by Suzy K Quinn
Chocolate is the only thing I can guarantee she’ll be delighted by every time.
Gave Callum school things – pencil case, pencils etc. But he looked a bit disappointed, so I think next year I’ll buy him a violent computer game.
Saturday, August 20th
Mum has broken her wrist on the trampoline.
Doctor Slaughter came round on an emergency visit. He looked in the fridge and told Mum off for having a salad drawer full of fun-size chocolate. Then he told her she’d have to go to hospital and wait in line.
Mum said she and Dad pay five times more taxes than most people AND have private healthcare, so she shouldn’t have to wait.
Dr Slaughter said private health insurance didn’t cover stupidity.
Sunday, August 21st
I will never understand Daisy’s eating habits.
The only thing she’ll eat off a spoon is bananas, porridge and angel delight (that last one is Mum’s fault).
And yet she roams around the house eating leaves, stones, old dried-up hard food and bits of carpet fluff. She even tries to grab her nappy and eat it while I’m changing her.
How did human beings ever evolve from caves?
Monday, August 22nd
9 am
I’ve lost four more pounds! WOOOOOOO!
I’m going to celebrate with an Options Hot Chocolate drink, exotic mint flavour.
10 am
Exotic mint flavour tastes like muddy toothpaste. Even Daisy didn’t like it. She made a face and spat it down her little ballerina outfit.
4 pm
Just got back from ‘Little Tiddles Play Time’ at the village hall.
Daisy tried to eat the big crinkly blanket all the babies were supposed to lay on.
Then, while I was changing her, she grabbed the nappy and hurled it across the room.
I used two packs of wet wipes to clean up, saying ‘sorry, sorry’ the whole time.
The woman who ran the group said, ‘It’s fine.’ But I could tell she was annoyed. She was muttering about the big crinkly blanket being dry clean only.
Tuesday, August 23rd
Ran all the way around the village three times today.
And then I ran along the trail into the woods, past the river and all the birds and boats.
I kept thinking about Alex – wondering if I’d bump into him.
But I didn’t see him today.
I bet he’ll make a really good time in the marathon.
Me – I just want to finish. But the more I run, the more I’m thinking … maybe I will finish. Maybe I will.
It will get harder as the weather gets colder, though. I remember running in January – the chilly air really hurt my chest.
Wednesday, August 24th
A funny day today. Alex Dalton’s solicitor called.
His name is Jeremy Samuels. He’s one of those forthright, shouty men who make you hold the phone a little bit away from your ear.
‘Alex said I should put my foot down with you,’ he shouted. ‘He said you were being very silly and saying you wanted to use some local fellow. But he’s decided it’s me you should be using, and he will foot the bill. Who is this local fellow, anyway?’
I told him it was Ted Grunty.
‘Good Lord!’ he yelled. ‘The chap who forged all those signatures?’
Then he said, ‘I’ll have a word with Ted. He’ll understand. All’s fair in love and law. Then we’ll go about getting you a settlement. Alex says you’re a lovely girl – you deserve a decent amount.’
A lovely girl!
Did Alex really say that about me?
Amazing!
Thursday, August 25th
Althea and I met at the pottery café again today.
We probably should have learned our lesson from last time. Wolfgang and breakable things don’t mix.
Within three minutes, he’d smashed a plate with baby handprints on it and a soup mug that said, ‘I love you, Daddy’.
When everyone turned to stare, Althea snapped, ‘He’s just expressing himself. Why can’t you give him the freedom to be himself too? I’ll pay for the fucking breakages.’
Althea never worries about money. Wolfgang’s dad is a famous keyboard player and earns loads in royalties. Which means Althea earns loads in maintenance.
They have a very open-minded relationship, are still legally married and sleep together sometimes.
I told Althea about the Jeremy Samuels’s phone call.
‘Fucking hell,’ she said. ‘That’s a big deal. Why would Alex Dalton go and do something like that?’
I told her I didn’t know, but that Alex had said something about feeling responsible. Because he’d seen Nick flirting and bar-hopping.
‘Rubbish,’ said Althea. ‘It’s because he likes you.’
‘Alex Dalton?’ I said. ‘I don’t think so.’
But then Althea said that Alex was always watching me.
I told her that glaring and watching weren’t the same thing.
Friday, August 26th
10 am
Supermarket shopping.
Daisy hates my cooking these days. She loves ready-made vegetable pouch meals, but I just feel like she should be eating something homemade.
Have found a website showing lots of delicious baby recipes, and am determined to cook something she likes.
11 am
Sometimes I miss London.
Our village co-op supermarket doesn’t sell anything.
It had sold out of all fresh vegetables (except a few dirty carrots) and didn’t stock tofu or lentils.
It had a massive range of Angel Delight (in flavours I never even heard of. Mint? Treacle?), Dream Topping and basically everything you need to make a trifle. It even sold ready-made trifles in the fridge section. But I didn’t want trifle. I wanted healthy baby food.
I asked Pauline at the checkout when there’d be any fresh veg coming in.
