The Cows

by Dawn O'Porter

  I’m doing this alone. Getting what I want. Living the life I want to live, for me. Isn’t that what you’ve always told your readers to do? For once, you might be actually right.

  I press send.

  For years I’ve sat here at my desk, with only grief and Jason’s schedule to occupy my mind. Now I have my own thoughts, my own future. Things have become so clear to me and my purpose is taking shape. My legacy is in motion. I get a text.

  Hey babe, how about John Lewis tomorrow lunchtime? Do you think Jason would let you take an hour and a half to help me? You said things were quiet? Jess x

  No problem, see you there at 1 x

  Ooh, I can’t wait to look at all the baby things!

  Alice and Mum flash into my head. They look disappointed, they’re telling me not to get carried away. But I’m doing it for you as well, I want to scream. I’m doing it for our legacy.

  Tara

  When the crew left and the house was quiet, I felt proud of myself for not apologising for what I did on the train. The atmosphere in here was horrible when the cameras stopped rolling. No one could look at me, like I had done the most unforgivable thing. What happens to people in these situations? How is it that something they would laugh about in the pub becomes so horribly serious when faced with the person who did it? Has no one on that crew ever masturbated? Why the superiority? I might have laughed along with them if they’d tried it.

  I’ve interviewed so many perverts and even when I know they really are as bad as people say they are, I still manage to be human about it. I still look them in the eye. I still manage to be myself around them. I have never treated anyone the way that I’ve been treated over this.

  But it’s clear that what I did on that train isn’t even the story any more. It’s me; the mother, the sperm thief. That’s all anyone cares about now. Wanking is just a way in to talk about the way I had Annie. That’s why people hate me. And I can’t change that.

  I’m so scared for my daughter. What if kids at school taunt her about not having a dad? The other kids come from such normal homes; to my knowledge, none of the parents from Annie’s class are even divorced. She’ll be treated as different; her friends will turn against her. All little children want to do is fit in, and I’ve made her stand out for all the wrong reasons. I want to make this as easy on her as I can, but maybe everyone is right. Maybe the answer to that is her knowing her dad.

  This morning, as I was getting Annie ready for school, she told me that one of her classmates told her that her mummy didn’t love her as much as other mummies love their kids, because she never picks her up. Apparently, this kid’s mummy had said that ‘some mummies are too busy loving themselves to love their children’. Apparently some mummies are bigger arseholes than I thought. To think those women made me feel the way they did at that stupid princess party, before they even knew what I had done on the train. I can only imagine what they think of me now.

  But Annie shouldn’t suffer, so I promised that I would pick her up from school myself today. And now I am in my car opposite the school gate, and all of the other mums are standing there waiting for their children, and I feel sick with fear. This is my first public outing in days. I feel like I’ve escaped prison and that big scary people are out there trying to hunt me down. I know I have to get out and join them, because my daughter’s happiness depends on it. I am wearing jeans and a hoody, the hardest thing in my wardrobe to criticise. They talk about the school playground being a tough place for kids, but the other side of the gate isn’t any easier.

  As I approach, I feel like I’m swimming towards a school of sharks. The mums see me, and go into slow motion as they part, leaving a huge gap in the middle for me to stand in. There are around nine women, but it feels like there are hundreds.

  In around ten minutes, the doors should open. I can do this. I have taken worse. There is nothing that these women can say to me that hasn’t already been printed, tweeted or said on TV. I’ve heard it all. Come on, Tara, this is for Annie. I must not get back in that car.

  I stand very still and stare at the door, but I can see them twitching in my peripheral vision. They are shooting looks to each other. The judgement feels like a massive raincloud. It’s about to burst, I can feel it.

  And then it begins to rain.

  ‘Uh oh, here she comes, Walthamstow’s answer to Rihanna,’ says Amanda. I’d recognise her snooty voice anywhere. ‘Unbelievable!’ she exclaims. There is a low hum of agreement. Their energy builds and I feel like I’m surrounded by an alien life force that is connected by an aura that I can’t see. They are getting stronger as a group. I can’t fight them.

