Happy Families

by Janey Fraser

  She shook her head reluctantly. ‘I promised to meet up with Bobbie and some of the other girls from the parenting class.’

  ‘Any good?’

  ‘A bit. I’ve made new friends.’

  Then she thought of Bobbie. The mammogram had helped her to focus. Had reminded her that life was too short to fall out with anyone.

  If only her own daughter understood that.

  They all met up in the new pasta place to have an ‘informal gathering’ in between classes. ‘The handbook recommends it,’ Judith had chirped enthusiastically. Most of them were there, including American Express, Too Many Kids Mum, Not Really Pregnant Mum and Matthew as well as her and Bobbie. Judith had suggested they talked about arguments and how they started in the family. ‘You might be more comfortable doing that outside one of the usual sessions,’ she had said. ‘It’s one of the tips in the handbook. Anyway, give it a go!’

  It was quite nice, actually. American Express talked about how her husband thought it was time she stopped breastfeeding but that she didn’t feel ready.

  ‘If you ask me,’ said Not Really Pregnant Mum, ‘it’s time you did.’ She patted her stomach. ‘I’ve finally decided to have me fibroids out. I was a bit scared, to be honest.’ For a minute she looked like a little girl. ‘Don’t really care for operations. But my own son asked me if I was up the duff the other day. So I’m going ahead.’

  There was a murmur of ‘well done’s but Vanessa remained silent during the ensuing discussion on fibroids and breastfeeding. Who had the right to tell anyone what to do? Bobbie was quiet too. One of them had to make up, she thought.

  ‘I didn’t mean …’ she began

  ‘I had a terrible …’ said Bobbie at the same time.

  They both stopped. ‘You first.’

  ‘No. Please you.’

  ‘OK.’ Bobbie looked away. ‘I had a terrible row with Daisy over the flute,’ she said, shamefacedly. ‘I told her it was totally unacceptable and I’ve stopped her pocket money.’

  Vanessa looked uncertain. ‘Why did she do it?’

  ‘Attention-seeking, I think. She and Jack have always been fiercely competitive. And now …’

  She stopped.

  ‘… and now you’re pregnant?’

  Bobbie gave her a startled glance. ‘How did you know?’

  Vanessa took the younger woman’s hand. It felt so good to be friends again! ‘The big giveaway was the pregnancy magazine you were reading at the doctor’s. But then I saw your buttons don’t do up and you were sick the other morning.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about borrowing those clothes.’

  ‘Forget it.’

  But Bobbie still looked troubled.

  ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ve done something really silly, Vanessa. Dug myself into a real hole. Now I don’t know what to do about it.’

  Vanessa looked around. The breastfeeding argument was getting heated: no one would hear them. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’ she said kindly.

  By the time Bobbie had finished doing exactly that, Vanessa didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘I’m not saying that you were wrong to suspect your husband of having an affair,’ she said. ‘In my experience, it’s often the ones you least expect. But it’s not the end of the world if you end up on your own, you know. As for Araminta’s complaint, there’s one very easy way out.’

  ‘Is there?’

  Vanessa nodded. ‘Absolutely.’ She beckoned Bobbie to come nearer. ‘If I were you, this is what I would do …’

  Vanessa felt quite light-hearted when she let herself in. There was nothing like making up. She’d always hated arguments anyway.

  Sunshine was fast asleep, her neighbour (who’d been babysitting) reassured her. The phone had rung a couple of times but she hadn’t got to it in time, she was afraid. Still, Vanessa had an answerphone, didn’t she? And thanks for leaving out the chocolate biscuits. They were delicious!

  Vanessa first checked Sunshine, who was breathing evenly, before playing back the messages. It would be Brian. Warm, wonderful Brian who always rang her in the evening but must have thought she was back already.

  The first message had been left at 6 p.m., just after she’d gone to pick up Bobbie.

  ‘This is a message for Mrs Thomas. It’s the breast clinic at St Nicholas’ Hospital speaking. Please could you ring back as soon as possible to make a further appointment.’

  But she’d only just had her mammogram! That meant there was something wrong. No. No. Please, not again. Not now she had Sunshine. And Brian. It wasn’t fair!

