Living My Best Life

by Claire Frost

  ‘Hi, Louis.’

  ‘Millie,’ he nodded. ‘Right, little man, say goodbye to Mummy and we’ll get you in the car and then the fun can really start!’

  ‘Bye, Mummy. You will look after Snuffles for me and give him a goodnight kiss, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course, Wolfie. I promised, didn’t I? Now you be good and I’ll see you back here on Sunday afternoon, okay?’

  She’d barely removed her arms from round his small body before Wolf was out the door and skipping towards Louis’ huge Range Rover. She watched them leave, waving even after the car had turned out of the road and driven off into the distance.

  However nice it was to have a break from being essentially a single parent, it never got easier watching her son disappear up the motorway to Birmingham with his dad. After all, her whole life had revolved around the little boy for the last five years. She willed herself not to cry and began dropping armfuls of toys into the basket drawers by the fireplace, only pausing to pick up Snuffles, the soft toy guinea pig, and give him a quick kiss on his fluffy head.

  As her date approached the following evening, Millie began to wish she’d never bothered sending Tom a message in the first place. She’d spent a pleasant day tidying the house, prepping a few Instagram posts and firing off emails to various copywriting agencies asking if they had any work for her. After luxuriating in a bath filled with the posh bubbles Louis had bought for Wolf to give her for Christmas (whatever his faults, Louis had great taste when it came to the finer things in life), she felt happy and calm. That had all dissolved when she’d started thinking about her date that evening.

  Since she and Louis had broken up just under two-and-a-half years ago, there hadn’t been much space in Millie’s life for men. And it hadn’t really bothered her that she didn’t have a significant other to turn to as, frankly, she had enough on her plate making sure Wolfie was fed, clothed and as unaffected as possible by his parents’ separation. Not to mention trying to carve out some kind of career in the fashion/blogging/social media world. But now that Wolf was at school, she’d felt like she should at least try to get herself out there. The trouble was, things had changed so much in the seven or so years since she’d been that feisty girl who had been a match (in every way) for cocky footballer Louis in a Birmingham nightspot. Not only was she older, wearier and far less sure of herself, but the dating arena was a foreign country now. At thirty she felt both ancient and that she was competing with all the younger, prettier, more confident people looking to find the love of their lives – or at least someone they could shag that evening. So when she’d matched with Tom and he’d seemed happy to chat as friends, she’d gradually stopped using the other apps and contented herself with exchanging nice, no-pressure, getting-to-know-you messages every so often. But meeting him in the flesh was something else entirely.

  ‘I don’t even know if I want a relationship,’ Millie sighed out loud as she smoothed product through her hair and uncovered the hairdryer that had been gathering dust in the corner of her bedroom. But the voice inside her head wasn’t going to let her off that easily.

  You don’t have to have a relationship, you just need some fun.

  ‘Fun!’ she grunted over the whirr of the hairdryer. ‘Think I’d rather stay in with a glass of cheap wine in front of the telly.’

  But that’s what you did last night. And the night before, and the one before that, the voice replied.

  ‘Christ, now I’m talking to myself. I really am going mad!’

  She heard her phone ping as she put the hairdryer down and hoped it was Tom also having second thoughts. It wasn’t, it was her dad.

  Have an amazing time this evening, Millie, you deserve it! Me and Jean want to hear all about it tomorrow! Dad xx

  She smiled and turned back to the sparse offerings in her wardrobe. Then she remembered her eBay triumph. Like at least half of the country, she’d lusted after the latest high street collaboration with this year’s hot young designer, but also knew she didn’t have a hope in hell of queueing at the crack of dawn outside her local store on the morning of its launch to get her hands on any of the pieces. So, when she’d spied an eBay seller flogging her favourite dress from the collection for just a few quid more than it had cost originally, she was both excited and wary. Ridiculously, it had all seemed to check out, and a few days after she’d clicked the Buy It Now button a package arrived in the post containing the coveted dress and a short note:

  I hope you enjoy the dress more than my granddaughter, who complained I’d got her the wrong one and in the wrong size but still wanted me to give it to her so she could sell it at a vast profit and buy some festival tickets instead. I only wish I could get into it myself as it’s a lovely dress, but I’m sure it will look better on you! Audrey x

  And the dress did actually look great on her, Millie was able to admit as she swished the A-line skirt in front of the mirror, before spending an inordinate amount of time taking the obligatory selfie and saving it so she could add filters later.

