by Niamh Greene
14 November
Mrs H popped in for coffee and immediately pounced on the relationship-counselling brochures I’d stupidly left on the kitchen table. (Note to self: must get Joe to build handy A–Z cabinets ASAP so everything can be filed neatly away in alphabetical order and out of reach of nosy mother-in-law. It looked a dead easy job on DIY Den. A bit of reclaimed pine and a tin of Farrow & Ball White Tie and Bob’s your uncle.)
‘What are these, Susie?’ she asked.
‘Oh, just something that was shoved through the door,’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘You know what junkmail’s like!’
But it was too late. Before I knew it, she’d fished her extra-strength glasses out of her handbag (the special ones she uses for checking fine print) and was reading the brochure aloud: ‘Relationship Counselling,’ she said slowly, taking a fig roll and dipping it into her tea. ‘Maybe you and Joe should have a go at that.’
‘Why?’ I was flabbergasted. Joe had sworn he’d never tell his mother about my little fling. ‘Do you think we need to?’
‘Well, Joe does seem rather unhappy at the moment, dear,’ she went on, beady eyes speedily scanning the literature. ‘Maybe you need to spice things up a bit.’
‘What do you mean?’ I was nearly choking with fear that she was about to confront me about Lone Father and threaten never to make her scones ever again as punishment for my betrayal.
‘You know, get some edible underwear, that sort of thing. It’s all the rage apparently. You can even order it off the telly.’
I was at a loss for words.
‘If you do,’ she went on, fig roll spraying from her dentures, ‘you should go for the raspberry flavour. The bubblegum ones look most unappetizing.’
PS Really must have serious words with Joe about his mother’s odd behaviour. Getting Sky Digital as her birthday present may have been a mistake: having more than three hundred channels to choose from has obviously unhinged her.
PPS Am very worried that Mrs H thinks Joe looks unhappy. Am I the only one who didn’t notice it?
15 November
Joe has made an appointment with a relationship counsellor. She’s called Rita and has agreed to fit us in tomorrow at ten a.m. He has even arranged for his mother to drop the kids to school. I’m appalled by this sudden turn of events.
Met Angelica at the school gate. She seemed to sense that something was amiss. ‘What’s up, Susie?’ she asked, her amazing green eyes searching my face. ‘You look a bit blue.’
For some reason, I found myself confiding in her that Joe felt we needed counselling.
‘Is that all? Counselling’s nothing to worry about.’ She laughed. ‘James and I have it all the time.’
‘You do?’ I was intrigued.
‘Sure. James has tons of issues. Without therapy, we’d have been divorced years ago! When are you going?’
‘Tomorrow,’ I said, feeling much better. If Angelica and her A-list husband went to counselling, Joe and I should definitely give it a whirl. It was probably a really trendy thing to do.
‘Morning or afternoon?’
‘Morning. Why?’ I wondered if she was going to volunteer to pick up Katie and Jack for me.
‘It’s just that I was going to ask you to take Brandon for me. I hate to ask, but his nanny has a day off – and afternoons are so tricky for me…’ She trailed off.
‘That’s OK.’ I smiled at her. After all, she’d been so kind about the counselling. ‘I’ll drop him over to you at six, OK?’
‘Could you make it six thirty, honey? We – I mean I should be done by then. Good luck in the morning – remember, everyone does it, right? It’s no big deal.’
I tried to believe her but I’m petrified. What if Joe wants to know the truth about what happened between me and Lone Father? The real truth, not just the sanitized version I’ve been telling him all this time.
16 November
The morning started badly when Mrs H waved us off, shouting encouragement as Joe reversed out of the driveway. ‘I’m sure your marriage can be saved, dears,’ she yelled, waving enthusiastically as Katie and Jack clung to her stout legs, looking scared.
