by Niamh Greene
So there I was, talking to Daisy the cow (I’m not sure she was called Daisy, but I thought that using a real name had to be better than just saying ‘Good cow, good cow’ over and over again) and telling her that everything would be all right, that once she saw her baby calf she’d forget all the pain and suffering she was going through. I wasn’t too sure if that was completely true of course, but Daisy didn’t need to know that.
I said I was sorry there were no epidurals for cows and that maybe next time she might consider a nice C-section – she could be the cow that was too posh to push. Just when I thought I was running out of positive things to say, and she was starting to look like she wanted to strangle me, Larry gave a cheer: the baby calf was here. Then he threw his arms around me and gave me a massive kiss and said I was the best helper he’d ever had; the farmer came back and said if he didn’t know better he would have thought we were an old married couple; I wiped off the slime and after-birth Larry had gotten on my best Jigsaw cardigan when he hugged me; and we all trooped inside. And under the pine trestle table, just as the farmer poured me a nice cup of hot sweet tea, Larry felt for my hand and squeezed my fingers tight. And I only had to think for a second or two before I squeezed back.
I didn’t tell Anna how well everything had gone, I didn’t want to raise her hopes, but I think she guessed because yesterday she dragged me on a shopping trip and insisted I get some new bright clothes to go with my new bright flat. I resisted at first – you know I’m not much of a spender; it’s been years since I bought myself anything new and even longer since I took a holiday – but it was so much fun that I gave in eventually. I wouldn’t like to say how much I spent, but Anna kept telling me I’m worth it and for once I didn’t argue with her.
Eve
Are You a Saver or a Spender?
Take our quiz and find out!
You see a pair of fabulous shoes that you really want but can’t afford. Do you:
a)Buy them immediately on your credit card. You only live once!
b)Buy them if you have the spare cash. You’re trying to cut back on credit card use.
c)Walk away. If they’re still there in the sales you might reconsider.
All your friends are going on an extravagant two-week holiday abroad, but you know it’s far too expensive. Do you:
a)Book the trip without a second thought. You wouldn’t want your friends to think you were tight.
b)Agree to go for a few nights instead of the full two weeks. That’s a reasonable compromise.
c)Tell your friends to send you a postcard. You’ll go next time – when you can afford it.
At the end of every month you are usually:
a)Stony broke and already in debt to friends and family.
b)Surviving but counting the minutes to pay day when you can have a life again.
c)Still comfortable – and you’ve saved almost half your salary.
Results
Mostly As: Hey, Miss Spendthrift – ever heard of a phrase called credit crunch? It’s time to tighten that belt a little!
Mostly Bs: Your intentions are good, Little Miss Should Know Better. But you need to follow through with the good deeds – that dream home won’t buy itself, you know!
Mostly Cs: You are a fiscal dream, Little Miss Money Bags. But try to treat yourself and your friends every now and again – you don’t want to turn into Little Miss Scrooge.
Molly
‘Oh my God!’ Al screeches down the line, and my eardrum vibrates. ‘Are you OK?’
I’ve just told Al that I fell down the stairs and hurt my shoulder. I’ve left no detail out because I know that, on the other side of the partition, Penny is listening and possibly taking notes for her top-secret HR file. Since I came back in, she’s been waiting for me to forget to pretend that I’ve got an injured arm, I just know it. She even threw one of her precious KitKat bars across the partition earlier on purpose to see if I’d try to catch it with my bad hand.
‘I’m fine,’ I say bravely. ‘I’m in a lot of pain, of course, but I’m soldiering on.’ I throw that in for good measure.
‘You didn’t… you didn’t do it on purpose, did you?’ Al asks. ‘You know, because of Charlie and… everything?’
I can hear veiled excitement in Al’s voice. He loves nothing more than a bit of drama. He’d never admit it, but he’d probably be secretly thrilled if I was suicidal.
‘Of course not,’ I say.
‘So you’re feeling OK? About Charlie…?’
The last thing I want to do is talk about Charlie. I haven’t told Al or Tanya that he’s written to me asking to come back, or that I’m starting to think our marriage has been a terrible mistake, and I’m not going to – not until I figure out exactly what to do.
‘Yes, I am,’ I reply, trying to sound upbeat and confident.
What I really want to say is ‘Kill me, kill me now. Something quick and painless and immediate. Push me under a bus – you could make it look like an accident.’ I read about that in the paper only last week. Some poor woman who had just got back from her holiday in Orlando looked the wrong way and stepped right under a 46A. The police reckoned she forgot she was back in Ireland and that traffic drives on the left here. It was really tragic – she was still wearing the Mickey Mouse T-shirt she bought in Disneyland.
‘Do you want me to come over tonight?’
I can’t see Al today. If he sees me then he’ll wheedle everything out of me and I don’t want to tell him, not just yet.