  She considered texting Tom to cancel throughout her bus journey into town, but as 8 o’clock got closer and closer she knew she had lost her opportunity to pull out, which was why she found herself walking through the doors of the Duke of York trying to spot someone – anyone – who looked like the image of Tom on his dating profile.

  ‘Millie?’

  She whipped round and there was Tom, looking exactly like his profile picture, standing in front of her.

  ‘Tom? Hi,’ she stuttered, leaning in to kiss him on both cheeks.

  ‘You look gorgeous,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll apologise now that I’m wearing the same shirt as in my profile pic – I do have other shirts, but I thought it would help you recognise me. Now, what would you like to drink?’

  Tom proved to be just as pleasant company in person as he had been on his messages, and when he popped to the loo, Millie took a second to register how nice it was to be out on a Saturday night without a five-year-old in tow. So much so that when, some hours later, Tom suggested they go and grab a curry, she readily agreed. She felt her phone vibrating as they made their way out of the pub. Her caller display told her it was Louis.

  ‘I just need to get this, it’s my son’s dad,’ she explained. Tom nodded and stood away from her in the pub doorway to give her a little privacy. ‘Louis, is Wolf okay?’ she said as soon as the call connected.

  ‘Yes, of course he’s fine, he’s with me, isn’t he? Where are you?’

  ‘Out, not that it’s got anything to do with you!’ Mille replied before she could stop herself. ‘I mean, is everything okay?’ she tried again in a more conciliatory tone. She needn’t have bothered.

  ‘Well, are you out nearby? I need you to come home. I’m outside your house.’

  ‘What? Why are you outside my house? What’s wrong? You’re not supposed to be bringing Wolf back till tomorrow afternoon. What aren’t you telling me?’

  ‘Calm down, Amanda. Something came up, that’s all, and I need to drop him back now. How long will it take you to get here?’

  ‘What came up?’ she demanded. Tom looked at her questioningly and she shook her head at him.

  ‘You know, stuff.’

  ‘What stuff?’ Her anger was clearly palpable, as Tom walked over, put a hand on her shoulder and mouthed ‘Are you okay?’ She shrugged him off with an apologetic grimace and turned away.

  ‘Look, you know what it’s like, when the manager says he needs me . . .’

  ‘I thought you were injured?’

  ‘I am! Well, luckily, the ankle’s recovering well, thanks for asking. It’s a squad thing. The manager wants us all together before Monday’s game.’

  ‘And you couldn’t have driven down in the morning instead?’

  ‘The gaffer’s called an early start so I didn’t have any choice. Come on, Mills, you remember what it’s like.’

  ‘So you’re putting football before your son. Again. You’re not fit to be called a father.’

&nbs
p; ‘There’s no need for that, Amanda. Look, I’ll pay for a cab home, if that helps.’

  ‘It doesn’t help, but fine, you pay for it. And stop calling me Amanda – my name’s Millie, you flipping pompous git!’ She jabbed her phone to end the call and let out a shout of frustration.

  ‘Millie? Are you okay?’ Tom asked, once more placing his hand lightly on her shoulder.

  ‘No, not really,’ she sighed. ‘Sorry, Tom, I have to go. Thank you so much for this evening, it was nice.’

  ‘Don’t worry, of course your little boy has to come first. But it was nice, wasn’t it? Maybe we can do it again sometime?’

  Suddenly everything felt too much for Millie. She knew she should have stayed at home with that glass of cheap wine and Saturday night TV. Dating just wasn’t something she had the time, or in fact the energy, for anymore. She’d been stupid to think otherwise.

  ‘Look, Tom, I don’t think I’m in the right place at the moment. Sorry, it’s nothing personal. You’re a lovely guy.’ She cringed with guilt as she spoke and glanced anywhere around her rather than look at his face. Thankfully, she spotted a black cab approaching and waved it down.

