Perfect Mishap

by Aimee Horton

  “Tina! Hi!” I call, smiling as I notice her slim figure and trademark silky hair. She falters, and I wonder if she’s going to carry on, but she stops and slowly turns to look at us.

  Only because she has to.

  “Hi,” she all but sighs, turning again to leave before she gets sucked into small talk.

  Quick, Dottie, before you miss your chance.

  “Tina, this is Jane, my best friend. Jane, this is Tina,” I begin, then Jane jumps in to finish the sentence for me, her face full of innocence. Just like we’d planned.

  “This is Tina? The one you told me about?” Tina has a look of sheer panic on her face. “Tina who’s been so lovely welcoming you to the street?” Jane says, eyes wide and sincere. She thrusts George at me so she can hold out her hand for Tina to shake. “So nice of you to look after Dottie. She’s had a hard time recently, what with the whole Hen—” I kick her, shaking my head dramatically.

  Without even attempting to disguise her excitement at the prospect of gossip, Tina’s eyes light up, and she reaches for Jane’s hand. “Not at all, but she’s not mentioned any problems—even though it’s obvious she’s been struggling to cope with something.”

  Bitch.

  “You’ve not been coming for coffee recently. Everything OK?” she asks innocently.

  It takes all my willpower not to bite. Instead, I position my face into a look of surprise. “Oh gosh, crossed wires maybe? I thought I’d done something to upset you all. You cancelled, and then I saw the others going across…” I trail off, leaving an awkward silence.

  “Oh sorry, that’s Izzy and Penny. They’re a bit funny about new people joining the group. Although you and Izzy would get on well. She’s worried about her other half too.” She pulls a knowing face.

  I actually think I might hate her.

  “Anyway, are you coming around for a brew now? The others will be there. You’re welcome too, Jane.” Her smile, as she says this, is fake.

  She looks like a baddie from a Disney movie.

  “Thanks for the invite, but you know what? Dots, you go and enjoy it. I’ll watch George, give you a bit of you-time,” Jane says, patting my shoulder.

  Lucky cow.

  We all walk home together, and just as we head towards our own front doors, Tina smiles. “About forty-five minutes? I’ll get the girls to knock on their way over. Can’t wait to catch up.” I nod, attempting to look pleased to be invited again, and then we all go into our houses.

  I peek out the window to make sure Tina’s front door is safely shut, while Jane bursts into giggles and leans against my recently-painted wall. I join her, and poor George, who is still in my arms, just looks at us as if trying to work out the joke.

  “Well, one thing’s for sure, she’s evil but she’s not smart, is she?” says Jane between giggles. “Your face nearly gave you away a couple of times. You really are a crap liar, Dots.” She snorts, wiping her eyes and straightening up.

  Except when I talk about baby monitors.

  “I just don’t like suggesting that Henry is playing away,” I say, feeling sad for poor Henry as we walk into the kitchen. “He’s done nothing wrong.”

  “I know. You know I love Henry, but it’s for the greater good, Dots. It was the only way we could get you back in, if she thinks she’s got gossip.” She pauses for a minute, and then asks, “Are you ready to get a bit teary?”

  I plonk George on the floor and fling open the conservatory doors before slumping down on the sofa. Nodding slowly, I sigh. I know she’s right, but I do hate the mess I’ve got myself into.

  “Stick the machine on, will you? I need a strong coffee before I head across to the vulture’s nest.”

  We sit in silence in front of the open doors, and the neighbourhood is spookily still. George rolls about on a blanket, while Jane and I tuck in to the plate piled high with buttery crumpets that sits between us.

  We hear the slam of a door a few houses down. I assume it’s Penny’s, and I tense slightly. “What do you think she’s told them?”

  “Everything you and I said this morning, plus a bit more she’s made up I’d guess,” Jane says.

  Izzy’s door slams next.

  “I’ll be right here,” Jane says, her face determined as she looks at me, “and when you say the magic word, I’ll come and knock.”

  We both stand up and straighten our clothes as if we’re going for an important job interview.

  “Ready?” Jane asks.

