Confessions of a Demented Housewife

by Niamh Greene

  Do not agree to carry all purchases from shop to shop due to fictitious back problems of mother-in-law.

  Do not agree to take mother-in-law for ‘quick pick-me-up’ in local hostelry, resulting in much merriment and flirting with barmen (hers) and lots of embarrassment and heartache (mine).

  22 December

  Called round to Angelica’s with a poinsettia plant – the only one that Jack hadn’t torn to shreds with his plastic Transformers sword.

  ‘Susie! What are you doing here?’ she said, looking a bit flustered when she opened the door.

  ‘Happy holidays!’ I said, hoping she’d ask me in for eggnog or something else Martha Stewartish. ‘Did you have a great time in the country?’

  She stepped out and closed the door before she answered.

  ‘Yes, we did, thanks.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Listen, Susie, James is in a really bad mood – the movie isn’t going well and he’s very upset. Would it be OK if we chatted another time?’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ I said, a bit disappointed. I’d been hoping for a sing-along with a few big names in entertainment round her baby-grand piano. ‘It’s just I wanted to ask you about the TV thing.’

  ‘The TV thing?’ she said blankly.

  ‘Yes… My counsellor says I need to find something to fulfil me and you said you might be able to hook me up with a producer and stuff… I thought maybe a job might help.’

  ‘Oh, yeah! I talked to a contact in TV7 about that – he sooo wants to meet you.’

  ‘Really? When?’ I was thrilled.

  ‘Soon – probably first thing in the new year. See you then!’

  She grabbed the poinsettia and disappeared inside.

  Am over the moon. Soon I’ll be mixing in all the best circles! Who knows? I could be hobnobbing with the entire Ugly Betty cast this time next year.

  23 December

  At the last minute Joe announced he couldn’t go to the airport to pick up Second Son David and his friend/secret lover Max the weatherman. He asked if I could battle my way through the airport crowds and do it.

  ‘Why can’t they take a taxi?’ I was a bit put out that I’d be missing the excellent Christmas movie on TV7 and the chance to read in Red magazine how to create the perfect Christmas (which, of course, I do not have to do as Mrs H is taking care of most things).

  ‘I’m sorry, Susie, but Mum wants to give them a proper Irish welcome.’ He sighed, then explained that he was about to go to a top-level management meeting and couldn’t be disturbed under any circumstances. ‘She won’t hear of them getting a taxi.’

  ‘So I’m supposed to drop everything and get them?’ I fumed, feeling totally taken for granted and very aggrieved.

  ‘Well, I’d love to do it, Susie,’ he said, ‘but unfortunately I’m stuck here doing a thankless job that’s sucking my soul dry.’ Then he paused. ‘I’ll make it up to you, if that helps.’

  Informed him, in no uncertain terms, that making it up to me would involve buying a bumper hamper of Bliss beauty products (to include the miraculous blackhead-removing stick thingy), a Burberry hat and scarf set and a cappuccino-maker, with the special gadget for perfect frothing (and a jumbo pack of mini-marshmallows to accompany same).

  Took Katie and Jack to pick up David and Max from the airport.

  I didn’t recognize David at first – he was so bronzed and glowing.

  ‘Are you wearing makeup, Uncle David?’ Katie asked, eyes like saucers.

  Suddenly it dawned on me why he was so orange round the gills. ‘It’s fake tan!’ I burst into laughter. ‘David, you are hilarious.’

  ‘It’s just a little tinted moisturizer,’ he said, pursing his lips. ‘Wearing black can be very draining when you have such a pale Celtic complexion. Isn’t that right, Max?’

  He turned to Max, who was dragging an array of matching suitcases behind him and was struggling to stay upright. ‘Sure,’ he said, winking at Katie. Then he leant down and whispered, ‘But he may have gone a touch overboard.’

  ‘Makeup is yuk!’ Jack shouted, jumping at David’s thigh and trying to hold on.

  ‘Men don’t wear makeup.’ Katie giggled. ‘It’s for girls.’

  ‘Well, this man does.’ David stuck out his Pringle-clad chest and in one swift movement peeled Jack deftly off his leg. ‘Now, darlings, did I ever tell you that naughty little girls and boys only get coal in their stocking for Christmas?’

