Mad About You

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘Exhausted,’ she replied.

  ‘You look a bit peaky. Work?’

  Lucy put her phone down. ‘Serge has been awake the last two nights with an ear infection.’

  ‘Was Donal not around?’

  She looked out of the window. ‘He’s still in the spare room.’

  ‘Oh, Lucy, I thought things were better.’

  ‘He was beginning to thaw a little bit, but then I told him I had to go to a meeting in Prague this Saturday and he freaked. He said weekends were supposed to be sacrosanct. They usually are, but this is a really important meeting. The investors are big hitters and I need to be there.’

  I ordered a latte and Lucy a double espresso.

  ‘You need a rest, Lucy. Don’t burn yourself out.’

  She sighed. ‘It’s been insane. I’m working fourteen-hour days. I’ve hardly been in our London office. I’ve spent most of the last few weeks flying to Eastern Europe to get clients to lease our private planes. I’ve never worked so hard in my life.’

  I stirred my coffee. ‘Is it going well?’

  ‘We’ve had a lot of clients signing on, which is a relief because we’ve had to borrow eighty million euro from the German banks.’

  ‘How do you sleep at night? The stress of borrowing that much would kill me.’

  ‘I know it’s a huge amount, but I really believe this business is going to fly – no pun intended! We’ve committed the first sixty million already to buy planes.’

  ‘So when do you start making money? Won’t it take for ever to pay that loan back?’

  ‘Don’t worry. You know me, I’ve done the figures. The big bucks will come rolling in soon enough.’ Lucy stifled a yawn.

  Sticking with my new softer approach, I decided to ask Lucy about Serge. ‘How are you coping with being away from home so much?’

  Lucy replied to a text and I ordered two bowls of soup. ‘Sorry.’ She looked up again. ‘What did you ask?’

  I tried not to get annoyed. I had just sprinted across London to meet her in a place near her office for lunch and she wasn’t even listening to me. I took a deep breath. ‘How are you coping with being away from home so much?’

  ‘I’m fine about it. It’s Donal that’s the problem. The weird thing is that we still have good sex. The only way we communicate these days is physically. Except that afterwards he goes and sleeps in the spare room. It’s as if he wants to dominate me and prove he’s still the man of the house or something, then remembers he’s annoyed with me and walks away. It’s ridiculous and sad. I’m lonely, Emma, lonely in my marriage and I know Donal is too.’

  I reached out and held her hand. I felt bad for being cross with her when her marriage was in crisis. ‘I’m sorry you guys are having a tough time, but you’ll sort it out.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Lucy said. ‘No man would have turned down the opportunity I’ve been given, so why am I the bad guy? Where’s the crime in what I’ve done?’

  ‘There’s no crime,’ I chose my words carefully, ‘but you’re married and you’re mum to a small boy so it’s not straightforward.’

  Lucy didn’t like what I’d said. ‘And that same boy will grow up and leave home. I don’t want to look back and regret not having grasped a golden opportunity.’

  I felt I had to be honest with her. I wanted to make her see the other side. ‘Yes, but the reality of your being away five days a week is tough on Donal and Serge. They miss you.’

  ‘OK, well, let’s say Donal was offered a job presenting sports on Sky TV. It’s an incredible contract, huge opportunity, but it means being away in London four nights a week. Should he take it?’

  ‘It depends.’

  Lucy was getting frustrated. ‘Come on, Emma, I thought you were on my side.’

  ‘I am, but you’re sacrificing a lot for this job and Donal will probably get more fed up as time passes.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, it’s not as if Donal’s landed with looking after Serge all day long. I told you, I have a brilliant nanny who does most of it, and the babysitter comes every Wednesday so Donal can go out with his friends. And when I come home on Friday, I look after Serge all weekend while Donal works.’

  ‘But, Lucy,’ I said, ‘it’s not just about childcare. It’s about being together as a family and spending time with Serge and Donal. I have to be honest, since James started working late all the time, it’s really affected our relationship. We’re like ships passing in the night and it’s causing friction. I know you love your job, but maybe when things calm down a bit you could try to travel less.’

  Lucy sank back in her chair. ‘I think I’m more like my mother than I realized,’ she admitted sadly.

