The Bad Mother's Handbook

by Kate Long

  ‘Did they? Did they really?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  *

  When Mum asked me what I wanted for my birthday I said, ‘Sleep.’ It was true. Key of the door or not, all I wanted was to get my head down for a few hours. You could stick your parties and your presents. I thought she’d roll her eyes and suggest a gold locket, but she only said, ‘You’d best get expressing some milk, then.’

  So on the morning of my eighteenth birthday the fairies came and spirited Will away and I slept on in a tangle of sheets. I slept till noon, woke up and went back out again. This second time, though, I started to have a very strange dream. I was on the London Underground and a dwarf with a black beard was crushed up next to me. He kept looking at me and licking his lips so I tried to move away but the crowd was packed too tight. Then he reached up and started squeezing my breasts hard. Harder and harder he squeezed until it really hurt, then I woke up.

  I was lying in a pool of my own milk. It had soaked right through my bra, my T-shirt and the bottom sheet. My breasts were so hard I could have lain on top of them and been a foot off the mattress. ‘Bloody hell,’ I said, in some pain, and stumbled out of bed. I staggered to the landing, blinking in the light, desperate to find my baby and have him relieve some of the pressure before I exploded.

  ‘God, Mum!’ I shouted as I reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Where’s Will? I’ve got to give him a feed, my boobs are like two rocks. And I’ve got milk all down me.’

  I opened the door to the lounge and in my thick-headedness took in a small crowd: Daniel, Julia, Anya, Mum, Ivy and Maud, Mum’s boss (?), Debbie, Dad, a banner, balloons, cocktail sausages. ‘Happy birthday,’ I heard Daniel say weakly.

  I turned and fled upstairs, locking the bedroom door behind me. Ten seconds later Daniel knocked.

  ‘Come on, Charlotte, I’m sorry, we’re sorry, let me in.’

  ‘Go away!’ I shouted. ‘I want Mum.’

  She came, with fat-chops Will slumped against her shoulder. ‘Here you are.’ She handed him over and he started rooting immediately. ‘Get yourself settled first.’ He latched himself on and began to gulp. ‘He’s missed his mummy, haven’t you? He’s been fine, though, good as gold all morning,’ she added hastily. ‘Now, are you all right? I’m ever so sorry—’

  ‘What do you think? Standing there like I’m in a wet T-shirt competition in front of all and sundry, no make-up on, my hair like a bird’s nest, how would you like it? God, Mum, how could you?’

  ‘It was meant to be a surprise.’

  ‘Yes, well, it was that all right. Stop smiling! It’s not funny, it’s not. Christ Almighty. Why didn’t you come up and warn me? It was awful. I don’t think I’ll ever set foot outside this bedroom again. I’ll get agoraphobia and it’ll be totally your fault.’

  Mum patted my knee. ‘Come on, nobody minds. I did keep coming up to check on you, every fifteen minutes. I was going to let you come round then say Daniel was here, so you could get your lipstick on. But last time I looked in on you, you seemed to be sound asleep and it didn’t seem fair to wake you, then Maud wanted to know how long to put the vol-au-vents in for and I got waylaid. We only caught a glimpse, for Heaven’s sake. Nobody minds, honestly.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I was trying to do something nice for you, Charlotte; give me a break.’ Mum looked weary suddenly. ‘I get tired too, you know. In fact, with having to take care of miladdo here all morning and sort out a buffet, I’m absolutely jiggered. But I wanted it to be nice for you because it’s your eighteenth, it’s special. I think I’ll take your present back to Argos, you don’t deserve it.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You’ll have to come downstairs and find out.’

  Will put his palm on my bare chest and spread his fingers ecstatically. I put my hand out to meet his and he caught and gripped my thumb. His hair was still thick and dark and none of it had dropped out as Maud had predicted.

  ‘You funny monkey,’ I said to him. ‘You don’t care what state I’m in, do you? You haven’t a clue. Oh, hell. All right, I give in.’

  ‘Don’t put yourself out or anything! Honestly! Everybody in that room just wants to wish you a happy birthday, stop being so horrible.’ She took wriggling Will off me while I hunted around for clean clothes.

  ‘It’s not my fault I’m bad-tempered, you know, it’s the hormones.’