  Numbly, she pressed the button for the second message. ‘It’s me. It’s—’

  And then the message cut off before the speaker could say any more.

  WHAT KIND OF PARENT ARE YOU?

  When they won’t pick up their clothes from the floor, do you:

  Insert pins in boxer crotches.

  Let them dig a path.

  Send the lot to Oxfam (the kids, not the clothes).

  Go through all pockets. The consequent discovery of condoms and police cautions will teach the owners to hang up their jeans.

  Give up.

  Answer: A hopeless parent (If this is too small to read, it means the kids have destroyed your eyesight along with your sanity).

  (Note from editor of I Can’t Cope With My Kids magazine. This is the last in the series. Author is pregnant again … see back issue on foolproof contraception.)

  Chapter 30

  ANDY

  TOO LATE? ANDY stood on Camilla’s doorstep, taking in his mother-in-law’s distressed face. What did she mean?

  ‘Where’s Pamela?’ he demanded, following her in. Despite the situation, he couldn’t help admiring the paintings on the wall, the polished mahogany hall table and the spacious sitting room with oak beams that led to a pair of French windows with beautiful gardens beyond. He’d seen it all before, of course. But every time it reminded him of how different his own background had been from his wife’s.

  ‘She’s in trouble.’

  Andy glanced down at the box under his arm. ‘I think I know what you’re talking about,’ he said slowly.

  ‘I doubt it.’ Camilla sat down on the edge of the sofa in her usual erect posture but with fear in her eyes that he had never seen before.

  Andy was really beginning to get nervous now. ‘Just tell me where she is.’

  Camilla’s voice was almost inaudible. ‘Somewhere safe.’

  ‘For God’s sake, stop playing games!’ He was getting angry now. ‘She’s with him, isn’t she? The man in the sports car. Don’t deny it. I saw them on the doorstep, all over each other.’

  Standing up with her usual erect poise, Camilla walked briskly over to the drinks cabinet. Pouring herself a large glass of gin, without offering one to Andy, she slugged it back. ‘He wasn’t any good for her. I told Pamela that.’

  Andy took the glass out of the older woman’s hand just as she began to refill it. ‘That’s not going to help, is it?’

  To his amazement, she didn’t resist. Instead, she clutched his arms, as though drowning. ‘I don’t know how to tell you the rest, dear. I really don’t.’

  Dear? Never, ever, had Camilla referred to him in anything other than the most scathing of terms. Something was seriously wrong. Andy heard his voice come out like a twelve-year-old Barry: tough, to mask the fear. ‘I want to know where my wife is. Tell me, Camilla. Tell me.’

  ‘Please don’t shout at me. If you must know, I made her go to one of those places.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She was walking towards the French windows now, lighting up a cigarette. Andy, who hadn’t smoked for years, suddenly felt a desperate urge to join her. ‘When she came down here to help me, I realised how bad things had become. She tried to hide it of course – addicts can be very cunning – but I’d had practice with her father.’

  Addict? Of course! How stupid he had been. How daft to think Pamela would
have honoured her promise when they’d got married. The signs were all too clear now. Tense one minute. Hyper the next. The demand from the loan company. Her abandonment of the family.

  It wasn’t just the drink. Or the contents of the hat case, which he could hardly bear to reveal to anyone else. It was far worse. ‘She’s taking drugs again? Like she did before?’

  Camilla’s eyes widened. ‘You knew about that?’

  Oh yes, he had known all right. Pamela had been a complete cokehead when they’d first met. Not that it was immediately obvious: she’d been good at concealing it from some but not good enough to hide it from a streetwise kid like him. On their third date, to his amazement, she’d confessed that she’d ‘had enough’ and wanted to stop. She wanted to get out of modelling, too. The fact that her agent was about to drop her over the drug rumours that were already circulating the industry didn’t come out until later.

  Not that it had mattered to him. The young Andy Gooding had been hook, line and sinker in love with this fascinating creature who agreed to spend the rest of her life with him. So what if it was his money that had attracted her? He loved her and, besides, he believed her when she said she wanted to wipe the slate clean, even though many wouldn’t have.