‘I’m fine, really,’ I say. ‘I’m just going to lie low after work. I’ll call you tomorrow, OK?’
‘Don’t make me come over there and kick your door down,’ he says in mock seriousness.
‘Al, you weigh about seven stone, you couldn’t kick a cat flap in.’ In spite of myself, I start to laugh.
‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ he says, sighing. ‘OK then, I’ll get a hot gym bunny to come over and help me. I do love a man in a leotard. I saw this really cute guy at the gym yesterday – I think he might have a thing for me.’
‘What about your prison officer?’ I ask. ‘Butch, wasn’t it? I thought things were getting hot and heavy between you two?’
‘You’re right – they were. But then I found out that we had nothing in common. I mean, I can’t have a relationship with a man who reads Carla Ryan novels!’
I laugh out loud.
‘Now, you’re sure you don’t need me?’
‘I’m sure, I promise.’
I hang up and try to get back to work, remembering to wince with fake pain every so often for effect. Having a shoulder injury was an inspired idea. And who knew I could be so inventive? It took me no time at all to wrap a bandage from my neck to my wrist with some first aid supplies I had in the bathroom. Then all I had to do was stick my arm in a makeshift sling, and I looked like the genuine article. The only tricky part was the train ride into work. I decided that it was critical to practise being disabled before I had to fake it in the office, so I forced myself to use only one hand to balance both a book and a coffee at the same time. It was going quite well until I spilled some of the coffee on the woman sitting opposite me and I thought she was going to break my other arm for real. At least I got a seat though, that part was great. Usually I have to stand on the train, but being temporarily disabled meant I could sit and just concentrate on looking brave for the whole journey. And work has been a breeze so far. I’m even thinking I might prolong the shoulder thing for a while. Samantha has been so nice to me all morning that it’s almost worth it. It’s not even that hard to remember to act like I’m in agony. In fact, I’ve got so good at the little charade that I’ve almost convinced myself that I have hurt my shoulder. I’m even whimpering with pain when no one is looking at me.
‘Are you sure you should have come back quite so soon?’ Samantha says now, looking at me with concern as I make a pained expression for the umpteenth time.
‘I’m OK.’ I smile, flinching a little. ‘I
don’t know if I’m up to photocopying though.’
I look feebly over at the stack of press releases from publicists waiting to be copied so Minty can look through them. Photocopying is my least favourite job. Somehow that damned machine always seems to jam whenever I go anywhere near it.
‘No, of course not.’ She tuts in sympathy. ‘You poor thing, that could do you even more damage. I’ll do them.’
‘Eh?’ Penny pops her head over the partition. ‘You never do anything for me!’
‘Penny, that’s really insensitive of you,’ Samantha says, frowning at her. ‘Molly here is in serious pain. She probably should still be at home taking things easy.’
I smile angelically. This is great. I do feel a bit guilty that Samantha has fallen so completely for my story, but then again she likes to look after people – it makes her feel good.
‘Will I get you some chocolate?’ she goes on. ‘You might need perking up – you look a bit pale.’
‘Ah no, I’m OK,’ I say, ‘I’m not really hungry.’
I suck in my cheeks to emphasize my cheekbones. The more haggard and skeletal I can look, the better. I’m not lying about the hunger: my appetite is still a bit off. Funny though, I’m starting to think I might be able to manage a packet of crisps. Cheese and onion ones would be lovely. And maybe some chocolate – just a square or two. I might get her to run to the shop for me later.
‘Well, you need to mind yourself after such a nasty tumble,’ she says, patting my good arm. ‘I know someone who took a terrible fall and got such a fright they didn’t eat for three weeks.’
‘What a load of horseshit,’ Penny sneers. ‘They were probably trying to make a false insurance claim. People can be very dishonest.’
I feel my cheeks burn. I know that’s a veiled message to me. Penny doesn’t believe my story, that’s obvious.
Samantha ignores her. ‘Have you seen Minty yet?’ she asks me.
‘Not yet,’ I gulp.
I’m dreading seeing Minty. If she finds out that I’m faking my arm injury I may as well throw myself down the stairs for real. I’ve been trying to keep a low profile and stay out of her sight all morning. Mostly because I’m afraid that she’ll know immediately that there’s nothing wrong with me, but also because, even though I’ve made good progress on the Carla Ryan piece and David’s interview for the next issue, I still haven’t started the feature on marriage yet and she’s bound to want to see it soon.