We drove in silence to the counsellor’s office. Joe cracked his knuckles so I knew he was nervous. I spent the journey trying to remember as many psychiatry buzzwords as I could to impress her. Surprisingly, she didn’t seem bowled over when I piped up about emotional intelligence and trust issues in the first five minutes. In fact, she asked me to stop talking and I just had to sit there while she quizzed Joe.
‘What do you feel is at the heart of the problem, Joe?’ she said, in a calm, measured voice.
‘I guess I feel that Susie thinks I’m not enough for her,’ Joe admitted, staring at the floor, a red blush creeping up his neck. ‘She had a friendship with a man and I don’t think she’s been truthful about it.’
‘Is that so, Susie?’ Rita said, turning sorrowful grey eyes on me. ‘Was your relationship with this man more than just a friendship?’
‘I feel that Joe has serious trust issues,’ I protested, flustered. ‘I caught him checking my texts recently.’
‘Have you given him reason not to trust you, Susie?’ she asked, her eyes boring into mine.
‘He was very neglectful of me last year.’ I pouted. ‘It’s no wonder I had to look for attention elsewhere.’
‘You’re not answering my questions, Susie,’ Rita said, ‘but maybe that’s something you can think about before next week’s session.’
I gave her my best sulky stare but she locked eyes with me until I was forced to look at the poster on the wall behind her instead – of a happy couple frolicking playfully in the park together, wearing seventies acrylic jumpers and flares.
Have decided I may not go back next week – not unless Rita takes a completely different approach: such as blaming Joe for my adulterous fling and letting me off the hook completely.
When I dropped Brandon back to Angelica’s in the afternoon she gave me a special little squeeze on the doorstep so I knew she had remembered our therapy conversation.
‘Here are the tickets for that charity auction I was telling you about,’ she said, slipping an envelope into my hand. ‘Don’t worry, you can give me the money tomorrow.’
Had to sit in the car for ages after opening the envelope – have somehow agreed to buy two seats to a December charity auction for the environment, at the cost of five hundred euro apiece.
PS Joe is looking oddly pleased with himself. In fact, he’s positively perky. Don’t expect it will last once he finds out that I’ve committed to spending a grand for one six-course dinner, even if it is guaranteed that real celebrities will be there.
17 November
Mum called to ask how our first therapy session had gone.
‘Terrible,’ I said, sniffing with despair. ‘Joe’s being really unreasonable. He told the counsellor about my innocent flirtation last year. I thought that was a really low blow.’
‘But isn’t that exactly why you decided to go to counselling in the first place?’ Mum asked, sounding confused.
I didn’t answer. Felt she might not be all that understanding if I said I wanted the counsellor to focus on Joe’s failings, not mine.
‘He probably just needs to talk about it to an objective outsider,’ she went on, ‘express his emotions a bit. Then the healing process can start.’
‘What about my healing process?’ I grumbled. ‘He’s really sprung this on me – it’s so unfair.’
Got an email from David that depressed me even more.
Hi Susie, amazing news! I’ve been called back for a second audition! It’s a small chorus part in The Lion King with no real lines or anything, but it’s a start! Who knows? This time next year I could be tripping the light fantastic on Broadway! I think darling Max is bringing me good luck. He comes to as many auditions with me as he can – of course he’s very busy but he really is so supportive when he can make it. He even wants to come home with me for Christmas.
A HUGE step. I haven’t told Mum yet though so keep it to yourself, OK? BTW, how’s the counselling going? Mum told me all about it. You definitely need it – all you old married couples are as boring as dishwater! Miaow! David xox
18 November
Katie refused to go swimming today. She denied sabotaging her Barbie armbands accidentally on purpose, but I cannot imagine how they got two enormous holes in them otherwise. I think she’s overawed by Brandon’s so-called ‘natural ability’. Tried to convince her that she needs to see through the commitment to swimming and reach her full potential, but she looked at me as if I was deranged and went back to her jigsaw. I decided to go and speak to the instructor to find out how this serious issue could be resolved to my satisfaction – and Katie’s, of course. Travelled to the pool to have it out with him.
