by Suzy K Quinn
He said he wasn’t a ‘baby nutritionist’ and had no idea what she needed.
Then he sat on the sofa, ate all the nacho chips and the meat platter and drank an Italian beer while bouncing Daisy on his knee.
Helen was lingering in the kitchen, pretending to work on her laptop.
‘Nicholas shouldn’t have to do the shopping,’ she muttered. ‘He works hard enough as it is.’
Ha!
All Nick’s done today is meet a director friend for lunch.
I told Helen it wasn’t the 1950s and Nick should pull his weight. And anyway, Daisy had kept me under house arrest all day, so I couldn’t make the supermarket.
‘Well, that proves my point once again about routine, doesn’t it?’ said Helen. ‘You let that baby rule this house.’
‘No Helen – you rule this house,’ I said. ‘And you don’t even live here.’
Right now, I’m past caring about falling out with her. She still hasn’t forgiven me for the Dearheart lunch.
God – WE NEED TO MOVE!
Tuesday, January 19th
Miracle of miracles, Sadie turned up for training today.
She was wearing a designer running outfit with go-faster stripes, and colour-co-ordinated sunglasses.
I think she was hoping to see Alex, because she said, ‘Oh – is it just you then?’
Nick snorted, ‘What are you auditioning for, Sadie? Least convincing athlete? You’re just not believable.’
Sadie fired back, ‘No one’s ever CGI’d me out, lizard boy.’
Nick’s ‘big part’ in Star Trek was ‘reworked’ last year. The computer animation team turned him into a reptilian soldier, and all his lines were cut.
Sadie knows how to twist the knife.
Nick muttered something like ‘pancake face’.
Sadie and Nick hate each other. They went to the same theatre school, and have always been rivals.
In fact, I first met Nick at a party Sadie dragged me along to. She pointed at Nick and said, ‘See that pretty boy actor over there? He is the biggest idiot you will ever meet’.
While I was changing into my running stuff, Sadie stuck her bottom out and said, ‘You know, I should have been an athlete. It suits me, don’t you think? I can run forever. Just forever.’
Then she looked at me and said, ‘You really do need a sports bra.’
During our run, we started talking about babies and pregnancy and stuff.
Sadie asked how Nick was at Daisy’s birth.
I told her he was terrified and spent half my labour ‘out walking’ to cope with ‘mental female shit’. And after the birth, he took all my prescription painkillers for his hangover.
Sadie said maybe he’d do better with the next baby.
I told her we weren’t having another baby. Not unless Nick did some serious growing up.
We ran about a mile in total before Sadie complained about blisters.
‘You can over-train,’ she said, as we walked back to the apartment. ‘No sense burning ourselves out before the big day.’
Wednesday, January 20th
Morning
More house hunting.
Viewed three absolute shit holes in East London.
The last house was so bad that even the man showing us the house said, ‘It’s a bit oppressive, isn’t it?’
I tried to be open-minded and imagine how things could look with different colour walls. But realistically, a fresh coat of paint won’t fix a cellar full of water.
This is getting desperate.
We just don’t fit in this apartment anymore. It looks like a jumble sale.
Cot, changing table, baby wardrobe, bouncy chair, baby gym, stroller – none of these things are small.
Thursday, January 21st
Alex called round again to take me running.
Nick was annoyed, but he had no reason to be.
Anyway, Sadie is so unreliable.
Alex and I did more running and less walking this time.
We jogged along the River Thames, all the way to Tower Bridge.
A man on the deck of a river cruiser shouted: ‘Alex Dalton! I don’t believe it. Just the man. Jump onboard – I have some killer news about Maverick.’
Alex shouted, ‘Not right now, Ben.’
The man looked at his cocktail glass, pretended to rub his eyes and said, ‘Did you just say, “not right now”? This is about Maverick.’
‘We’ll talk tomorrow,’ said Alex.
We ran on, and I asked about Maverick.
