by Niamh Greene
Suspect Joe thinks I’m faking my sickness. Suspect he also thinks I’m not clued in on current affairs. OK, so I usually only read the Style and Home sections of the papers. But at least I know what ‘chartreuse’ is. And who knows? My mystery illness might make an excellent programme segment on Chat with Dee and Fran – especially if I die a tragic and untimely death. Then it really would be newsworthy.
19 March
Elaine is back from sick leave. She has agreed to work with me again, but only until she can be moved to a better position. She has instructed that I am not speak to her under any circumstances, not even if Brad Pitt walks into the office and I need to warn her to take her dental retainer out.
Came home and Katie announced that she wants to be a vegetarian.
‘Brandon doesn’t eat meat now,’ she said, with steely determination. ‘He says he’s going to concentrate on his carbs to improve his swimming.’
‘But, Katie, you don’t even like swimming any more,’ I said, wondering what she would eat if I couldn’t feed her sausages.
‘That doesn’t matter, Mummy.’ She pouted. ‘I want carbs, like Brandon.’
Am scandalized. I was at least twenty-five before I knew what a carb was.
20 March
Joe says he’s searching for his signature dish.
‘What do you mean, signature dish?’ I asked. Perhaps he wanted to develop a range of bestselling cookware to get us out of our financial pickle. The one he still doesn’t know about.
‘You know, a signature dish,’ he said slowly. ‘Something that’s mine alone, something with the wow factor.’
‘Oh, right,’ I said, losing interest. ‘Well, Häagen Dazs has a lot of wow factor. Maybe you could do something with that.’
‘Susie,’ he said witheringly, ‘my signature dish cannot involve ice-cream. I’m not five years old.’
Am very annoyed. Was only trying to help. Sometimes think Joe is developing a fiery cook’s temperament to go with his new vocation.
PS Katie has taken to saying she will eat nothing that has a face. Luckily, she has agreed that frozen potato faces are still acceptable fare.
PPS Jack is being suspiciously quiet. And he hasn’t tried to flush his toothbrush down the toilet in at least three days. Something is definitely up. Hope he isn’t feeling hard done by because I haven’t organized an OTT party for his birthday tomorrow.
21 March: Jack’s birthday
Jack’s teacher called when I was at work. She wanted to see me urgently. Told Elaine I had to leave unexpectedly and that I’d make up the time.
‘You’re missing so many days, Susie.’ She smirked. ‘I hope management doesn’t have to take it up with you. But that’s working mothers,’ she announced loudly as I scrambled to find my bag. ‘They’re never dedicated to the job at hand. Do you know what I mean?’ Then she went back to updating her Bebo page.
When I eventually made it to the school Jack’s teacher looked grim.
‘I’m afraid, Mrs Hunt,’ she said, her face stony and unmoving, ‘that if Jack’s socialization skills do not improve we will have to ask him to leave Little Angels.’
‘Why?’ I asked, horrified that they were considering expelling him and officially black-marking his educational record for ever. ‘What happened?’
‘His behaviour is deteriorating day by day,’ she said coldly. ‘He refuses to sit on a chair for any length of time. He does not colour within the lines. He needs to work on his concentration skills. Do you want me to continue?’
‘But it’s his birthday,’ I pleaded, incredulous that colouring outside the lines was now a criminal offence.
‘That’s as may be,’ she said sharply, ‘but we think he may need a psychological assessment.’
‘Well, I hardly think that’s necessary,’ I countered, worried that Jack would be labelled a delinquent so young.
‘You’re not an expert, though, are you, Mrs Hunt?’ she said, tapping her pen. ‘We’ll give him another week or two, then reassess.’
Left feeling very depressed. Fear she may have hit the nail on the head – I’m not an expert. But surely I should be by now? Bought enormous Bob the Builder birthday cake for Jack on the way home, then let him mush it any way he wanted to, to cheer him up. Am positive all the negativity is affecting him.