  ‘Rubbish. You can’t go on using that excuse for ever. Now, I’ve brought you up your toothbrush and I’ve even filled Nan’s jug and basin next door for you so you don’t have to trail through the lounge to the bathroom, you can make yourself decent up here.’

  ‘Am I a miserable cow?’

  ‘At times.’

  ‘Why can’t we have an upstairs bathroom like normal people?’

  ‘When we win the lottery. Now get a move on.’

  Actually it was Daniel who gave me the best birthday present, although Mum’s was pretty amazing.

  She wheeled it in on the hostess trolley. ‘We thought you’d had enough things for the baby. This is just for you.’

  ‘For your studies,’ said Dad shyly.

  ‘It’s a good package.’ Daniel handed me the scissors and I started to undo the Sellotape. ‘Though you might want to upgrade at some point.’

  So I knew it was a computer before I’d got all the paper off. ‘Oh, God, how did you . . . ?’

  ‘Your Dad put some money towards it, and Nan. We don’t want you to forget your plans for the future.’

  I circled the huge boxes in awe. ‘But you already got me the car seat. I don’t deserve this.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ said Dad and Daniel in unison: ‘No, you don’t,’ said Mum.

  ‘Where’s it going to go?’ I thought of my room, the tiny desk, the two square metres of floor space.

  ‘We can maybe move the display cabinet out of that corner. We’ll have a chat about it later.’ Mum went into the kitchen and came back with a bin liner. ‘Help me get that polystyrene into here before it goes all over.’

  ‘When’s this cake going to get etten, then?’ asked Dad

  Julia and Anya (box of goodies from The Body Shop) stayed till Dad left for his next shift, then Debbie (photo album) had to catch the bus. Maud and Ivy (book token and arnica cream) tottered off to an evening service at church which left Mr Fairbrother (The Little Book of Calm) and Daniel (nothing as yet). Mum started to ferry crockery through to the kitchen and Daniel jumped out of his chair as if he’d been stung by a wasp.

  ‘I’ll do that, Mrs Cooper, you sit down.’

  Mum flushed with pleasure. ‘Well, that would be very nice. Just leave everything out on the drainer and I’ll put it away tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll pour us all some wine,’ said Mr Fairbrother.

  I sat in the kitchen to keep Daniel company and rocked Will, who went to sleep.

  ‘I wonder if everybody’s life turns so weird after having a baby, or if it’s just mine. I feel as if all the things I was certain of before have been blown away.’

  ‘Such as?’ Daniel groped in the water for the dishcloth.

  ‘Mum; she’s almost human these days, that break must have done her some good. Nan not being around, that’s really strange, I mean she’s always been there. Part of me misses her like mad and part of me’s dreading her coming home. I mean, a two-month-old baby and Nan under the same roof. Chaos. Mum’ll go all ratty again, it’s a shame, and there’s every chance Nan’ll get ratty back now she’s on this new medication.’ Will mewed unexpectedly, then settled again. ‘Then there’s Dad being around so often, that’s pretty unnerving. He doesn’t change though, he’s still charming and useless. And this bloke, Mr Fairbrother—’

  ‘He wants us to call him Leo, he said earlier.’

  ‘Leo, then. What’s he doing buzzing about the place? He’s too old for Mum, surely. Not her sort at all.’

  ‘I thought he seemed OK. I don’t think your dad liked him, though.’

  ‘No, we
ll, they’re like chalk and cheese. And then Julia and Anya coming; I was really touched. Did you arrange that?’

  Daniel tried to push his glasses up and got foam on his nose. ‘Might have done.’ He blew the bubbles off and they floated down like snow to settle on the tiles. ‘I was going to take you out to Pizza Hut and ask them to come along, then your mum phoned and told me about this—’

  ‘She phoned your house?’

  ‘She was chatting to my dad for ages before he put me on.’

  ‘Oh, God. I am sorry.’

  Daniel shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t worry, he’s a natural flirt, it doesn’t mean anything. My mother calls it his Bedside Manner.’ He emptied the bowl and filled it up again ready for the pans. ‘She’d like this Belfast sink. Thirties, isn’t it? She’d probably kill for these original black and white tiles too.’

  ‘She wouldn’t like having to traipse through the kitchen to have a bath, though.’