He looked at me blankly when I suggested he favours some children over others. More specifically that he favours Brandon over every other child there and that this has had a serious and detrimental effect on my daughter’s psyche.
‘But Brandon is a born athlete,’ he deadpanned, as if that was to be the end of the matter. ‘I’m even giving him extra training.’
‘Well, how do you suggest I encourage Katie to come back?’ I said, eyeing Brandon and his freakishly muscular body as he cut through the water.
‘Just give her some space,’ he said, in a most unhelpful way. ‘When the time is right she’ll let you know.’
When I got home I asked Joe if Brandon’s abnormally toned body could be natural in a boy so young.
‘He’s a fit little kid,’ Joe said. ‘It’s not unusual for boys his age to have muscles.’
‘But Katie doesn’t have any,’ I said, watching fondly as she polished off another bag of cheese and onion crisps.
‘Well, maybe Katie needs to exercise more,’ he said darkly, ‘and eat less rubbish.’
‘Crisps aren’t really rubbish,’ I argued. ‘They’re fried in sunflower oil now so they practically count as one of her five-a-day.’
‘If she doesn’t want to go swimming then let’s find her something else physical she likes – how about dancing?’
Think he may be right. Katie probably has natural poise and grace under her puppy fat. And if her uncle David is finally making a breakthrough in the West End maybe she has talent too. Also, her becoming a child star would be a sure-fire way to impress Angelica.
PS Discovered the dog chewing what looked suspiciously like half of Katie’s armbands in his basket. He seems to be somewhat disturbed since he came back from Louise’s. Am considering getting him psychologically assessed.
PPS Am still too terrified to tell Joe we’re going to have to pay a thousand euro to go to a black-tie charity auction (even if the top prize is a Maserati). Found myself chewing my hair this evening. May develop a tic any day now.
19 November
Am scandalized. Called three dancing schools to enquire about enrolling Katie. All of them asked if she had any previous experience.
‘Well, she’s only five,’ I said to the first, a bit taken aback that she would be expected to have any relevant experience other than dancing along to High School Musical on DVD.
The second school agreed to put her on the waiting list after I managed to convince them that she had bags of natural talent and charm.
The third – Vera’s Dance and Drama School – reluctantly agreed to see her, but only when I persuaded them that she looked uncannily like a mini Hannah Montana and had much better moves.
‘Come along to the next session,’ the instructor said, sounding curt, businesslike and not the least bit impressed that she might be bagging the next big star of stage and screen. ‘We have one space left, if she’s got talent, that is.’
Decided to rent Flashdance from the video shop to help Katie brush up on her technique. Preparation is key.
PS Louise called as I was watching the bit where the mechanic-turned-sex-bomb jumps on top of the judges’ table and flings herself about in a sweaty frenzy. ‘I think my waters have broken, Susie,’ she babbled, in a funny, high-pitched voice.
Advised her to relax. As if her waters could possibly have broken! She’s not due for another two weeks yet.
20 November
In state of shock. Delivered Louise’s baby in the people-carrier in the hospital car park at six a.m. Dargan (nine pounds four ounces) is doing well but the front seat of the people-carrier is not a pretty sight. Bit worried that I’m not covered by insurance for this eventuality.
21 November
My heroic car-park delivery has made the national news! Joe said they must be having a slow day – which I thought was a little mean-spirited.
Spent the day at the hospital, being interviewed by TV7 about my role in the drama. Luckily, I was able to nip home and change into my most flattering black-polo-and-bootleg combo beforehand.
‘Were you worried that things would go wrong?’ the reporter asked, after she had advised me that it would probably be far more interesting for the viewer if I could admit I’d been terrified.
‘Yes, well, I was scared,’ I said, biting my lip to look sincere, like Tony Blair used to when he was under pressure, ‘but I held it together. All I knew was I had to make sure that Dargan was delivered safely, so I put my fear to one side and just got on with it.’