  ‘My daughter saw the video,’ says someone else in a concerned voice, maybe Tracey? I can’t be sure. A flurry of sighs and gasps fill the air. ‘Her friend’s older brother was watching it with his mates and they showed it to her.’ I can feel this woman looking at me, and my head is pulled around to face her by whatever force it is that these women have. ‘So my daughter has seen a mother that she recognises, masturbating on a train. How do you suggest I explain that to her?’ she continues. The question is obviously aimed at me.

  There is a long pause as they all burn holes in my head with their eyes. Am I actually supposed to answer her? I feel like I’m back at school for real, and suddenly realise how insignificant online bullying is in comparison to when it is happening to your actual face. I’d take a Twitter rape threat any day; this shit is real. I long for that door to open, for Annie to run out. For her to feel joy because I am there, and for me to hurry her to the car so we can get the hell out of here.

  ‘That poor little girl, she’ll have to live with this shame for the rest of her life,’ says Amanda, and a switch inside me flicks. It’s like all the lights go on.

  Poor little girl? Excuse me?

  ‘And what is it that makes you Mum of the Year?’ I say, going up to Amanda’s face. My eyes are squinting a little, it feels like my soul is coming back to life.

  ‘Oh don’t you try to intimidate me. Women like you …’

  ‘“Women like me”? What does that mean? You mean women who have children because they want them so much that they are willing to do it alone? You mean women like me who work their arses off so that their child can go to the best school, and live in a lovely house, and have everything they ever need? Is that what you mean, by “women like me”?’

  ‘“Everything they need”? A child needs a father, that is what they need,’ snaps a very stressed-out mum who looks like she’s going through a divorce. NOT that I am judging.

  ‘Maybe. Maybe the one thing Annie doesn’t have is a father figure, but what she does have is a mother who is teaching her that she can live her life her own way. That she has the power. I may have had my child under what you consider to be questionable circumstances but I’m raising an individual, not a clone of every other girl in her class. So you—’

  I’m cut off by Amanda. If she compares me to Rihanna again, I’ll knock her out.

  ‘She has the power? The power to what? Masturbate in public, is that really what you think power is? And stop talking to us like a bunch of housewives. You came to my house, and looked around, saw how nice it all was and just presumed my husband provided it all for me. How dare you.’

  ‘What? No I didn’t,’ I say, quieting down, knowing she is right, I absolutely thought that.

  ‘Yes, you did. It never occurred to you that I’m the one that earns the money, did it? I pick Trudy up every day, because when I got pregnant I launched my own business so I could manage my own hours. My husband doesn’t earn a penny. Which is why I kicked him out last week after the party, because I’ve had enough. So stop acting like you’re some hero for having a job, we all have our shit, OK?’

  The others might as well start cheering. Amanda just kicked my butt and I can’t think of anything to say back. I just stand still, staring at the ground like I am a little girl and she is my angry teacher. After a few seconds, I start to walk back towards
my car. I wanted to be there for Annie, but I can’t take this, I just can’t. Just as I reach my car, the fire inside me reignites and I charge back to them. I make them all jump with my return.

  ‘Hey, you lot,’ I shout at their backs. They turn around in unison and I hold my stare. ‘I did not go out that night to masturbate on a train, and I certainly didn’t ask to be filmed, and for my life to be turned upside down. But that is what happened, and because of that I’ve just had the worst two weeks of my life. I’ve had rape threats, police at my door and I’ve developed quite a severe case of agoraphobia. I’m a global joke, my family are desperately trying to keep it together. And I now face the very real threat that I will die unloved by anyone other than my daughter. I am so scared for my future that I cry myself to sleep every night and the only thing that gets me up in the morning is how much I love Annie, and how much she loves me. So when you judge me as a mother, you scar the only thing that I have left. My life is now entirely centred around her being OK, so please don’t tell me that she will suffer, when I am so focused on making sure she doesn’t. I am an excellent mother. I thought I was alone. I was really unlucky that someone was there to film it. OK? I didn’t deserve to have my life destroyed and neither does Annie for my unfortunate mistake.’

