by Archer, Kiki
“And yet you complain about your day.”
“It’s hard work with a three-year-old.”
“Guess how my day went? I arrived at the office at six a.m., where I immediately replied to thirty-four new emails. I then signed three new clients. I had six different meetings before I Skype-toured a potential site for the new Manchester office. I think it was about eight p.m. when I was on my tube journey home that I first took a breath for myself.”
“You enjoy your job. You live for your job.”
“And you live for Noah, so we’re all square.” He leaned back into the sofa, stretching his neck out to the ceiling. “I just hate having this conversation every time I get home. Who works the hardest? Who has the most important job? I think we should just change the subject once and for all.” He nodded. “Tell me about your trolley lady.”
“No. You’re not interested.”
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
“I am!”
She turned to him and narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “Really?”
“Yes!”
“Fine.” She continued to study him as she took a deep breath. “But only because you’re asking, and I’m not quite sure where it’s going yet, but she’s in her twenties. Bonnie that is.” A small smile formed in the corner of her mouth. “She’s a bit of a plain Jane. Brown hair, pale skin. Short. Lonely. Never found true love. In fact she’s very sceptical about whether true love even exists.”
“But she finds someone?”
The nod was quick. “I think so, but I just can’t figure out who she’ll fall for. I can’t picture their face or their character traits, but anyway she’s not there yet. She needs to find herself first and learn how to love who she is and what she’s got.” Connie stopped talking. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because you are. You’re animated. You’re talking about Bonnie like she’s real. It’s nice to see.”
“Anyway, I want her to blossom. I want her to have her dream. Her fairytale.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I’ve already got it.” She scanned the toys that were scattered across the small coffee table and focused on the smiling photo of Noah on the bookshelf opposite the sofa.
Karl reached over and stroked her cheek. “You know you’re not average like Bonnie Blythe, don’t you?”
“The book’s not about me.”
He tried to move some of the thick blonde hair away from her face. “You’ve got a lovely button nose and sparkling blue eyes. You’re cute, Connie. Really cute.”
The hand was instantly batted away. “Cute? A man in his thirties doesn’t want cute. I bet you never called Louise cute with all her tits and teeth.”
“She’s only got two.”
“Teeth? I wish she did. She’s got the type of teeth you talk to.”
Karl laughed. “Too much of an American smile if you ask me.”
“You weren’t complaining at the time.”
“Oh Connie, come on. She’s my business partner.”
“And there’s history. But like you say, you don’t want to have that conversation every evening either.” She lifted herself off the sofa. “Anyway.”
Karl rolled his eyes. “Yes, anyway.”
“Would you like your lasagne in here or in the kitchen? Or would you like to go crazy and have it on the beanbag next to the under-stair cupboard?”
“We live in London, this place is palatial.” He patted the cushion next to him. “Shall we just eat in here and snuggle up with a film? I know it’s late but we could open a bottle?”
“Okay, sounds good.” The wailing stopped her. From her position in the lounge she could look straight into the kitchen at the baby monitor that was now revving bright red in sync with the wails coming from absolutely everywhere.
“Does it have to be that loud?” asked Karl, rubbing his temples.
“It’s important that we hear him.”
“This place is tiny. We don’t even need that monitor. Plus he’s three. He should be self-settling by now.”
She raised her voice through the noise. “Who said that? Your mother?”
“He’s not stopping. Why’s he not stopping?”
“Would you go? I’ll sort the lasagne.”
Karl reached for the television remote. “No, I’ve been working all day. You go. It only needs re-heating doesn’t it?”
Connie stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve not seen Noah since the weekend.”
“Exactly, so I don’t want to see him like this. We need quality time, not telling off time. He’ll only want you anyway.”
“You don’t need to tell him off, you just need to comfort him.”
Karl switched on the news. “No, you’re better at it than me.”
“Twenty minutes in the oven, salad’s in the fridge.” She reached for the bannister and started up the stairs. “Go knock yourself out.”
