by Suzy K Quinn
I told her I didn’t know. Sadie had been under the duvet when I came round.
I confessed my bravado speech about running the marathon, and Laura said, ‘Why not run it? Show them both what you can do? Make Nick pay that bet.’
I said, ‘But I can’t do it, Laura. I can barely manage two miles. And that’s in warm weather.’
Laura said, ‘Of course you can do it. You know what they say in my karate class? A black belt is a white belt who never gave up. We can start training again. Whenever you like.’
I said I’d think about it.
Meaning no.
Saturday August 1st
Heard from mutual friends that Sadie has been ‘sort of living’ with Nick for a few weeks.
So pretty much since the wedding.
I didn’t think I had any tears left, but I do.
Poor Daisy. Poor, poor Daisy.
Sunday August 2nd
Desperate to find out more about Sadie and Nick, but nothing on Facebook. Just the usual daily selfies from both of them.
I keep checking Sadie’s relationship status.
She’s single. Like Nick.
Maybe they’re not actually living together. Maybe she just came round to see him that one day. And threw her stuff everywhere …
Tuesday August 4th
Brandi’s birthday.
Her favourite present was a T-shirt from Mum. It was skintight, bright pink and said, ‘I’m a Mum, not a Nun’.
I used three different pots of glitter to make Brandi’s birthday card.
Brandi said, ‘What’s that big sparkly splodge on the front?’
I said, ‘Your niece’s handprint.’
She said, ‘My niece? Who’s my niece?’
I said, ‘Daisy is your niece.’
She nodded slowly, like it was all suddenly making sense.
Then she said, ‘So is Daisy Callum’s niece too?’
No wonder she failed all her exams at school.
Wednesday August 5th
The health visitor came round today.
She was a big, busty clucky lady called Pam Fairy who had a lot of strong opinions about the right and wrong way to look after babies.
I could tell Mum was itching to disagree with her. Having ‘got through’ three kids of her own, Mum can’t stand it when anyone else has opinions.
Pam pulled her notes out and asked lots of questions about my sudden change of address.
Then she said, ‘You had a nice arrangement, didn’t you? Fancy apartment in London. Daisy’s father on hand. Any chance of a Mummy-Daddy reunion?’
I said, ‘I don’t think so.’
Mum added helpfully, ‘He slept with her best friend, Mrs Fairy. They broke up on her wedding day.’
Then Pam said, ‘Oh, you’re the Great Oakley Runaway Bride!’ And looked all pleased, like she’d met a celebrity. Then she remembered herself and started asking about Daisy’s diet.
Mum told Pam that Daisy loved Cheesy Wotsits.
Pam went all serious and asked about vegetables.
Mum said, ‘She likes potato smiley faces. And tomato ketchup.’
She didn’t bother to mention all the organic vegetables I puree!
Pam gave us a long lecture about nutrition and pulled out leaflets about healthy baby food.
Then she told us to ring her if we needed anything else. Apparently health visitors offer a sort of ‘fourth emergency service’ and are always on hand if we have any worries or concerns.
Thursday August 6th
Pam forgot to write Daisy’s weight in her red book, so I gave her a ring.
There was no answer. I left a message, but she hasn’t called me back.
Saturday August 8th
Weighed myself today for the first time since the wedding.
When I saw the scales I couldn’t believe it. I thought Mum must have broken them.
But then I weighed myself at the doctor’s.
I’m EVEN HEAVIER now than when I had Daisy.
Blaaaaaaaah.
Monday August 10th
Daisy has had three twinkly pieces of glitter on her scalp since Brandi’s birthday.
It only shows up in direct sunlight, but I’m worried people will think I don’t wash her. Yet no matter how many baths I give her, the glitter just won’t shift.
I wonder if the health visitor noticed? Did she think I never wash her?
Better ring and explain.
4pm
Rang Pam Fairy three times and left urgent voicemails. She still hasn’t rung back.
Tuesday August 11th
No call from Pam Fairy.
Mum laughed when I told her about the glitter. She said, ‘Health visitors are looking for neglect. A sparkly baby is a happy baby.’
Thursday August 13th
Althea phoned me at 6am to remind me to count my blessings.
She’s just been on some Buddhist retreat with Wolfgang. Apparently they had to count their blessings at 6am every morning and she reckons it’s changed her life.
Today her blessings are:
Her confident little boy who expresses his feelings. (No one else thinks it’s a blessing that Wolfgang expresses his feelings, which are generally anger and outrage. But a mother’s love is blind.)
Fabulous purple furniture.
The mystery flowers (weeds) that grow in her garden.
I told her I only had one blessing – Daisy.
I wanted to add, ‘And friends who know not to call before 7am.’
Friday August 14th
A bad, bad day.
Went into town to buy stuff for Daisy and my bank card didn’t work.
The lady in the bank said, ‘Your account has been frozen, Mrs Jolly Piggy.’
I told her I wasn’t Mrs Jolly Piggy. I was Mr Jolly-Piggott’s ex-girlfriend. And the money in the account was mine.