22 March
Mum says playschool must be emotionally stifling. ‘It sounds very restrictive, darling,’ she said, when I explained that Jack might be expelled. ‘Is it really good for him, do you think?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, wondering if I could persuade her to leave Portugal and move home to help out.
‘Well, if he’s being forced to conform so young, it might lead to problems later in life. Of a sexual nature, I mean. It’s all very repressive. Have you considered home schooling?’
Quickly made my excuses and hung up. Think I may prefer Jack to be a cross-dressing transvestite than have to give up work so soon and endure teaching him things of an educational nature in the confines of my own house. Besides, he probably needs social interaction, and lots of it.
23 March
Joe says Jack will have to learn to fit in. He also thinks we need drastically to modify his diet. ‘We should cut out refined sugar, Susie,’ he said. ‘I’ve been reading up on the subject and foods with a high sugar content can have a very negative impact on children’s behaviour. Especially boys’.’
I was so relieved he was going to take control of the situation that I hugged him spontaneously. It might have led to more, but Jack stormed in at the crucial moment demanding a bowl of Sugar Pops. Still, am very heartened that Joe is devising practical ways to deal with the situation, ones that don’t involve me setting up a Little House on the Prairie type school.
24 March
Am in a tailspin. Found Joe dumping perfectly good food into the rubbish bin this morning. Including all the children’s breakfast cereal.
‘What are you doing?’ I yelled. ‘If Jack doesn’t get his Sugar Pops he’ll go mental.’
‘I thought we agreed, Susie,’ Joe said calmly. ‘No more sugary foods.’
‘What do you propose we eat for breakfast, then?’ I asked.
‘Porridge, of course,’ he said, producing a box of organic oats from behind his back with a flourish.
Went and hid in the bathroom until the worst was over. Could hear lots of shouting and crying from the kitchen but when I resurfaced all three were at the table, happily eating hot bowlfuls.
‘How did you manage that?’ I asked, gob-smacked.
‘I simply explained that porridge has lots of healthy goodness that would make them grow up to be big and strong,’ he said proudly.
‘And he said we could go to Disneyland if we ate it,’ Katie smiled, ‘even if it does taste like puke.’
‘Puke!’ Jack roared happily.
25 March
I think Danni may have a secret boyfriend, which would explain all the tears and emotion lately. Caught her whispering into her phone today. Well, actually, I was earwigging outside the toilet door when she locked herself in to take a call, but only because I’m concerned for her welfare. Could hear lots of ‘Sì… Sì… Sì,’ and huge sighs, but that was about all. I really must take up Italian. I’m sure it’s easy to learn. All you have to do is wave your hands about a lot and you’re halfway there.
Louise thinks there’s been something suspicious about Danni’s behaviour of late. ‘How’s she getting on with the children?’ she asked, when I confided I was worried about her red-rimmed eyes and loud (quite annoying) snivelling.
‘Fine,’ I said, wondering if this was altogether the truth. ‘They seem to really like her.’
‘Hmm…’ Louise said. ‘Of course, you can never be certain.’
I panicked immediately. ‘What do you mean? Katie would tell me if anything was wrong.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Louise said ominously. ‘Children can bottle things up, you know.’
Was tempted to ask when
Louise had done a degree in child psychology but thought better of it. Will keep a close eye on the situation.
Joe says I’m overreacting to Danni’s mood. ‘She’s probably just homesick,’ he said, when I told him how grumpy she was. ‘Maybe you should have a chat with her, see how she’s coping.’
Didn’t say anything, but am worried. What if I have a heart-to-heart with her and she confides that she’s miserable and wants to leave? Then my career’s down the toilet before it’s even begun.
Have prepared a manifesto of comprehensive guidance points to assist me in getting to the bottom of the matter.
If cause of her distress is heartbreak – rejoice. Then act compassionate and dole out the chocolate.
