Confessions of a Demented Housewife

by Niamh Greene

  ‘Actually, Mum, I don’t think it is,’ Joe said, glaring at his brother as if he could happily have murdered him. ‘I think David has something to tell you, don’t you, David?’

  David looked as if he was going to throw up over the Aynsley tea set.

  ‘Do you, love?’ Mrs H smiled indulgently at David, then poured him a fresh cup of tea.

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ David stuttered. ‘The thing is, I’m not going to get married – ever.’

  There was silence as Mrs H processed this information. ‘Well, love, I can see your point,’ she said at last. ‘Why get married when you can live in sin? Maybe you should have done that, Joe.’ She glanced at me.

  We all gasped. Living in sin had always been a complete no-no, guaranteed to get you a ticket straight to hell if you so much as thought about it.

  ‘Don’t be so shocked. I’m not as old-fashioned as you all think,’ Mrs H went on, mopping up a stray crumb and giving the teapot a little polish. ‘I can get down with the best of them, you know, Max,’ she added.

  ‘I’m sure you can, Mrs H.’ Max smiled.

  Then Joe put his head into his hands and groaned, and I decided to break the tension by showing everyone the photos of Angelica’s downstairs toilet on my mobile phone. It’s not every day that people get to see a real-life celebrity loo.

  7 October

  Drove David and Max to see Angelica’s house on the way to the airport.

  ‘Why don’t we go in if you’re such good friends with her?’ David asked, as I edged past her mansion.

  ‘That’s not the way these things work,’ I said, hoping Angelica wouldn’t look out and recognize us. ‘Surely you know that celebrities don’t like to be disturbed out of the blue. You can’t just drop in unannounced.’

  ‘This is fab, Susie,’ Max said. ‘Just like a Hollywood tour!’

  I beamed at him, delighted that at least someone appreciated my efforts.

  ‘Can you get a shot of her hubby next time?’ David whined. ‘He’s a honey.’

  ‘What’s a honey?’ Katie asked.

  ‘You’ll find out when you’re older.’ David giggled, patting her head.

  8 October

  Only two weeks to Katie’s birthday. Luckily we’ve had a frank exchange of ideas and I’ve managed to persuade her that parties at home are so last year and that taking a select number of classmates to a movie is a much more mature option.

  ‘I think you’re right, Mummy,’ Katie said, pausing from brushing her Baby Bratz’s hair to gaze enigmatically into the middle distance. ‘And that would show Brandon, wouldn’t it?’

  I pretended not to know what she was talking about, but secretly I had to agree. A movie party is very ‘now’ and will be bound to impress Angelica. I’m so glad I thought of it.

  Confided in Joe how proud I am of Katie’s new maturity.

  ‘Yes, she’s getting so grown up,’ he said, peculiarly misty-eyed. ‘They grow so fast, don’t they?’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said, ruffling his hair. ‘Before you know it, she’ll be using hair-straighteners and snogging boys.’

  Joe paled visibly. ‘That’s not funny, Susie,’ he said. ‘I’ll kill any boy who comes near her with my two bare hands.’

  Didn’t like to tell him that boys were not the only worry. According to a feature in last week’s Gazette, being a lesbian is now all the rage when you’re a teenage girl.

  9 October

  Louise called at six forty a.m.

  ‘What is it, Lou? You haven’t gone into early labour, have you?’ I muttered, half hoping the whole thing was already over and done with.

  ‘No,’ she said, in a weird, calm voice. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, trying to sound disappointed but delighted I would no longer have to partner her through a forty-eight-hour labour with no drugs involved. She must have decided she wanted the father of her child to be there instead. She’d be thrilled when I told her a PI was on the brink of finding him.

  ‘I’m glad you understand, Susie,’ she said. ‘I thought you might be upset.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said, trying to keep the glee out of my voice. ‘Tracking Steve down is absolutely the right thing to do.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Louise said. ‘Why on earth would I track Steve down?’

  ‘Well, you’re going to need someone to be your birth partner, and if you’ve changed your mind about me, then who else will it be?’ I was getting confused.