  He strutted away, the children following open-mouthed in his wake.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ Max said, handing me a suitcase to carry. ‘That’s his pared-down look – he was going to highlight his cheekbones with peach blusher.’

  24 December

  Spent the evening displaying a vast assortment of toys under the Christmas tree. Luckily, I’d managed to persuade Joe that a flatscreen TV would be an excellent long-term investment. (Although he doesn’t yet know that it will be hanging on a wall in Katie’s room and unavailable for watching Sky Sports round the clock in the living room.)

  PS Am very nervous about Louise joining us for dinner at Joe’s mother’s. Really hope she doesn’t breastfeed at the Christmas table – Mrs H simply does not believe in any kind of bodily exposure – even if Dargan’s nutrition does depend on it. Also, suspect it would put me right off the sage and onion stuffing. Wonder if it’s too late to buy her an electric breast pump for Christmas.

  25 December: Christmas Day

  All hell has broken loose. Last night Mrs H found David and Max in a very compromising position underneath the mistletoe and has taken a funny turn. Christmas dinner is hanging in the balance.

  26 December: St Stephen’s Day

  Everything is still in upheaval after yesterday’s events. Mrs H took to her bed in protest at the discovery of illicit homosexual activities under her roof and all Christmas festivities decamped to our house. David was a sobbing mess and kept cornering me in the kitchen to say that Max was his one true love and that if Mrs H couldn’t accept him he may never get a cut-price Ryanair flight home ever again.

  Meanwhile Max kept that famous English stiff upper lip and just got on with things. (I suspect that the ‘miracle’ serum he applies every hour on the hour may have had something to do with it. In fact, the entire area from his lip to his forehead seems strangely frozen.) He was a whiz with a potato-peeler and turned some of the mouldering carrots in the veg compartment into very fetching flowers for the table while I tried to concoct a meal from the remnants in the freezer. (Sadly, Red magazine’s Christmas special did not have an article on how to deal with this eventuality – may write and suggest it for next year.)

  Was almost tempted to send Joe on an undercover mission to Mrs H’s, where a fridgeful of organic delights was going a-begging but decided against it. Apparently she had freaked out when she’d caught Max and David snogging with abandon in her living room.

  Was teeny bit embarrassed that Max would now have to consume freezer-burned steak and oven chips for Christmas dinner but decided to adopt a ‘together under siege’ mentality, just like an old second world war movie. Strangely, it seemed to work – we definitely bonded in the kitchen while Joe played with Katie and Jack in the living room, Louise nursed Dargan and sipped goat’s milk and David watched The Lion King and snivelled into his monogrammed hankie.

  ‘I’m so sorry this has gone so badly wrong, Max,’ I volunteered, as he lit some of the scented candles he had whipped out of his man-bag, ‘but I’m sure you must be used to dealing with repression by now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, turning his finely chiselled face towards me and cocking one eyebrow, just like a gorgeous gay James Bond.

  ‘Well, you know…’ I stuttered. ‘Your people weren’t allowed to marry for so long. It must be very annoying.’

  He laughed uproariously. ‘Susie, I wouldn’t marry David if he were the last man in the world,’ he said, shaking with mirth. ‘He’s a lovely guy, but he’s not my soul-mate or anything. I do love his accent, though – it drives
me wild, know what I mean?’ He winked and licked his lips, grinning.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, thinking it was probably just as well that David didn’t know this. I didn’t think he would be too thrilled to hear that his one true love was using him for his cute Irish accent. ‘But didn’t you bring him to Hatton Garden to look at diamonds?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Max grimaced. ‘I was hoping he’d get the hint and buy me some for Christmas, but guess what – I got another bloody CD collection.’

  PS Played lots of Kylie to cheer David up. It didn’t seem to work all that well. Perhaps I should invest in a Barry Manilow CD.

  PPS Mum and Dad called. Had very hurried conversation with them – am determined not to confess that Christmas has been an unequalled disaster.

  PPPS Joe doesn’t seem happy with the Lycra slim-fit non-iron shirts I bought him in M&S. Granted, they do cling to his love handles in a very unflattering way but maybe he could keep his jacket on a bit more.