  This again, I thought. I could no longer tell if that was guilt talking or just her way of justifying her actions – as if she was driven because it was in her genes. ‘You’re nothing like your awful mother,’ I assured her.

  She answered another email. ‘Sorry. Actually, Emma, in a way I am. My mother doesn’t like small children. She has no interest in Serge and he’s her only grandchild. She only became interested in me when I was about eight. Before that she left me with nannies all the time. She found the baby-and-small-child phase boring. And I do too. Going to the park and pushing Serge on a swing for an hour drives me nuts. It’s mind-numbing. I don’t want to sing stupid songs over and over again. I hate feeding him because he spits most of his food out. I like him when he’s fed, bathed and in his pyjamas.’ She covered her face in her hands. ‘I know I’m a wretched human being with no motherly instincts, but that is honestly how I feel.’

  I pulled her hands down. ‘You’re not a wretched human being. You’re a warm, lovely, generous person, who is struggling with motherhood. We all do.’ I tried to reassure her.

  ‘No.’ Lucy was firm. ‘I see the way you look at your kids – it’s different. I love Serge, but I don’t need him the way you need your kids. When I’m in work, I don’t miss him. I don’t feel the need to run home to see him. If he’s asleep when I get home, that’s fine. I like watching him sleeping – he looks cute and I can relax. I’m hoping as he gets older that I’ll feel more of an umbilical attachment, but I do not find this stage easy or fun.’

  ‘Lucy, lots of women feel the way you do, they just don’t admit it. But I think you need to be very careful not to spend too much time away,’ I warned her.

  ‘I know, but if I’d turned down this amazing offer, I’d be sitting at home now resenting Donal and Serge, and that would be worse.’

  Lucy’s phone rang. ‘I’m on my way,’ she said into it. Then, looking at me, she said, ‘God, I’m so sorry, Emma, I have to go, some problem with one of our investors. Talk soon.’ She gave me a quick kiss and rushed out of the door into the cool autumn afternoon.

  I watched her go, her shoulders hunched. Life was so much more complicated now. Everything that happened had serious repercussions. Every decision you made affected lots of people and the responsibility for that was sometimes crippling.

  Our soup arrived as the door closed behind her. I asked for mine to be put into a take-away cup. I’d drink it on the tube on the way back to work. No one could maintain the pace of life Lucy was currently living. Something would have to give. Would it be work, her marriage or her health?

  15

  By the end of the week, I was exhausted. I’d been putting the kids to bed on my own every night and trying to tiptoe around Babs at work. I was thrilled when Karen said on Thursday evening that we were done for the week and could take Friday off.

  I gave Claire the day off and brought the kids to school. It was lovely to see them running in the gate. Well, Lara ran and Yuri walked, still a little tentative, but definitely happier. They were settling in so well and I was really proud of them. I decided to use my time wisely and organize a play-date for Yuri. He seemed very keen on this boy called Jackson. I glanced around and spotted a stick-thin woman in Lycra: Jackson’s mum. She was standing with a group of other gym bunnies.

  They
stopped talking as I approached them. I went up to Jackson’s mum and proffered a hand. ‘Hi there, sorry to interrupt. I’m Emma, Yuri’s mum.’

  She looked me up and down. ‘Who?’

  ‘Yuri – he’s new to the class this term.’

  She stared blankly at me. Clearly she was not one of those warm, fuzzy earth-mothers. All of the Lycra gang were staring at me. I could feel perspiration on my back. ‘Right, well, Yuri was saying that he’d like to have Jackson over for a play some day, so I wondered if this afternoon suited.’

  ‘This afternoon?’ She looked as if I’d just asked her to eat a cream pie. The others tittered.

  I willed myself to stay calm. ‘Yes, this afternoon.’

  ‘I’m sorry, what’s your name?’

  ‘Emma.’

  ‘You’re not from here, are you, sweetie?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Well, Emma, Jackson has a very full after-school schedule. Yurgi will need to book him a couple of weeks in advance at least.’ Then, adding to my humiliation, she placed a manicured hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it soon.’

  Fearing that I might rip her manicured hand off her toned arm, I turned on my heel and walked briskly away from the school gate and my public mortification. I was furious. How dare she be so rude and condescending? How dare she mispronounce my son’s name and pretend she hadn’t heard of him? Her snot-nosed kid would be lucky to have a friend like Yuri. I felt so alone. I fought back tears. Why was it so difficult to make friends? Why were the mothers so unfriendly? Was I a freak? Did I stand out as weird? All I wanted to do was fit in.