  ‘No, Susie.’ She sighed. ‘You’re still going to be my birth partner. I haven’t changed my mind about that. I’ve changed my mind about keeping the baby. I’m going to give it up for adoption.’

  10 October

  Am still in shock that Louise has decided to give away her baby. Even to some worthy couple who’ll dress it in adorable Baby Dior, give it a private jet and fly in P. Diddy for a concert on its sixteenth birthday, just like those spoilt brats on MTV’s My Super Sweet 16.

  ‘It’s her decision, Susie,’ Joe said, when I confided that she might regret this choice for the rest of her life.

  ‘Yes, but I think she’s making a huge mistake.’ I sniffed into my toast. ‘Children bring so much joy into your life, and she’ll miss all that.’

  I watched Katie and Jack wrestle each other on the kitchen floor for the last chocolate croissant and came over all emotional that Louise was denying herself the wonder and privilege of motherhood.

  ‘Maybe she’ll change her mind,’ Joe offered. ‘Pregnant women have been known to make rash decisions before.’

  Suspect he was referring to the time I decided to become a vegan when I was expecting Katie. Little does he know it, but when Louise makes up her mind, there’s no going back: if she resolved to be a vegan, she wouldn’t be ravenously munching a roast beef and chocolate-spread roll three hours later.

  Tried calling the PI for a progress update on finding Steve but I couldn’t get through. Have decided to pay him a visit tomorrow – a face-to-face discussion is definitely needed. I have to make him understand that time is now of the essence. Steve may be the only person capable of making Louise see sense.

  11 October

  Drove to the PI’s office this morning. At first, I thought I was lost – the building I found myself in front of was so dingy that there was no way a hot-shot PI, who was a dead ringer for Tom Selleck, would have offices there. I stood on the pavement, looking for a red Ferrari, checking and rechecking the address and then, just to make sure, I asked a shifty teenager standing outside smoking what looked like a cigar if I was in the right place.

  ‘Who’s askin’?’ he said warily, in a thick Dublin accent, looking me up and down.

  ‘Um, I am,’ I said. ‘Magnum is doing some work for me.’ Was thrilled I was able to say that – it sounded really exciting and dangerous, just like a real-life episode of Undercover Cops.

  ‘Is that right?’ the teenager answered. ‘Follow me so.’

  He fished a key out of his polyester tracksuit pocket, opened the door and ushered me in before I had a chance to think about it.

  ‘Are you the caretaker?’ I called after him, feeling a bit nervous. What if he was a psycho? But he continued shuffling along the corridor until we came to a grimy door, which he pushed open and walked through.

  ‘Susie, yeah?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I said, gaping at the shambles before me. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘It’s written on your keyring. I wouldn’t recommend that by the way. Makes you an easy target.’

  I looked at my keys. He was right. There was my name in bright pink lettering on the keyring.

  ‘I’m Magnum.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I spluttered. ‘Are you having me on?’

  ‘Why would you think that?’ His eyes glinted across the desk.

  ‘Well, you’re nothing like the picture for one thing. And you’re so… young.’ I pointed at the poster of the handsome dude with the moustache that hung on the wall, with ‘
Magnum Investigations’ scrawled underneath.

  ‘I’m working undercover,’ he said.

  ‘But what about your accent?’ I asked. ‘The man I spoke to was an American.’

  ‘I’m a master of disguise. I use the accent on the phone so people won’t recognize me in the flesh. You have to be very careful in my line of work. Very, very careful.’

  He pushed a mountain of files and empty crisps packets off a filthy chair and indicated that I should sit. I ignored him. Leaving ASAP was now a priority. There was no way my bottom was touching that grimy seat.

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Your case is interesting,’ he said. ‘Very interesting. This Steve is quite a character.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, wondering how the hell I was going to get out of there and whether Magnum was a fantasist who was about to attack me and eat my liver for supper.

  ‘Well, for one thing he’s married.’

  Then he deftly pulled out the chair for me and I sank into it.

