Happy Families

by Janey Fraser

  Mr P. was one of those five-foot-nothing men who seemed to think he needed to make up for his size with a very loud mouth. And he was always telling poor Judith Davies how to do it. Clearly he was here to give advice rather than receive it.

  ‘My wife and I thought the diary was a great idea although I would like to make one small suggestion. We got the twins to write down their feelings too!’ He was standing up on a chair, waving an open page at them. ‘Like this entry last Thursday. We had a bit of a discussion about whether our youngest (he’s the one who was born three minutes later if you remember) should have natural yoghurt or raspberry for supper. He wanted raspberry, you see, but the eldest had his eye on it too. So the wife divided both pots in half and gave them a mixture. She wrote down in the diary that she felt she’d reached a happy compromise. Then the kids wrote down their feelings.’

  Boring! Boring!

  Miss Davies’s eyes were glazed too. ‘Thank you for sharing this with us. I will certainly bear your adaptation of the exercise in mind for future classes. Anyone else like to read out their diaries?’

  There was no way, thought Bobbie, that she was going to talk about the kids playing up in the shop; not with her new boss sitting next to her. Or about that other worry that had emerged recently and which she kept pushing to the back of her mind.

  Vanessa had already told her on the way in that she certainly wasn’t going to ‘share’ that awful experience about losing Sunshine on the Underground. There were some things, they both agreed, that had to be kept quiet. Looked as though the others felt the same, judging from the nervous shuffling around on seats.

  ‘Is that all?’ Judith looked disappointed. ‘Let’s start with role play. As usual, one of us is to be the child and the other, the parent. But I’d like you to choose a different partner from last time.’

  Bobbie threw a look of sheer panic at Vanessa. Over the weeks, the two women had grown quite comfortable doing the exercises with each other; especially as Sunshine was now really quite good friends with Jack and Daisy. In fact, her two were over at Vanessa’s house right now. She only hoped that Vanessa’s neighbour was coping with Jack, who was on a sugar high, thanks to some disgusting sweets that Rob had brought home after work the other day. (If he thought that could make up for not being around enough, he was wrong!)

  Now Vanessa was being teamed up with Too Many Kids Mum, while Bobbie was with Mr Perfect. This was going to be fun. Not.

  ‘I’d like the “children” to act out a chore,’ trilled Miss Davies. ‘It might be homework or tidying their room or washing up.’

  Bobbie laughed. ‘My lot don’t do any of those things.’

  ‘Really?’ Mr Perfect frowned.

  ‘Are you all listening?’ Judith shot her a disappointed look. At times, Bobbie felt this inexplicable urge to act up in parenting class and play the fool, just to lighten the atmosphere. Was this how Jack felt?

  ‘The parent’, continued Judith, ‘has to find fault with everything that the “child” is doing. Feel free to be really critical!’

  That shouldn’t be difficult!

  But Mr Perfect was scratching his head. ‘My wife and I never criticise the kids. We don’t need to.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ demanded Bobbie irritably.

  ‘We don’t like to think we might be missing out on something.’

  Another competitive parent!

  ‘After you, Bobs.’ He gave a mock bow. ‘I’ll be the adult. Time for homework! Have you started it yet?’

  Bobs! No one called her that. Not even in role play. Grumpily sitting down at one of the child-sized tables, she pretended to write. Mr Perfect was hovering behind; she almost felt his breath on her shoulder.

  ‘Why don’t you hold your pencil this way, Bob! Then your writing will be neater.’

  Was he acting yet or just interfering?

  ‘And don’t look so closely at your work, Bobs, or you’ll give yourself eye strain.’

  ‘But I don’t understand what it says!’ Even as she spoke, it came to her. Wasn’t that what Jack had said the other night when struggling with geography homework?

  ‘Why not?’ snapped Mr Perfect.

  Oh dear. Just what she’d said to her son. ‘I wasn’t listening properly.’ Jack again.

  Mr Perfect’s voice was shocked. ‘Then you should have been!’

  That had been her answer too.

  ‘OK, everyone,’ trilled Judith. ‘How did that make us all feel?’