She said, ‘Oh Lord knows. I always shop at Tesco.’
Saturday, August 27th
Went to Tesco.
Got ingredients.
Cooked and pureed Lentil Savoury Bake for Daisy’s tea.
I made enough for the whole week and froze it in those little weaning pots.
Sunday, August 28th
Daisy wouldn’t eat the Lentil Savoury. She spat it out then made retching noises at the spoon.
Mum tried to feed her too.
‘Open up, you fussy monkey,’ she barked. ‘Your mum’s spent all day cooking this healthy crap.’
When Daisy refused, Mum said, ‘Well I can’t say I blame her. It looks like something you’d find in her nappy. Why don’t you give her one of those pouch meals?’
I finally cracked and gave Daisy a pouch of Banana Breakfast.
She ate the whole lot in under a minute, making smacking noises and sucking hopefully at the empty packet.
I don’t want to throw away all my carefully prepared Lentil Savoury. But at the same time, it does look disgusting.
I’ll throw it out tomorrow.
Monday, August 29th
Summer Bank Holiday
Mum threw out my Lentil Savoury Bake.
I am absolutely furious!
She’d just come back from Iceland (to buy frozen pizzas, mini Kiev’s and chicken nuggets ‘for Callum’ – but she eats them too) and needed to make room in the freezer.
I need to start thinking about getting my own place. It’s impossible to eat healthily here.
Mum has this special popcorn recipe where she can get a whole pack of butter into the pan.
Tuesday, August 30th
Got a mega-period today. Ten months without any period at all and then it’s like ten months at once.
Lucky I didn’t throw out those jumbo sanitary towels.
I’d forgotten about periods. That at least was one good thing about being pregnant.
Wednesday, August 31st
Althea phoned today. She’d seen Nick and Sadie shopping in Harr
ods.
Apparently, they were at the oyster bar drinking champagne.
Sadie looked quite pregnant, but still thin apparently.
I was really pissed off. I’d hoped that Sadie would have puffed up like a sumo wrestler by now. And Nick never took me to fancy places like Harrods.
Apparently, Althea asked Nick (in a big loud voice) if he’d paid any child support yet.
She’s a good friend.
But then Wolfgang got ‘collared’ by a security guard, and she had to leave.
The staff at Harrods don’t share Althea’s view about freedom of expression.
Thursday, September 1st
Little Callum’s first settling-in day at school today.
The kids were allowed to wear ‘whatever they felt comfortable in’, so Callum chose his Spiderman costume and Mum’s feather boa.
He clung to our hands the whole way to the school.
It was hard leaving him.
He just looked so little.
But then he got in a fight with another boy in the playground, so we knew he’d be okay.
Saturday, September 3rd
Some nights I think I can run forever. And some nights I can barely do ten minutes without hating it and swearing to myself and wishing I’d never promised Daisy I’d do the marathon.
Tonight was one of those nights. I only managed one jog around the village once, then staggered home.
Sunday, September 4th
Brandi cooked the family tea tonight, in honour of Callum’s first day at school tomorrow. Also, she’s practising because she has a crush on the man who hosts Master Chef.
She did us nachos with squeezy cheese sauce and salsa – all from jars and packets.
For dessert, she made us a tower of ginger-nut biscuits stuck together with squirty cream.
Mum and Callum loved it. Although Callum was bouncing off the walls by the end. We sent him outside to jump on the trampoline before bed.
Mum asked if I’d heard anything about Nick paying maintenance.
I said I hadn’t, but told her about my new solicitor courtesy of Alex Dalton.
Everyone was impressed.
‘Alex must like you,’ Mum decided.
I told her I wasn’t in his league.
Mum hefted her boobs up in her Lycra bodysuit and said, ‘Men don’t care about leagues. They care about sex, beer and sport. In that order.’
Dad frowned and said, ‘What about wildlife? And star constellations? And die-cast models?’
Mum said, ‘All men except your father.’
Monday, September 5th
Little Callum started school today. I can’t believe it. He looked so grown up in his uniform.
Today is his first full day.
Brandi held it together, but I had tears in my eyes. It’s true – they grow up so fast.
Somehow, Callum managed to vandalise his uniform before he’d even gotten to the school gate.
Brandi was really proud. ‘He’s such a little dude.’
It was really strange going back to Oakley Primary as an adult. Everything looked tiny.
I remember my first day at school so well. Our teacher, Mrs Bat, had an attack of nerves and forgot the alphabet.
Callum went tearing across the playground and into the classroom without a backwards glance.
We saw him through the classroom window, charming a little blonde girl. Then he chivalrously pushed another boy off the computer so the girl could have a turn.
I think it’s safe to say he’ll be fine.
That’s Callum – he takes life in his stride.
Brandi was upset on the walk home. ‘One day, he won’t need me anymore,’ she sobbed. ‘Not today. But one day.’
Weird to think of Callum needing anyone. If there were a nuclear war, the rest of us would die, but Callum would be alright somehow. He’s the toughest little kid I know.
