Happy Families

by Janey Fraser

  Natasha barely looked up from her desk when he put his head round the open door. She was doing her coursework, from the look of the computer screen. Such a conscientious child! A real relief after some of the tales he’d heard tonight.

  ‘Thought I heard the television,’ Andy said.

  Natasha’s eyes widened. ‘I’ve been doing some online French tutorials. Want to look?’

  She was kidding! There was no way he wanted to display his ignorance. ‘No thanks. Where’s Mel?’

  ‘Still babysitting for Aunty Bobbie. But Mum rang. I took a message.’

  She handed him a heart-shaped piece of paper from her jottings pad. Need to stay on for an extra week or two. Please don’t ring tonight. Am going to bed early.

  Andy felt an odd feeling in his chest. ‘An extra week or two? Why?’

  Nattie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But she did say there were plenty of home-made meals in the freezer. Shut the door, can you, Dad? I’ve got to get on with my work.’

  There once was a father from Deal,

  Whose children would tell fibs and steal.

  ‘Will you please tell the truth

  Or I promise – by struth –

  You’ll forgo your very next meal.’

  (Of course he didn’t mean it, so they’re still at it.)

  PERFECT PARENTS: SESSION TWO

  LEARN THE SECRET OF REFLECTIVE LISTENING!

  REPEAT YOUR CHILD’S WORDS AND SHOW THAT YOU REALLY DO UNDERSTAND.

  BELOW IS AN EXAMPLE.

  CHILD:

  ‘F— OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE.’

  PARENT:

  ‘I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU WANT ME TO F— OFF AND LEAVE YOU ALONE. I’D LIKE SOME PEACE AND QUIET TOO. BUT I’M THE ADULT SO YOU BLOODY WELL HAVE TO DO AS YOU’RE TOLD.’

  (NB Last sentence to be used only under extreme duress.)

  Chapter 10

  BOBBIE

  ‘JUST LOOK AT the time! We’re going to be late for school! What do you mean you can’t find your shoes, Daisy? Where did you last throw them? Jack! Get out of bed now.’

  ‘But I’m comfy, Mum.’

  ‘I said, NOW!’

  Nag, nag, nag! That’s all she ever seemed to do nowadays. Sometimes Bobbie thought she was two people. The crazy one when the kids were around and the normal one when they were at school.

  ‘Sit up and eat your cereal, Jack! Not like that! You’ll get your foot stuck in the back of the chair. See! Wiggle your toes to the right. To the right! That’s it. No, there isn’t time for more breakfast. You’ll have to eat a banana on the way. All right. Dip it in peanut butter first if you have to. No, we’re out of the crunchy sort.’

  Thank heavens no one else could see them now, thought Bobbie as she hustled the kids out of the house. Shit! She’d shut the door before picking up her keys from the kitchen table! If they’d still been in London, her friend Sarah would have had a key. Now she’d have to break in or find a locksmith when she got back. Meanwhile, they’d have to walk to school.

  ‘But it’s raining,’ pouted Daisy. ‘Did you know that if it rains like this for another week, Britain will have enough water to fill a thousand swimming pools? It said so on my Clever Clogs app.’

  ‘That’s not going to get us to school on time, is it?’ Bobbie heard herself snapping back in a way that she didn’t like. Then again, she hadn’t liked herself for a long time. Being a parent had turned her into someone whom she wouldn’t want to be friends with. To think she’d hoped that the course would help! She’d been right to jack it in. That first session had only made her feel even more of a failure.

  And no wonder! It wasn’t designed for kids like hers who yelled in capital letters or parents who screamed back with exclamation marks. She’d just have to muddle on until they were eighteen. Longer than some life sentences.

  ‘Don’t push your sister like that!’ Bobbie felt like smacking Jack but managed to hold back. It was so easy to lose it. Frighteningly easy. ‘Just walk nicely, can’t you? And hurry up!’

  They were taking the quick route to school along the canal, past the brightly coloured barges with the flowers on top and pretty names along the side. This was one of the good things about moving out of London. Corrywood had the Grand Union running through it: perfect for walks, she and Rob had told themselves excitedly when they’d first arrived. The truth was that family walks always degenerated into family arguments. Like now.

  ‘HE’S STILL PUSHING ME, MUM!’