  He’d been proved right, or so he’d thought. From the day they had exchanged their vows, Pamela had been a perfect mother. A clean mother. Until now. No wonder Mel had thought it was acceptable to smoke joints. ‘What’s she on?’ Andy felt his throat tighten as he spoke. ‘Drink? Heroin? Cannabis?’

  ‘A bit of everything.’ Camilla’s eyes wouldn’t meet his. ‘Soon after she came down, I rang the rehab centre in town – it’s really quite famous – and she started off with one of their support groups. That was run by the young man in the sports car whom you saw.’

  ‘So they weren’t having an affair?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Anyway, he was hopeless, so then I persuaded her to go in full-time. It’s expensive, naturally.’

  ‘Ten thousand pounds?’

  ‘More, by the time she’s finished. But they’re helping her to work it out. Of course, it all started with self-esteem. When that went, she turned to something else that gave her a buzz.’

  ‘Her self-esteem?’ repeated Andy.

  ‘Are you deaf?’ Camilla was back to her old dismissive self. ‘You must have noticed – oh, of course, I forgot. You were never at home, were you? When she gave up modelling to have the girls, she lost herself. Her sense of worth.’

  Andy looked down at the hat box was sitting by his side. ‘I need you to look at this,’ he began tentatively. Removing the lid, he took out a photograph, a large black-and-white glossy, and handed it to his mother-in-law.

  She smiled through her tears. ‘That’s exactly what I meant.’

  Together they stared at it. The photograph showed Pamela, head thrown back in an exaggerated pose as she held out her hands on both sides. She was wearing a Bruce Oldfield dress; it had been taken during London Fashion Week some twenty-odd years ago when she had been the toast of the fashion pages.

  But there was a big black cross through it and a word scrawled in black pen, in Pamela’s own handwriting, over the picture.

  Useless.

  ‘There are piles of them in here,’ said Andy, showing her. ‘Each with the same word.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘At first I didn’t understand but now, I think, I get it. At least part of it.’

  He thought back to his own feelings. That sense of frustration and uselessness now he wasn’t doing anything any more, apart from running around after the girls and making sure they were doing what they should be. When it came to teenagers, it was like trying to fill a bucket with a hole. You could never win.

  ‘Why didn’t she tell me she felt like this?’

  Camilla gave another little sarcastic laugh. ‘Don’t you see? She was frightened of losing you.’

  Pamela? Frightened of losing him? But it was he who was frightened of losing her!

  ‘She knew you wanted a secure family life after your aunt died. She also knew that you’d saved her. No. Don’t deny it.’ Camilla’s eyes narrowed. ‘We both understand why she married you. It wasn’t just because of the drugs or because her career was over, was it?’

  Andy gulped, thinking back to the night that he had proposed. ‘You don’t want to marry me,’ a drunken Pamela had laughed in that high tinkly voice that used to come out when she’d had far too much to drink. ‘I’m pregnant! Pregnant with someone else’s child. A man who doesn’t want anything to do with me. If you knew who it was, you’d understand!’

  He’d been shocked, of course. Taken aback. But at the same time, her words had given him hope. He would never have had a chance of gaining such a glittering prize unless it had been ‘damaged’. A top model who was pregnant by someone in the public eye; a man whom Pamela absolutely refused to name. He would only deny it, she kept saying. Everyone would be too scared to believe her. He didn’t understand the world she lived in.

  This beautiful woman needed someone to look after her. And he was there. ‘I’ll bring the child up as mine. I promise.’ Anything to have the woman of his dreams!

  Each had, or so he’d thought, fulfilled their part of the bargain. He gave her security. She gave him a family. By mutual agreement, they had never told Mel. It would only lead to awkward questions, Pamela had insisted. For his part, he honestly saw Mel as his own; had felt that way from the minute she was born all wriggly and wet with a cry that had pierced his heart. Hadn’t he known what it was like to be unwanted? He’d be damned if another child was going to feel that way.

  ‘But why now?’ he asked Camilla. ‘Why has Pamela suddenly flipped?’

  ‘You silly boy! It’s not sudden. It’s been a slow burn, although there was a trigger, I’ll admit.’

  ‘And Pamela’s trigger was?’

  ‘Nattie, of course! Well, part of it, anyway.’

