by Gill Sims
‘Well, so are you!’
‘Oh, well. I suppose, worst-case scenario, they sack you and you can have my dinner ready and my slippers warming when I come home!’
‘Simon! That’s not helping!’
‘Sorry. I was just trying to lighten the mood. Look, whatever happens, we just have to remember we will get through it together. OK?’
‘OK.’
‘And you do know that I love you, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, you’re not so bad yourself.’
‘Is that really the best you can do, Ellen?’
‘Oh, all right, I love you too! Happy now?’
‘Fucking ecstatic!’
‘Marvellous.’
‘Shall we watch some Wheeler Dealers?’
‘No. Fuck off!’
Monday, 19 June
Judgy came home on Saturday, outraged at having his leg in a sling, and utterly disgusted that he had to be carried outside to do his business, as like all males of the species he likes to do his business in private while enjoying a moment of quiet contemplation. Such was his outrage at his undignified treatment that it seems likely that he will make a full recovery.
After the life-and-death drama of the weekend, and the sheer relief that Simon and I seem to be getting back on track and that I feel a bit like a poisoned thorn has been pulled out of my side now we are not at loggerheads and are trying to work together, not against each other, I had almost forgotten about the showdown before I had left work on Friday. When I got into the office today, Ed, my boss, stuck his head out of his office and asked if he could ‘have a word’. I slunk in, feeling like when I was summonsed to the headmistress’s office at school. Nothing good ever happened then, either.
Ed, who hates talking to people, did not look thrilled at having to leave his comfort zone either.
‘Er, I gather there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding,’ he began.
‘You could say that,’ I agreed gloomily.
‘The rest of the team seemed to think you didn’t have any children?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you do, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s what I thought. So just a misunderstanding, then. One of those things. Good. Glad we’ve cleared that up.’
‘OK. Was that everything, Ed?’
‘Well, they asked me to speak to you about the misunderstanding and I have, um … The thing is, Ellen, are you happy here?’
‘Yes. I love working here. It’s been tough making the adjustment to working full-time again, but I think we’re on top of it now.’
‘Right. No, I was just trying to understand how this misunderstanding arose, you see. Did you feel you couldn’t say that you had children because you were afraid you would be treated differently? Because we do have a policy of encouraging women back into work and not discriminating. Gabrielle gave me sheaves of paper about it – why she can’t send a bloody email, I don’t know! Bangs on all the time about sustainability and recycling and eco this and that, and then uses half a rainforest to print every communication. I keep telling her, paperless offices are the future, but apparently not for her department. Anyway, you shouldn’t have felt you couldn’t say you were a mother. It really wouldn’t have made any difference to anyone, you know.’
Bless Ed. I think that was the longest speech I have ever heard him make. And I know he means well, and hopefully by the time Jane is starting work it really won’t matter, but only a man could insist that mothers in the workforce were not treated any differently or penalised. And they probably aren’t by decent people like Ed, but sadly not everyone is like Ed. And what a hypocrite Gaby is too, making snarky comments about Lydia and then sweetly citing the company policies that she so blatantly disregards.
Evidently worn out by such a rush of words, Ed stared gloomily at his desk and Gabrielle’s heaps of papers for a while.
‘Um, was there anything else?’ I finally ventured.
‘Hmm? Yes, actually. We’re getting busier. Expanding. Max called this morning to say they are bringing in two new teams, and they want me to head them all up, and appoint team leaders for each group. I wondered if you’d be interested in applying for one of the positions. Not a lot more money, I’m afraid, but looks good on the CV.’
‘Oh. Do you mean as team leader for the current team?’
‘Probably not. I find people get arsey if someone is promoted over them like that. No, I thought you might do well with one of the new teams. I’d like Lydia to apply for one of the positions too.’
‘What about James and Alan and Joe?’
‘They are welcome to apply, but you two are my preferred candidates.’
‘Have you told Lydia?’
‘I was going to tell her next, if you want to send her in after you.’
Ed slumped further in his seat at the prospect of a second face-to-face conversation in one day.