  12 October

  Am at my wit’s end. Turns out that Steve is

  married;

  already a father of three;

  living in a housing estate in suburbia;

  conducting a secret affair with his dentist.

  Magnum gave me a file detailing Steve’s comings and goings over the past few weeks. It included some unsavoury photographs of him and his dentist lover partaking in vigorous tonsil tennis.

  ‘Why did it take so long to track him down though? It sounds like he didn’t try to cover his tracks at all,’ I said, feeling very foolish.

  Magnum shifted in his seat. ‘Well, the truth is, I was out of action for a while.’

  ‘Really?’ I asked, perking up a bit. Maybe he’d been caught in gunfire between rival drugs gangs, or someone had put out a hit on him and he’d had a narrow escape.

  ‘Yeah, my wisdom tooth was giving me gyp so I had to go in and get it taken out. It’s still very painful.’ He winced.

  ‘So, what you’re saying,’ I said, as it dawned on me that this teenager was a complete chancer, ‘is that Steve wasn’t tricky to find? That the only reason it’s taken so long is that your mammy’s been looking after you and your gammy tooth? That I could have just looked up his name in the phone book, gone over there and had a chat?’

  ‘Um.’ He was shamefaced. ‘I suppose so, yeah.’

  ‘And do you expect me to pay you for this, you genius?’

  ‘I did the investigating,’ he said stoutly. ‘You have to pay me.’

  ‘Not on your life, buddy,’ I said, standing and pulling myself up to my full height. ‘This was a complete swindle. You can sing for your money.’

  ‘OK, OK.’ He caved in resignedly. ‘The truth is, I’m only starting in the game. The real Magnum was my uncle Mick. He got put away for extortion so he gave me the business – to take care of, like. That’s him on the poster.’

  ‘This is ridiculous.’ I was walking out of the door.

  ‘Tell you what, if you ever need another job done, come back to me, yeah? If your old man’s having how’s-your-father with a slapper, that kind of thing. We’ll call it quits.’

  ‘Right,’ I said grimly, ‘but I doubt you’ll ever see me again. I’ll do my own investigating from now on.’

  I am so disappointed. It looks like there’s no point in even approaching Steve to help Louise. It certainly doesn’t seem as if he’d be interested in supporting her through labour, even though he might be familiar with gas and air from the dentist’s surgery. And if he’s already the father of three unruly brats he’ll probably be delighted that Louise is giving the baby away. It’s up to me now to convince her she shouldn’t part with her child. At least I’m well equipped for dealing with all sorts of emotional emergencies. Being a full-time mother guarantees that.

  13 October

  I’ve decided to lure Louise to a secret location so we can discuss, in a calm and reasonable manner, her rash decision to put up her baby for adoption. Starbucks may be the ideal choice. Hopefully a double-chocolate-chip cookie and a decaff latte will lower her defences and I’ll be able to make her see sense.

  Made a list of points to persuade her that she would regret this decision for the rest of her life:

  Adoption is a noble choice for young mothers with no other option, not middle-aged women with an excellent career and a two-storey town-house in a desirable area.

  Angelina and Brad seem to have their hands full, so if she’s hoping that they’re planning to add an Irish child to their United Nations family and allow her to tag along with them as they traverse the globe, going to premières or saving rainforests, she may be in for disappointment.

  Nothing can replace the thrill of shopping for fab designer kiddie gear. Giving the baby up means missing out on that. (NB Do not mention breast pumps. Do mention amazing designer baby-changing bags, and limited-edition dummies.)

  14 October

  Got an email from David:

  Hi Susie,

  Thanks for the ride to the airport. Max and I had a little fight on the journey home – he accused me of pocketing all the samples of hand cream they gave out on the flight. As if! I would never use in-flight samples. They’re so cheap and nasty. Anyway, we made up and things are going really well now. I took him to see Chicago last week and he loved it so much I bought him a box set of West End show tunes for his birthday! It’s so nice to have met someone who understands my passion for the arts. Hope all is well in dreary Dublin!

