by Aimee Horton
“Hi!” I say. “Bathroom?” Creasing my forehead, I try to remember our last catch up.
“You mentioned it the other day.” Tina is now beside me, and we start walking again, although her long legs mean I have to trot to keep up.
“Did I? Oh, well, nothing definite yet.” I still have no idea when I mentioned it. “Henry and I are working out a budget, what with a few more rooms needing to be done, and George unexpectedly requiring a whole new colour scheme.”
“Oh? No decisions made yet then?”
I can’t read her face, but for some reason I feel uncomfortable.
How does she know about the bathroom?
What have they been saying about me?
No. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to know.
“No,” I say, and we walk to school in silence, while I try to think of something to talk about. “How did you find the homework last night?” I say, and that sets her off on a rant about how she doesn’t believe in homework for kids. I start to zone out.
“As a single mum, I don’t have time…”
I snap to attention, my brain whirring into action.
Oh my God. That was her in that picture with Jane’s new bloke. She’s the ex, the complication.
“It must be so hard,” I say, hoping she won’t realise I haven’t really been paying attention. My stomach is flipping at my sudden memory. I have to get home and call Jane!
“Better go!” I sing when I see Arthur finally running towards me. “I’ve got to rescue poor Penny from my other children!”
Shit.
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret it. It’s not that we’re hiding the fact we’re having coffee together. It’s just, well, you know.
“Oh is that where they are? You two are getting very chummy, aren’t you?” An obvious statement, not a question, but she’s smiling, giving the little boy who runs towards her a hug.
“Yes, new babies and same industry background I guess! Anyway, you know how horrid my kids are…”
“Yes, I do. You go and rescue her,” she says, then turns and walks away.
Cow.
~~~~
The answer machine light is flashing when I walk into the kitchen to cook tea. On the way home from school, Arthur and I bought Penny some flowers. Then while we were picking up Mabel and George, Penny suggested we give toddler group another go tomorrow. I couldn’t imagine anything worse, but she’s such a calming influence on my kids I agreed.
Urgh.
I press the button on the phone and begin to open a tin of beans.
“Hellooo darrlinggg, it’s your mother…” Shuddering, I wait to hear what little gem she has for me today. “Just checking to make sure you’re still up for Sunday lunch?” Oh, of course. “Here for midday, eating at one p.m., darling. Don’t be late, mwah mwah,” and then she hangs up.
There is no way we can get out of that.
“Hello, Mrs. Harris… ” the next message begins.
Sales call. I can tell by the tone of voice.
I pop some bread into the toaster and rummage in a cupboard for the kids’ trays so they can have a picnic tea for being so good.
“Bondi Bathrooms calling to arrange delivery of your order.”
Ouch!
I bang my head on the cupboard, and then duck out, racing across the room to press the rewind button.
“Hello, Mrs. Harris,” says the voice. “This is Petra from Bondi Bathrooms calling to arrange the delivery of your order.”
Order! What order?
“Your personalised Egyptian spa tiles and bathroom suite will be ready at the end of the month. We have a fitter available on…”
There must be a mistake.
“If you could give us a ring back and quote the order number from your email, that would be great.” She rattles off the phone number and hangs up.
Shit.
I grab the iPad and check my email, but there’s nothing listed.
Bondi Bathrooms. That does sound familiar.
I grab the phone and call Jane. I know she’ll be asleep, but this is important.
“Hello this is Jane. I’m not here…”
Come on come on come on come on come on.
“Jane! It’s Dottie… pick up… pick up… What do you know about Bondi Bathrooms?”
Just as I’m about to hang up, I hear Jane’s voice, husky with sleep.
“Bondi Bathrooms? Why are you waking me up, Dots?”
“Think!” I screech, running across the kitchen as I see smoke coming out of the beans. Stirring frantically, I take them off the heat. I think I can rescue them.
“I’ve just woken up…”
“THINK!”