After a bit of wrangling (well – shouting), she got the manager – a spotty teenager in a suit three sizes too big for him.
He said there was nothing they could do. The account was frozen four days ago and no one could access funds until ‘assets are divided’.
‘But it’s my money,’ I said.
‘The account was in his name,’ said the manager, over and over again.
In the end, he asked if I could accept a Smedley’s Bank teddy bear as an apology.
I told him if he could give me five thousand bears and let me sell them outside the bank, we had a deal.
Saturday August 15th
Spent all day in the bank shouting at people and trying to call Nick.
When Nick finally answered the phone, he sounded all suspicious.
‘Ye-es?’
The bloody cheek of it. Like he didn’t know why I was calling.
I shouted at him about the bank account and needing to buy things for Daisy.
He said his mother and the solicitor had made him freeze the account.
When I asked him what happened to the money, he said no one could access it until ‘legal shit is sorted out’.
As I was screaming at him, I heard a woman in the background at his end.
‘Who’s with you?’ I asked.
A horrible silence.
And then I heard Sadie’s loud, posh voice. ‘Nick darling, how do I look in this dress? Pregnant and stylish or pregnant and fat?’
Before I knew it, I’d thrown my phone at Smedley’s Bank window.
A guy in an army jacket shouted, ‘Yeah! Smash the fat cats!’
When I got home, I told Mum and Dad about the bank account.
I said, ‘What am I going to do?’
Dad said, ‘Your mum will take you out this afternoon and get everything you need. Just write a list.’
I started crying. I said, ‘You already look after Brandi and Callum. It’s bad enough I’m living with you.’
Dad said it was fine. He said it would be a good opportunity to economise and re-evaluate their spending.
He put on his reading glasses, go
t out his household expenses notebook and crossed out ‘Sky TV’ with his Spitfire Ale pencil.
Mum shouted at him to fuck off.
Then a big argument blew up about what was important and what wasn’t.
It got really nasty when Mum threatened to sell Dad’s Lord of the Rings figurines.
I told them no one needed to sell anything.
Dad said I’d always be his little girl and he’d sell the clothes off his back if he had to.
I cried even more then.
In the end, Mum and Dad insisted on transferring money into my bank account.
I promised to pay them back, but they said, ‘You just worry about Daisy.’
Althea’s right.
I should remember to count my blessings.
I have the best family in the world.
Monday August 17th
Althea has signed me up for ‘Sing and Splash’ at the posh sports club just outside the village.
It starts on Wednesday.
I found out this morning, when Althea face-timed me at 6.15am.
She said, ‘Come on Jules! Embrace the day. Get your bra on. Wipe all that crap out of your eyes. We’re hitting Oxford Street to buy you a swimming costume.’
Then she waved a leaflet in front of her phone.
It said:
Sing and Splash
Help your little ones with their social and cognitive development.
Shallow water – low risk of drowning.
Althea said, ‘I know, I know. It’s all a little bit establishment. But fuck it – the kids will love it.’
When I told Althea about all the bank account stuff, she waved her turquoise-ringed fingers at the camera and said, ‘Don’t be stupid. I’ll pay.’
I tried to argue, but there’s no point arguing with Althea. She’s like a steamroller.
So off we went into London.
Althea banned me from Topshop, New Look or River Island.
She said, ‘You’re a mum now. You need padding and wire.’
So we went around old lady shops like Marks and Spencer and Laura Ashley.
The ones that sell clothes for women who don’t have sex anymore.
I found myself in a world of black one-pieces with ruched bust lines and old lady flower patterns.
I still looked four months pregnant in all of them.
Then we went to John Lewis.
Althea suggested I try a bikini, but I don’t want my wrinkly stomach on display.
Althea said, ‘Posh Spice has a wrinkly stomach.’
I said, ‘That’s why she never wears a bikini.’
As we were walking through the make-up department, Althea shouted about make-up being ‘one big establishment con.’ She talked about the pressures of being female and how every woman is beautiful without ‘any of this crap’.
Then a make-up lady told Althea she had beautiful eyelashes. Althea went all giggly and agreed to try a new mascara, ‘just for a laugh’.
The make-up lady shone a bright light in my face and told me I should try a light diffusing powder for fine lines.
As she was dusting my face, I saw Nick walking through the perfume department. With Sadie.
My stomach dropped to my knees.
I tapped Althea on the arm and we both stared.
Nick was his usual swaggering self.
Sadie looked amazing. Glowing I suppose is the word. Showing a little bit, but not much. Slim too – especially around her face. Shiny light-brown hair like ironed silk.
She was wearing skinny jeans and brown knee-high boots, a loose blouse and an expensive-looking chiffon scarf wrapped around her neck.
She looked more like a mum than I did, as a matter of fact. All classy and mature.
She picked up some designer sunglasses, tried them on and looked at Nick with a ‘don’t I look great?’ expression.
Althea whispered, ‘That bitch.’
We watched as Nick’s hand slid down to Sadie’s toned backside.
Sadie threw her head back and laughed her horsey laugh.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so small. I started sobbing.