Wednesday, September 7th
It’s amazing, but tonight I really loved running.
And I can run for ages. I’m still pretty slow. But that’s okay. It’s not as if I’m planning on winning the marathon.
I feel so much lighter after I’ve run. I don’t just mean weight-wise. I mean … just in my heart.
Thursday, September 8th
Daisy had a cold today and WOULD NOT NAP.
Rocked, patted, jiggled and eventually shouted. Nothing worked. In the end, I bundled Daisy in the stroller and went for a run around the village.
When I got back, she still hadn’t fallen asleep. But I had managed to run six miles.
Result!
Friday, September 9th
It poured with rain today, so I took Daisy to the village library.
They were doing a ‘Reading Rocks!’ event, and loads of the village kids were there – including Jemima Dalton.
She is such a sweet, polite little girl. She said, ‘So nice to see you again,’ then helped Daisy find a book to chew.
Jemima couldn’t take part in the reading event because she’d already read all the books in the library.
I apologised for rushing off the other day and asked her to thank Alex again for the afternoon tea.
‘Thank him yourself,’ she said. ‘He’s right behind you.’
I jumped out of my skin, and Jemima laughed and said, ‘Only joking. But he’ll be coming soon. You like him, don’t you?’
‘He’s a very nice man,’ I said.
She gave me a knowing smile.
I pretended I needed to change Daisy’s nappy, then sprinted to the toilet, splashed a load of water on my face and wiped yesterday’s mascara from under my eyes.
I casually returned and carried on reading to Daisy. But I kept checking the door to see if Alex was coming.
A few minutes later, Alex arrived.
I pretended to be surprised to see him.
Jemima said, ‘But I just told you he was coming.’
I went all red.
Alex knelt down to blow a raspberry on Daisy’s stomach, and asked me if Jeremy Samuels had been in touch.
I said I’d been meaning to thank him and told him he was right about me needing good representation.
‘I usually am right about things,’ said Alex, adding that he’d seen me running around the village and that my form was improving.
I wanted to ask which day he’d seen me.
Was it Monday, when I’d been wearing Laura’s sleek, black running gear and powering along swigging from a runner’s water bottle?
Or Wednesday, when I was staggering along in stained elephant trousers, panting like an old horse and muttering, ‘I fucking hate running’?
I told Alex that the colder the weather, the less faith I had in myself to finish the marathon.
‘Isn’t it about time I started training you again?’ Alex asked.
I felt myself nodding vigorously.
Alex gave me that wry smile and said he’d come by my parents’ house at 8 pm tomorrow.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ I said. ‘Coming right into the village … away from the fancy bit.’
‘Perhaps I’m not as fancy as you think,’ said Alex.
Then he marched outside to his silver Rolls Royce.
Saturday, September 10th
7 pm
Daisy in bed.
Alex is coming over in an hour.
What the fuck am I going to wear??!!!
Laura and all her runner robot Lycra are in London. And there’s no point asking Mum or Brandi for clothes. Unless I want to go jogging in high heels, neon and seven layers of spray tan.
Why oh why didn’t I think of this before, when the shops were open?
At the moment, my options are:
Nick’s old Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirt. Bad memories there. And anyway, it makes me look fat.
Leggings with big saggy knees.
Dad’s bright white tennis kit from 1980 something.
I seriously need to update my wardrobe.
I’m in this horrible no man
's land where I don’t have the figure for tight T-shirts that show my tummy when I lift my arms (and I STILL have that weird brown pregnancy line under my belly button. Will it EVER go?), but I’m too young to wear big billowy Monsoon tops with flowers all over them.
7.50 pm
Decided that the best thing to wear is Dad’s tennis kit. It’s the cleanest, anyway.
Oh, fuck it – the doorbell.
That must be Alex.
Sunday, September 11th
Seeing Alex on the doorstep yesterday was … well, just weird. Good weird, but weird nonetheless.
I mean, I’ve seen him loads of times around the village. But actually calling at the back door where the family come in …
He was all silent assassin again – arms crossed, black T-shirt and dark grey joggers. Very serious looking.
‘Have you come to repossess the house?’ I said.
He gave his quirky little smile and said, ‘Did you think we were playing tennis?’
I told him my running gear was in the wash and said I hoped I looked okay.
‘You look perfect,’ he said. So I forgave him instantly.
Then he asked about Daisy and my parents. And whether the pub was doing well.
I said yes. It’s the only pub in the village. So it always does well.
We went jogging along the waterfront.
I kept saying, ‘Go ahead if you need to. I don’t want to slow you down.’
But he stayed by my side the whole time. Even though it was obvious, he could go much faster.
We jogged for over an hour, not really saying much. Well – I couldn’t say much, I was too busy wheezing.
If Alex hadn’t been there, I would have stopped after ten minutes. I so wasn’t up for running in the dark and cold. But I couldn’t stop with him there. It would have been too embarrassing. So on I went. And weirdly, as soon as I stopped thinking that I could stop, it got easier.