Gucci Mamas
Page 1
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Gucci Mamas
ePub ISBN 9781742741987
Kindle ISBN 9781742741994
GUCCI MAMAS
A BANTAM BOOK
First published in Australia and New Zealand in 2007 by Bantam
Copyright © Lisa Blundell & Michelle Hamer, 2007
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Kendall, Cate.
Gucci mamas.
ISBN 978 1 86325 565 3 (pbk).
1. Social values – Fiction. I. Title.
A823.4
Transworld Publishers,
a division of Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney, NSW 2060
www.randomhouse.com.au
Random House New Zealand Limited
18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland
Transworld Publishers,
a division of The Random House Group Ltd
61 – 63 Uxbridge Road, Ealing, London W5 5SA
Random House Inc
1745 Broadway, New York, New York 10036
For Kelly, sister extraordinaire – MH
To Ian with love – LB
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
~ Prologue ~ Mascara Epiphany
~ 1 ~ Trouble in Paradise
~ 2 ~ Same Old, Same Old
~ 3 ~ Good Morning
~ 4 ~ Running the Gauntlet
~ 5 ~ Caffeine Hit
~ 6 ~ The Present Dilemma
~ 7 ~ A Troubled Teen
~ 8 ~ Party Princess Present Time
~ 9 ~ Mother’s Group
~ 10 ~ The Stress of Life
~ 11 ~ Day of Reckoning
~ 12 ~ Body Maintenance
~ 13 ~ It Must Be Fete
~ 14 ~ It’s All About the Shoes
~ 15 ~ On the Nose
~ 16 ~ Home Front
~ 17 ~ Distressed and Lippy-less
~ 18 ~ Little Emperors
~ 19 ~ Sushi, Anyone?
~ 20 ~ Mother Earth
~ 21 ~ School Daze
~ 22 ~ Stripper on Canvas
~ 23 ~ Ellie’s Reveal
~ 24 ~ On With the Show
~ 25 ~ Fun and Games
~ 26 ~ The Big Old House in the Country
~ 27 ~ Sanctuary
~ 28 ~ Tiffany’s Revenge
~ 29 ~ Power Talk
~ 30 ~ The Big Blue
~ 31 ~ The Search Begins
~ 32 ~ Home to Mother
~ 33 ~ Reality check
~ 34 ~ Cliff Gets It
~ 35 ~ Art-show Aftermath
~ 36 ~ R&R in Moorooduc
~ 37 ~ Nice Place to Visit
~ 38 ~ The Wait Ends
~ 39 ~ On the Move
~ 40 ~ You’re Going Where?
~ 41 ~ Back to Basics
Acknowledgements
About the Authors
For more great books
I could be happy, really happy, if I had an arse like that.
Mim sighed as she caught sight of a taut, toned butt in Calvin Kleins reflected in the chemist’s mirror. Lucky bitch, I’ll bet her bloody life is perfect, you can just tell, she thought ruefully, sneaking another glance at the tight cheeks and making a silent promise to fit in another yogalates class that week.
Funny, she had those jeans on today too …
Oh Jesus.
That was her reflection.
That was her arse.
But how could that be?
That was the arse of a truly happy woman, a woman who was ‘there’.
Mim wasn’t anywhere. She wasn’t happy. She was still striving and fighting to get somewhere even near ‘there’.
This presented a dilemma. How could she be seen out in public with an arse that boasted such confidence? One that sent such a message of taut smugness? When there was so little else to back it up?
It was disconcerting to have one’s buttocks move ahead in social status before one had all the other necessary accoutrements for a better life.
Perplexed, she paid for the mascara she had rushed in for before dropping the kids at school. Then, stealing one more backward glance in the mirror, she headed back into her life.
Present Day
Mim stared daggers at James. Then her fight-or-flight response kicked in. With Mim it was always flight. Get the hell away, escape, just hide. She grabbed her bag and keys and turned to storm out.
‘That’s right, as always, run away, Mim. You’ve been doing it your whole life.’
She spun angrily back towards her husband. He stood there in an aggressive male stance – hands on hips, legs astride. He glared at her, daring her to call his bluff.
‘What else do you expect me to do?’ she screamed at him. ‘I can’t stay here and put up with this shit another second, I just need to get the hell away!’
‘What you need, you spoilt little princess, is to stay here and resolve this. You need to stop hiding for once. Now put the fucking car keys down.’
‘How dare you, you utter shit,’ Mim responded, throwing the keys at James’s head. He ducked just in time, and the keys clipped the corner of the wall behind, leaving a nasty rip in the plaster.
‘Oh, nice one,’ said James as he turned to survey the damage. ‘Domestic violence a new strategy with you, is it?’
‘How dare you turn this around!’ Mim was almost hysterical, her high-pitched tone revealing her frustration. ‘This isn’t about me, James, it’s about us, our family. You haven’t been home from work in time to see the kids in weeks! You’re out at dinner meetings every weekend. Charley was crying the other night because he misses you so much. And now you’re off to London for God knows how long.’
