by Suzy K Quinn
And it’s true.
On the surface, Alex looks all cool and aloof. But the real him is kind and thoughtful and decent.
Bugger.
Bugger, bugger, bugger.
Saturday November 14th
Evening
Big night tonight – turning on the village Christmas lights.
Unfortunately, the teenagers had arranged the lights to spell out ‘Santa isn’t real’ along the High Street. They also arranged a big, flashing penis and a pair of boobs on the church tower.
It wasn’t obvious until the lights were turned on.
The old ladies selling mince pies in the church yard didn’t know where to look.
Monday November 16th
So sad today.
I didn’t even have the energy to stop Daisy chewing my iPhone.
Tuesday November 17th
Daisy is sleeping through the night. But I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Alex.
It’s really lucky I don’t have his number. Because I’d have texted him by now. And that would have made me look really desperate and ridiculous.
I’m not eighteen anymore. I don’t need to know why, why WHY a man isn’t calling.
I know why men don’t call.
It’s because they’re not interested.
And anyone who says otherwise is kidding themselves.
Wednesday November 18th
Decided to throw myself back into dieting and getting fit.
Food today:
Breakfast – One home-blended strawberry and yoghurt smoothie with oats and pumpkin seeds (mess all over kitchen).
Lunch – One Slim Girl spinach and kale soup (123 calories, tasted like burnt grass).
Mid-afternoon – Weird sugar frenzy – eight rusks. But strong-willed enough to leave the last two.
Tea – Cheese and beans on toast with Worcester sauce and (fuck it, I’m already over my calories) half a tub of Häagen-Dazs (didn’t mean to eat half, but kept trying to get the surface perfectly smooth and got carried away).
9pm
Ate last two rusks.
Thursday November 19th
Alex has disappeared off the face of the planet. It’s like he was some crazy dream. Did I imagine the whole thing?
Haven’t lost any weight this week.
Maybe I’ve mucked up my metabolism and now can never lose weight. Maybe I’ll have to eat rabbit portions forever more to stop myself becoming a big heifer.
Told Althea I might be in love with Alex.
She gave me a big lecture about love being a feminist issue and how society uses romance to control women.
Then she went on about her new boyfriend and how he’s given her the best oral sex ever. And he didn’t freak out when Wolfgang chewed a hole in his canvas rucksack, so she thinks he might be partner material.
Friday November 20th
Alex, Alex, Alex!
I really miss him. Not just because I fancy him. I liked going running with him. He was a friend.
I feel like someone’s died. Stupid, I know. There must still be some hormones flying around. When did I get so dramatic?
Got the tube to Oxford Street and bought myself a McDonald’s big breakfast and a Christmas coffee with whipped cream from Starbucks.
Then I got depressed about weight gain.
Went back to the pub and sobbed to Mum about what a terrible mother I was. A bad role model for Daisy. Not in control of my eating habits.
Mum told me to get a hold of myself. She said she was ordering the Domino’s Christmas special – a giant pizza with roast chicken, beef and cranberry sauce – and did I want one.
I gulped, ‘Mighty Meaty please.’
Ate pizza.
Felt much better.
It’s amazing how much happier you feel when you’re not hungry.
And truth be told, I have lost a lot of weight recently.
Saturday November 21st
Bad night with Daisy.
Very, very tired this morning.
Daisy woke up happy and smiling, like last night had never happened.
I said, ‘I don’t know what you’re smiling at.’
Then she said, ‘Mama.’
Her first word!
I cried.
My little girl!
I’ve never felt so proud.
Sunday November 22nd
Decided to write today off as a failed diet. ‘Damage limitation’ or something like that.
It was all rainy and miserable and I ended up eating half a packet of cream crackers with big slices of cheddar cheese.
Still, I did manage to go out for a run. The first since Alex stopped coming.
I ran for HOURS! Amazing. I’ll have to remember to eat cream crackers and cheese before the marathon.
Monday November 23rd
Did some shopping in the village this morning.
The church ladies were all on ladders, trying to fix the rude Christmas decorations. They’d managed to make the boobs look like a big Christmas bow, and they’d turned the penis into a fairly convincing Christmas tree.
Bumped into Clarissa while I was coming out of the chemist.
I had a box of suppositories in my hand called ‘Anusoids’. Why do they give them names like that? Why can’t they call them private tablets or secret medicine?
Clarissa gave me that ‘Oh, you’re really not coping are you?’ smile of hers.
She said, ‘Has Nick been in touch? I hear he and Sadie are making a go of things. Living together …’
Bad news travels fast in this village.
‘I’ve barely seen him,’ I said. ‘Nor has Daisy.’
She gave me lots of pitying nods, then told me how lucky she is to have her husband. He brings her glasses of water while she’s breastfeeding and ready meals from Marks and Spencer’s when she’s tired.
Then she asked if I’d seen Alex lately.
I said no.
She said, ‘I heard you two go running together. Was that just a rumour?’
I said we had gone running. But I hadn’t heard from Alex in weeks. And then stupidly, I added, ‘I miss him actually.’