  ‘Sure, okay,’ he replied slowly. ‘Nice to meet you though, Millie. Take care of yourself.’

  ‘Yep, and you.’ She gave Tom a quick, embarrassed hug and got into the taxi. As it drove off, she turned and looked out the back window and saw him raise his hand sadly, then cross the road with his shoulders hunched round his ears.

  *

  Louis’ sports car stuck out a mile on their ordinary suburban road.

  ‘Millie, you made it!’ he said, sidling out of the driver’s side.

  ‘The cab needs paying,’ she replied, opening the passenger door and shaking her head at Louis’ choice of vehicle – he had at least three cars to choose from and an Audi TT hardly seemed the ideal choice when he had Wolf on board. She gently unclipped the sleeping five-year-old from his car seat, thankful that Louis had at least had the sense to put him in his pyjamas so she was able to carry him upstairs and settle him into bed without much bother. She went back downstairs to find Louis standing awkwardly in the hall with Wolf’s wheelie suitcase in his hand.

  ‘I brought this in,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Millie, if I’d had any choice . . .’ He hung is head penitently.

  ‘Louis, don’t forget I know you and can see through your remorse act. You always have a choice, you just made the choice that Wolfie wasn’t important in this situation.’

  ‘We had a great day together and he was asleep anyway, so it wouldn’t have made a difference if I’d brought him back at the crack of dawn. Stop trying to make me feel guilty.’

  ‘It made a difference to me.’

  ‘Ah, now we’re getting to the crux of it. You’re just pissed off you couldn’t stay out and shag whatever guy it was you were seeing!’

  ‘How dare you!’ she shout-whispered, aware of Wolf asleep upstairs. ‘What I do in my private life has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘It does when it affects my son! Who knows who you were planning on bringing home, especially if it was someone from that mental group you used to go to.’

  ‘That “mental group” was a support group for people suffering post-natal depression, as you well know,’ she hissed. ‘And I stopped going when we broke up, because, surprise surprise, I wasn’t depressed anymore once I wasn’t with you!’

  ‘Whatever, Millie. All I care about is that my son is properly looked after and cared for—’

  ‘Are you questioning my parenting?’ she interrupted him, incredulously. ‘You, the person who barely sees Wolf from one month to the next and certainly doesn’t provide for him, feed him or clothe him, despite being a “professional” footballer?’

  From the nervous look on his face, it was clear even Louis knew when he’d gone too far.

  ‘Look, I just want the best for Wolfie, that’s all. And I know I need to be better at paying for things. Here, have this,’ he said, removing his wallet from the pocket of his designer jeans and taking out a wad of twenties. ‘Buy him something nice.’

  ‘He doesn’t need something nice, he needs a new school jumper and some football boots!’ she shot back, barely able to contain her fury.

  ‘Well, buy him those and then buy him something nice with what’s left over,’ he said exasperatedly. ‘Mills, we can’t keep being at each other’s throats like this, it’s not good for Wolfie.’

  There were so many things that Millie wanted to say, but just behind her she heard a sleepy, ‘Mummy?’

  She turned and pulled her son into a hug and said quietly, ‘Wolfie, darling, me and your dad were just saying goodbye. You go back to bed like a good boy and I’ll come and kiss you goodnight in a minute, okay?’

  ‘Okay, make sure you do, Mummy. Bye, Daddy.’

  Louis smiled and waved. ‘Night-night, Wolfie, sleep well. Love you.’

  When she was sure Wolf had gone back to his room, Millie took a deep breath. ‘You’re right, it’s not good for him when we fight, and I’m sorry for getting angry. It’s just, sometimes it’s really hard, that’s all.’ Tears pricked her eyes.

  ‘It’s okay. I just think we need to be careful what we say and how we speak to each other.’ Louis jangled his keys. ‘I’d better be going. See you in four weeks, yes?’

  ‘Yes, see you then,’ Millie replied meekly. She watched him drive off at speed then have to anchor up at the junction at the end of the road. Wearily, she climbed the stairs and stood outside Wolf’s room for a second, before plastering on a smile.