‘OK. Well, thank you, Ed, I really appreciate this. But I’ll need to talk it over with my husband first.’
‘Of course, there’s no rush. I’d just like you to consider it.’
So that seemed to be that as far as any officialdom over the children/no children issue, but there was still the rest of them to deal with.
James, in fairness, was a little sheepish.
‘I still think it was a really weird thing to do, Ellen,’ he announced. ‘But actually my wife says there are people who are arses to her at work too, and she completely sees why someone wouldn’t admit to having kids. So I was wrong to be narky at Lydia, and I’ll try to do better.’
Alan was still sulking, but actually Lydia was the one who was the most angry. She cornered me while I was making a coffee.
‘I still can’t believe what you did!’
‘I know,’ I said wearily. ‘I know, I am a bad person, and I have no excuses and clearly karma thinks so too, because my dog got run over on Friday and it’s put things into perspective a bit for me. All I can do is say I am sorry, and I was wrong, and I’d like to just move past this.’
‘Oh Jesus, I’m sorry!’ said Lydia in horror.
‘Oh no, he’s fine. Broken leg, but should make a full recovery. Only it made me think a bit about stuff, and yes, I was shit and I’m sorry, and I don’t know what else I can say, OK, but it’s been a pretty full-on weekend and I really can’t handle any more drama or emotion, so if you want to hate me, go ahead and hate me.’
‘Oh, FFS!’ said Lydia. ‘I had a whole angry speech and now I can’t do it, can I? Not when your dog was run over. Part of me is just jealous I didn’t think of saying I didn’t have kids, to be honest. It would make life much easier!’
‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘Ed wants to see you.’
‘WHY?’ said Lydia indignantly. ‘Ed never wants to see anyone!’
‘I think it’s good news, but I’ll let him tell you. And I really am sorry, Lydia. I’d like it if we could get past this and be friends as well as working together.’
Lydia made a non-committal noise.
Another good thing happened on the way home, when the au pair agency texted to say that they had found us the perfect girl, called Sara, from Pisa, who could start immediately. I quite fancy learning Italian. I feel I am halfway there, anyway, with my Latin GCSE, though after the Judgy-car-interface incident, I will hopefully never have to use the phrase ‘Canus est in via’! I wonder if she will make homemade pizza. At the very least, she may convert Simon to pasta.
JULY
Saturday, 1 July
Hannah and Charlie’s wedding. Hurrah! The day came at last! Even though I had been excluded from the planning, to the point where Hannah threatened to take my phone and delete my Pinterest account if I made one more suggestion about how old wellies made an unusual and stylish receptacle for a flower arrangement, I was still extraordinarily excited.
I had planned my outfit with care and precision. In fact, I had had it hanging in the cupboard for weeks, a glorious confection of floral silk, with a fabulous ha
t. I had suggested white gloves might be an adorable finishing touch, but Simon had brusquely informed me that I was not the Queen.
I had purchased a suit for Peter, and Jane had eventually found a dress that satisfied both her style credentials and mine – i.e. it was mildly slutty, but did not actually scream ‘jailbait’. We had had lengthy arguments about how much make-up she was allowed to wear to the wedding, and I had finally given up the unequal struggle and agreed that Sophie could sleep over the night before and they could do each other’s make-up, so that at least Jane wouldn’t look like the only one doing an impression of the Joker.
All in all, I had been exceptionally organised, and so was not best pleased when at 9 a.m. this morning Simon took his ‘wedding suit’ out of the wardrobe and looked at it sadly.
‘I don’t think I can wear this,’ he announced. ‘I hadn’t realised how dated it was, because we haven’t been to a wedding in ages. I’ll have to go and buy a new one.’
‘What? No! You can’t, we are leaving at 12.30 p.m. Wear one of your work suits.’
‘I can’t do that,’ said Simon indignantly. ‘I don’t want to look like I’ve just come from the office. No, I’ll just pop into town and pick up a suit, and I’ll be back before you know it.’