‘And was it a really difficult delivery?’ the reporter went on, just as we had rehearsed.
‘Yes, it was,’ I said, trying to squeeze out a few tears for dramatic effect like she’d told me to, ‘but I helped Louise to do her breathing and we got through it together.’
I didn’t think there was any point in mentioning that breathing techniques were the last thing on my mind as Louise roared her way through the birth, cursing me, her ex and the Lamaze coach all at the same time.
‘You must be exhausted,’ the reporter said, doing her concerned face, the same one I’d seen her practise before the camera started rolling.
‘Yes, I am,’ I said humbly, ‘but I’m so happy I was there to help.’ I did a half-smile to the camera to show how brave I had been.
Then the crew took a few shots of Dargan gurgling in his cot and one of Louise, smiling weakly from her hospital bed.
The piece aired on the evening news, right at the point where they usually do segments on baby ducks trying to cross the road, etc. Was quite pleased with my appearance, although next time I may angle myself a little more to the left. All the nurses think I’m a TV natural. But I’m remaining humble and not displaying any diva-type behaviour yet – such as demanding herbal tea instead of the regular kind in the machine in the lobby or insisting that Louise’s room be repainted pink.
PS Do feel quite drained after the interview, though. Finally realize how celebs must feel when they’re doing a junket to promote a new film. It really is hard to remain perky and upbeat all the time.
22 November
Louise and Dargan came home from hospital today.
Louise was outraged that she was being discharged so soon. She spent ages explaining to a junior doctor that the health service was a disgrace and if we lived in a Nordic country she’d be waited on hand and foot for the next three to six months, getting relaxing spa treatments and intensive massage to tone and firm her post-partum tummy while Dargan was bathed in honey and milk, etc., etc. Not sure that the junior doctor understood what she was on about and I was too busy packing her overnight case to pay much attention. (Tragically her La Perla silk nightdress is now destroyed by baby sick.)
Am a bit disappointed that all the heroic-birth furore has passed. Am also a bit disappointed that Louise doesn’t seem especially grateful that I practically saved her life or that I protected her from the worst of the paparazzi – or I would have done if any had turned up.
‘I told you I was in labour,’ she said, as she struggled to breastfeed a ravenous Dargan before we left. ‘You just wouldn’t believe me.’
‘No one could have predicted how quickly your labour would progress, L
ouise,’ I said, repeating what the in-studio doctor had said, word for word, on TV7 news. ‘And at least it was natural and medication-free like you wanted.’
‘Yes,’ she said, a little bitterly. ‘I didn’t have much choice. Giving birth in a car park kind of precludes an epidural.’
Cannot understand why she is so annoyed about the experience. She’s very lucky she delivered two weeks early. Any later and Dargan would have had to be choppered out of her womb, he is so big. Luckily, Louise’s mother has flown in from Canada to spend quality time with her new grandson. Am a teeny bit relieved that I can now take a back seat. (Also, things are a bit boring now that the camera crew has disappeared.)
PS Katie says she is more popular than Brandon now that I am a celebrity in my own right. Am so glad that my new-found fame is bringing joy to her life.
PPS Maybe I should consider writing a Kabbalah children’s book. That would probably make Katie even more popular – am sure it would be dead easy to do. Must remember to buy myself a red stringy thing for my wrist – that would be an excellent start.
23 November
Met Angelica at the school gate. ‘I saw you on TV, Susie!’ she squealed, bounding up to me. ‘You were awesome!’
‘Thanks, Angelica,’ I murmured, thrilled she had seen the segment.
‘Seriously, you’re a natural – even James thought so.’ She winked at me.
‘He did?’ I was quivering with excitement that her famous husband (a) knew who I was, and (b) thought I had star quality.
‘Sure! You should definitely pursue a career in TV – you have what it takes! Would you like me to hook you up? I met a great producer at a TV awards party last week, I’m sure he’d do me a favour.’