  The doorbell goes. I take a deep breath.

  Not really.

  “Ready.”

  I leave George and Jane in my safe and sunny conservatory, and head to the front door, which I open with as much confidence as I can muster.

  After all, I don’t know they’ve been turned against me.

  Izzy and Penny are on the other side, and at least they both have the good grace to look uncomfortable.

  “Hi guys!” I say, attempting to look carefree and relaxed. I lean over and squeeze Izzy’s shoulder and kiss Penny on both cheeks. “Let’s go!” We set off, a little awkwardly, across the road to Tina’s house.

  ~~~~

  As soon as I’m in the house, my eyes comb every surface. Cupboards, tables, shelves, even the floor near plug sockets.

  Where is that damn baby monitor?

  I make my way into the conservatory, sitting on the edge of the same seat I sat on during previous visits. Just as my eyes are scanning the immaculate room, Tina comes in and plonks a plate of biscuits on the coffee table before heading back to the kitchen and turning on the kettle.

  She has biscuits out?

  In the admittedly short time I’ve known Tina, she’s never set out biscuits. Glancing at Penny and Izzy, I see they’re a little bit shocked too.

  Izzy looks tired and unhappy, and too thin.

  Tina is happily making cups of tea and chattering away about her plans for the weekend. I force the resentment threatening to bubble to the surface back into my stomach by reaching for a biscuit, and I devour it in one bite.

  “Do you eat a lot of biscuits, Dottie?” Tina has caught me, and her tone suggests she thinks that I do eat a lot of biscuits.

  Cow.

  Laughing a bit too loudly, I bite my tongue. “Ha, ha, more than I should—those and crumpets… Oooh, and croissants and pizza and Mexican food.” I gaze into the distance, for a moment losing my guard, dreaming about the delicious carbohydrate-filled foods I love so much.

  Penny laughs, and I catch her eye and smile.

  I wonder if I should tell her… No. No I shouldn’t.

  I glance over at Tina, who is busy tipping water into the mugs, and Izzy, who is fussing over Lola. Then quickly, I reach over and squeeze Penny’s knee.

  She smiles gratefully. I know we understand each other, and I feel like whatever happens, I will continue to have an ally in her. I forgive her, because when you’ve just had a baby, you’re going to protect your family, aren’t you?

  “Where’s George?” Penny asks.

  “Oh, Henry’s away on business again so my friend Jane is helping with the kids. She’s got George right now. I’ve told you about Jane, right?”

  Penny nods, asking about Hannah and Jane’s new bloke.

  This could be interesting.

  “It’s going well actually!” I say, trying not to look at Tina who has finished pottering and is now looking pointedly at her phone. “He’s coming over on Sunday for tea.” This comes out louder than I meant, and Izzy, who has been sitting quietly, looks at me a bit confused.

  Tina’s eyebrows obviously have a life of their own, because they shoot up above her fringe when I mention Sunday. She stabs at the screen of her phone quite aggressively before looking up and saying, “Huh? What’s that?”

  Jane’s right. She’s not as smart as she thinks.

  “Hey, Dottie, have you heard about Izzy’s Joe?” She changes the subject smoothly.

  “No? What’s this?” I hate myself for asking, watching as Izzy squirms in he
r seat. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to talk about it, especially as I’m the main suspect.

  “I… er…” she starts, wringing her hands together and going very red.

  Poor Izzy, scared to mention it to me because of what Tina has said.

  “She thinks he’s having an affair,” Tina says, looking pointedly at me.

  Yes, I definitely hate her.

  “How awful! Why do you think that?” I ask, reaching for a biscuit. I try to look cool when all I really want to do is punch Tina. In my “coolness,” I drop the Hobnob, and it rolls under the sofa. “Shit! Sorry…” I fall to my knees and fish under the couch but can’t find the biscuit. Aware that now I look guilty, I hurry to find the rogue biscuit. After fumbling about for a few more seconds, I eventually retrieve it—and spot the white base unit and baby monitor handset at the same time, shoved behind the couch.

  Gotcha.

  Sitting up, I brush a bit of fluff off the biscuit before nibbling at it in what I hope is a calm and lady like fashion.

  “She just knows,” Tina answers on Izzy’s behalf. “Says she can tell. How did you know about Henry then, Dottie? Maybe you can exchange tips?” I swear Tina smirks as she says this. Penny and Izzy’s mouths fall open.

  “Oh God, let’s not talk about my problems,” I say. “I don’t want to come across as egotistical.”

  I wait for Jane’s knock after saying the safe word. After all, I’ve done what I’d set out to achieve. I just want to go home now.

  Where is she?

  The room falls silent, everyone unsure where to go with the conversation. Taking pity on Izzy I muster up something to say. “How are you really then, Izzy?” I’m feeling genuinely sorry for the woman in front of me.

  “Oh you know…”

  “She’s devastated. Obviously.” Tina interrupts again.

  She’s really starting to piss me off. Where’s Jane, and how the hell can I get the word egotistical into a sentence again? Stupid joke safe word. We should have used something better.

  Ignoring Tina, I look at Izzy again. “Do you have any proof?” I ask. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to drop it?”

  “Not really,” she replies. “I don’t want to be egotistical, like you say.”

  Oh God. Thank you.

  Within seconds, there is a knock on the door. Jane.

  “I’m ever so sorry,” she exclaims in her cheeriest of voices, obviously not sorry at all. “But it’s George. He just won’t settle with me. Can I borrow you back, Dots?” George is on her hip looking perfectly happy. She turns straight back to my house, nearly running to get back inside.

  I stand up and brush a few crumbs off my jeans, accidentally on purpose crushing them into the floor, and head towards the door.

  “It’s been lovely to see you all. Thanks for inviting me again, Tina. Penny, let’s catch up soon, and Izzy… you are anything but egotistical. You’re fab, and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.” I wave in the direction of the room and hurry across the street. Aware I’m being watched every step of the way home, I hold it together before shutting the door. I lean against it for a second, bursting into more uncontrollable giggles.

  “Why are you laughing?!” Jane is standing there, and George is still on her hip, happily sucking on her hair.

  Why am I laughing?

  “I have no idea, but shh… quick, what are they saying?” We settle down at the breakfast bar where Jane had been sitting while I was across the road. She hands me a mug of coffee, and we both lean in to listen.