“OK, OK… Bondi Bathrooms. I think I had an email from them the other day.”
“Read it!”
“Oh hell, Dots. Thirty thousand pounds,” comes Jane’s voice down the phone.
“What?! WHAT?!” I know what she’s going to say, but I’m praying it’s not as bad as I think.
“You—we—ordered a thirty thousand pound bathroom when we were drunk the other night.”
Shit. Henry is going to KILL me.
“What the hell am I going to do, Jane?” I wail, sinking to the floor.
“Call them and tell them it’s a mistake. It’s only been a couple of days. It’s not like they could have made it by now. The order is probably still being processed. I bet they have to double check your measurements too,” my sensible friend replies.
The bathroom sounds amazing.
“Dottie, this is important. Call them right now.” Jane’s voice is stern. She’s right.
“OK, OK. While I have you on the line, I need to ask. Is your new boyfriend’s ex named Tina?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“You know that neighbour I was telling you about? The one who lives opposite? I think it’s her.”
“Oh God, keep away! She’s a total psycho if what he tells me is right.”
“I’m discovering that,” I reply, carrying the trays with the kids’ food through to the lounge. Taking advantage of a rare quiet moment with the kids, I launch into telling Jane the story of what happened and what Penny had said. I’m just begging Jane to call the bathroom place for me in return for this invaluable information when my mobile buzzes.
“Coffee off tomorrow, back to normal Monday. T.”
“Speak of the devil,” I say. “She’s just cancelled coffee tomorrow.”
“Lucky escape. Now Dottie, you need to make that call.” Arthur comes into the kitchen with a look of panic on his face.
“Mummy! Mabel MAY have given George a slice of toast, and he MIGHT have put it in his mouth and sucked it, then laughed,” he says before running back to the lounge.
“Shit, bye Jane, love you.” I drop the phone and run into the lounge, only to find a very happy baby sucking bean juice off a slice of toast.
~~~~
Why are Izzy and Penny going over to Tina’s like normal? Didn’t they get the message?
I’ve been cleaning the lounge, attempting to be a domestic goddess for once. Now as I’m busy rearranging the photographs on the windowsill, I see Penny and Izzy walking into Tina’s house.
“Why haven’t I been invited, George?” I say to the baby propped up by cushions in the middle of the room. He looks briefly away from the music videos blaring on the TV and blinks at me, before returning to watch The Best of the Noughties countdown whilst sucking his fingers.
I straighten a few more frames and then wander into the kitchen, glancing at the baby monitor on the breakfast bar.
No. No way, Dottie.
I go to the fridge and fish about, finally pulling out an egg and some bacon.
“Brunch,” I say, plonking them down on the counter and going to collect George from his spot in front of the TV. He whines. “Oh don’t say you’re starting to answer back too!” I exclaim, feeling somewhat unloved.
I place him in his bouncy chair, and he kicks his leg
s in frustration, squawking, and tries to push himself up.
No way, boy, you’re staying a baby as long as possible.
I lay the bacon into the pan and break in the egg. George continues to moan so I try laying him on the floor. He kicks his legs and screams.
“What do you want?” I ask, frustrated that my teeny tiny baby is asserting himself.
I thought at this age I still had control.
I prop him back up in front of the TV, and he instantly stops complaining.
“Seriously? NSync? We are going to have to work on this Mr. G.”
Back in the kitchen, I tip the whole pan onto a plate. George catches my eye. “Should I zap some beans in the microwave too?” He seems to agree, so I do, and then bring my plate over to the sofa, and together we watch the music videos of my youth.
“Do you think they’ve gone home while we’ve been in here?” I ask my baby when I finish my brunch, carrying my empty plate to the dishwasher. I peer out of the front window. I’m just in time to see Tina’s door close, and Izzy and Penny walk quickly towards their houses.
They stayed all that time.
Glancing at my watch, I realise it’s time to pick up Mabel. Touching up my make-up and putting George in his pram, I head out to the street, head held high.
