of their house. You could have one. The idea is you take a book and leave a book, but they always need re-stocking as people tend to borrow more books than they donate. But that wouldn’t bother you, as you have so many books.’
‘But where would I put it?’ Cricket looks fascinated.
‘Well, we could do a small one in the front garden, where people walk past. Now with the local library closing, the neighbourhood needs access to free books.’
Confessions of a Forty Something F##k Up Page 17
