Perfect Wives

by Emma Hannigan

  ‘I’d love to be in a position to be here every day to help the kids start school,’ he said to Francine, as they drove through the gates.

  ‘At least I’m lucky enough to be able to do it at the moment,’ she mused. ‘I’ll tell you what, I’ll wait in the car this morning and let you do the honours.’ She patted his hand.

  ‘Okay, love. See you shortly,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Come on, you lot, let’s be having you.’

  ‘Cameron, do you want to go with Daddy and say goodbye to your brothers and sister?’ Francine asked. ‘You’re not going into school today. You’re coming to the meeting with Daddy and me.’

  ‘Really?’ he said. ‘To work?’

  ‘Sort of,’ Francine said.

  ‘Wow! Can I go and tell Mr Matthews I can’t come to school today?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s a good plan,’ Francine said, winking at Carl. She was delighted Carl was saving her from having to explain why they were both there. She really wasn’t able for people right now.

  Francine watched Carl as he greeted each person he passed. He was always the same, she mused. Happy-go-lucky and ready to see the positive side of life. He’d been like that since the day she’d met and fallen in love with him.

  None of the other husbands at school were like him. They barely grunted when she addressed them and looked as if it was penance to have to interact with their kids. Carl was a marvel and she adored him. She just hoped he’d cope with the assessment business.

  Before long she spotted him emerging from the school, holding Cameron’s hand. At the same time Jane pulled up in her car. All the doors opened and she and her children spilled out. Sinking down into the passenger seat, Francine hoped to God Jane wouldn’t spot her. Glancing at her watch, she tutted. Jane would be late for her own funeral. She was so disorganised that Francine was amazed she got anything done.

  ‘Hello, Carl,’ Jane said, stumbling past him. ‘What brings you up here at this time of the day?’

  ‘Francine and I have a few bits to do, so I’m helping her with the drop-off today,’ he said. ‘I love the bit of banter and to see the kids in their classes,’ he added.

  ‘Are you having a day off, Cameron?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m going to work with my dad today,’ he said proudly.

  Francine heaved a sigh of relief at his answer.

  ‘Really?’ Jane looked puzzled. ‘Well, sorry I can’t stop but I’m late as it is. You know yourself!’

  Francine willed Carl and Cameron to hurry back to the car so they could get away before anyone else saw them and asked awkward questions.

  ‘Morning, Carl – seems it’s the fathers’ school-run day,’ another man said, raising his eyes to heaven.

  ‘Ah, sure isn’t it grand to be here every now and again?’ Carl answered cheerfully. As a conversation about the local GAA club ensued, Francine began to panic. Come on, Carl, she thought. Let’s go!

  It was Sod’s Law that Andrea ambled up to the car. She was standing so close to the driver’s door she was almost brushing the wing mirror. Francine realised the other woman was so busy chatting on her phone that she hadn’t noticed her. Suddenly Andrea’s face froze as she spotted Carl.

  ‘Shit! I wish I could hide,’ she said, into the mobile phone. ‘I’ve just spotted Carl Hennessy coming towards me. I can’t deal with him at this hour of the morning. I was just about to go back into the school to hand in a letter to a teacher, but I’ll wait and do it at collection time. Ugh! He’s such an old woman, he’ll have me snared now, nattering on about nothing for ten minutes. My John dives into pot plants and contorts himself into tiny spaces to avoid him.’

  Francine’s blood ran cold as she was forced to hear the damning conversation.

  ‘I know you’re right,’ Andrea continued. ‘He’s very nice and all that but, Christ, he can waffle on. He’s like Ned Flanders from The Simpsons. Imagine being married to him. I’d stab him after a week.’ Andrea’s shrill laugh made Francine want to thump her.

  ‘Ah, I know you’re right, of course. He’s not a bad egg, really. In fact, I’m probably just jealous. I’m always wishing my fella would take more of an interest in me and the kids,’ Andrea confessed. ‘John probably wouldn’t be able to pick out our kids in a line-up.’ Andrea giggled. ‘Ah, well, better the devil you know. I give out about my John at times but I can’t say I’d want Mr Happy Clappy waving and being so enthusiastic all the time either. Listen, he’s just here now. I’ll go. Bye.’

  Poor unsuspecting Carl bounded over to Andrea. Don’t even say hello to that bitch, Francine fumed.

  ‘Morning! You’re running late! Chop-chop,’ he joked.

  ‘Ha! Right! I was actually just about to drop something in to the teacher. Mine are settled already, if you must know,’ Andrea said, with a false laugh.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Carl said good-naturedly. ‘Sorry to be rude but I can’t stop and chat – we’re in a bit of a rush this morning. Francine is waiting in the car there, so we’d better press on.’

  As Cameron and Carl opened the doors to get in, Andrea stooped to lock eyes with Francine. The colour drained from her cheeks and her hand flew to her mouth.

  ‘Morning, Andrea,’ Francine managed. She could have hurled abuse but the look of horror on her supposed friend’s face was punishment enough for now. Francine wasn’t going to stoop to her level.

  ‘Francine!’ Andrea croaked, in a strangled voice. ‘I didn’t see you there.’

  ‘I thought not,’ she answered calmly. ‘Let’s go, darling,’ she said to Carl, as he started the car. He slammed his door and they drove away.

  ‘What happened there?’ Carl glanced at her. ‘Did you two have a row or something?’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ Francine said. ‘Andrea has a habit of shooting her mouth off and she’s got herself into hot water again.’

  ‘She’s her own worst enemy at times but pretty harmless, I reckon,’ Carl said.