  Bobbie found herself putting up her hand, bashfully. ‘I don’t know about the rest of you but I felt rather demoralised.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Perfect Dad, frowning.

  ‘Don’t take it personally.’ She looked away from him, suddenly feeling horribly embarrassed. ‘But it did make me realise what it was like to be criticised.’

  Judith clapped her hands as though Bobbie had just won the prize in pass the parcel. ‘Criticism does make us feel down, doesn’t it? And that’s where positive praise comes in! Remember that from the first session? Great. Next week, we’re going to look at …’

  But Bobbie wasn’t listening. Instead, all she wanted to do was to get back to Vanessa’s and collect the kids. She’d try not to have a go at them tonight. She really would.

  ‘What do you mean you didn’t finish your homework?’

  ‘You know you’re not allowed to watch Adult Only films.’ (She hadn’t expected Vanessa to have those kind of DVDs.)

  ‘Why did you tell the babysitter you were starving?’

  ‘Don’t undo your safety belt, Jack. We’re not home yet.’

  By the end of the evening, Bobbie’s voice was sore with nagging. All her good intentions from class had faded in the battle to get the children home and to bed. Even though it was so late – gone ten o’clock! – both seemed to have found another rush of energy.

  ‘No, Jack, you can’t have chocolate spread on toast. There’re only a few hours until breakfast. AND GET OFF YOUR SKATEBOARD!’

  ‘Can we have pizza instead?’ This was Daisy.

  ‘No! It’s too late.’

  ‘So?’ Her daughter pouted. ‘Did you know that Americans eat three hundred and fifty slices of pizza every second? It says so on Google.’

  Talking of pizza, Rob’s dinner was all crisped up at the bottom of the oven. Where on earth was he? Bobbie had a flash of Mr and Mrs Perfect sitting up and eating nicely together. She and Vanessa might take the mickey out of them but every now and then, she did wonder what it would be like to have a husband who was more hands-on. Like Andy for instance. She’d hoped to catch a word with him after the session but he’d rushed off with a wave and something that sounded like ‘I’ll give you a ring soon.’

  Bobbie hoped so. She’d been flattered when he’d confided in her the other night and it had been nice to confide in him too. Meanwhile, the kids were actually asleep, unless they were pretending again, and there was still no sign of Rob.

  She felt slightly sick. After all, if Pamela could play around, why not her brother?

  ‘Any chance of you doing another day?’ asked Vanessa the next day. ‘Only I’ve got some important business to sort out.’

  Something was definitely going on. Bobbie was sure of it. Her new friend seemed extremely distracted and not like her usual self. She’d even seen her snapping at little Sunshine the other day after school because the child had left her homework behind.

  ‘Everything all right?’ she’d asked but Vanessa had given her a cool look.

  ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’

  Still, Bobbie wasn’t complaining. She really loved working in the shop. It wasn’t just the thrill of getting out of the house instead of being stuck on the phone at home. It was the clothes. Bobbie had loved fashion as a young girl but since the kids had come along, there was never much over at the end of the month for buying non-essentials – not with the price of children’s shoes.

  But here at Vanessa’s, she could try things on when it was quiet and pretend that s
he was going out. Bobbie did a bit of a twirl in front of the mirror. The red suited her! She could be a different Bobbie. Someone who was about to go to the races, especially if she added this hat. She would stand in the hospitality tent (Rob was always talking about hospitality tents) with a glass of Pimm’s in her hand.

  By her side would be Andy – no! Where had that come from? By her side would be Rob. Not the always-tired, always-critical Rob but the old one, before the children had been born.

  They would …

  ‘Hello? Anyone there?’

  Quickly, Bobbie slipped out of the sleek, chic red outfit and back into her own navy trousers. She had a customer! Two actually! Goodness, there was a crowd of them! Talk about three double-chins coming at once!

  ‘I’m off to Marbella,’ said one in a rather haughty voice that reminded her of Camilla. ‘Someone told me that you have some rather nice outfits here. Not that I’ve ever bought anything second-hand before, of course.’

  Everyone said that. It was a bit like parenting class. Most people felt rather awkward going but when they got there, they were surprised at what they could pick up.