  As I turned the corner to walk up my road, muttering to myself like a mad woman, I bumped into Poppy. She was wearing a fuchsia pink Juicy Couture tracksuit and was carrying a large box from Chez Florence, the patisserie at the end of our road.

  ‘Hello, Emma – on the way to work?’

  I was very glad to see her friendly face. ‘Actually, no, I’ve got the day off.’

  ‘But that’s marvellous! Now you can come to my coffee morning.’

  I was in no mood for small-talk with Poppy and her über-glamorous friends. I wanted to go home and punch a cushion. ‘Thanks, Poppy, but I’m not sure I’m up for meeting a whole new bunch of people today. I’m finding it hard to fit in, to be honest.’

  Poppy linked my arm. ‘It took me ages to make friends when I moved to Putney. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Now, the only way you’re going to make friends is to say yes to everything. Accept every invitation and soon you’ll have a few ladies you can talk to and trust. Staying at home feeling homesick will do you no good. I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ll see you at ten thirty, sharp. Carol’s coming, so you’ll know at least one person.’ Poppy went up her driveway, waving at me over her shoulder.

  I smiled. Poppy was a tonic. And she was right, I did need to get out and about. Maybe her friends could help me work out how to fit in at the school gate.

  I decided to check if Carol had been to a coffee morning at Poppy’s before and therefore could tell me if it would be casual or dressy, and whether I should bring something. I didn’t want to make any more social faux-pas this morning.

  I went into the garden and looked over the fence to where Carol was, as always, working on her vegetable patch.

  ‘Hi, Carol, sorry to interrupt. It’s just about Poppy’s coffee morning later. Should I go in jeans, or will everyone be dressed up?’

  Carol pulled a stray hair out of her face. ‘You know Poppy. She’ll be dressed to the nines. The last time I went to one of her coffees, the women all looked as if they were off to Ascot.’

  ‘Oh, God!’ I groaned. ‘I’m not sure I can fit into any of my nice clothes.’

  ‘I’ll be casual. I don’t own a dress.’

  ‘Yes, but you do the whole casual thing really well,’ I lied.

  Carol made her own clothes, and I had no doubt she’d be wearing one of her home-made shirts to Poppy’s house. They were made up of scraps of material she found in haberdasheries. She’d sew the scraps together, regardless of colour or pattern, and create a shirt out of them. Her outfits were completely bonkers, but she got away with it because she wore them with confidence. Carol felt fantastic in her clothes because she had created something from recycled goods and was doing her bit to save the planet. I, on the other hand, would have looked like a homeless person in her stuff.

  ‘Will you call in for me on your way?’ I asked her.

  ‘Sure. See you at ten thirty.’

  I went into the house and tried on everything I owned. I eventually opted for a white shirt and a high-waisted black pencil skirt, which was made with some kind of reinforced elastic that sucked in my stomach. I paired it with black, wedge-heeled, strappy sandals. When I looked in the mirror, I was pleased with the result.

  I spent ages on my makeup, trying to camouflage my tired eyes and dehydrated skin, the result of all the wine I’d drunk last night. James had promised to be home for dinner, but as usual had called to say he was stuck in work, so I had finished an entire bottle on my own. At this rate, I’d be a lush in no time. Maybe that was why Jackson’s mother hadn’t given me the time of day: she’d smelt alcohol on my breath. I gave my teeth a good scrub. I didn’t want Poppy’s friends getting the wrong idea – the boozy Irish neighbour was such a cliché.

  An hour later, Carol picked me up to walk next door to Poppy’s. She was wearing a shirt that had blue pin-stripe sleeves, a red paisley front, a flowery purple back and a white collar. She had combined it with khaki combats, open-toed sandals … and looked radiant. She beamed from ear to ear. In her hand she had a basket of vegetables, freshly picked from the garden. I knew Poppy would just throw them into the bin. I reckoned anything with mud on it was a no-no to Poppy. I’d have said the only vegetables she allowed into her house were in Marks & Spencer’s packaging.

  I had a box of chocolates I’d found in the cupboard. I knew Poppy wouldn’t eat them, but at least I wasn’t arriving empty-handed. I was sure she hadn’t eaten anything since the nineties.