Chapter Three
The noise in the large community hall was a fusion of high-pitched giggles and long drawn out wails complemented by the chatter of mothers who were programmed to tune out both. The building had been constructed the previous year at the same time as the huge new hypermarket, no doubt a clause in the contract forcing the big brand to give back, even though it was the one responsible for taking away in the first place; another green field snatched from the already greying area. Connie was there, as usual, in her corner spot on the plastic chairs, admiring her son as he raced around on the pedal-kart. At least the hall was of use to families, she thought, with playgroups like this during the day and youth groups for older children at night; not to mention the dog training, zumba and weight-loss classes that were mixed into the hall’s schedule as well. Another plus was the newly bought equipment that was all still remarkably clean, especially in comparison to some of the playgroups where the toys were ancient and completely covered in bite-marks.
She stayed seated and listened to the noisy activity emanating from each of the play stations. On the left were the tiny arts and crafts tables, littered with poster paints, PVA glue, plastic scissors (that never actually managed to cut anything) and wads of multi-coloured tissue paper ready to be scrunched up and stuck down. In the centre of the room were the padded rainbow-coloured gym mats covered in soft-play blocks of all shapes and sizes. That’s where she’d mostly find Noah, always jumping, always building. She’d often encourage him to move over to the station on the right where there were cushions, cuddlies and picture books galore, but he’d only ever stay there for a short story before toddling off and diving straight back into the blocks – unless the pedal-kart was free, as that took precedence over everything. The back of the room was cornered off for messy play and today it was jelly, with wobbling rabbits and teddies already whacked into oblivion by the tiny tearaways brandishing wooden spoons like warriors ready for battle.
Connie glanced at her watch and wondered where Ryan had got to. They had been attending this playgroup together ever since it opened last year and both knew it was the perfect place for in-depth gossiping given the fact that Noah would entertain himself for the whole two-hour session. Ryan was lucky enough to pick and choose when he worked, a perk of being a private masseur, and he’d never let her down, not once. She noticed the discarded pedal-kart and scanned the soft-play area, searching out the bright yellow t-shirt. It was one of her coping mechanisms: lower the threat of losing your child by dressing them in something glaringly bright. That way they were easy to spot and you wouldn’t have as many heart-in-the-mouth moments where you thought they’d run off, or been taken, or simply disappeared without cause. Connie didn’t like to think of her behaviour as neurotic. It wasn’t. She wasn’t a helicopter mother who was always hovering around her child. She’d let him have his freedoms, but only under her strictly controlled conditions. Some of the mothers were awful: grabbing the glue in case it was toxic, kneeling at the bottom of the blocks to break any falls, telling their offspring to slow down, be careful, stop runnin
g, in fear of their fun. Connie nodded to herself. She wasn’t like that. She was getting it right. She was the mother sitting calmly in the corner, allowing her child to explore, to be social, to take risks, to feel free. She scanned again. Oh god, where was he? She jumped to her feet.
“Look who I found!” sang Ryan, dangling a giggling Noah upside down by the ankles.
Connie gasped. “I thought I’d lost him! My heart’s racing!”
“I’ve just this second arrived. He saw me and toddled over.”
She straightened her hair and composed herself. She knew it was wrong, but the fear of an impending disaster had always been there. From the moment he had been born, she had worried. She had worried about dropping the car seat on the way to the car. Falling down the stairs en route to a night feed. Having him snatched from his seat as she paid for the petrol. Accidentally throwing him off the balcony at the local shopping centre. The fear was endless and overwhelming, but she’d always kept it locked up, and only at times like this did her panic betray her.
Ryan lifted the little boy onto his smoothly shaven head. “Where’s he gone?”
Noah patted the baldness. “Here!”
“There you are!” he said, sliding him down to his shoulders. “He can’t get out, Connie. The doors are child proof.”
