by Suzy K Quinn
Asked Daisy about her bad dream. She said that Daddy’s girlfriend hit her with a giant bean.
Panicked.
Quizzed Daisy about Daddy’s house.
Daisy told me again about the ‘yuck pie’ (the quiche), strange-tasting green ice cream (possibly pistachio flavour?) and watching the Lion King. Then she talked about Daddy’s girlfriend screaming and covered up her ears.
‘Want to sleep in your bed,’ Daisy sobbed. ‘Ever and ever.’
Have a horrible knot in my stomach today.
I can’t let Daisy stay with Nick again – not if Sadie could be there. And I know this is going to cause a massive drama.
Phoned Alex.
Predictably, he didn’t answer, so I sent another humiliating text asking what I’d done wrong.
He hasn’t replied.
If I think about Alex too much, it drives me a little bit crazy. It’s the not knowing and not being able to know. Surely he realises this is torture?
Wednesday 28th March
Phoned Nick to talk about the Sadie situation.
Tried to remember our counselling sessions, and refrained from describing Sadie as ‘mental’, ‘bat shit crazy’ or ‘a banshee’.
Said Daisy had a nightmare about Sadie, and it was very important not to have the wrong people around when Daisy came over.
Nick got all formal and said he’d spoken to his solicitor, who confirmed there was no legal reason why Sadie couldn’t be around.
Lost my temper then and shouted, ‘But Nick, Sadie is bat shit crazy. She’s a bloody banshee. Daisy’s been having nightmares about her mentalness.’
‘Don’t give me more problems, Jules,’ Nick whispered. ‘It’s bad enough managing Sadie. She’s got nowhere to go now she and her mum have fallen out. If I kick her out at weekends, she’ll go crazy.’
That’s the whole trouble with Nick – deep down he’s a coward.
‘Man up, Nick,’ I snapped. ‘And think about your daughter, for once in your life.’
Thursday 29th March
Feeling a bit overwhelmed today.
Don’t know what I’m going to do about the Nick/Sadie situation.
On the positive side, I do have another holiday to look forward to – sunny Corfu in May. It’ll be fun going away with the family, and quite a change from the luxurious, formal cruise ship. They’ll be waterslides and a slushie machine for Mum, and a kids’ club for Daisy and Callum.
Told Daisy about our sunshine break.
‘We’re going to Greece,’ I enthused. ‘Lots of exciting feta cheese and syrupy pastries. There’ll be a big swimming pool and a waterslide.’
Daisy was very excited about swimming with Nana. ‘Geronimo!’ she shouted, imitating Mum whooshing down a waterslide.
Was a little hurt, because I’m fun in the swimming pool too, albeit a little more focused on water safety and technique.
Daisy now has a new game called ‘holidays’. The game involves filling her Dora the Explorer suitcase with things like toilet roll, towels, my shoes, an ornamental cactus and the chicken breast I bought for tea. She has also packed the central heating controller somewhere, and now doesn’t know where it is.
Explained the seriousness of this to Daisy, but she didn’t understand because she doesn’t feel the cold.
‘Not chilly, Mummy,’ said Daisy. ‘LOVELY sunshine.’ But the thermostat says it’s only 12 degrees in the house.
If I were an employer, I would be taken to a task for breaking health and safety regulations.
Friday 30th March
Good Friday
Can’t believe it’s Good Friday already.
Haven’t bought Easter eggs, let alone arranged child-friendly Easter activities.
Headed into town to load up on chocolate and ended up in Poundland with a basketful of Easter egg misshape bargains.
Daisy had Christmas money from Nana Joan, so I let her go mad in the toy aisle, stocking up on plastic crap. She chose a water pistol that won’t shoot water, a twenty-piece tool set (three screwdrivers have already snapped) and a kite that broke off its flimsy cotton thread and flew away. The only thing that hasn’t broken is a fluffy bunny she’s named ‘Curry’.
Althea would say that Daisy has learned a lesson about possessions and attachment. But I fear the opposite is true.