  For the next hour, Bobbie was up to her eyes. Many customers seemed to be preparing for an Easter break in the sun or going to the big fund-raising ball at the golf club. It was like being Cinderella but actually she was having a ball herself! She loved the challenge of persuading a woman to try on an outfit that had previously been ignored on the rail.

  ‘This is perfect!’ trilled one of the members of the PTA. ‘You are clever!’

  Bobbie flushed with pleasure. How nice it was to be appreciated!

  ‘Good heavens!’ said an older woman, taking down a very boring brown jumper from the size-14 rail. ‘I swear this is the top I gave to my daughter-in-law last year. If it is, it’s extremely rude of her. Can you give me the name of the seller?’

  Bobbie had been warned about this by Vanessa. It wasn’t the first time that unwanted gifts had been discovered by their original donors, just as she’d found that cardigan she’d bought Pamela. ‘I’m afraid that’s confidential.’

  ‘Anyone seen a brown suede jacket?’ demanded the haughty Marbella voice.

  ‘Sorry.’ Bobbie called up from the rails. ‘I sold it half an hour ago.’

  ‘SOLD!’ The voice sliced through the surrounding chitter chatter, leaving a scared silence. ‘But it’s mine! I left it here on a rail while trying something on because the changing rooms were full.’

  Shit. It hadn’t had a price tag on, that was true, but Bobbie had presumed Vanessa had simply forgotten to label it and had used her ‘discretion’ in fixing a price.

  ‘You’d better get it back right now!’ thundered Lady Marbella. ‘Who did you sell it to?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Bobbie could hardly believe this was happening to her. Her concentration – not to mention her memory – had been all over the place recently. And that Dr Know business didn’t help. He was in the papers again today; this time about a provocative remark he’d made concerning ten-year-olds and straitjackets. ‘She’s not one of our regulars. At least I don’t think she is.’

  ‘Then find out her details from her card or cheque or however she paid you!’

  ‘I can’t,’ quaked Bobbie, feeling a wave of nausea. ‘She paid cash!’

  There was a shocked silence again followed by urgent giggles and whispers from everyone else in the shop. ‘This is outrageous!’ Lady Marbella flung the dress she’d been about to buy on the ground and flashed her a furious look. ‘Where is your boss?’

  ‘She’ll be in tomorrow.’

  ‘Then so will I! Trust me. You haven’t heard the last of this. And I shall tell everyone I know that this place is no more than an amateur second-hand place that sells the very clothes off your back!’

  With that, she marched out. Bobbie quaked as she dialled Vanessa’s mobile only to find that it went straight through to answerphone. Now she’d really done it.

  *

  Vanessa’s phone still wasn’t picking up by the time she got home. She’d have to go into the shop first thing to explain, Bobbie told herself. Meanwhile, the children were, for a change, behaving really well. Amazingly, they went to bed when she asked them.

  Were they ill?

  Still, it meant she had time to ring Mum. Even if Mum didn’t have time to talk to her.

  ‘Can’t chat just now, darling! Herbert and I are on our way out. He’s so looking forward to meeting you.’

  Why can’t you listen? she wanted to say. Is that so hard to do? But at least it gave her a bit longer to prepare dinner. A special dinner with candles in a bid to make a real effort.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ asked Rob bemused when he got back dead on nine; just as he’d promised.

  Bobbie gave a little twirl in the red dress she’d borrowed from the shop. It was only for one evening, she told herself. No one would notice. ‘Just thought it would make a change,’ she said nonchalantly, lifting her head up to him for a kiss.

  He brushed her cheek. ‘Something smells good. Nice dress. Have I seen it before?’

  ‘I sort of borrowed it.’

  ‘Borrowed?’

  Bobbie was beginning to feel guilty now. ‘I’m testing it out. For Vanessa’s shop.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ He seemed distracted. Fiddling with his BlackBerry rather than listening to her. ‘Look, I’ve just got to take this. Won’t be long.’

  For the next twenty minutes, she could hear him talking urgently from the sitting room. Keep your voice down, she wanted to say. You’ll wake the children. Eventually, he came back, hands shoved in his suit pockets, looking rather subdued. ‘Sorry. That was urgent.’