‘Simon, NO, I forbid this! Wear something else. Why the fuck have you waited till today? I was going to have a bath. I was going to get ready in a relaxed and chilled-out way. I was going to have time to put on different colours of eyeshadow because you’re supposed to be here helping with the kids, not buggering off to buy a suit. It’s Sara’s day off, because we’re going to this wedding. She’s going for a picnic with her friends from the language school. (Sara is bliss. She has not yet made the hoped-for pizzas, but she is much less inclined towards discotheques – or rather discotecas – than the errant Juliette.)
‘Chill out!’ said Simon (nothing makes me more stressed than being told to chill out). ‘I’ll take the kids with me.’
‘What? Into shops? You do know there are three of them?’
‘Yes, darling, it’ll be fine! I can cope, you know. What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘Famous last words …’ I muttered darkly.
In the event, Jane and Sophie refused to go with Simon, insisting that they too needed all morning to get ready. As Jane and Sophie together tend to entertain each other, especially if Peter is removed from the equation (since the departure of the civilising if corrupting influence of Juliette he has taken to farting on people for comic value again), the girls staying with me while Peter went with Simon seemed a reasonable plan.
I issued Simon with instructions for Peter, including not letting Peter talk him into buying energy drinks as Bad Things Happen, or Haribos, or an excess of Greggs’ sausage rolls (Peter views a Greggs counter as a challenge), and Simon reminded me that he was perfectly capable of dealing with his son for a morning AND buying a suit.
Off they went, and I suggested brightly to Jane and Sophie that we could have a nice girly morning, doing facepacks and hair and make-up. The girls were unenthusiastic, and announced they would prefer to do their own thing, so I took myself off for a bath, anxiously checking the time as there was no sign of Simon.
Finally, at 12 p.m. I got a cheery call from him on his mobile.
‘So, it turns out the suit needs to be altered! Won’t be long, you go on ahead and I’ll just see you there.’
‘YOU BASTARD! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?’
‘Calm down, it’ll be fine.’
‘What about Peter, he still needs to get changed and his suit is here.’
‘He doesn’t want to wear the suit. He says he told you that. We’ve bought a shirt and some trousers for him – hopefully you can just return the suit.’
‘But he would look adorable in the suit.’
‘He says it’s scratchy and he feels stupid in it.’
‘FFS! Don’t be late. And DON’T let him have energy drinks.’
The suit was lovely. Peter was a vision in it. What did Simon and Peter know about fashion?
I finally shooed Jane and Sophie, doing passable impressions of mini-Lolitas, into the car and drove to the wedding, muttering darkly all the while. I couldn’t believe I had let a man who didn’t even see why Peter should wear a suit to a wedding talk me out of white gloves with my dress.
‘Mummy, you shouldn’t say you’re going to chop Daddy’s cock off!’ remonstrated Jane.
‘Yes, Ellen, he can get that done in a hospital if he doesn’t want any more babies!’ piped up Sophie. Dear God, I really must have a word with the school about their sex ed programme!
We arrived, I parked, then hustled the fiends inside to sit down. It did look lovely actually. Mrs P wafted through (wearing white gloves!) and said, ‘Hello, Ellen, darling! Isn’t it gorgeous? Hannah has done a wonderful job, though I can’t help but think some quirky little touches might have been nice. I suggested wellies full of flowers on the end of each aisle, but she was quite shirty about that, and she was downright rude about my lovely Moroccan-inspired coffee-tin lanterns. Marjorie will be so disappointed. She’s been pouring gallons of coffee down the old folks so that I had enough, they’re all gasping for a cup of tea. And look! Haven’t the children grown. Although … what has happened to Jane’s face? And her friend’s?’
‘Apparently, it’s called contouring,’ I sighed.
‘Oh! I don’t think Elizabeth Arden did that in my day. Do you want a gin, darling, the bar’s not supposed to be open, but I’m the mother of the bride, so I can sneak you one if you want?’
As there was still no sign of Simon and the wedding was about to start imminently, I agreed that a bijou gin would be very nice.