James glared at her and, as he drew a sharp intake of breath to thwart her tirade, she jumped in with more to stop him from speaking.
‘And take a look at yourself, for chrissakes, you look fucking awful. You haven’t exercised in months, you’re gaining weight, you’re drinking and eating out so much, you’ve got bags under your eyes, your skin’s playing up again. You’re under so much stress and it’s completely poisoning this family.’
‘Oh, so it’s my fault, is it?!’ James strode to the kitchen, yanked open the fridge and practically snapped the top off a beer. ‘I’ll drink and eat what and when I like, Mim. I am under so much fucking pressure at work and yes, at home! When do I ever get to have a social life?’
Mim scoffed as she threw her bag onto the leather sofa and followed him, listening to him rant.
‘Going out with Japanese business men and schmoozing them is not my idea of fun, Mim. It’s not something I choose to do. I have to work my arse off to keep up with the fancy fucking lifestyle that you insist we live.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t chosen this … this …’ Mim threw her arm around vaguely, attempting t
o illustrate her home and lifestyle. ‘We made the decision to live here; to renovate; to send the kids to Langholme Grammar, not me.’ She turned her back on him to hide her tears.
‘Mim!’ James flung the breadboard onto the granite bench with so much force it split savagely down the centre with a loud crack like a gunshot.
Mim spun around in shock.
‘When we made those decisions we knew that we were going to have to keep the belt tight. We agreed on a five-year plan to live frugally so we could have all the things we wanted.’
‘Oh yes, of course, the middle-class poor.’ Mim circled one hand in a regal wave.
‘That’s what we decided,’ he shouted in frustration. ‘But now all this doesn’t seem to be enough for you. We have the house, the cars, the holidays, the schools and every fucking designer-labelled toilet seat and toothbrush known to man – what more do you want from me?’
‘I just want you to be around, to be a part of this family. I don’t want to do it all alone any more.’
‘How in the hell am I meant to do that and provide all this? Maybe you could do more than that freelance shit that costs us more than you earn. Maybe you could get a real job?’ he shouted, wild with anger.
‘A job?! How dare you tell me what to do! I am not getting some hideous nine-to-five office job – how would I mother my children properly if I’m completely exhausted?’
‘Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t be any worse a job of mothering them than you’re doing now,’ James spat back, aware that he’d gone too far, said too much, but so hyped on adrenalin and stress that he was powerless to stop himself.
‘YOU ARSE!’ Mim was gobsmacked. He actually thought she was a shit mother?! Her hands went to her hips. ‘How the fucking hell would you know what kind of a mother I am when you’re never even here?’
‘Well when I am here you’re short-tempered, you’ve got half a bottle of wine under your belt, you’re snappy, you never want to do bedtime for them. You used to fight me for bedtime, but now you try and get out of it.’
‘Okay …’ (you complete fuck-knuckle, she added in her head) ‘… one,’ and she held out one finger in an accusatory manner, ‘of course I’m short-tempered and snappy – I am freaking exhausted.’
‘Oh, puulease!’ said James, cutting her off before she could continue, ‘midweek tennis wearing you out, is it? Or is it the Prada sale that’s causing you stress?’ His voice was mean with sarcasm.
‘Surely you don’t really believe that?’ Mim stared at him in bewilderment. ‘Have you any idea what it’s like raising three little children? How much pressure they put me under? The constant squabbling, the demands on my time, the need for attention. Making food all day that’s just thrown right back at me. Never any sense of being appreciated? Do you have any concept of that?’
‘Should I bring out the violins?’ James asked viciously as he crossed the room and threw himself down on the couch, angry with her, angry with himself, hating the sheer ugliness of his life at that moment.
‘You are really a fucking self-centred son-of-a-bitch and I have no idea what I saw in you in the first place.’ Mim picked up her bag and walked across the room. It was time to collect the children from Liz’s house.
As she was about to close the door to the garage she swore she heard James mutter under his breath, ‘Fuck you too, princess.’
Mim’s satin Simone Pérèle robe flapped wildly about her legs as she jumped awkwardly, groping blindly above her head to reach for a handful of leaves from the imposing 100-year-old oak in their front garden. She gazed around the lawn in frustration. Surely there must be some leaves on the ground, it was autumn for God’s sake. But the gardener had been the day before and had left the turf in pristine condition.
She tried again, slipping on the muddied ground and scratching her arms on the lower branches, but missed the leaves entirely. After a few more vain attempts she decided she needed extra propulsion. Taking a determined run-up, she leapt and finally tore a few leaves loose.
‘Woo hoo,’ she puffed in triumph.
‘Doing some early morning gardening, Mrs Woolcott?’ sang a smug voice.
Of course Mrs-bloody-Lacey from the huge mansion next door would be enjoying Mim’s early-morning antics from her breakfast wing.
‘Hello Mrs Lacey,’ Mim managed through bared teeth. She glanced down at her muddy boudoir slippers and stalked back to the house.