On my way, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Oh good! A message from Penny!
“Can’t make this afternoon. Another time maybe. X”
How odd.
Probably a good thing. I still need to pluck up the courage to call the bathroom people. Although Jane forwarded me the email with the details, and the bathroom looks amazing. I wonder if I could convince Henry to buy it after all, especially if Penny and I go back to work together?
~~~~
It’s a bright and sunny Sunday. George and I are sitting at the table in my mum and dad’s kitchen, and the other two kids are playing on the floor nearby. Mum is cooking lunch, and Henry and Dad are deep in discussion about whether we need to landscape our garden or not.
“I really wish you’d sort your bathroom out!” Mum says as she chops some potatoes, carrots and cabbage, and pops them into a pan of boiling water.
“Are we having beef?” I ask, not wanting to draw attention to the bathroom.
“Lasagne,” my mother answers, before pulling three types of garlic bread out of the fridge.
“Not a roast?” My heart sinks at the thought of no Yorkshire puddings. I’d even not eaten breakfast so I could save room. My nose wrinkles at the smell of cabbage, which will be soggy and overdone by the time it’s served.
A meal isn’t a meal without potatoes, carrots and cabbage.
That’s the mantra my mum sent me off to university with, the extent of my cooking education from her. Luckily, from grammar school food studies I’d also learnt how to make a fruit salad and an egg sandwich. So, for the first few weeks before I discovered takeaways, I survived on sandwiches, fruit salads and beans on toast.
I swirl the tea around in my mug.
I cannot believe I have to drive. I’d much prefer a gin and tonic right now.
I start to think about work and the fact that I’ve not heard from Penny since her text cancelling our play date together.
Have I upset her?
Just as I’m about to ask Mum what she thinks I should do about work, my phone buzzes and vibrates across the table. An unknown number flashes on the screen, except I know the number all too well by now. Bondi Bathrooms.
Shit.
I still haven’t called them. Instead, I decided I really really needed to tidy out the glasses cupboard.
Glancing across the room, I see that Henry and my dad are still deep in discussion. So taking a deep breath, I push back my chair, grab my phone and mutter to Mum, “Just nipping to the loo.” Then I lock myself in the bathroom.
“Hello? This is Dottie Harris,” I answer, a funny feeling in my stomach. This could all go horribly wrong.
“Hi! Yes, Mrs. Harris, I’m just calling to check. You do indeed want to cancel the bathroom? We got a voicemail with the details, but we wanted to make absolutely sure.”
I bloody love Jane.
“Yes, that’s right, sorry for the confusion,” I falter, not sure what Jane told them.
“That’s such a shame,” continues the voice. “Perhaps we can tempt you with another offer? Price match the other bathroom you’ve gone with? What did you say it was again?”
Shit, what do I say?
“Erm…”
“We’ll offer you the same bathroom for half price…”
Half price?
“Do you need to talk to your partner? Jane, was it? And get back to me?” The voice continues, oblivious to my internal battle.
This could be amazing.
“So that would make it,” I begin, “only fifteen thousand pounds.”
“Only fifteen thousand instead of thirty thousand,” she confirms.
That’s a bargain!
“And we’ll throw in a free colour-changing shower too!”
“It’s a deal!” I reply, air punching. I’ve always wanted a colour-changing shower. Whatever that is.
Suddenly, I hear little footsteps wandering down the corridor. Then the standard “Mummeee, mummeee” call, with the added bonus of the tingling of the tiny bell my mum thinks is cute for Mabel to ring every time she’s serving up dinner.
Because we really need to encourage them to make more noise.
“Look, I’ve got to go. Lovely dealing with you. I’ll wait to hear more!” I hang up before the banging on the bathroom door begins.
Bracing myself, I fling open the door and prepare to tolerate another of my mother’s meals without a glass of wine for support.
The corridor is empty. Mabel has already wandered back to the kitchen, probably checking to see if “Mammah” has forgotten the vegetables for once. She’s not a fan of vegetables.