Clarissa raised her eyebrow and said, ‘Look. Friend to friend, I saw Alex a few days ago. At the Yacht Club. Talking to Rebecca Castle. You know – Penny Castle’s daughter? So you never know. Maybe they’ll be a match there.’
Ugh.
I mean yes, yes I know that Alex and I were never going to happen in the real world. But felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.
After Clarissa left, I caught sight of myself in the chemist window and realised I had toothpaste in my hair.
Secretly, I quite like embracing the ‘I’m so sleep-deprived I can’t be bothered’ look. But toothpaste is a step too far, even for me.
Mums like Clarissa, with full make-up, styled hair and conservative yet fashionable clothes first thing in the morning ruin it for all the rest of us.
Tuesday November 24th
Hoped it would be rainy today so I could take Daisy to the soft play area. That way, I could sit around drinking tea while she chewed soft toys.
But it was sunny so I had to take her out.
It was alright actually. Went to the play park. Cold, but sun shining. Felt better than I have in ages.
I think bumping into Clarissa sorted me out a bit. Have finally turned the page, re: Alex. Feel better. Lighter. And ready to move on.
Wednesday November 25th
The village supermarket still isn’t stocking Christmas trees, so Mum demanded that Dad go into the woods and cut down a real one.
Dad was happy to do it, saying it was ‘a very frugal move’ and ‘an excellent way to mind the pennies’.
He went into the woods with his handsaw this morning, and didn’t come back until after dark.
When we saw the tree, we understood why it had taken so long – the trunk was like a telegraph pole.
All the branches were covered in cobwebs and dead leaves, but Dad said it
only needed ‘a little wash and brush up’.
The tree wouldn’t fit in the family room without the top bending against the ceiling, so we’ve put the Christmas fairy back in her box.
Had a nice time hanging the Christmas decorations.
While we weren’t looking, Callum ate one of the playdough decorations he made at nursery last year – sequins and all.
Then he drank three glasses of water and went to brush glitter out of his teeth.
Thursday November 26th
American Thanksgiving
Did Skype link-up with Uncle Ralph and Aunty Yasmin.
They hadn’t had their Thanksgiving lunch yet, and Aunty Yasmin was panicking about the turkey.
Uncle Ralph had bought a regular chicken from the supermarket, and Aunty Yasmin thought it could be full of dangerous growth hormones that would give them all cancer.
Aunty Yasmin’s singing lessons are really paying off – at least in the volume department. I think everyone in LA must have heard her shouting at Lolly for rollerblading on the marble floor.
Friday November 27th
Strangest birthday ever.
Mum did the traditional Duffy birthday breakfast (fried bread, fried eggs, black pudding, sausages, hash browns, potato smiley faces, toast, chips, baked beans with butter mixed in them, crispy bacon and then Mum’s special extra – brown sauce mixed with pork scratchings).
Then Mum took Daisy out to ‘give me a break’.
I decided to Facebook-stalk Sadie.
Sadie’s wall was full of selfies, as per usual.
Look at me wearing this hat! And another hat! Look at me with this lovely-looking cake!
And then … Look at me in my new maternity coat with my boyfriend Nick Spencer …
I checked her relationship status and it said,
‘In a relationship with Nick Spencer.’
Ouch.
Ouch, ouch, ouch.
But while I was wallowing in self-pity, a weird thing happened.
I got a Facebook message.
From Alex.
There was no profile picture of him, just that little question-mark face thing.
I thought it must be a joke at first. Brandi messing around or something.
The message said:
Happy Birthday Juliette.
I read and re-read the message, my heart yammering away.
Then I shouted, ‘Brandi? Is that you doing this on Facebook?’
Brandi shouted back that she definitely was NOT on Facebook because she was ‘having a poo’. Although I know full well she uses Facebook while she’s on the toilet.
My fingers got all shaky then. And I wrote back, ‘Thank you.’
Then I got another message saying, ‘How are you?’
I wrote back, ‘I’m fine. Is that really you, Alex?’
And he wrote back, ‘Yes it’s me. Alex with the flashy car.’
So then I knew it was really him.
So, my fingers REALLY shaking, I wrote, ‘I haven’t seen you for a while.’ And clicked send.
I waited, praying he’d reply because if he didn’t I’d feel like a complete idiot.
After seven minutes (yes – I was counting) he wrote back, ‘I heard you were spending time with Daisy’s father. So I thought you needed some space. The last thing I want to do is break up a family.’
Whoa!
My heart was absolutely pounding when I read that.
I don’t think I’ve ever typed a reply so fast.
I wrote that I’d only seen Nick once, but there was practical stuff to sort out with Daisy.
Alex wrote, ‘I heard you saw him the day after we went out. And again two days later. And that the two of you were working on a reconciliation.’
I wrote, ‘According to who?’
And he wrote, ‘You mean ‘whom’. And a gentleman doesn’t reveal his sources.’
I wrote, ‘Well tell your sources they got it completely wrong.’
He wrote, ‘I will happily tell Helen Jolly-Piggott exactly that.’
And then he wrote, ‘Are you going out for your birthday tonight?’