‘Right, here are the autumn leaves for your project, Charley. God forbid that you should be late with a Grade One project. Who knows how it could affect the outcome of your academic career.’ She hated the sarcastic tone in her voice, but really, how much pressure was Langholme Grammar putting on her six-year-old if he was too frightened to go to school without finishing his homework.
‘I’ll put the autumn-leaf collage together in your homework book, Charley,’ she said, reaching for his school bag. ‘Oh look, I … I mean we … well, I mean you, darling – you got an A for the gastro-intestinal system diagram we drew … I knew all those hours on Google would pay off.’
She glanced up at the clock. Oh bugger! They were running late, as usual.
‘Come on, children, we’ve got thirty minutes to get dressed, finish breakfast and get to school and ELC before the warning bell – and I do not want another demerit point, thank you – I’ve already got more than all the other mums put together!’
She banged a jug of frothy green liquid on the table, ignoring how much it resembled pond scum. ‘I’ve made carrot and wheatgrass juice. Here’s a glass for you, Chloe. Please don’t spill it on your new PJs, they were the last Country Road pair in your size.
‘Jack, please take your tie off your head and concentrate on gobbling up your mung beans; they’ll give you a significant protein advantage.’
Jack made gagging noises as he sniffed the beans suspiciously, while Chloe accidentally knocked her juice over, creating a slimy green river on the linen tablecloth.
Mim sighed. ‘At least eat your yoghurt and muesli, you know how hard Saffron works to design these diets for optimal brain stimulation and physical stamina …’ She couldn’t believe she was actually worried about the bossy dietician rebuking her for straying from the organic, high-energy, low-carb diets she had tailored for the children.
Of course, Mim really wanted them to eat well, but right now a speedy resolution seemed a better option.
‘Oh for God’s sake! Here.’ Mim took a box of Coco Pops from the hiding place at the back of the pantry and slammed it on the table. She left them pouring huge bowls of sugary cereal as she headed upstairs to dress. She tipped her glass of wheatgrass juice into the labradoodle’s bowl on the way past – at least someone in the family would enjoy its health-giving properties.
Stepping into the calm sanctum of her bedroom momentarily soothed her. Last night’s fight with James had left her feeling drained and anxious, with a headache that throbbed with the intensity of a bad hangover. They had never fought so viciously before and now he had left the country for a week with nothing resolved between them.
She gazed at her wedding picture on the wall. God, we look so happy, she thought as she flicked on the music system. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes and she hurriedly shooed them away as she set about the important business of selecting the day’s outfit.
Thank God for the healing balm of fashion.
She decided on white-cropped Calvin Klein jeans and a crisp Pucci shirt and stepped gratefully into her pastel Todd loafers.
She caught her (natural) glossy brunette locks in a barrette at the nape of her neck and dotted on her favourite La Prairie face cream, neck cream and eye cream. She smoothed on Elizabeth Arden foundation, lippy and concealer (for her imagined problem eye area), eye shimmer, lip-liner, and eye-liner.
She reached into her Louis Vuitton cosmetic case and then the horrible realisation hit her.
Oh no, surely not!
She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to buy a new mascara yesterday. She usuall
y had a stock of two or three of each cosmetic lined up in her cupboard, each tailored for specific occasions. It was a sign of how stressed she’d been lately that she hadn’t thought to replace an essential item in time. Now she’d have to stop at the chemist on the way to school.
It would be better to be late than to arrive with naked lashes.
Frantic now, with her marital woes suddenly overshadowed by more immediate concerns, she quickly chose a chunky rose-gold bracelet and matching necklace, her Prada sunglasses and her taupe Hermès bag. A generous spray of Bulgari and she was ready for the day.
Ducking into the children’s room she gathered the dozen or so uniform components they had forgotten; plus sports gear, art apron and hat for Jack, recorder and reader for Charley.
Mim caught sight of the clock as she headed downstairs. Christ, it was 8.10 a.m. She tutted in exasperation as the phone rang. Typical, at the most stressful time of the day. It usually rang either just as they were leaving for school or at 5.30 p.m. (also known as hell o’clock).
‘Yes, hello,’ she spat into the receiver, not trying to hide her impatience.
‘Hi honey, sorry, I didn’t realise what time it was,’ James said on the other end of the line.
No, you never do, she thought, but wisely held her tongue and said as brightly as she could muster, ‘Just the usual morning frantic pace. Are you at the airport?’
‘Just kicking back in the Qantas Club with a coffee and a newspaper. The flight boards in half an hour,’ he replied. She rolled her eyes at the thought of how different his morning was from hers.
‘How are you this morning?’ he enquired with what sounded like genuine concern.
‘Fine,’ she said shortly as she reached the kitchen and leaned across the bench to wipe up a butter smear, simultaneously picking up a knocked-over cup and kicking the dishwasher closed.
‘Listen, honey, I’m really sorry about last night. I really think we need to talk about it. Have you got a minute?’