  ‘THEN MOVE OVER!’

  There was a scream followed by a terrific splash. ‘Daisy!’ shouted Bobbie. Kneeling down on the muddy side, she grabbed hold of her daughter and hauled her up, coughing and spluttering. ‘Are you all right? SAY something!’

  The ear-splitting yell suggested that her lungs were still working. But it took a few seconds for the relief to catch up with Bobbie’s heart, which felt as though it was throbbing in her throat. ‘You naughty boy, Jack. Your sister could have drowned.’

  ‘I’M WET, MUM! I’M WET!’

  ‘IT WASN’T MY FAULT! SHE SHOULD HAVE MOVED OVER.’

  A jogger gave her a critical look as she ran by. Don’t blame me, Bobbie wanted to say. I didn’t ask for kids like this. I’m trying my best.

  Hanging on to Jack with one hand and a sodden Daisy with the other, she made her way to school. She’d have to dry her off there, now she’d locked them all out of the house. That would be one more black mark against the Wright family. How on earth was she going to sort them out before Mum arrived with Dr Know?

  ‘I wish you’d never been …’ began Bobbie. Then she stopped, appalled with herself. She’d come close, so close, to saying that she wished Jack had never been born. Of course she didn’t mean that. But sometimes kids did things that made you say stuff you never thought you were capable of. ‘I wish you hadn’t pushed your sister over the side,’ she said lamely.

  Jack nodded. For once, he looked penitent. ‘I’m sorry, Mummy.’

  ‘It’s your sister you need to apologise to!’

  ‘But she pushed me!’

  Daisy, soaking wet, was still sobbing. ‘He did it first.’

  ‘STOP!’ Bobbie heard herself screaming just as they reached the school gates. ‘BOTH OF YOU.’

  A woman with a baby in her arms and a toddler in each hand gave a little wave from the other side of the road. It was Too Many Kids Mum, that mother with eight children. Now she’d tell all the others in the group what an appalling parent she was.

  One more reason for not going again.

  It took nearly two hours to find a locksmith, which meant that Bobbie didn’t sit down at her desk until nearly lunchtime. She’d fallen into the market-research job through her friend Sarah from London. Both had been looking for something to do that fitted in with school hours and holidays. Then one of the other girls from their old antenatal group had told them about an agency who needed articulate women to make cold calls and ask questions, usually about medical or psychological subjects.

  Some of them could be really embarrassing. A few weeks ago, Bobbie had had to find people who were happy to talk about piles. The week after that, it had been contraception. Last week it was fungal nails. This week it was tranquillisers. Not surprisingly, it was difficult to find interviewees with both the time and inclination. Bobbie was quite used to having the phone slammed down on her or being verbally abused. This job wasn’t for the faint-hearted.

  ‘Hello, is that Mrs Grant? How are you today? My name’s Bobbie and I’m ringing on behalf of Research Trivia …’

  No? One more refusal with fifty-four more names on her list to go. All too often, Bobbie didn’t even get as far as giving her company’s name. Consumers were becoming increasingly smart at recognising cold callers and she didn’t blame them. The last thing she would want herself was a market researcher ringing up out of the blue.

  But every now and then, you hit gold. Someone who was lonely. Someone who actually wanted to talk because they didn’t have anyone else to chat to.
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  ‘Hello, is that Mr White? Who’s calling? Actually, my name’s Bobbie and I … Yes, actually, I am from a market-research company and I’m doing a survey on …’

  No? Fair enough. Fifty-three to go.

  On an average day, Bobbie would get at least five lots of surveys done. Usually, her pleasant voice (the one she saved for those who weren’t related to her) charmed even those who weren’t very keen on divulging their social or medical habits. But today, at this rate, she was going to need some tranquillisers herself. Desperately she worked her way down the list, without any takers. Was that really the time? She hadn’t even had lunch and now she was going to be late for school pick-up.

  Dashing to the school, Bobbie found Daisy and Jack waiting in the playground with a none-too-pleased duty teacher who didn’t seem impressed by Bobbie’s excuse that she’d been ‘delayed at work’.

  ‘But you don’t work,’ trilled Daisy right in front of her.