Daisy was so traumatised by the lost kite that she has become extremely attached to the broken water pistol and Curry the rabbit (who has now lost an ear).
At tea time, Daisy sat Curry on her knee and asked John Boy philosophical questions about how missing body parts might affect a rabbit.
Saturday 31st March
Daisy is cranky as anything today – partly because Curry the rabbit lost his other ear, but also because her back molars are coming through.
With all the horrors of baby teething behind us, I’d forgotten there were more teeth to come.
Althea confirmed that molar growth can create mood swings in children. She speaks from experience, because all Wolfgang’s teeth have come through now. He still has one giant front tooth that dominates his mouth, but a collection of pointed fangs have now joined it.
Admitted I’d called and texted Alex again. Althea was very kind, saying, ‘You’re only human, Julesy. Of course you want answers. But haven’t you got all the answers you need? I mean, do you really want to be with someone who acts this way? Cuts you out of their life without explanation?’
Told her she didn’t know Alex like I do. ‘He gets crazy jealous because of his messed-up childhood and can flick his feelings off like a switch,’ I explained.
‘That sounds like battered wife bullshit to me,’ said Althea. ‘Find yourself a nice, sane man who shops organic and doesn’t drive a wanker sports car. Look, do you want to come over mine and do some art-textile therapy? Wolfy and I are making modern Easter sculptures. I’ve got a load of wrought iron and a new welding set-up in the shed.’
Politely declined. I haven’t done art textiles since school, when I was emotionally abused during my GCSE project.
I made a space rocket with chicken wire and papier-mâché, then painted it light red. The rocket looked exactly like a giant penis, with my name stuck at the base.
I had to stand for assessment, while pupils and teachers laughed at my sculpture.
My art teacher, Mrs Winterbottom, let me down that day. She brought in three other staff members to point and snigger.
Sunday 1st April – Easter Sunday
Plucked up the courage to stalk Alex.
Needless to say, it didn’t end well.
Laura told me that Alex and Catrina were attending the Westminster Cathedral Easter Service, so I left Daisy for a chocolate fest with Mum and took the train to London.
The plan was just to find out why Alex has gone all cold. I know Althea is right – Alex shouldn’t have cut me off without explanation. But I reasoned if we could just talk to each other, I can at least move forward.
After hellish rail-replacement bank holiday train service, I arrived in London and hung around outside the cathedral like a Victorian orphan waiting for scraps.
When the service finished and the crowds poured out, I thought Alex wasn’t there at first. But then I saw him, dressed in a fitted, black suit, his skin gleaming. Catrina was beside him, done up like a Christmas turkey in a peacock blue coat, matching pillar-box hat and white gloves.
On Alex’s other side was a pretty, blonde girl, who wore a bright red coat and a star-struck smile.
As I watched, Alex took the girl’s arm to help her down the steps. She looked shy and delighted.
My heart dropped to my stomach.
Had a sort of out-of-body experience and marched up to Alex screaming things.
Alex glared at me, then said, ‘Have you quite finished?’
‘What did I do to deserve this?’ I shouted. ‘After everything we’ve been through this year. To just cut me out with no explanation.’
‘I don’t owe you any explanation,’ s
aid Alex. ‘It’s you who owes me an explanation.’ Then he stalked away.
Catrina followed Alex, smiling and waving at no one in particular, but the blonde girl stayed where she was.
‘You’re Juliette, aren’t you?’ she said, offering a kind smile. ‘I’m Bethany. Alex has told me about you.’
‘What has he told you?’ I said. ‘What’s going on? We went on a cruise together. Everything was fine, and now he’s just cut me out.’
The girl’s eyes turned sad. ‘Look, I think you have to move forward. Alex and I … it’s going well. We’re both excited about the future. Take care, okay?’
As the girl walked away, I stood in my shell of a body, feeling my aching, broken heart.
Got home to find Daisy and Callum both on a massive sugar high, tearing around the pub, hitting each other with Easter egg baskets.
Mum had let them eat a whole Easter egg each, plus three slices of ‘unicorn’ cake (Betty Crocker frosted chocolate cake covered with a ‘rainbow’ of M&Ms).