I’m fat …
I have a weird stretchy, wobbly stomach …
My baby still wakes up at night …
I have spotty upper-arms …
And I don’t wear scarves …
Althea crushed me into a big bosomy hug and said, ‘You’re a million times more beautiful than that big-faced cow. Come on. I’m buying you some chocolate cake.’
When I got home, I went straight to my room.
At about eight o’clock, I heard a soft knocking on the door.
It was Mum.
She’d brought me a pint of Guinness on a silver tray.
Then she told me about an old boyfriend of hers, Brian Tuck, who went off with her best friend on Christmas Eve. Worst of all, she’d already bought his Christmas present – a Lovett-green jumper. But she said it all worked out for the best. Because the shop took the jumper back. And then she met Dad.
‘But what about Daisy?’ I sniffed. ‘Nick hasn’t even seen her.’
Mum said, ‘Kids accept life for how it is. We should learn a thing or two from them and stop crying about what can’t be changed.’
We looked at Daisy, sleeping in the cot.
She did look very contented.
Maybe Mum’s right. I mean, Callum doesn’t have a dad and he’s the happiest little boy there is. Perhaps because of all the Coca-Cola he drinks, but still …
Tuesday August 18th
When I woke up this morning, the sun was shining.
I looked at Daisy – all smiles, throwing herself at the travel-cot netting.
I thought again about Althea counting her blessings.
And I counted mine.
I have a beautiful healthy baby.
I have amazing family and friends.
I can help myself to Guinness and salt and vinegar crisps whenever I want.
I told Daisy, ‘Let’s open up those curtains and welcome the day.’
When I did, this old man jogged past in running gear. He was probably seventy years old, but he was bounding along.
I said, ‘Do you know what, Daisy? I’m going to run that marathon. I’m going to train and I’m going to finish it.’
I stuck Daisy in her pram and ran all the way to the woods and back again.
And for the first time in ages I saw the sunshine.
Wednesday August 19th
‘Song and Splash’ with Althea today.
It took ages to get Daisy into the car with her swim nappy, swimming costume, water wings, rubber ring, rubber duckies, baby goggles, snacks, nappies, wet wipes, stroller, rain cover, change of clothes, teething ring and warm jumper just in case.
When I parked at the sports club, the car cut out. It wouldn’t start again, but I was so late I ran into the club.
Then I found a text message from Althea:
Can’t get Wolfy out of the bedroom. He’s wrapped himself around the cot leg and won’t let go. Don’t want to upset his power centre by being too brutal. Sorry baby cakes. See you soon. Kisses!
Considered going home. But Daisy looked so happy to be in the shiny, posh sports centre I thought – sod it, we’re here now.
Wore the new black-sequinned swimming costume Althea bought me yesterday.
Even before we got into the pool, Daisy had eaten two sequins.
In the swimming pool, I noticed three more stuck to her face.
The teacher had a big smile, pigtails and a swimming costume with cupcakes all over it.
It must be nice to be happy all the time.
As soon as the singing started, Daisy started splashing like a maniac, kicking her arms and legs around and getting water all over the other mums and kids.
By the end of the class, there were two metres of space around us.
As we were leaving, I noticed one of the mums looking at me. Then, as we all walked to the changing rooms, I realised who it was.
Clarissa Fielding.
God, I haven’t seen her in years.
Not since the school sports day, when she stopped being my best friend. I think because Mum turned up in a see-through purple vest. No one knew where to look when she ran the Mother’s Day race.
Clarissa looked great, actually.
Even with soaking wet hair, you could tell she had lovely caramel highlights.
I tried to catch her eye in the changing room, but she just gave me an embarrassed, ‘I don’t know you. Okay?’
After I’d changed, I went to the Sports Centre café and phoned Dad. He must have been in the beer cellar, because the call went through to answer machine.
As I was trying to get a tea from the vending machine, Alex Dalton walked past.
By the way he was swinging his racquet I guessed he’d just pummelled an opponent.
He was wearing black shorts and a T-shirt like a sporty hit man.
Alex noticed me, frowned and said, ‘Juliette. You’re not a member here.’
I said I was just here for ‘Sing and Splash’.
Alex said, ‘Daisy has a sequin on her cheek.’
And then out of nowhere Clarissa appeared at my side. She did the whole, ‘Juliette!’ (Big fake pretend laugh.) ‘It is you, is it? I wasn’t sure …’
She kept glancing at Alex and smiling.
There was a beautiful blonde baby on Clarissa’s hip in a spotless dress and white frilly socks.
I said, ‘This must be your little one?’
Clarissa said yes. Then she looked at Daisy and said, ‘And she must be yours.’
Daisy gave a big half-tooth grin, snot running out of her nose, wet hair plastered to her little head. She tried to grab Clarissa’s scarf.
Clarissa took a step back.
I said, ‘She likes to grab things. I should train her to go for jewellery. She could make a fortune.’
Clarissa, still with half an eye on Alex, told me about all the things she’d been up to. The sailing club socials and how her husband had just reached ‘the next level’ in his banking job.
She asked me where Nick was, and I told her we’d split up.