  David xox

  PS Have sent Katie hair-straighteners for her birthday – her mop was a bit unruly when we were there and, as you know, it’s never too early to start grooming. Please hide it from Joe. xox.

  Emailed him back:

  Did you steal the Jo Malone hand cream I had in the glove compartment of the people-carrier? It seems to have gone missing and I know for a fact the dog didn’t eat it this time.

  Susie

  15 October

  Met Louise in Starbucks for a heart-to-heart.

  ‘Louise, I think you’re making a huge mistake,’ I said, deciding there was no time to beat round the bush. She’s so huge, I’m starting to think she may have got her dates wrong and be about to pop at any second.

  ‘There’s no point in trying to talk me out of it, Susie.’ She stirred the third sachet of sugar into her decaff latte. ‘I’ve made up my mind.’

  ‘But why?’ I asked, itching to remind her that gestational diabetes is rife, especially in pregnant women who put on twice the recommended weight, and that so much sugar was doing her no good whatsoever. ‘You’re an independent woman, you can go it alone. Loads of people do.’

  ‘I just think that a baby needs a stable family background,’ she said, tears filling her eyes. ‘With two involved parents. Think about it. You have Joe to help you. I don’t think I’d be able to cope on my own.’

  I stirred my mocha latte thoughtfully. She had a point. Although surely a live-in nanny would be just as good. And there’d be no sulking if you weren’t up for sex.

  ‘I don’t think you know how lucky you are, Susie,’ she went on. ‘Joe even forgave you for that affair.’

  ‘It wasn’t actually an affair, though.’ I laughed nervously, hoping she wasn’t going to lecture me at length. ‘It’s not as if we had mad, passionate sex.’ An image of Lone Father and his piercing blue eyes flashed into my mind and I had to grip my mocha latte tightly to fight a strange urge to cry.

  ‘Well, at least Joe’s still in the picture. I could rear this baby on my own but, frankly, I don’t want to. It would be better off with a proper family – and, let’s face it, we can never be that – not with Steve already married.’ A large tear plopped into her decaff.

  ‘You know that he’s married?’ I gasped.

  ‘Of course I do.’ She sniffed. ‘Why do you think we broke up? He already has three kids and doesn’t want another. How do you know about it, though? I’ve been too scared to tell you the truth.’

  I
quickly pretended to choke on my mini-shortbread so I wouldn’t have to divulge that I’d employed a PI to track Steve down. It worked a treat – Louise was so busy slapping me on the back that she seemed to forget all about it.

  PS Am very worried that Louise may be a broken woman. Will have to come up with a new plan.

  PPS Am also very worried that I can’t seem to get an image of Lone Father out of my mind, even though I know he’s a good-for-nothing cad who never had any real feelings for me. Spent all afternoon fantasizing about his come-to-bed eyes and his sexy corduroy jacket. Finally resorted to tackling a pile of ironing to clear my mind and refocus my priorities.

  PPPS Iron seems to be broken. Only managed to do three of Joe’s shirts before it blew up in a hiss of steam. Have decided to buy Joe non-iron shirts from now on. At least that’s his Christmas present sorted out early.

  16 October

  Mrs H popped in on her way back from Mass. I explained to her that Louise is considering giving up her baby to someone who can provide it with a more conventional family environment.

  ‘Maybe you should try to fix her up with a nice man,’ she said, sipping her tea. ‘Our David could be perfect for her.’

  Joe spat a mouthful of his tea across the table.

  ‘What’s wrong, dear?’ Mrs H jumped in alarm. ‘Do you need me to do the Heimlich manoeuvre?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, Ma,’ Joe said. ‘It’s just that I don’t think Louise and David would be very well suited.’

  ‘Why not?’ Mrs H seemed disappointed that her first-aid training wouldn’t be coming in handy any time soon. ‘David’s a very accepting person. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind being father to another man’s child. It’s quite trendy nowadays.’

  ‘I don’t think the baby would be the problem, Mother,’ Joe said sarcastically, chewing a slice of toast mutinously.