  Carol pointed to the three large SUVs parked on the road outside Poppy’s house. ‘It’s a bloody disgrace,’ she fumed. ‘Why can’t those women cycle, use public transport or at least buy hybrid cars? Don’t they care about global warming?’

  I said nothing, but somehow I doubted that Poppy and her friends cared about anything but the latest Prada handbag or Victoria Beckham dress. Carol was wasting her breath. She rang the doorbell. Sophie answered it, wearing her perfect Parisian pout and little else.

  ‘’Ello, come in,’ the au pair mumbled, strutting ahead of us in her micro mini skirt. ‘Ze ladies are in zere in zeir ridiculous shoes zat zey cannot walk in.’

  We followed her into the lounge where Poppy jumped up to greet us. She was dressed to the nines in a tight Roland Mouret ice-blue dress and nude, sky-high Louboutin heels.

  ‘You look fantastic,’ I said, as Poppy air-kissed me. She did look fantastic for a woman going to a wedding or a very posh lunch. It was all a bit much for not-even-eleven-a.m., but maybe that was how they did it in London. If so, I’d have to take out a bank loan for my next coffee morning.

  ‘All these clothes are remnants of the good old days when I had a black American Express card,’ Poppy said, with an exaggerated sigh.

  I’d never heard of a black credit card. Obviously it was the really fancy kind. This was a whole new world. I decided to concentrate, try to understand these women and fit in. I needed friends.

  Carol sat down on the chair nearest the door and I sat opposite her, on the couch, where I took up about three times as much space as the model-thin women who were already perched there.

  Poppy introduced us. ‘Girls, these are my neighbours. Carol, the eco-warrior, and Emma, who’s just moved over from Ireland. And these are my friends, Holly, Jo and Sasha.’

  I smiled and nodded at them. Each one was wearing a figure-hugging dress and stiletto heels. They all had coiffed
blonde hair and Botoxed faces. Sasha and Jo also had collagen lips and put-your-eye-out boob jobs, as Mum called them. None of them ate any of the dainty food. I sucked my stomach in and sipped my coffee.

  ‘Emma’s a makeup artist,’ Poppy told them.

  ‘Really?’ Sasha looked surprised.

  ‘Any tips?’ Jo asked.

  ‘Don’t drink too much wine at night because you’ll wake up with dehydrated skin,’ I said, pointing to my own face and smiling.

  ‘Oh, that explains it,’ Poppy said. ‘I thought you were a bit pale.’

  ‘Sweetie, you should only ever drink vodka and soda water. It’s very low in calories, and the soda hydrates you,’ Sasha informed me, as if she were passing on the meaning of life.

  ‘Excellent. Thanks.’

  ‘We were just talking about Annabelle’s birthday,’ Poppy explained. ‘She’ll be eight next week and Jo is throwing the most incredible party for her. Tell them, Jo.’

  Jo smiled widely, revealing a perfect set of dazzling white veneers. ‘Well, Annabelle loves Nobu.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ Holly chuckled.

  Hang on, wasn’t Nobu the restaurant all the celebrities went to?

  ‘So she asked if she could have her party there. Well, what could I say?’

  ‘How about “no”?’ The words were out of my big mouth before I realized it. Oops.

  Silence. They all stared at me, except Carol, who looked at the floor.

  ‘Just kidding,’ I lied. I mean, Nobu, really? One of the top restaurants in the world and they think it’s perfect for a kid’s birthday party? I could have done with one of those vodka-and-sodas right then and there.

  ‘The Irish sense of humour always gets me,’ Jo said. ‘Anyway, I called Christophe, the manager – he knows me well because we eat there at least once a week. He said it was an unusual request, but that of course he’d arrange it.’

  ‘It’s so exciting. My Diana can’t wait,’ Sasha said, through her puffed-up lips.

  ‘How many girls have you invited?’ Poppy asked.

  ‘Fourteen. We’re having dinner at Nobu and then a sleepover at our house. I’ve hired a magician, a fire-eater and a juggler, and then we’re having a disco. I’ve converted the playroom into a nightclub, with mirror balls and a dance-floor, and we’ve hired a DJ and some professional dancers to teach the girls some new moves.’