‘It’s a Swedish hotel chain,’ Alex told me. ‘We’re taking them over.’
‘So isn’t that important?’ I said. ‘Do you want to go back?’
‘It’s not important,’ said Alex. ‘Not right now.’
Friday, January 22nd
Phoned Laura to ask about Zach, but she said nothing much was happening. They’ve been on a few dates, but that’s it.
I was hoping they were secretly engaged or something. That would irritate Catrina Dalton and Helen no end.
After watching One Born Every Minute, I realise I might still be traumatised about Daisy’s birth.
She came out okay in the end, but they had to use some big metal barbeque tongs.
Before I had Daisy, I wanted a natural birth. Now I know the truth.
Nature is cruel and awful, and we’re lucky to have things like morphine and haemorrhoid cream.
Saturday, January 23rd
Dad came round this morning to discuss alcohol for the wedding.
He made detailed notes about guests and drinking habits, worked out the amount of wine bottles we’d need, then fixed the leaking sink in the bathroom and replaced a blown fuse in the kitchen light.
Thinking about wedding logistics and guest numbers (or any numbers) was a nightmare.
What’s happened to my brain? I used to know whole phone numbers. Now I can’t even find my bag in the morning.
How do women manage with two children? Or three?
My old school friend, Mandy Hughes, has FOUR children. She looks like the walking dead – all blank-eyed. She can’t even match up her kids’ names – she cycles through all four until she gets the right one.
Sunday, January 24th
Laura turned up unexpectedly and forced me off the sofa.
She threw away my tube of Pringles and wouldn’t let me finish my Double Decker until I’d got my running gear on. Then she dragged me out in the rain.
Now we’re back I’m glad I went running. I feel great, actually. Really great. I should so make this a habit, even after the marathon. Not just for losing weight, but for feeling good too.
Monday, January 25th
Alex and I went running again this evening.
Nick was furious. I think he’s getting worried that I might win the bet. He said he’d buy me a whole new wardrobe if I finished the marathon (a subtle criticism, because I’m still wearing my maternity clothes).
When unreliable Sadie was my running partner, the odds were much more in Nick’s favour.
I have to admit, it’s very pleasant watching Alex running. He sort of glides along, barely touching the floor.
His body is also extremely toned and athletic. And he’s so tall.
I suppose it’s no wonder Nick is jealous – every girl we ran past turned to stare at Alex.
On the way back, it started raining. Actually, pouring down.
At first, it was just cold, horrible rain. But then it became ridiculous. Sheets of water. Rain splatters hissing on the hard ground and bouncing up to our knees.
It was so ridiculous it became funny – running in such a downpour.
By the time we reached my apartment, we were both laughing.
‘My nana has a saying about this kind of weather,’ I said, as we sheltered under the porch. ‘Life isn’t about avoiding the storms. It’s about dancing in the rain.’
Alex moved wet hair from my face.
It was nice. The way he was looking at me. Sort of t
oo nice.
I told him I had to go up, and he said, ‘Goodnight Juliette. Don’t sit around in those wet things. Okay?’
I was glowing when I came through the front door – it was the very first time I actually thought, yes, I could have a chance of finishing this marathon.
Tuesday, January 26th
Went to Regent’s Park with Althea and baby Wolfgang today.
Wolfgang is eleven months old, but he looks much older. He has one menacing front tooth and can snap a bundle of twenty coffee stirrers in half.
I love Althea. She’s the most laid-back parent I know. Not many first-time mums would drive their baby around on a moped.
Althea lives in a big, rambling Victorian house in Bethnal Green. It’s worth a fortune, but you’d never guess because Althea has decorated it in what she calls, ‘kindergarten fusion style’.
All the original fireplaces have been spray-painted neon, and one wall of her kitchen has empty paint cans nailed to the wall. There are also a lot of sprayed silver egg boxes and Wolfgang’s handprints around the place.