  Nattie? Andy thought back to when she’d been born, barely two years after Mel. Such a beautiful little thing who looked so like her older half-sister that for a moment, Andy had wondered if Pamela had been seeing that man again; the man whose name she still refused to reveal. But then he’d seen her ears, which were so like his with that little kink in the earlobes, and he had felt reassured.

  ‘Two months ago, she told Pamela that she wanted to be a model! Didn’t you know?’

  ‘No!’ A flash of Nattie’s bedroom wall adorned with posters of beautiful girls came into his head. Her pickiness with food. The way she walked, so erectly. The way she drank; maybe to lose her inhibitions. Just as Pamela had done.

  ‘Pamela said that she wasn’t going to let her daughter make the same mistakes as her.’ Camilla sighed. ‘I told her it’s what all parents fear; their children making identical errors. But you have to let them do it or they won’t learn.’

  An overpowering aroma of cabbage and urine and Brussels sprouts suddenly came into his head. ‘I’m glad you’ve told me, Camilla.’ Then he remembered. That earlier hesitation. The ‘part of it’ bit. He grabbed the older woman’s hands. ‘Was there something else, too? Something else that made Pamela flip?’

  Camilla edged away. ‘No.’

  She was lying. He was sure of it.

  ‘But I will tell you this, Andrew. She might hide her feelings’ – his mother-in-law was straining as though having to push every word out of her mouth – ‘but she does love you.’

  Did she? Does she? Or had he just been a convenience all these years? A safe harbour to bring up her illegitimate daughter. A harbour that she’d now wearied of.

  Andy stood up. He’d had enough of this. Enough of these secrets and games.

  ‘Give me the number of the centre, please.’

  ‘They won’t let you see her.’ His mother-in-law almost sounded sorry for him. ‘She’s told them she doesn’t want you there. Not at the moment. Not even for their family-group sessions.’

  His eyes hardened. He was Barry all over again. ‘Then if I can’t see her, I wan
t to talk to whoever is treating her.’

  He rang from the car but the centre said that someone would ring him back. Andy drummed his fingers on the wheel in frustration. He didn’t want to wait. He wanted to know now! So when the mobile rang again on his hands free, his heart leaped.

  ‘Andy? It’s me, George.’

  George! He’d forgotten to call him back with everything else that had been going on. ‘Look, I’ve made the transfers and I moved the shares as we discussed. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens now.’

  George’s voice didn’t sound like his old confident self. Twitchy even. Andy felt a slight give in his chest. His financial adviser hadn’t been very keen on the gamble that Andy had suggested but he knew he was right. Always had been. He might have got his family life wrong over the years but when it came to money, he had the golden touch. Even in today’s climate.

  Anyway, he was nearly home now. Time to concentrate on what really mattered. His poor girls! It was up to him to provide as much stability as he could until Pamela got back. But then what? Andy felt a nasty feeling at the pit of his stomach.

  ‘Hi, Dad!’ Mel sauntered down the stairs. How could he ever have thought of her as another man’s child? She was his! She even had his gung-ho, I-can-do-this approach to life. Who said personality was genetic? Mel was living proof that nurture played its part too.

  Then he did a double-take. What was she wearing? Or rather, not wearing. Shorts with heavily laddered black tights?

  ‘You’re not going out dressed like that!’

  She gave him a bemused look. ‘Chill out. It’s the fashion.’

  ‘Where are you going and who with?’

  ‘You sound like the Gestapo! It’s Nattie you should be worried about. Look, Dad, I shouldn’t tell you this but she won’t be back until tomorrow. I promised to cover but I can’t lie any more.’

  ’Where’s she gone?’

  ‘London, for a studio shot session. We didn’t tell you ’cos we thought you’d go mad like Mum did when Nattie won the last competition.’

  ‘What last competition?’

  Mel waved her hand dismissively. ‘For a model! There was this really big row. Mum wouldn’t let Nattie take the prize – that was a studio session too. She also said we weren’t to tell you about it. So when Nattie won this one, she said nothing was going to stop her.’ His daughter made a daddy’s-little-girl face. ‘You won’t tell her any of this, will you? Or she’ll kill me.’