  27 December

  Have decamped to our country retreat to escape the high drama and tension at Mrs H’s. Louise has gone home but we brought Max with us. (We were kind of forced to as Mrs H is continuing to accuse him of turning David into an unholy disgrace and condemning him to eternal damnation with the hounds of hell, etc., etc.) David stayed behind on Joe’s instructions to patch things up with his mother. ‘I’m not going to listen to her bang on about unholy acts and immorality for the rest of the year, David,’ he warned. ‘Sort it out with her once and for all. It’s gone on far too long – you should have told her years ago.’

  David gave a long, dramatic sigh, then squared his shoulders and left the room, a determined glint in his eye. Can now see why he thinks he should be in a West End production – he really does know how to make a dramatic exit.

  Journey to the country was quite tense as weather conditions were appalling. Also, I was worried that Angelica and James had left evidence of their secret dirty weekend – I still hadn’t told Joe they’d used it as a love-nest and for some reason I wasn’t too convinced he’d be happy about it.

  ‘Why didn’t you warn us it was going to bloody snow?’ Joe complained to Max, as he sat squashed between Katie and Jack in the back seat, the dog lounging against his pure cashmere coat.

  ‘How would I know that?’ Max asked, plainly confused.

  ‘You are a weatherman, aren’t you?’ I said, wondering if he really was some sort of character actor David had hired.

  ‘Oh, that – yes, of course,’ he said, ‘but they fax me the weather stuff. I’m hired for my looks, not my weather expertise.’

  ‘That’s lucky,’ Joe muttered, as I turned up the fan heater.

  I bounded into the house ahead of everyone else to check for signs of Angelica and James but, thankfully, everything seemed in perfect order. (Was a teeny bit disappointed, actually – kind of hoped I’d find a stray G-string somewhere that would give me an insight into the ups and downs of their passionate relationship.)

  Had nice one-to-one with Max when the children were tucked up in bed and Joe was busy doing Sudoku.

  ‘David should tell his mother the truth about his sexuality,’ he said, as we sat in front of the roaring log fire. ‘You have to be honest about yourself or what’s the point of life?’ Then he dipped his chocolate flake into his Bailey’s coffee and sucked it suggestively.

  Thought he had a point, although not sure Joe agreed. Caught him glaring in Max’s direction at least half a dozen times. Suspect he may be bitter that he missed out on a proper Christmas dinner again this year. Or maybe he needs to get in touch with his feminine side a bit more. Will buy him the box-set of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy in the January sales. Am sure that will help him be more sensitive.

  28 December

  Am very worried that the Westlife concert is off. I really wanted to get up close and personal with a toned, tanned and beautiful boy band and this may be my one and only chance. Called Mrs H to determine if we’re still welcome to go now that she has disowned her second son and his lover.

  ‘I’ll leave the tickets under the mat,’ she said, when I called. ‘You can all go if you like. I couldn’t possibly face it after what I’ve been through.’

  ‘But you love Westlife,’ I protested. ‘Maybe we should forget about the silly row and go together.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘You’re right, Susie,’ she said. ‘I do love Westlife, and this may have been the only time I would have got to see them before I die, which will probably be any day now, but if David is going with that – that person, I will not.’

  Hung up, bone weary. No wonder Dr. Phil’s looking a bit drained – it’s exhausting being an emotional crutch for people all the time.

  David arrived at midnight. Max and I were still up watching a Shirley Temple movie and drinking cappuccino with tiny marshmallows while Joe was lost in his jumbo crossword-puzzle book in the corner. (Another excellent present I’d bought at the last minute in the Centre.)

  ‘How did you get here?’ Max asked, sounding not altogether pleased to see him, it has to be said.

  ‘I hired a cute little convertible and drove.’ David sniffed. ‘Oh, Maxie, Mum says she doesn’t want us to cross her threshold ever again,’ he said sorrowfully, as Max stroked his arm and looked sweetly concerned (although I suspect he was a bit annoyed he was forced to miss Shirley doing her cute tap dance – I definitely caught him discreetly rolling his eyes at me over David’s head).