Wanted to cuddle Daisy but had to catch her first – which took some doing.
Felt reassured knowing that Daisy will always love me.
She has to.
It’s sort of the law.
I think Daisy realised I was emotionally vulnerable, because she asked if she could eat her Smarties Easter egg from Nana Joan, and order Dominoes for tea.
Agreed to both things.
Went to bed after tea and cried myself to sleep.
Monday 2nd April
‘WHY?’ I keep asking, over and over again. ‘The cruise was great. Why did he just ditch me like that? Why is he seeing HER? WHY?’
No one can give me any answers, and everyone is sick of my questions. I got so desperate, I even phoned Nick to ask why a man would go all cold and start seeing someone else.
‘Probably a sex thing,’ Nick replied, which made me feel a hundred times worse.
The school Easter holidays start today, and Callum is off for TWO weeks.
Understand now why parents complain about school holidays being so long.
Just want to wallow in heartbreak at the pub, but Callum is shooting round like a chipmunk.
Mum says I should look at the positives.
‘What positives?’ I asked.
‘Well,’ Mum reasoned, ‘telling Callum off is distracting you from your love life drama.’
Tuesday 3rd April
Nick phoned late last night with a drunk confession.
To cut a long story short, I need to kill Sadie.
‘I have to get something off my chest, Julesy,’ Nick told me, words slurred. ‘It’s to do with wanker Dalton. I did something stupid.’
Went quiet then, because Nick is always doing something stupid. For him to be phoning to admit something … well, it must be major.
‘I told Sadie about your miscarriage,’ said Nick.
I’d forgotten what a girly gossip Nick can be.
‘It’s alright,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind people knowing. What’s this got to do with Alex?’
‘Sadie thought it was my baby,’ said Nick. ‘She thinks I got you pregnant.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘She put two and two together and made one hundred,’ said Nick. ‘Because I mentioned your miscarriage, Sadie got jealous and thought it must be my child.’
Nick went on to tell me that Sadie had shared news of our ‘affair’ with a theatre friend, who was close to the Dalton family.
‘So I reckon that’s why posh twat Dalton doesn’t want to know you anymore,’ said Nick. ‘It’s going to come out sooner or later, so I thought I’d better do damage limitation. Before you rip my bollocks off.’
Suddenly, everything clicked into place.
So that’s why Alex stopped talking to me. He thinks I got pregnant by Nick. What an arsehole. How could he believe that?
Would ordinarily be annoyed with Nick for sharing my news, but to be fair, he couldn’t have guessed that Sadie would twist things in her mind.
I’M furious now – with Alex, more than anyone else.
How could Alex believe third-hand gossip without talking to me? And then move on to someone else so quickly?
Sadie has done me a favour. She’s helped me see who Alex REALLY is.
Thank goodness I didn’t end up having a baby with him.
Forget him and his jealousy and his bloody weird family.
What an arsehole.
Wednesday 4th April
Lay awake last night, furious with Alex and everything he’s put me through.
To believe I’d get pregnant by Nick, and then pass Alex off as the father! And then to cut me out, without saying a word, and hook up with some blonde Sloane Square husband-hunter type. To put me through that torture. How dare he!
Phoned Althea at 1am, complaining that I had fury insomnia.
Althea is good to phone late at night, because she has no set sleep cycle.
‘Acid burns the vessel,’ said Althea. ‘You’ve got to let that shit go, Jules. Karma will do the work.’
When I explained that Alex had believed a third-hand vicious rumour and got himself a new girlfriend, Althea said, ‘Fucking hell. What a massive cunt. Forget karma. Go and shit on his doorstep, the big, posh twat.’
Appreciated the support.
Phoned Laura. She said she’d tell Alex how the rumour started the next time he came over to see Zach.
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ I said. ‘I don’t even care anymore. If he could believe something like that, I’m better off without him.’
Went round Mum and Dad’s this morning for a bit of family love.
Unfortunately, Mum and Dad aren’t speaking to each other.