  ‘I was wondering about that. I suppose the bathroom was added on after the house was built.’

  ‘I know Nan and Grandad moved in here just before the war but I don’t know if they used a tin bath and the outside privy or whether the council had updated it by then. I’ll have to ask her. Mum remembers there being a range in the front room, where the gas fire is now, but that went in the seventies.’

  ‘It’s full of character, your house. Full of history.’

  ‘Get away. You can say that because you don’t have to live here. I’d swap you any day.’

  Call-me-Leo appeared in the doorway holding two glasses. ‘Are you having your wine in here?’

  ‘Stick it on top of the fridge for now.’ I got up carefully; Will was totally out. I carried him through into the living room and laid him in his bouncy chair. With his head thrown back and his turned-up nose he looked like a piglet in a Babygro.

  ‘Bless him,’ said Mum. I could see the bottle of wine was well down.

  ‘Can you look after him for a bit longer? Birthday treat?’

  She nodded. I went back to the kitchen and picked up my glass. ‘Leave that now, Daniel. Come on.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ he smiled.

  Up in my room he turned all serious. ‘I’ve been waiting to give you this,’ he said, putting his hand in his jacket pocket. ‘I didn’t want to do it in front of everyone.’ He pulled out a small black cube, about the size of, well, a ring box. Oh, hell, I thought. ‘Take it,’ he said, placing it in the palm of my hand. Any minute now he was going to sink to his knees and ruin everything. I swallowed and opened the lid.

  ‘Oh, Daniel.’

  ‘They’re your birthstones. You have got pierced ears, haven’t you? I forgot to check.’

  I was laughing with relief. ‘Oh, they’re lovely. Brilliant. I’ll put them in now.’ I stood in front of the wardrobe and fitted the tiny pins through my lobes. The blue gems glittered as they swung in the light. ‘I like my ears. One part of me that hasn’t changed shape recently.’

  Behind me Daniel glowed with pride. ‘You look fantastic,’ he said.

  I turned round and since we were standing so close together it wasn’t much of a stretch to reach over and kiss him. He put his arms round me and we fused together, lips, hips and toes. If this was a film, I thought, music would be swelling and the camera would be circling us in a long close-up. He kissed really well, surprisingly well. Maybe he’d left more than friends behind in Guildford; I’d never thought to ask.

  ‘Come and lie on the bed,’ I said quietly.

  ‘If you’re absolutely sure.’ He looked into my eyes. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  We lay for a long time snogging and writhing against each other. He ran his fingers down my back and neck, seemed to know instinctively not to touch my breasts. His kisses on my skin were light and shivery, but he scrupulously avoided contact below my waist, even though I was grinding my hips against his crotch like a complete floozy. Suddenly I wanted him to touch me, really touch me. I didn’t care about the flab or what the stitches looked like, I just needed his fingers. I guided his hand down, past the waistband of my skirt, under the hem of my knickers, an electric path. I thought I was going to die with lust.

  All the time he was gazing into my eyes and moving his hand really gently, so gently. I knew I was soaking wet; I knew too that the sensation was better than anything I’d ever felt with Paul. No thrusting or stabbing, no jagged nails, just his feathery fingertips slicking over and over the exact spot it felt most good. The pleasure got more and more intense, became a different feeling altogether, he had to keep going, he mustn’t stop, I closed my eyes and came, came, came on his hand, in waves of the most exquisite, fantastic, glorious—

  ‘Are you all right?’

  I opened my eyes. ‘Oh my God. That was unbelievable. I never knew what it was like. Oh, God.’ I collapsed back onto the pillow. ‘You’re brilliant. You knew exactly what to do.’

  ‘I’ve been reading up on it,’ he said modestly.

  I buried my face in his chest. ‘You and your bloody Internet.’

  ‘Ashley Carter, actually, historical novelist. One of my mother’s dodgy paperbacks. She keeps them in the bottom of the wardrobe; she thinks I don’t know. It might all be crinolines and fans on the front but it’s hot stuff between the covers, I can tell you. They’ve been quite an education to me over the years.’ His face was pink and he’d taken his glasses off which made him look different and vulnerable. I had a sort of leap of love for him then and reached over to snog him again. I felt the hardness at his crotch against my belly.

  ‘Is there, is there anything I can do for you?’ I asked.