If cause of her distress is homesickness – rejoice. Then act consoling and dole out some gelato.
If cause of her distress is wild and uncontrollable children – do not panic. Reassure her that children will immediately behave after stern talking-to from their father. Promise to increase her salary if she agrees not to jump ship.
26 March
Danni has confided in me that she is not
broken-hearted;
homesick; or
sick of the kids.
However, she is on the run from her Mafia relatives, who have disowned her because she refused an arranged marriage with a nice thug who has good mob connections. Also, her Don father has promised to track her down, haul her back to Sicily and punish her for dishonouring the family with her disobedience. Oh, and he has also promised to ‘deal’ with anyone harbouring her. Instantly knew that this would not involve a civilized discussion about how best to resolve an awkward situation.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ I gasped, grisly scenes from The Godfather flashing through my mind.
‘Because I thought you not hire me, Susie,’ she sobbed. ‘I wanted to live free from my family, but now they find out where I am and they come to get me back.’
Have consulted my comprehensive guidance list for advice. Do not seem to have made any provision for this eventuality.
PS Really wish Danni would take her anxiety about her impending doom and do something constructive with it – like playing with the children or spring-cleaning the house.
27 March
Spent a sleepless night tossing, turning and having vivid dreams about Mafia bosses hanging us by our fingernails or throwing us into the nearest river with bags of cement attached to our necks. Decided to email David – he has the full box set of The Sopranos so he’d be sure to know what to do.
Hi David, If, hypothetically, you found that you had inadvertently employed the daughter of a Mafioso what would you do?
Lots of love,
Susie xx
He replied straight away:
Hi Susie, you are too funny. Can you imagine? Horses’ heads on the pillow and all that! Hope all is well with you? How’s the job going? Taken over the broadcasting world yet?
David xoxox
28 March
Elaine caught me Googling ‘Mafia info’ on my PC today. ‘Why are you doing that?’ she asked, squinting suspiciously at my screen.
‘Just some research,’ I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
‘For what?’ she asked.
‘Um, a programme segment?’ I ventured.
‘Reeeeally?’ Her voice was like acid. ‘Your job, Susie, is not to research programme segments. Your job is to answer the mail and do errands for the rest of us. What makes you think you’re even qualified to do research?’ She narrowed her eyes at me until I lowered my gaze.
Spent the rest of the afternoon listening to her chatting to her friends and loudly discussing how some people had ideas above their station and needed taking down a peg or two.
PS Wonder if Joe and I could apply for the witness-protection programme. Am sure we would qualify.
29 March
Have discovered there is no witness-protection programme in Ireland. We are doomed.
30 March
Joe asked if I’d sorted things out with Danni. Mumbled that I had. Definitely don’t think he needs to hear that we’re all in mortal danger and may be assassinated at any second. Especially when he seems to be going through some sort of identity crisis.
Lay awake all night wondering how I’d convince Danni’s Mafioso father not to shoot us all dead in cold blood for harbouring his wayward daughter. Cannot think of any way out of it. Have decided to hire some gangster movies for inspiration on dealing with the situation. Meanwhile, Danni’s mood has improved. She’s no longer clutching rosary beads and looking anxious all the time. Have taken this to be a good sign. Maybe her father is calling off his international daughter-hunt.
PS Wonder if I have attention-deficit disorder instead of a thyroid dysfunction. I definitely cannot focus on or finish a task properly. Maybe I could use that in my defence when Danni’s family come knocking.
31 March: Louise’s birthday
Joe says his mind is made up. He is handing in his notice and setting out on the rocky road to becoming the next Gordon Ramsay. (He is way too old to be Jamie Oliver, even if he thinks differently.)
‘I’ve been accepted into a very prestigious cookery school, Susie – Danni helped me with the application,’ he said, admitting that he had gone ahead without my knowledge and consent and would be starting any day. ‘I’m over the moon. This is my chance to do something I feel passionate about.’