“I know, I know. It’s fine.” She edged her way back to her chair knowing how important it was to give her son space and let him feel fear, but only when she was sure he was out of real harm’s way. She took a deep breath and smiled at the little boy. It seemed to be working as he was the most confident, outgoing daredevil around, encouraged mostly by Ryan. It was only her nerves that suffered.
“Shall we go and build the biggest tower?” asked Ryan, lifting Noah over his head and back down to the floor.
“Noah build. Noah build.”
Ryan saluted. “Okay big man, let me know when you’re done and I’ll measure it.”
“No. Noah measure.”
“Okay then, shall I just sit down?”
“Ry Ry sit down.”
Connie watched as the mop of blond hair bounced away with the trademark marching walk, still often on tiptoes, that signalled her son was in charge.
Ryan patted his jeans pocket. “I’ve got the cash, can I get you a cuppa?”
Connie groaned. “What happened to Costa?”
“Running late sorry. This church hall type tea at ten pence a pop will have to do.”
“Okay, but let’s have a Mariano’s after. I need my morning mocha hit.”
“Let’s do lunch there as well. I can’t stomach any more of these offcut playgroup biscuits bought in bulk in a crappy see-though plastic bag from the Battersea market. They’re simply not sustenance for a stallion like me.”
Connie laughed as her friend twirled on the spot and pranced off towards the small hatch at the side of the hall, famous for serving watered down tea and cloudy coffee topped up with UHT milk. She watched as the eyes in the room followed him and smiled at the throng of women who suddenly found themselves parched. It had been the same since day one. Sex-starved new mothers appearing on-heat whenever Ryan arrived. They would follow him round the stations and try to flirt with him at the hatch, desperate to find out his story. Where was the ring? Who was the blonde woman? Wasn’t he handsome? And why couldn’t their partners be as good with their kids?
Connie couldn’t help laughing as one particular woman strode swiftly across the hall, purse grasped tightly in hand. They’d nicknamed her Titty, for two obvious reasons. They were huge. Always pushed out, pulled up and on glorious display. No matter the season, Titty would trot herself out in a vest top. She had a huge array of colours, prints, fabrics; but only ever one size – too small.
Titty had been the first to make a full blown pass at Ryan, and almost twelve months on she’d not given up hope. Her flirting was constant and her inability to spot, or accept, his sexuality was strong-willed, to say the least. Ryan was gay, and – to Connie – obviously so. He chose, however, not to divulge this information, claiming he enjoyed the gossip his presence generated far too much to come clean. Connie turned to the hatch and stifled her laughter as she watched him performing. He seemed to be complimenting Titty on her hair and outrageously embracing her wooing. But Connie knew the truth. He’d be back over in a minute comparing her to an on-heat Jackie Stallone.
She paused her observation and scanned back to the blocks, finding the bright yellow t-shirt quickly and smiling. Noah was playing with a little girl kitted out in bright yellow dungarees and matching yellow jumper. Together they looked like they’d dressed for a rave. She must be new, thought Connie, confident that she could name all of the children even though she knew none of the mothers. It might have been different had Ryan not been there hiding her in the corner and gossiping non-stop. She shook her head. This wasn’t Ryan’s doing. Ryan was actually her saviour. She was the one who stayed quiet. It was her choice to hide in the corner. Ryan was just her excuse not to mingle, her reason for keeping the false friends at bay. Connie flinched as Top Dog shouted across the hall.
“Joshhhhhhua!”
That’s how she knew the names of most of the children - from the sharp chastising shouts of their mothers. Top Dog was the main culprit, never moving from her seat in the centre of her harem, always disciplining her son in the loudest of voices. Ryan had nicknamed her Top Dog as she clearly took charge of the playgroup posse. If you were sitting in her circle then you were somebody. You’d probably have tattoos and scraped back hair just like she did, but at least you were part of it, part of the clique.