  ‘You can hardly blame her,’ Joe said scornfully. ‘There are ways of breaking it to her that you’re gay. Getting it on with your boyfriend in her living room probably wasn’t the way to go.’

  David immediately broke into loud sobbing so I told him we were going to see Westlife and he cheered up considerably. ‘Do you think they’ll sing “Mandy”?’ he asked, sniffing.

  ‘I’m sure they will, David,’ I said. ‘I’m sure they will.’

  I could hear Max making a strangled sound as I put my arms round David and he cried softly on my shoulder.

  29 December

  The Westlife concert was amazing. The boys were so manly in their pristine white suits and silver shoes (may get Joe to try that look – it really is very sexy). Am sure Shane was staring straight at me when he sang ‘Flying Without Wings’ – his puppy-dog eyes are so soulful. We definitely had a special connection. Suspect David may have felt the same thing, though – I caught him swaying madly, tears running down his cheeks, when they sang ‘Mandy’. It was quite touching, even if some of the crowd were unruly and insisted on throwing knickers at the stage, etc. Luckily, the boys took it in their stride and completely ignored all the pants flying through the air – which I thought was very dignified of them.

  Felt a bit bad that Mrs H had missed the excitement, but tried hard to forget about it – I’m not responsible for her feelings. Also, she may have been outraged by the knicker-throwing – although she would have loved the flashing neon bobble headsets that everyone was wearing.

  30 December

  David spent the morning giving Katie a French manicure, then packing to leave. ‘Remember that nails are an indicator of how much pride a person takes in their appearance, Katie,’ he said, his eyes filling with tears. ‘My mother always told me that.’

  ‘OK, Uncle David,’ Katie breathed, as he filed and clipped her cuticles while I looked in dismay at my own scraggy, chipped specimens. ‘I’ll remember.’

  ‘Are you going to call her, David?’ I asked later, as I watched him expertly apply tinted moisturizer to his face.

  ‘No,’ he said sadly, checking his jawline for a tidemark. ‘I always thought Mum understood me, but I was wrong. If she can’t accept me for what I am, our relationship is a lie.’

  ‘Maybe that’s a bit drastic,’ I said. ‘You have to give her a chance to get used to the idea. I’m sure she’ll come round.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ he said, snapping his Jo Malone makeup bag shut. ‘She’s very set in her ways. She still washes he
r face with soap – and everyone knows how harsh that can be on the skin.’

  PS Had a very strange dream about Lone Father. He was leaning nonchalantly against a weather chart and saying things like ‘Bright and breezy,’ and ‘Westerly gales coming in from the Atlantic.’ Then, suddenly, he stripped off to a pair of Hawaiian shorts and started singing, ‘Hot, hot, hot,’ and wiggling his hips about. Woke up sweaty and confused.

  31 December: New Year’s Eve

  Mrs H is refusing to talk to me for harbouring ‘godless sinners’ and ‘condoning immoral behaviour’. Suspect she is secretly furious we went to Westlife without her.

  ‘I cannot believe you tolerated such carryings-on in your house, Susie,’ she barked, when I called by to invite her to our New Year’s Eve celebration (a bottle of Babycham and an assortment of nuts in the living room at midnight). ‘What must Katie and Jack think?’

  ‘Think about what?’ Katie asked.

  ‘Nothing!’ we chorused.

  ‘Well, it is the twenty-first century, Mrs H,’ I murmured sheepishly. ‘Being gay is no big deal any more. Haven’t you ever watched Will and Grace?’

  ‘I most certainly have not,’ she said primly. ‘I restrict my TV viewing to educational programmes.’

  Spied the TV guide on the side table, with things like Pimp My Ride highlighted in neon yellow, but I didn’t say anything.

  ‘Granny, are you cross because Uncle David and Max are in love?’ Katie piped up.

  The colour drained from Mrs H’s face and she gripped her chair to keep steady.

  ‘What are you talking about, Katie?’ I asked, hoping she hadn’t witnessed any man-on-man action under the mistletoe or anywhere else.

  ‘I heard Uncle David telling Max he adores him and wants to be with him for ever and ever.’