  They all look at me with pity, which I marginally prefer to staring at me in judgement. None of them feel the need to speak.

  ‘Amanda, I am sorry I made presumptions about you, OK?’

  She holds her stare. Some of the others nod. The silence seems to go on forever.

  ‘You could make a bloody TV show about this,’ says Vicky Thomson, who I didn’t realise was standing behind me. I’m so grateful to hear her voice. I turn, and she smiles at me like I just did really good.

  The school doors burst open and the children swarm out, dragging the tension with it. Annie runs right up to me and hugs my legs, as if she knew to show them all how much she loves me.

  ‘Mummy, you came,’ she says, so happy that I’m here.

  She smiles the whole way home.

  Later that night, I lie on my bed in a pair of blue Marks and Spencer pyjamas that my mum bought me. Mum and Dad are both downstairs with the TV on so loud I am surprised Annie can sleep. I replay the scene at the school gates in my head. Amanda was right, I had judged them all from a thousand paces. I assumed I was better than them, more worldly because I worked in the media, maybe. And that my struggles made me different, better in some way for coping and making it work. How am I just realising how awful that was of me? I’ve always loved the idea of female solidarity, but I haven’t experienced much of it because of the friends I have chosen and the places I have worked. One poxy text is all I’ve had from Sophie since she scarpered on holidays.

  Hey babe, amazing here, I’m so brown. Hope things are OK … did your dad watch the video yet?

  I didn’t answer. I know she’ll know about all the press that’s been happening, because she calls MailOnline her ‘Bible’ and knows intricate details of celebrities’ lives before they do. There is no way she won’t have been checking in. What kind of friend is that? Some surrogate sister she turned out to be. I thought she’d be there for me in the middle of the worst shit storm of my life – instead she’s topping up her tan in bloody Bora Bora.

  But then there is Camilla. The one who stuck up for me publicly, the one who has written me countless messages of support. The one who feels like the truest friend I’ve ever had, but who I’ve never actually met. We’re like old school pen pals, sharing intimate details of our lives and feelings through letters, or emails as the modern world would have it. I can’t help wondering if that friendship could be the same offline?

  Cam’s often written about her fear of social encounters. How she would avoid face to face meetings at all costs. But really, her anxiety can’t be that bad, not when she lives out her life so publicly. And to be fair, I come out in hives at the very thought of seeing people right now, so she’ll probably come across like Davina McCall compared to me. I want to meet her.

  Hey. Look, I know you don’t like awkward social situations. I can appreciate that more than ever right now. But I’d love to meet you. If you were up for it. I’m not sure where all of this has come from, but I feel like I need someone, and I think the person I need is you.

  Too weird? We could wear gas masks and communicate via the medium of dance, if that made it easier? Let me know, T x

  Camilla replies immediately.

  Tara, not weird at all and yes. Please. I think I need you too. Wednesday night? I’ll bring the gas masks. C x

  As I’m replying with a few suggested times and venues, my bedroom door creeps open.

  ‘Mummy, why do old people have the TV up so loud?’ says Annie, rubbing a little soft elephant against her cheek.

  ‘Come on, come in here with me,’ I say, pulling the covers open and getting into bed. She climbs in next to me and cuddles up.

  ‘Do you want to sleep in here with me tonight?’ I ask her. But she doesn’t answer, she’s already nestled in and is closing her eyes. I lie awake for well over an hour, News at Ten booming up the stairs reminding me that my Sky News interview is going out soon. The dread of how they will edit it threatens to keep me up all night. But I inhale the smell of my daughter’s hair, and I snuggle up as close as I can. I can be sad about not being in love, and I can be angry at Sophie for not giving me what I need, but the truth is as long as I have Annie I will never be alone, and for that I have to feel grateful. I squeeze her a little too hard and she wriggles away from me. I lie on my back and look at my phone, I go to the conversation with Jason and before reading it again I just delete it. I got it wrong, it’s time I accepted it. He’s just not that into me, as the saying goes. I look again at Cam’s email. ‘I think I need you too.’