‘Don’t be too hasty, Joe,’ I begged. Without his salary to depend on we’d all be left destitute on the street. ‘Think about it for a while. Passion is very overrated, you know.’
‘If there’s one thing my brush with death in Portugal taught me, Susie,’ he said, looking deep into my eyes, ‘it’s that we have only a finite time here on earth. We have to make the most of it.’
Which is all well and good, but when he’s making the most of his time here on earth who’s going to pay the gas bill? Am suddenly regretting lying about my new salary. In fact, am seriously considering telling Joe the truth: my wages wouldn’t buy an allotment in the inner city to grow organic vegetables, never mind support a family of four.
Have decided Mum and Dad are to blame for this unlikely turn of events. They recommended that stupid fish restaurant where Joe almost choked to death and saw his life flash before his eyes. On the up-side, I’m sure he’ll never realize his dream to become a top-notch celebrity chef with his own TV show and book series, and will be forced back to his real job within days. He doesn’t have the bad language required to order commis-chefs around with any authority – and there’s no way he could hurl vile abuse at anyone – he’s way too polite.
PS Was too overwrought to do anything special for Louise’s birthday – hopefully, the Lottery scratchcard I bought her won’t be a winner. It would be just too awful if she won loads of cash instead of me.
1 April: April Fool’s Day
Joe has handed in his notice at Pyramid Consultants.
‘What did they say?’ I gasped when he broke the news, hoping they had
thought it was an April Fool’s joke;
begged him to reconsider and doubled his salary to convince him to stay;
begged him to reconsider and trebled his salary to convince him to stay.
‘Maurice hugged me and said he wished he had my courage,’ Joe said, looking pleased with himself. ‘His dream is to fly a single-pilot aircraft across the Indian Ocean. He’ll never do that now, of course. At least I’m still young enough to try to live my dream.’
Refrained from telling him that
thirty-seven is way too old to be thinking about dreams when mortgages need paying and when the new Prada bag costs a month’s salary;
living the dream is way overrated – all the celebs in rehab are proof of that.
Instead, I tried not to panic and played for time.
‘Well, let’s just see how it goes,’ I said soothingly, plotting to speak to Maurice as soon as possible and persuade him, by any means necessary, t
o talk Joe out of this madness.
‘No, it’s all settled,’ Joe said evenly. ‘They’ve agreed to let me go on gardening leave.’
‘Gardening leave?’ I said, unsure what planting herbaceous borders had to do with it. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That today was my last day. They’re paying me till the end of the month, of course.’
Can’t remember any more. Suddenly felt faint and weak and had to lie down with a HobNob.
2 April
Last night I had a blinding revelation. Joe is having a mid-life crisis, not me. That’s why he thinks he needs to be the next Gordon Ramsay. What he really needs is to buy an expensive sports car, have an innocent flirtation with someone unsuitable and get it out of his system instead of musing on the merits of organic, locally grown produce and trying to decide if beef should be hung for two weeks or three. Am barely functioning at work. Thankfully, Elaine is too busy on Bebo to notice and report me.
3 April: Good Friday
Louise agrees that Joe probably is having a mid-life crisis but that an affair with someone unsuitable will not help.
‘It didn’t work for you, did it?’ she asked, watching Dargan as he kicked his legs in his Tommy Hilfiger Babygro and matching bib.
‘I did not have an affair, Louise,’ I snapped, annoyed that she kept insisting Lone Father and I had ripped each other’s clothes off and got down to it against the washing-machine in the utility room.
‘Ah, yes, but you did in your head!’ she argued. ‘That’s just as bad. In fact, it’s probably worse. Emotional infidelity is a complete and utter betrayal of a relationship. When you open yourself up to someone emotionally, you may as well shag him all over the country.’ Then she grinned at me and went back to making notes about her new maternity and breastfeeding fashion line on her leather-bound jotter.