I wrote that I wasn’t. And that everyone I knew was working or studying or in Cornwall teaching their son the value of shells.
And then he wrote, ‘I’ll pick you up tonight. Eight o’clock.’
I wrote, ‘Are we going running then?’
And he wrote, ‘No. I’m taking you out for your birthday.’
And then he came up as ‘offline’.
Felt so happy I thought my chest might explode.
Spent a few minutes dancing Daisy around the bedroom.
Then I started to get paranoid.
What if Alex is only taking me out so he can sleep with me again? What if I’m just some easy single mum target he’s using for sex? How did he know Nick came to the pub, and why didn’t he call before that?
Called Laura. She told me I was beautiful and funny and she always suspected Alex liked me. Zachary thinks so too, apparently.
Felt better then. But am now panicking about going out tonight.
Where’s Alex going to take me? What should I wear?
Brandi offered to give me a makeover and pummelled my body with salt scrub. She dabbed the bleeding bits with t-gel, but I know there’ll be scabs.
I refused to let her fake-tan me, so she did me a facial instead.
It took twenty cotton wool balls to get my face clean. She shouted at me for not removing my make-up properly, saying, ‘Did you know that every night you leave make-up on, it ages your skin by seven days.’
Honestly! She gets all this scaremongering crap from people who sell cosmetics. If what she said were true, I’d look sixty years old.
I stupidly let her wax off my eyebrows and draw them on in black pencil. When she’d finished, I looked like a blonde Cleopatra.
While we were arguing over my eyebrows, there was a knock at the door.
In my panicky state I thought it was Alex – calling four hours too early.
I screamed, ‘Hide me! He can’t see these eyebrows!’ And tried to climb into the airing cupboard.
But then Mum shouted up that it was a delivery man. With a great big pink box.
For a moment, I thought it might be a present from Nick. A big sorry gift. Begging for me to forgive him and take him back.
He never remembers my birthday, though.
Brandi read the card and was like, ‘NO! You will NEVER guess who this is from. You will never guess!’
It was from Alex.
He hadn’t put any kisses in the card or anything. It just said, ‘This is for tonight. Alex.’
No ‘love’ or anything like that.
My stomach did a load of lovely somersaults.
I think I must have been giggling or squealing or something, because Mum said, ‘Calm down, Cleopatra. And let’s find out what it is.’
It was a beautiful dress in pink silk.
Stunning. Just stunning. Sort of vintage 1940s, with a big skirt and tight waist.
And there were matching shoes – grey ballet pumps made from swirled silk.
Mum went on about how ‘me’ it was because I love ‘all that vintage crap’, and how Alex must have been paying attention.
Brandi googled the dress label and confirmed it was from a very expensive designer.
Then Mum got out her shoebox of diamante and talked about adding a bit more sparkle. But I wouldn’t let her.
The dress was absolutely perfect. So perfect I was sort of scared to try it on. I mean, what if it didn’t fit?
Men are usually terrible at knowing women’s dress sizes.
But it did fit. Perfectly.
And I realised – fucking hell, I really am looking better after all this running. I’ve lost weight and my legs are much more svelte. A better shape. And everything is just more … held in.
I didn’t want to take the dress off, but Daisy woke up and I was worried it would get covered in dribble. So I laid it carefully back
in the box ready for tonight.
I’ll be honest, I am totally shitting myself.
I’m just so nervous. It was never like this with Nick.
Oooooo! Need a wee again!
Saturday November 28th
The most amazing night.
Well. Right up until the last bit.
Alex picked me up at eight o’clock on the dot.
I was pretty much ready. He only had to shout at me twice to hurry up.
A driver took us into London in this big wedding car thing. In fact, it was fancier than my wedding car.
And Alex looked a lot better than my groom – black suit, white shirt, black bow tie.
I got even more nervous, thinking – fucking hell, we’re going somewhere really fancy.
Alex said I looked ‘stunning’.
The whole drive, he wouldn’t tell me where we were going. He got quite stern about it actually. When I kept asking.
London was glowing with Christmas and felt magic. The streets were frosty, the sky was dark and the air smelt of roast chestnuts.
Garlands were strung all along Oxford Street, and a huge, sparkling Norwegian Christmas tree stood in Trafalgar Square, surrounded by theatre performers and dancing elves.
FINALLY we stopped outside the London Coliseum, which was covered from top to bottom with long, straight strings of fairy lights.
Alex told me we were seeing Swan Lake. Which is a ballet.
He said I’d love it and he was right.
It was beautiful.
Of course, it helped that we had our own balcony. And a bottle of champagne.
When I asked Alex how the ballerinas stood on their toes without swearing, he told me they spent their whole lives practising discipline and restraint.
I said that seemed a bit sad. That they gave up so much just to look beautiful for other people.
Alex squeezed my hand and whispered, ‘They retire before they’re thirty. And spend the rest of their lives eating chocolate. Don’t feel too sorry for them.’
We held hands the whole way through. And then, just near the end, Nick rang.
SOO embarrassing.
MC Hammer – Can’t Touch This blaring out across the auditorium.