Connie glanced around and searched out the two women who’d never fit into that circle: Earth Mother and Crusty. Both social outcasts. Earth Mother for her sheer size and refusal to wear a bra; constantly breastfeeding her son Lucas, even though he was now over four. And Crusty because of the dandruff. A real nervous mouse, in a state of perpetual blind panic. Always re-adjusting the bumper helmet on her son’s precious head. Ryan had claimed the helmet was Crusty’s method of hiding her son’s inherited dandruff affliction, but pairing it with the boy’s on-wrist beeping tracking device it was clear that Crusty had issues.
Connie sighed to herself. These just weren’t her type of women. She had friends, albeit ones she rarely saw any more, but she had them, and she liked them, and she didn’t feel the need to mingle for mingling’s sake.
“You always look like a little lost sheep whenever I leave you.” Ryan sat down and handed over the unappetising tea.
“I’m scared someone might come over.”
“You’re not scared.”
Connie nodded. “I am. These women actually scare me.”
“Yeah, maybe Crusty should, and possibly Top Dog, but the rest of them seem okay.” Ryan parted his lips, dropped his jaw and continued to talk. “It’s about time you made friends with Miss Titty.”
“Why have you done that with your mouth?”
“That’s how she talks. Haven’t you noticed? She always holds her mouth slightly ajar. It’s the lips, they’re so full of filler I don’t think she can actually physically close them anymore, and on top of all that her skin tone’s off the scale today.”
“Tiger orange?”
Ryan laughed. “It’s her hands, they’re so patchy. How anyone ever thinks fake tan is attractive is beyond me.”
“Says you!”
“I’m old-school sunbed, darling.” He took a sip of his tea, swallowing quickly to disguise the taste. “Oh my goodness, we’ve got fresh blood.”
“Where?” Connie scanned the room.
“Hotty with a botty, two o’clock. Can we name her?”
Connie struggled to see who he was staring at. “No. No more bitching. I’m always a bitch around you.”
“You are not. You’re nowhere near my level of bitchiness. Come on, let’s watch her and name her.”
“Where is she?” Connie searched again.
“There, bending down next to Noah. That girl in the yellow d
ungarees must be hers. Oh bless look, she’s got the same hair as Noah.”
Connie watched as the little girl with the bright blonde hair passed large foam blocks to Noah for his tower. “They look about the same age, don’t they?” she said.
“No clue.” Ryan wiggled his eyebrows. “Go and ask the mum. Quickly, Connie. Get in there before Top Dog sinks her rabid paws in.”
Connie looked at the woman, taken aback by her sophisticated style. Most of the mothers at playgroup looked fairly bedraggled, but this woman was poised and together. “She’s not got her daughter’s blonde hair, has she?”
“That’s stating the obvious. Is she Arab?”
“Ryan! She’s not Arab. She looks a bit Italian maybe? Or Spanish? But I think it’s definitely her daughter, look, you can see from their features.” Connie continued to stare. The woman was elegant and refined and certainly not someone you’d expect to see in a local community centre built by the owners of Asda. “She’s far too classy to be hanging around here.”
Ryan nodded in admiration. “If her daughter’s the same age as Noah then she’s done well to lose all her baby weight.”
“Every woman’s lost their baby weight by the time their child’s hit three. I’m the exception.”
“You and Earth Mother.”
Connie hit her friend on his shoulder.
“Watch it, you’ll spill my tea.” Ryan stopped laughing and nodded in the direction of the blocks. “Go on, Connie, be brave.”
“No, I don’t want to.”
“Please? I can’t come next week. I’m out in Malta, remember?”
“Oh damn, your conference.” She shrugged. “It’s fine, I’ll skip a week.”
“And miss out on Crusty’s drama?” He shook his head. “You will not. I need a full update. What if Earth Mother wears something other than that tie-dye dress and those big walking boots? What if Top Dog gets another facial tattoo? What if Titty breaks one of her stilettos? You never know what we might miss. Go on, Con, she looks friendly enough.” He paused. “In fact she looks a bit of a loner, like you.”
Connie glanced back at the woman. There was absolutely nothing about her that screamed loner. She looked like a woman who had millions of friends, millions of men and millions of pounds in the bank.