I’ve arranged stacks of paperwork all over my desk to hide behind and keep out of her eye line. It’s working quite well, but I know it’s only a matter of time. When she eventually spots me she’ll remember I’m supposed to have finished it days ago and then I’m going to be in big trouble. Capital B, capital T. I had a really close call in the Ladies earlier. I could hear her in the stall next to me – she has a very distinctive peeing noise, she likes to practise her Kegel exercises while she goes, so there’s lots of stopping and starting of the flow. Once I knew it was her, I sat on the toilet seat with my feet jammed up on the wall so she wouldn’t recognize my shoes, haul me out of the cubicle and demand the piece right there in front of the energy-efficient hand dryer. I wasn’t taking any chances. Everyone knows that Minty likes to check under cubicle doors to make sure that people aren’t taking too many toilet breaks. She firmly believes that if everyone practised their Kegels as much as she does, they’d only have to pee twice a day: once in the morning, once in the evening. She thinks weak bladder control is for sissies – she even tried to get it timetabled for discussion once. And of course there was that really embarrassing incident when a temp who’d just had her first baby sneezed during a briefing and Minty asked if she was going to have to get the chair re-upholstered. Sometimes I’m sitting opposite Minty in a meeting and I can tell she’s doing internal squeezes, just from the concentrated expression on her pinched little face.
The thing is, I can’t write that marriage piece. Every time I try, my mind goes completely and utterly blank – like it used to when I was doing school exams. I know the information must be in there somewhere, but I can’t get it out onto the page. The problem is the hook. All I have to do is get a good hook and then the rest will flow. But getting the hook is proving impossible and I’m gripped by a terrible fear. I stare at the screen, willing the words to come.
‘The day I got married was the happiest day of my life,’ I type slowly, making sure to only use the fingers on my good hand, just in case anyone is watching. So far, so good.
But… was it really the happiest day ever? I mean, I certainly thought I’d been happy at the time. I close my eyes and try to visualize my walk down the aisle. I can see myself floating along to the soft strains of classical music. I’m smiling and nodding serenely at people as I glide, just like Mother Teresa, but in a figure-hugging designer wedding dress. I’m going for the graceful, angelic look. With just a hint of understated Hollywood glamour. All the gliding practice that Alastair made me do is really paying off: the endless traipsing round the living room with an encyclopedia balanced on my head, my shoulders out and my bum in – it’s working a treat. I may have done irreversible damage to my spine by carrying a ten-pound book around on my skull for weeks, but it’s all worth it now. So what if I end up in a wheelchair by the time I’m thirty-five? I can hear people actually gasping with joy – unless someone is having a chronic asthma attack… I can’t be sure. But they all look like they’re in awe, and that’s the most important thing. I wonder if I shouldn’t lift my hand and give them a little wave, like the Royals do, just to let them know I bestow my kindness upon them. Then again, that could be too much – it might alienate them. So I decide to nod a bit more instead, and then mix it up by bowing my head demurely now and again and lowering my eyes, like Princess Diana used to do in her heyday. I think it’s the perfect blend. It says, ‘I’m beautiful, but modest. Saintly, but humble.’
Tanya is in front of me in her one-of-a-kind satin appliqué bridesmaid gown. Her back is as ramrod straight as mine, but I think that’s because her dress is now two sizes too small, on account of her putting on a bit of weight since the last fitting. She claims that she can’t have gone up two dress sizes in as many months, and that the dress designer, Zandray, must have made a complete mess of the measurements, but I think she’s fooling herself. Zandray is a legend in fashion circles, a creative genius who designs gowns for all sorts of celebrities, and he doesn’t make mistakes – even if Tanya swears she smelt sweet sherry on his breath last time he got the tape measure out. Whatever the reason, she has to suck in her belly, which means she’s walking very slowly in front of me. Strangely, it’s working brilliantly: she looks like a lowly handmaid, preparing the path for her queen (that’d be me). I’m starting to think I should have given her a basket of petals to scatter about, just to add to the mood. Still, I can tell that she’s in serious pain. Of course, that could be more to do with the complicated up-do that the hairdresser gave her at the last minute. Fixing hair extensions to her head to give the illusion of volume was an inspired idea, even if Tanya wasn’t very happy and said she looked like a big-haired freak.
If I’m honest, I’m secretly pleased that she’s put on a bit of weight, because at least now I’ll look slim in the wedding photographs. It’s terrible to admit this, I know, but I’ve spent years as the podgy sister, sulking beside her in Polaroids. Today is my time to shine, and if that means Tanya has to be humiliated a little, then so be it. From this angle, I can now understand why she was concerned about wearing satin though. It is a little unflattering on her bum, especially now you can see the massive seams of her suck-it-in corset digging into her buttocks through the fabric.
I shoot a glance to the side, just to check that everyone is paying attention and that all eyes are on me. They should be: I look amazing. Not just OK, or passable, but properly beautiful. The two hours with the make-up artist has sorted that out. I was devastated when Jenna wasn’t able to come at the last minute – she is the best make-up artist
around and she’d sworn blind she’d be able to do my face for the day – but apparently there was some emergency with a strung-out model and a temperamental designer on an underwear photo shoot across town and she had to send her assistant Cassandra instead.