  ‘Yes I do! From home.’ Bobbie had given up expecting others to accept she had a proper job even though she didn’t go out to an office. But it would be nice if her own husband and children saw it as that. ‘Come on,’ she said, chivvying them into the car. ‘We’ve got to get back. How was school today?’

  ‘I wrote about Jack trying to drown me in the canal,’ announced Daisy, who was wearing a too-big navy tracksuit to replace the saturated school uniform. ‘My teacher gave me eight out of ten. She also wants to see you.’

  Great.

  ‘I didn’t try to drown you,’ retorted Jack. ‘You fell in yourself.’

  ‘No I didn’t. And stop flicking bogeys at me.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Yes you are.’

  ‘STOP ARGUING!’ Sometimes Bobbie didn’t even know she was shouting until she felt her throat getting sore. ‘I had enough of that this morning. Now when you get in, I’ve got some work to finish before tea. I won’t be long. Promise.’

  ‘Hello, is that Mr Bigger? My name’s Bobbie and I … Yes, actually, I am from a market-research company and I’m doing a survey on tranquillisers. I was just wondering if you’d mind answering a few questions about … You will! That’s wonderful! Thank you so much. Can you tell me when you first started taking—’

  ‘MUM! I’M STARVING.’

  Not yet! Not yet! Desperately, Bobbie turned round from her desk in the spare room and tried to bat away Jack. ‘Just one minute,’ she mouthed. ‘Please.

  ‘I see. You started when your wife died. I’m so sorry. And can you tell me the name? Florence? Actually, I meant the name of the tranquillisers.’

  ‘MUM, I’M HUNGRY!’

  ‘In a minute, I said. No, not you, Mr Bigger. Sorry. Do you spell that with one “t” or two? Not your name; the tranquillisers. Right. Got it. And did they help? JACK, I’LL BE THERE IN A SECOND. No, Mr Bitter. I mean Bigger. This isn’t a hoax call. It’s part of a market survey and …’

  Too late! He’d rung off. She’d lost him. The only person who had been happy to talk to her that day! Bobbie felt like weeping with frustration. That meant she wouldn’t reach her target so she’d only get her telephone expenses. How were they going to manage?

  ‘I’m hungry, Mummy,’ bleated Jack plaintively. Of course he was! Shocked by herself, Bobbie put her arm around her son. What kind of mother was she to put her work before her children? A lousy mother, that’s what. Still, if in doubt, switch on Sky. How did mothers manage before?

  ‘WHAT DID YOU SAY?’ thundered a voice from the screen.

  Oh my God. There he was! Dr Know! Right in front of her! A male cross between Supernanny and the devil with those forbidding eyebrows, knitted together with derision as a mother from the studio audience cowered before him. ‘You let your son go to bed at WHAT time?’ he was roaring.

  Jack began to whimper. ‘I don’t like this programme. It scares me.’

  Her son was actually hiding behind a cushion! Nothing ever frightened Jack.

  ‘That’s Gran’s new boyfriend,’ began Bobbie.

  Daisy fixed her with a scornful look. ‘Don’t tell lies, Mum, or your nose will get bigger.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Mum!’ Her daughter grabbed the remote to switch channels. ‘I’m not going to tell you again!’

  A screen of flying pink pigs appeared before them. That was better. Both kids settled down into their bean bags, cans of fizzy drink at their side (she’d given up on that one) with a distinct air of relief. Dr Know had been banished. But they wouldn’t be able to get rid of him so easily when he came to the house!

  What am I going to do? she texted her friend Sarah after she’d finally got them to bed and was still waiting for Rob to come home. Sarah would understand. Her son Tom was just like Jack. Both live wires. They had supported each other ever since their boys were born; told each other that it was the wild ones who would make something out of their lives. All they had to do as parents was to make sure they survived until they were grown up. Poor Sarah! It was much worse for her now that she was on her own.

  It’s not just Mum’s boyfriend, she added. It’s me. The kids have turned me into a monster.

  Know what you mean, Sarah texted back. That’s why I’ve just joined this new parenting class. Really great! Have made some new friends too. You ought to see if there’s one in your area.

  New friends? Bobbie felt a surge of jealousy as well as surprise. She’d never labelled Sarah, who had such strong opinions, as the kind of person who would take advice from a parenting class. Maybe, just maybe, she ought to give it one more go.