They’ve had a row about After Eight mints.
Dad bought three boxes from Tesco at £1 each (a 70% saving), ready for Christmas. He was very pleased with his economic purchase, until he discovered Mum had eaten all three boxes.
Mum was unrepentant.
‘He’s lived with me for thirty years,’ she said. ‘He should know by now that if he brings chocolates into the house I’ll eat them.’
Dad, who was listening from the study, shouted back: ‘Three whole boxes Shirley! In as many days. You’re supposed to be on a diet.’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake Bob, they’re only wafer-thin mints,’ Mum shouted back.
Then she put on the Rolling Stones at full volume.
Dad retaliated by playing his Best of Cambridge Folk Festival CD.
Thursday 5th April
Brandi is seeing a Kurt Cobain lookalike called Richie Pitt. She must be serious about him, because she’s let him meet Callum.
Asked Callum what Richie was like.
Callum shrugged. ‘He’s not like Mum’s usual boyfriends. He’s got a job.’
Sometimes, Callum startles me with his mature observations. Other times, I wonder how he’ll ever survive childhood when he burns himself every morning on Brandi’s hair straighteners.
Apparently, Richie took Brandi and Callum to a gaming café yesterday.
‘You’d think gaming would be fun, but it wasn’t a great choice for a child,’ Callum informed me. ‘There were no kids’ meals or colouring books or anything, and all the games were really complicated. But I did get to roll a seven-sided dice, so I think maybe Richie’s alright. If he gets a decent haircut.’
Callum proceeded to critique Richie’s style, starting with his floppy, blonde chin-length hair and ending with his scruffy trainers.
‘If you wear white trainers, you have to keep them clean,’ Callum declared. ‘Otherwise you end up looking scruffy. He’s an adult. He should know that.’
Friday 6th April
Visit from health visitor, Pam Fairy, today.
She came to do Daisy’s two-year health check.
Daisy is two and a half now – another indicator of our NHS in crisis.
I’d completely forgotten about the appointment, and was shouting, ‘DAISY! Will you stop saying bollocks,’ a
s I opened the front door.
I was expecting the Amazon delivery man, so seeing Pam was a shock.
Rapidly shushed Daisy, who was shouting, ‘ollocks, ollocks’ in the background.
Pam wore a woolly cardigan over her huge bust and smiled kindly at the state of the house.
‘You don’t need to tidy up on my account,’ she said, sitting her bulky bottom on a kitchen stool. ‘I’ve seen plenty of messy houses.’ But I still did a rapid tidy, throwing slippery Walking Dead comics, singing toys and inappropriate DVDs aside.
Everyone knows health visitors are looking for neglect.
Made Pam a cup of tea, while she got out her shiny, white baby scales.
‘Sorry the visit is half a year late,’ said Pam, pressing the button on her scales. ‘But resources are stretched tight at the minute. If I want so much as a Jaffa Cake, it comes out of my own pocket.’
Offered Pam one of John Boy’s chocolate digestives, and she seemed grateful.
Then Brandi and Callum turned up unexpectedly.
Told Brandi the health visitor was here, and she’d have to come back later.
‘But I promised Callum he could see his cousin,’ said Brandi. ‘He’ll be ever so disappointed.’
Relented, on the proviso that Callum would be exceptionally well-behaved.
Introduced my sister and nephew to Pam Fairy, then offered Callum a chocolate biscuit.
‘Those biscuits are bollocks for kids, Aunty Julesy,’ said Callum. ‘Don’t you have any Barney Bears or party rings?’
I tried to pretend Callum hadn’t said ‘bollocks’, and asked: ‘What’s the magic word?’
Callum looked at me blankly. ‘Abracadabra?’
Asked Pam a lot of anxious mum questions, like:
Why is Daisy’s nose running all the time? Is it because I didn’t breastfeed?
Is it normal that she wakes up at 6am?
How can I stop her swearing?
Pam gave the usual vague, non-committal responses like, ‘it’s just a phase’, and ‘she’ll grow out of it’ and ‘every child is different’.