  It always is, she almost said, but then she reminded herself: Don’t criticise! Don’t criticise! But despite forcing herself to keep mum, the evening was a disaster. Even though Rob had declared the lukewarm salmon pie was ‘very nice’, he picked at it unenthusiastically. That would teach her to make it herself. Even worse, every time she tried to talk to him, Rob’s head began to drop with exhaustion. ‘Rob,’ she started to say and then he’d give a little start and pretend that he hadn’t fallen asleep.

  In the end, he did just that, right there at the table. No, she told herself, she wouldn’t wake him. Frankly it was easier to clear up around him. Whoops. His mobile had fallen out of his pocket as he sat there. Picking it up, she saw that there had been a message.

  Andy’s words came back to her. ‘Only we know what that family is really like.’ Her heart thumped so hard she could hear it in her chest. Should she open it? No. Yes.

  Hope it’s all sorted now! A x

  Hope it’s all sorted now? What was? Did ‘A’ stand for ‘Araminta’? And if so, why the kiss?

  Bobbie’s first instinct was to shake Rob and demand an explanation. But that would only lead to another row and that was the last thing she needed right at this moment. Perhaps she should do what Sarah had suggested weeks ago. But that was risky and possibly illegal.

  God, she felt sick. And not just from nerves. Usually she loved salmon but tonight it had left a horrible metallic taste in her mouth. Bobbie stood looking at her sleeping husband. He’d been right to suspect that this dinner wasn’t just her making an effort. It was also to tell him something.

  Something that she’d been in denial about for a couple of weeks now. Something she could hardly believe herself. Something she’d been wanting to tell Mum and had almost told Rob. The reason why she’d been feeling nauseous and kept needing to go to the loo and would never be able to fit into those lovely cast-offs from Pamela.

  She was pregnant.

  MAKES YOU THINK …

  ‘Every beetle is a gazelle in the eyes of its mother.’

  Arab proverb

  ‘The one thing that children wear out faster than shoes is parents.’

  John J. Plomp

  ‘Insanity is hereditary – you get it from your kids.’

  Sam Levenson

  Chapter 23
r />   VANESSA

  IT WAS LIKE waiting for a pregnancy result! When she’d suspected, all those years ago, that she’d been up the duff, Vanessa had had to twiddle her thumbs for two days before she knew for certain. She could still recall how her heart had thumped – boom, boom, boom – as she’d sat in the surgery, before the doctor had broken the news.

  Harry had gone all quiet when she’d told him and then gone out to the pub to celebrate. On his own. It would be all right when the baby was born, she told herself. But it wasn’t. Harry had never really bonded with Brigid. He hadn’t been what you’d call a hands-on dad.

  Of course it had been a terrible shock when that woman had turned up on the doorstep, claiming she was his wife, but in a way it was also a relief. Her mother (bless her soul) had been right. Harry hadn’t been the right man for her.

  That’s why she’d been so upset when Brigid had announced she was pregnant at sixteen. ‘You’re going to end up like me!’ she’d cried. ‘A single mother. You don’t realise how hard that will be!’

  They were going to be talking about that in the next parenting session. She’d already read up on it in the handbook. There was a lot of stuff about how you often repeated the mistakes that your own parents made, because the pattern made you feel comfortable. It didn’t make sense, when you thought about it. Why repeat something that you knew wasn’t right?

  But somehow you did.

  And now, here she was, her pulse racing every time the post arrived, in case there was a letter from the DNA clinic with the results. How could she cope if that weasel-faced, multi-pierced youth was Sunshine’s father? ‘Even if he is,’ the solicitor had reminded her, ‘it doesn’t necessarily mean that he will get custody. Remember how I said the court always puts the child’s interests first?’

  But he might well get access! The law was also, apparently, very keen for a child to have a ‘suitable’ male figure in his/her life. Surely Weasel Face wasn’t suitable with his tattoos and piercings? The solicitor had smiled wryly. ‘You’d be surprised. There’s no rhyme or reason in this game.’

  Game? Vanessa had bristled at that. This was no game! This was her granddaughter they were talking about! A child who was really blossoming now. Always telling the same joke, the way kids do.