Today, Althea wore her big Afghan coat, Jackie O shades and bright red cowboy boots. Her curly gypsy hair was tied with a fluorescent yellow ribbon.
Althea’s laugh is just brilliant. It could break plates. She sort of goes, ‘Nah, nah, nah!’ and shows all her teeth.
From some angles, Althea looks a tiny bit like a frog. But a pretty one. With a temper.
Wolfgang was dressed in a little blue mod suit. God knows where Althea found that. It gave him a slightly sinister ‘Brighton Rock’ air – especially when he was pulling kids off the swings.
When Wolfgang bit one of the other children, Althea laughed and said, ‘Aw, bless him. He’s having such fun.’
Then she tried to put him in his sling, but Wolfgang clung to a swing, and neither of us could budge him. Eventually, Althea lured him away with beef jerky.
I told her about my diet, but Althea shouted about diets being sexist crap.
‘You were a measly size twelve,’ she barked. ‘Now you’re a measly size sixteen. I weigh far more than you, and I don’t care. The universe made us all perfect. So get over it.’
I told her that Nick had finally proposed.
‘So fucking what?’ said Althea. ‘He’s no bloody prize pigeon, is he? Has he got himself a decent job yet? He should be crawling over broken glass to marry a girl like you.’
We talked about me and Nick’s meal on New Year’s Eve, and I asked if she thought it was anything to worry about.
‘That he drank six bottles of beer in two hours?’ she said.
‘No,’ I said. ‘That we couldn’t agree on where we wanted to live.’
‘You’re different,’ she said. ‘So you’re bound to want different things.’
‘They say opposites attract.’
Althea said, ‘Hmm.’
Wednesday, January 27th
Mum came round to help with Daisy this morning.
She’d bought me some bits from the wholesale supermarket, where she does shopping for the pub. Her bag contained:
2000 teabags
Five giant tubs of liquid hand soap
A lemon torte that said ‘serves 50’.
The torte wouldn’t fit in the fridge, so Mum cut us a big slice each for ‘a snack’, then sawed up the rest and filled every fridge shelf and half the freezer.
After that, she showed me how to clean the toilet with her ‘Wonder Woman technique’ (squirting half a bottle of bleach over everything and blasting it off with the shower), threw Daisy around and sang ‘YMCA’ with all the hand movements.
Quite a few passersby stared through the big glass window at her dancing, but Mum never cares what people think. If she did, she wouldn’t wear leopard and zebra prints at the same time.
Mum had to leave after lunch. She was heading to Camden to buy an electric pink feather boa. She and her old school friends are dressing up in ’70s clothes to watch the Mamma Mia musical.
Mum absolutely can’t wait. She’s already ordered silver platform boots from eBay.
Thursday, January 28th
Went round Helen and Henry’s today for more wedding planning.
I hate Helen and Henry’s house.
They live in a modern, gated complex for people who think they’re too good to mix with the rest of the village.
I quite like Henry, though. How he ended up with Helen, I’ll never know. Maybe because she’s quite slim and looks good for her age. It blinded him to the fact that she’s a total harpy.
Henry owns Great Oakley Plastics Factory (which makes toilet roll holders, but Helen says makes aeroplane parts), and is your typical jolly man who looks a little bit like Toad from the Wind in the Willows.
Helen’s always bossing him around.
‘Tuck your shirt in darling. Goodness, you look like a truck driver. You smell revolting darling, do go and have a shower …’
He’s always running around trying to make her happy, but that’s impossible.
They can’t have much of a relationship because Helen is always round our house. She has her evening meal at ours half the time – some horrible fishy salad she eats standing at the breakfast bar.
Helen had a list of 36 wedding things to ‘discuss urgently’.
Colour scheme, wedding favours, blah blah.
I told her she’d forgotten something. ‘Item number 37. Mind your own business.’
Friday, January 29th
Found the best TV program ever!
It’s called Cheaters. A TV crew film people cheating on their partners, then confront them with the damning footage.