  ‘I should think so,’ he sighed, lying back as I unzipped his trousers.

  *

  I HAVEN’T DREAMT about the London visit at all, and I was expecting nightmares. Maybe it’s because I think about it all the time so there’s no need for my subconscious to drag it out at night. Emma haunts me like a little ghost, her big eyes, her wispy hair. I see her everywhere, as a child in the kids at school, as the adult she never had a chance to be. There’s a weathergirl on GMTV who reminds me of her for some reason, something about the arch of her brows. My heart does a stupid jump when Judy Finnegan announces her.

  What can I do, Emma? I ask her, but she just looks sad and frightened. She’s become my imaginary friend; any day now I’ll find myself setting a place for her at the table. And sometimes in the night my heart bulges against the mattress with emotion, and I feel as if the love in me could flow out like a huge sea and bathe all those children no one wants, their little limbs, if only I could get to them. What can I do?

  As for her, she’s a bad sensation that crawls over my memory from time to time, often unexpectedly. The gaps between flashbacks are getting longer though. Maybe, some time in the future, a whole day will go past and I won’t picture her at all. Did Nan ever actually know Jessie Pilkington? It seems impossible; such goodness meeting such evil. In any case, I found my real mother. Surprise, surprise, she turned out to be Nan after all.

  I was thinking through all this again while I sat in the consultant’s waiting room, ready for him to deliver her long-term assessment. I was all set up for an argument: Don’t you dismiss my mother as a bed-blocker! She’s paid her National Insurance contributions all her life, she’s only asking for what she’s entitled to. If it takes her a long time to recuperate, then so be it, you’ll just have to make arrangements. Don’t we care about old people in this country any more? No consultant was going to walk all over me.

  And yet, when I met him, Mr Hammond turned out to be perfectly reasonable.

  ‘Take a seat. Now, Mrs Coper.’

  I laughed out loud. ‘Oh, I wish! It’s Cooper, actually.’

  ‘Oh, dear, that wasn’t a very good start, was it?’ He amended his notes. ‘I see you’ve been looking after your mother, Mrs Hesketh, for thirteen years, is it?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it will be . . . Although to be honest, she looked after me fo
r a while. I suffered from mild post-natal depression, then it came back when I got divorced so when I moved into Mum’s I was a bit of a mess. She was marvellous with my daughter, got her in clean clothes every day, made her her packed lunch for school when I couldn’t manage; it’s not a time I like to think about, I’m not very proud of myself.’

  Sudden mental image of me sitting at the table with tears running down my face and Charlotte’s paintbrush in my hand. Nan’s patting my shoulder and saying, ‘Nay, they don’t put children into care just because their mother’s done a bit of painting.’ From upstairs we can both hear Charlotte thumping about, furious with me because during the night when I had more energy than I knew what to do with, I’ve filled in every damn page of that magic painting book I bought her, she’s not even got to do one tiny bit. ‘I couldn’t stop myself,’ I keep saying, ‘it was like a compulsion.’ And Nan keeps patting, and Charlotte keeps thumping. Oh, I did weirder stuff than that; don’t know why that incident popped into my head.

  When I came back to myself Mr Hammond’s eyebrows were raised above the steel frame of his glasses and I realized my mouth was open, God knows what he thought of me. I pulled myself together and carried on.

  ‘So it’s only in the last, oh, I don’t know, five or six years she’s been bad. It’s difficult to pin down exactly when the balance tipped from caring to being cared for. For ages she was just forgetful; we put it down to old age. I can’t really leave her on her own now in case she sets the grill pan on fire or floods the sink, but then again some days you wouldn’t credit it, she’s as right as rain and you wouldn’t guess there was anything wrong with her. I gather that’s pretty normal, is it, with dementia?’

  Mr Hammond gave a slight nod. ‘It can be.’

  ‘Weird, isn’t it? You never know which side of her you’re going to get, is she putting it on or not; sometimes, you know, I could—’ I clenched my fists in front of my face, then laughed to show it was just a joke. Wonder if he was fooled? I suppose he’s seen enough carers to know the score. He kept nodding anyway, didn’t call the police. ‘But I’ve been able to manage because she’s been so independent physically. She can get in and out of a bath no trouble, climb the stairs, dress herself; marvellous, really.’