Shortly afterwards Mrs P surreptitiously handed me a glass and sidled off, announcing that she might just pop a few coffee-tin lanterns along the aisle before Hannah made her entrance.
I felt calmer once I had downed my gin, although there was still no sign of Simon. I sat down with Sam, who looked aghast at the girls’ faces.
‘I know! I know!’ I said. ‘What can I say? That’s the thing with girls and make-up. They have to make their own mistakes. Why else would Heather Shimmer lipstick have sold so well in the nineties?’
Sam looked unconvinced and whispered, ‘Where’s Simon? Is everything OK? You haven’t had another row, have you?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘We’re pretty good, except the bastard went to buy a fucking suit THIS MORNING and is coming straight here from getting it altered.’
‘Who buys a suit on the morning of a wedding?’
‘I KNOW! Also, he has bought Peter new clothes for the wedding instead of the lovely suit I had for him.’
‘In fairness, Ellen darling, Peter has been moaning about that suit since you bought it. You’ve just been ignoring him. Toby wouldn’t be seen dead in a suit either!’ Sam gestured to his son, who was looking rather stylish in a shirt and chinos.
Just as I was starting to get very twitchy and was about to send a furious text to Simon, he finally sauntered in, looking, it has to be said, rather good in the new suit (as he bloody well should after all that). I had been very worried about what sort of outfit he would have deemed suitable for Peter, but he was clad in a similar shirt and trousers to Toby and was rather dapper, if with a slightly maniacal look in his eye, which suggested that Simon had not heeded my frequent warnings about the dangers of energy drinks and Peter.
‘I told you I’d be in plenty of time, darling,’ smirked Simon. ‘You always worry too much. You need to learn to let go and trust me!’
Whether he was right or not, I was loath to admit it, but Simon was spared my reply anyway because the music started and Hannah came in. Hannah was glowing – far more stunning than on her first wedding day, though her eyes narrowed when she saw Mrs P’s coffee-tin lanterns dotted up the aisle.
The ceremony was beautiful, and Charlie and Hannah were literally the most in-love people I have ever seen. There was a brief hold-up when it w
as time for me to do my reading and I realised sitting in the middle of a row had been a bad idea. I had to clamber over Simon, Peter, Jane and Sophie to get out, but I managed not to say ‘Fuck’ while doing so.
Afterwards, there was champagne and photos and a small row between Hannah and Mrs P about the lanterns, and also the fact Mrs P had sneaked her gin-bottle candelabras onto the tables, but mostly it was all divine.
Later there was dancing. I waltzed dreamily round the floor with Simon. ‘We danced to this at our wedding …’ I whispered romantically.
‘Did we?’ said Simon in surprise.
‘Simon!’
‘Of course I remember!’ he said.
‘Do you really remember, or are you just pretending to remember because you’re hoping to get lucky tonight?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘What do you think?’ said Simon, twinkling at me wickedly.
‘I think that you are very annoying.’
‘But that’s why you love me, darling!’
‘You’re lucky that I do.’
‘I am. And you’re lucky that I love you!’
‘I suppose so.’ I admitted grudgingly.
In the end, I suppose that’s what a marriage comes down to – finding the one special person you want to annoy and be annoyed by for the rest of your life.
Thursday, 20 July
It was Jane’s ‘graduation’ day from primary school today.
Simon, without being nagged, reminded, threatened or shouted at, had booked the day off to come with me to it. Both Simon and Jane regarded me with some anxiety on this morning.
‘Daddy, you won’t let her make a complete scene and cry everywhere, will you?’ pleaded Jane.
‘Why would I do that?’ I protested. ‘I didn’t cry when you started school, why on earth would I cry now?’
‘Apparently all the mums cry at it, but that’s no reason for Mummy to cry. I don’t want her to embarrass me, just because all the other mums are being silly!’ insisted Jane.
‘Jane, if Mummy cries it is only because she loves you,’ said Sara kindly (I bet Juliette wouldn’t have been so diplomatic).