Nick went mad when he found me watching it. Went on about my low-brow taste in television.
I think he’s in a bad mood because it’s the Actors’ Guild party tomorrow and he’s promised to take me along.
He hates me going to his acting things because I’m too honest.
When other actors ask Nick what he’s up to, he says he has some interesting projects in the pipeline. I tell the truth and say he’s giving out flyers dressed as a spicy potato wedge.
While Nick was tweezing his eyebrows and nose hair, he told me not to show any baby pictures at the party.
I asked why not.
‘For all anyone knows I could be in my twenties,’ he said. ‘The family-man image adds ten years.’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I won’t show any pictures. As long as you don’t wear your sunglasses indoors.’
Nick did his theatrical sigh and said, ‘I’ve told you a thousand times. Sunglasses are a look. Speaking of which, don’t you have anything that makes you look … less mumsy?’
Fucking hell. I’ve carried his baby for the best part of ten months and then had acid poured into my insides – aka labour.
I shouted that I was a mother so looking mumsy was part of the deal.
‘Fine, okay,’ he conceded. ‘Forget it. If you’re just going to get crazy.’
It’s okay for men. They stay exactly the same after they have kids. Women age ten years overnight.
I keep catching glances of myself in the mirror and having unnerving flashes of Mum staring back at me.
Saturday, January 30th
Squeezed myself into pre-pregnancy grey skinny jeans for what turned out to be a horrible night.
Couldn’t bend down all evening without making a weird, creaky groaning noise. When I tried to kiss Daisy, I let out this ‘wheeee!’ sound.
I couldn’t even do the jeans up without an elastic band around the button.
With high heels on I thought I looked alright.
But the effect was lost on Nick.
He said, ‘Why are you walking like a robot?’
While I was getting ready, Daisy managed to pull the toilet roll into her Moses basket. God knows how – I moved everything in our bathroom to eye level ages ago. The shelf is like a game of Jenga – toilet brush, bathroom bin and scales all on top of each other.
I don’t know if Daisy at
e any toilet roll, but she was definitely giving it a good chew.
Panicked about toilet roll in her digestive system.
Phoned Mum.
‘Toilet roll?’ Mum said. ‘You used to chew your dad’s fishhooks. And you turned out just fine.’
I asked Mum what she thought about Helen babysitting Daisy.
Mum said, ‘As long as Daisy’s asleep, what difference does it make who’s there?’
‘But if she wakes up …’
‘She won’t wake up,’ Mum insisted. ‘It’ll be just fine.’
But still, I didn’t like leaving Daisy with Helen. She reminds me a little of the child snatcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
The party was really bad.
It was full of flashy, beautiful people with bleached teeth. They all shouted, rather than spoke.
‘Oh, BABY CAKES! I haven’t seen you in FOREVER!’
All the men boomed at each other. ‘Ra Ra! Jonathan! Ra, ra ra!’
And all the women clutched champagne glasses, tossed their hair and admired themselves in the shiny windows.
Just as I was coming out of the loo, I bumped into Sadie. She goes to Actors’ Guild events sometimes, but I didn’t know she was going to this one.
‘Why didn’t you warn me you and Nick were coming?’ she hissed. ‘If I’d have known lizard boy would be working the room wearing his sunglasses I would have stayed away. Good lord! Are you wearing jeans? Why?’
She wore a huge peacock-blue ball gown and held a feathered masquerade mask.
Then Helen called my mobile, saying I needed to come home.
Daisy was wailing like a fire engine in the background.
I felt like my heart was being yanked down the phone line.
My little girl! My little girl!
I shouted that I needed to get home right now.
Sadie put on her sympathetic face. ‘The perils of motherhood. But how will Nick wipe his bottom when you’re gone?’
Nick appeared behind Sadie and said, ‘Speaking of bottoms, Tony Rice had to Photoshop yours for that Elle shoot. He’d never seen a backside with acne before.’