  ~~~~

  “Mum, Dad, my arm itches.” Arthur is shouting at us from the top of the stairs.

  Firstly, when did he start calling us Mum and Dad, and secondly, he’s going to wake the baby!

  I look at Henry, and he looks back at me. “But I’ve been driving all day,” he whines.

  I would kill to be driving all day!

  “Have you? And what were you listening to?” I say, keeping my voice dangerously calm. Because after lunch, Jane had left for work, and my children turned into absolute nightmares. Even George was conspiring against me.

  “What’s your problem, Arthur?” I’d said at one point as he slammed about the house for no obvious reason.

  His reply? “You are.”

  Another thing I should stop saying to them.

  Henry might have been working “very, very hard” and his office might be “mentally busy” right now, but when Mabel face-slammed her beans-on-toast because I wouldn’t blow on each individual spoonful for her, my day went from bad to worse. That alone means I win the “shit and stressful day” competition by a mile.

  “Erm, a bit of Radio 2, a bit of Radio 1, and oh, that audio book you got me for my birthday—thanks!” Henry clearly missed the tone.

  “So nobody screamed at you, telling you they hated you?” I fake smile.

  “No…”

  “And nobody face-slammed a plate of beans and then threw it across the room when you wouldn’t do as they asked?”

  “Erm…”

  “And do you think you might still have poo under your fingernail, although you can’t tell because your nails are brittle and beaten down and dirty from scrubbing up said beans and toast from the walls and floors?”

  “No, but my sandwich at lunch was crap.”

  I take a deep breath.

  “MUM… DAD… CAN YOU HEAR ME?” Arthur bellows down the stairs, and his voice is followed by the loud sobs of an unhappy-to-be-woken-up George.

  “Now look what you’ve done!” I growl. Slamming my fist into the pillow and flouncing off the sofa, I march towards the stairs. “You take the big one, I’ll take the small one.”