Everyone is already at the table when I arrive, and Mabel is silently dropping cabbage onto the floor. Dad is teaching Arthur to balance a spoon on his nose, and Henry is topping up his wine glass.
I start to sit down at the end of the table, but Mum bustles me off to the one next to Mabel.
“No, no, love, you go next to Mabel. You know how she prefers to be next to you. I like to be near the kitchen so I can get any extras.” She plonks herself down so I can’t argue.
You mean YOU don’t like to be next to Mabel because she’s a nightmare at meal times.
Sighing, I walk around the table and attempt to squeeze into my seat, wobbling the table as I do. Henry tuts as a bit of wine sloshes out of his glass. I’m tempted to shove a piece of carrot up his nose, because like Mum, he would rather sit next to Arthur, who is happily tucking into his dinner and making us laugh with his jokes.
“Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” we all call, smiles plastered on our faces.
“A chicken.”
“A chicken who?” we chorus.
“JUST A CHICKEN WHO NEEDS A POO!” He bursts out laughing, Mum looks disapproving, whilst Dad and Henry both pick up their wine glasses to hide their smiles. Everyone is looking at me to reprimand the use of “poo” at the dinner table.
Why am I always the bad cop?
In an act of rebellion, I burst out laughing, slapping the table and holding onto my sides. Before long, I realise I’m not faking it. I’m in hysterics at the awful joke, at Mum looking grumpy, and Henry and Dad looking shocked.
“Hilarious, Artie!” I high-five him across the table. Then, as an afterthought, I add, “Although less of the ‘poo’ talk at the table, OK?”
Henry shoots me a disapproving look, then shovels some cabbage into his mouth. Grimacing, he reaches for his glass and finishes the wine in a long gulp. Then he picks up the half-empty bottle and tops everyone’s glass up except mine, which is full of sparkling water.
God, I would kill for a red wine right now.
Spitefully, I scoop a massive spoon of cabbage
onto Henry’s plate.
“You look like you’re enjoying that cabbage, darling! Have some more, it will make you big and strong.” He opens his mouth to retaliate but senses I’m not in the mood. So he pointedly picks up his wine glass and takes another large mouthful.
“Mmmm delishhhhhhous.”
I know he means the wine—not the cabbage.
I hate being the designated driver. Surely being knocked up and driving everywhere for nine months earns me a free pass for a while?
We continue our meal, talking mainly to Arthur, asking about school and his friends, and encouraging both children to eat more. Mabel has been quiet, and I look down to see all the vegetables are gone. I know they’re on the floor. I hand her another slice of garlic bread.
Dad starts talking about our house, asking what we’ve done so far. Henry launches into a story about the garden again, and I zone out, thinking about the bathroom I’ve just ordered.
The bath sounds amazing. I wonder what colour tiles I ordered?
“Mummy, is ‘sick’ the same as ‘poo’ at the table?” Arthur interrupts my thoughts, his face looking panicked.
“Yes, we don’t talk about sick, you know that.”
Arthur goes white.
“You OK, mate?” I ask.
He points to Mabel, who has been quietly stuffing a third slice of garlic bread into her mouth.
“What?” Henry asks, and that’s when the coughing starts. Mabel makes a strangled choking sound, and I realise she has nearly two slices of garlic bread in her mouth at once.
I thought she was quiet.
Just then, a stream of garlic bread and milky vomit explodes from her mouth across the table, and as she turns to look at me in panic, onto my lap.
“Ahhhh,” Henry screams like a girl. He jumps up, knocking his chair over, and backs away from the table. Arthur starts to retch next, getting it all over the table.
Everyone looks on in horror, but nobody moves.
Looks like it’s down to me again.
I grab a napkin, and in a rather pointless effort, hold it under Mabel’s mouth to catch anything else coming, but she’s done. I wipe her face and proceed to clean up the mess as best I can.