  Maybe female solidarity is coming my way after all.

  Stella

  ‘Excuse me, where are the sheepskin baby comforters?’ says Jessica to a John Lewis ‘partner’. She is holding the longest list of baby essentials I have ever seen. Actually, it’s the only list of baby essentials I have ever seen. Does she really need all of those things? Bath tub, Moses basket, bottle nipples … nipple cream? Is the cream for the bottles, or her boobs? I have no idea; this is a whole new world. The ‘partner’ points to a wall and we head over there. They are out of the one she wants, and she looks genuinely panicked.

  ‘Maybe you can get one online?’ I say, reassuringly.

  ‘Maybe. Jesus, there is so much to think about. When you get pregnant you can just have all of my stuff. It will save you the hassle.’ She zooms off to the changing bags and starts investigating the internal pockets of a really ugly grey canvas one. It feels weird, having the plans that I have, and acting like there is nothing going on. I am busting to say something. For once, I have news.

  ‘This one looks good,’ she says, picking up a disgusting rucksack with little bows all over it. ‘It’s got a wipe-clean changing mat and a special pocket for dirty nappies.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s hideous,’ I say, wondering if she is really willing to abandon all sense of style so quickly into the process of parenting.

  ‘It’s not that bad, those bows are quite cute, no?’

  I choose not to respond. She’s got that crazy look in her eye that pregnant women and brides get. It’s best just to let them crack on. She puts the ugly rucksack on her back and zooms off to the baby bottles. I follow slowly.

  ‘So how’s it going anyway?’ she asks me, checking her list and then reading the packets of bottle nipples.

  ‘How’s what going?’

  ‘You and Phil? I couldn’t help but notice the tension between you guys the other night. Everything OK?’

  I guess this says a lot about how little I’ve been thinking about Phil; I’d totally forgotten to tell Jess about us breaking up.

  ‘Oh, no, things weren’t great. We actually split up.’

  ‘Oh Stella, my lovely. I’m so sorry,’ she says, pushing the n
ipples back onto the hook and cuddling me. I try to cuddle her back but the rucksack won’t let me. I’m pleased, I’m not a hugger.

  ‘Oh, I’m fine. It was a long time coming. Things haven’t been right in ages. I’m fine. Happier, actually.’

  ‘I just can’t believe it, I was sure you two were going to be together forever,’ she says, her eyes welling up. Which is completely ridiculous and not at all what I am comfortable with. ‘Sorry, I’m quite emotional at the moment,’ she says, wiping her eyes.

  ‘Jess, seriously, I’m fine. It’s for the better. Things are better.’

  ‘But how are things better? You’re alone. What about having a baby, I thought you were going to have a baby?’ She rests her hands protectively on the top of her bump, maybe to show me what I’m missing.

  She looks at me like I am a tragic case of something so sad that she can’t think of the words to describe it. I know what she is thinking. She is thinking that I am going to die alone, that now, I’ve lost everything and everyone. That she has a husband who loves her, and a baby on the way, and a perfect life and she won’t know how to talk to me about it because she thinks my life is so awful. But I don’t want sympathy. And I don’t want anyone thinking I am a lonely mess, and so I say the one thing that I know will wipe that look off Jessica’s face and stop her acting like my life just ended.

  ‘I’m pregnant too,’ I say, smiling and putting my hand on my tummy. ‘Don’t be sad, I’m having a baby as well.’

  Ooops.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she says, giving me another cuddle that I can’t reciprocate because of the rucksack and also because I don’t want to. She is clearly stunned and going through the motions of what you are supposed to do when someone gives you this news, but it doesn’t take her long to look worried and confused.