  I’m not letting him off that easily.

  Henry sloooooowwwwwwwwwwwly gets up, and after taking a swig of his beer, follows sloooowwwwwwwwwly behind.

  By the time I’ve shushed and settled my snoozy baby, Henry has escorted Arthur back to his room and is already waiting for me on the landing.

  “Come and look at this. I think it’s just a spot but I want to be sure,” he says.

  Rolling my eyes—can’t he do anything on his own?—I make my way to Arthur’s room. He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, his pyjama sleeve rolled up above his shoulder, looking forlorn.

  “Let me see,” I say grumpily, and take his arm.

  It’s an insect bite—bloody man flu.

  “It’s an insect bite,” I say, aware that I’m not sounding particularly maternal. Rolling his sleeve down, I ruffle his hair, and push him, perhaps a little harder than necessary, down onto his pillow. I tuck him in and kiss his head. “Go. To. Sleep.”

  Henry and I head back to the lounge, where I throw myself onto the sofa.

  “You seem distracted,” Henry says, hand on my leg. “What’s for tea?”

  “Oh God, you know, I hadn’t thought about it!” I say truthfully.

  When have I ever forgotten about eating?

  We go into the kitchen, where Henry pulls a bottle of wine and a beer from the fridge.

  “Pasta and sauce?” I suggest.

  “With garlic bread?” he adds.

  “Of course!” I smile, and try to focus on him, not wanting him to know what’s going on.

  It will all be over Sunday night.

  Except what happens after Sunday night, I haven’t got a clue. We don’t even know if Sunday night is happening. I mean, there’s been no contact yet; maybe she didn’t bite after all. Although I’m sure she did.

  Just then, my phone vibrates. I read the message and toss the phone on the table in annoyance.

  Stupid Mum, asking what Arthur wants for his birthday.

  I fill a pan with water and set it on the hob to boil, then chop up some peppers and tomatoes and begin to make the sauce. My phone buzzes again.

  “REMEMBER: TEDDY BEARS’ PICNIC AT NURSERY TOMORROW. BRING A BEAR AND A CONTRIBUTION TO THE PICNIC.”

  Shit. Bloody forgot about that!

  Just as I tip the pasta i
nto the now boiling water, my phone buzzes again—this time with the message I’ve been hoping for.

  “BBQ and drinks at mine on Sunday. I’ve got a new BBQ I want to test out. T x”

  Got her.

  “Hey, can you grab the garlic bread from the freezer in the utility?” I ask Henry.

  When I’m sure he’s gone, I text Jane.

  “We have lift-off.”

  17.

  Some days I really want to drink gin straight out of the bottle.

  “Oh for God’s sake, Arthur, it’s just an insect bite! Honestly, I get them all the time. It’s what happens when you play in the garden. It’s fine.”

  Why is my tone so snappy?

  “Why do you make me play in the garden then?” he replies petulantly, glaring out the window.

  Stupid insect bites, causing trouble.

  “Because it’s good for you. No more discussion.” I try not to notice that he looks a bit pale and that there is also a little spot next to his eye. “Come on, let’s go. It’s Friday, it’s the last day of school, and then it’s the weekend! Mabel, why are your pants on your head?”

  Sighing, I tug the pants off my daughter’s head and bend down to help her pull them up. Untucking the back of her skirt from her pants, I notice a couple of spots on her lower back.

  Shit. No. Shit.

  Ignoring the spots, I hurry the children—both of them do appear to be a bit more sluggish—out the front door and set George in his pram, newly converted to the seated position because my growing-up-too-fast baby doesn’t like lying down any more.

  We power walk—well, we would if Arthur wasn’t dragging his feet and Mabel wasn’t nagging to be carried—towards school.

  “Look, if you walk to school, and we get there on time, I promise I’ll meet you with a chocolate cake each,” I bribe desperately.

  “Will it have The Hulk on it?” asks Arthur, perking up for the first time all morning.

  “Rapunzel?” squeaks Mabel.

  “Sure, why not?” I lie.