  She was late. They’d already started.

  ‘Listen and encourage,’ Judith was saying with the shining face of a convert. Bobbie found herself glancing at the teacher’s bare left hand. No wedding ring. No children. A non-parent with no commitments and all the answers. Hah!

  ‘Children often feel that their parents aren’t listening,’ continued Judith excitedly. ‘This week, we’re going to help you to do that through the art of reflective listening.’

  Bobbie shuffled in her seat. Phrases like this were all very well but she’d love to see this woman handle Jack. When she’d left her son half an hour ago with Mel, he was still rooted to his DS game after a furious put-that-down-and-go-to-bed argument which she’d lost, hands down.

  If only you could switch kids off and then on again, like the computer. Maybe they’d work then.

  ‘You don’t look very convinced, Bobbie,’ said Judith, suddenly addressing her.

  ‘I’m not, actually.’ She flushed as everyone turned to look, including Not Really Pregnant Mum and someone new: a small, blonde, older-looking woman with hooped gold earrings, wearing a very chic pair of black trousers and silky mauve top. Now where had she seen her before?

  ‘I tried out the positive praise on my children after last week’s session,’ continued Bobbie. ‘I did it on my husband too. They all thought I was being sarcastic.’

  Judith nodded. ‘You missed the beginning of the session, unfortunately, when we had feedback on how our “homework” went. The general consensus was that it takes time to break the patterns of a lifetime. But it’s vital that we persevere. You might have better luck with reflective listening.’

  ‘Not if your kids yell as much as mine,’ muttered Butterfly Mum, whom Bobbie had renamed Battered Mum. ‘My ears have been ringing since the day they were born. I just can’t get used to the shouting.’ She nudged Bobbie. ‘By the way, I thought you were very brave to do that role play last time. My kids are much worse than yours but I didn’t have the gall to act it out.’

  Really? That made her feel better!

  ‘Shall I repeat that?’ Judith was fixing her with a you-weren’t-paying-attention-were-you? look. ‘Reflective listening means listening to your children while making eye contact at the same time – that’s essential – and then saying a phrase which shows that you understand how they are feeling.’

  Not Really Pregnant Mum sniffed. ‘Pity some mums can’t do that.’ She th
rew Bobbie a filthy look. ‘Did you know that my son is diabetic? He can only eat certain food.’

  So Jack hadn’t just stolen a lunch box. He’d nicked someone’s lifeline.

  ‘My son’s a picky eater,’ piped up one of the others. There was a chorus of ‘My kids are like that too.’

  Judith was nodding again. Did she ever stop? Those nods must be a nervous habit. ‘We’re diverting slightly here but how about encouraging him to make his own supper – under your guidance, of course. You never know’ – she gave a silly giggle – ‘he might be the next Jamie Oliver!’

  Make their own supper! Had this woman any idea of what it was like at teatime? It was chaotic enough with the ‘sit down’s and the ‘don’t fight’s and the ‘have you learned your Mandarin vocab’, without showing them how the microwave worked.

  ‘I haven’t time to let my son cook!’ said the woman indignantly. ‘He’d burn himself or make a real mess. Besides, he’d get under my feet!’

  Bobbie almost felt sorry for Judith, who was becoming really flustered. ‘Maybe it’s time for the film,’ she said, fiddling around the laptop. As the lights dimmed, Bobbie was aware of the new woman looking at her curiously. That was it! She was the woman from the supermarket. The one with pink leggings who had been staring when Jack had been playing up. Great! That was all she needed. Someone who had witnessed her lack of parenting skills in action. She looked, at a guess, as though she was in her mid-forties. A slightly older mother who thought she knew best.

  Bobbie slipped out of the session as soon as the post-film discussion was over. Homework was to practise ‘reflective listening’ and ‘encouraging’ children by picking up the skills they were good at and praising them. Fat lot of good that would do.

  ‘Hi!’

  Bobbie turned round at the friendly voice. Andy! That was a surprise. It seemed strange to see her sister-in-law’s husband at school and not in that white-carpeted mansion with chrome fittings and a chill in the atmosphere. Perhaps he was here to support his wife by being part of the group or maybe help her with the PowerPoint. What a nice man!