  Lying in her own bed half an hour later, she replayed the conversation with Louis. She couldn’t believe he could stand there and criticise her when he’d been the one in the wrong the whole time. And that she had let him.

  Back in the halcyon first year of their relationship, Louis had barely ever levelled even the mildest criticism at Millie, and instead seemed to believe that everything she did was amazing. However, that all changed when she told him about the baby.

  Chapter Three

  Bell

  The smell of diesel and the tinny beat of house music via a set of expensive, though clearly not soundproof, headphones greeted Bell as she made her way past hordes of glazed-eyed Monday-morning commuters to the back of the bus, which began to creep towards the Style It Out building in the town centre. She noticed one older, headphoneless man sitting on an aisle seat, sporting a well-worn leather jacket and baggy, pale-blue jeans, and she knew before he even opened his mouth exactly what he was about to say, and she really wasn’t in the mood.

  ‘Cheer up, love, it might never happen!’ he grinned at her.

  If there was one statement guaranteed to make the recipient even less cheery, Bell was yet to hear it.

  ‘Don’t worry, it already has,’ she shot back at him. She was half tempted to add that she’d just found out her parents had been killed in a car crash, but she couldn’t deal with the bad karma that would inevitably follow from pretending her mum and dad had met a grisly, untimely end, so she contented herself with glaring at him and retreating to the back seat.

  ‘All right, love, keep your hair on, I was only saying.’

  Bell leaned her head against the window and shivered. It might be the start of March, but she wished she’d brought her huge, cosy scarf with her to keep out the morning chill. Her sister Cosette always took the mick out of her about the length of that scarf, calling her Lenny whenever she saw her wearing it, after Lenny Kravitz and his knitted monstrosity a few years back. Still, it wasn’t Bell’s fault Cosette refused to even think about a scarf as a fashion statement and merely saw it as a way for her to stay warm. Luckily Cosette didn’t do anything so frivolous as work for a fashion website – her job as a primary-school teacher was much more sensible and was able to accommodate her children, eight-year-old Sophie and ten-year-old Oliver, around whom her and her husband Rich’s world revolved.

  Cosette had borne the brunt of Bell’s shock, sadness and anger in
the last few weeks, and Bell had to admit she had been brilliant at letting her rant away. Last night on the phone Cosette had tried again to get her to come down to Devon at the weekend, saying she was worried Bell was obsessing over what had led Colin to deliver his death notice to their relationship. To be honest, she’d only told Cosette about a tiny fraction of the social media stalking she’d really done – if she knew the actual number of hours Bell had spent scouring Facebook, Insta and Twitter for clues about Colin’s motives, she’d have been on the first train up to Bell to march her off to the south-west coast and imprison her in the spare bedroom that the wi-fi didn’t reach. Thankfully, she’d placated her sister by not only telling her that she’d deleted all her apps, but also about her night out that weekend.

  ‘Well, at least Suze is making sure you’re not turning into a hermit,’ Cosette had sighed. ‘But I’m still going to insist you come to see us. I need you to help stop the kids squabbling, if nothing else. And I’ll even get Rich to make his special tiramisu.’

  ‘Well, then, how can I resist!’ Bell had smiled. ‘I promise I’ll come down soon.’ She figured that ‘soon’ was a subjective term and she had at least a few months’ grace. The sun might even be shining at that point, which was when the Devon cottage came alive and became a countryside idyll.

  Her older sister was prone to mothering her whenever possible, which was probably a hangover from their childhood, during which their parents had largely left the two girls to bring themselves up – Janet and John (yes, they did sound like they were straight out of a kids’ storybook, though the reality was somewhat different) believed less is more when it came to child-rearing. They’d thought naming their daughters Cosette and Arabella was a good idea (such delusions of grandeur) and had ordered friends and family to call the girls by their full names at all times, but ‘Arabella’ quickly got shortened when toddler Cosette couldn’t pronounce her new sister’s name. Cosette had once tried to instigate a shortening of her own name to ‘Cos’. But on hearing seven-year-old Bell refer to her sister in that way, Janet had issued the ultimate threat.