  ‘I used to think so too, but it seems there’s a green-eyed-monster lurking in her head.’

  ‘Really? What makes you say that?’ Carl asked.

  ‘Just a hunch.’

  Inwardly Francine was stumped. How could Andrea say such nasty things about Carl? At least he chatted and made an effort. Her husband, John, stood with his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor all the time. When he did speak it was only about soccer, whether you were interested or not.

  Francine took a deep, cleansing breath and tried to push Andrea’s unkind words from her mind. She loved Carl and wouldn’t change a single hair on his head. She’d die if he started behaving like some of the other fathers. Most of them only came to the school if their wives were either in hospital, dead or away on business. Even then they ignored most people.

  Nights out were different, of course. The men could have a few beers and congregate in a corner to talk about sport and the recession.

  Anyway, Francine had no time to worry about Andrea; she needed to focus on Cameron.

  ‘All good?’ Carl asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Francine said, slightly too quickly.

  ‘It’ll be fine, love,’ Carl said. ‘I know this is all very emotionally charged and it’s more than a little scary, but we’ll get through it together, right?’

  At that moment, not only did Francine not care what Andrea thought, she pitied her. If she thought Carl’s friendly and open nature was something to be ridiculed, so be it. She was entitled to her opinion. But Francine wouldn’t swap him for anyone.

  ‘We’re going to see a lady called Nuala now, Cameron,’ Carl explained.

  ‘Who is she and will she be cross?’ Cameron wondered.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Carl said. ‘She’s going to have a little chat with you and me and Mum. She’s a special lady who organises meetings where parents and children can have a chat about how they feel.’

  ‘Will I have to do any writing? We’ve only done a little bit with Mr Matthews. Will I have lots of homework like Cara? Will I be able to get
a biscuit? Can I leave if I’m bored?’

  Francine answered his questions one by one.

  ‘But I don’t want to go,’ Cameron said. ‘It mightn’t be any fun.’

  ‘It’ll be just like coming to work with me for the day,’ Carl insisted. ‘I might even have to bring you for hot chocolate and cake afterwards,’ he added. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I suppose,’ Cameron said, taking the bait. ‘Why aren’t Craig and Conor and Cara going too?’

  ‘Because it’s a special meeting just for us,’ Carl said. ‘How lucky are you?’

  By the time they pulled up at the office building, Francine had butterflies in her tummy.

  ‘Let’s go! Here we are,’ Carl said cheerfully.

  Francine loved him even more. She could always count on him to bolster everyone up. Feck Andrea, she thought viciously.

  The woman at the reception desk told them to take the lift to the second floor and Nuala’s office was straight ahead.

  As they huddled in the small, neat waiting room, Cameron immediately ran towards the selection of toys housed in an old-fashioned trunk in a corner.

  Moments later the door opened and a small dumpy woman with round wire glasses and grey curls smiled at them. ‘Hello, everybody, I’m Nuala. Would you like to come in?’

  ‘You look very like Mrs Claus except you don’t have your red and white outfit on,’ Cameron said.

  Francine nearly died of mortification. ‘Cameron, don’t be rude to Nuala.’

  ‘That’s not rude at all.’ Nuala laughed. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Mrs Claus is one of the most adored people in the world!’

  ‘After her husband, Santa,’ Cameron said, as he walked into the larger, brighter room. ‘Ooh, you have much more stuff in here,’ he said. ‘I hate painting, though, so please don’t ask me to do that.’ He eyeballed the oversized easel in the corner with huge sheets of paper attached.

  ‘Cameron!’ Francine and Carl said in unison.

  ‘That’s okay,’ Nuala said calmly. ‘Some children love art so they draw great big pictures when they come here. But you don’t have to do that, Cameron, unless you feel like it.’

  Cameron ran straight for a box filled with trains and pieces of track. ‘May I play with this?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Sure.’ Nuala smiled at him. ‘I’m going to ask my friend Tracey to come in and play with you while Mum, Dad and I go into this room.’ Nuala pointed to another door. ‘Would that be okay with you?’

  ‘Yup,’ Cameron said, as he emptied the box onto the floor.

  Tracey turned out to be a younger, wide-eyed girl with bright red skinny jeans and a Hollister hoodie.

  ‘You have blue hair!’ Cameron said delightedly.

  ‘Isn’t it cool?’ Tracey grinned.

  ‘Did God give you that hair or did you colour it with a marker?’

  ‘I used special hair dye. It’s a good blue, though, isn’t it? Not too like Marge Simpson!’

  Cameron giggled. ‘You’re funny!’

  Francine was the last to follow into the conference room. ‘Behave like a good boy, won’t you?’ she warned.

  ‘Bye, Mum,’ Cameron said, without looking at her.

  Nuala was fantastic. She asked lots of questions, but they were all gently put, not accusing.

  ‘Tell me about an incident where you felt Cameron was out of control,’ she said.

  ‘How long have you got?’ Francine said. Her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I can see you’re finding this very emotional. That’s okay. Take your time. I’m not here to judge you or your son,’ Nuala reassured her. ‘I only want to try to help.’

  Once Francine began to talk she couldn’t stop. She told Carl and Nuala numerous stories of Cameron’s antics.

  ‘I had no idea he’d got so out of control,’ Carl whispered.

  ‘It’s been a nightmare,’ Francine concluded.

  ‘I have a clear picture of your experience, Francine. Carl, you seem stunned. Does Cameron not behave this way with you?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ Carl began. ‘Sure I’ve seen him act up and he’s certainly a feisty little fella, but I guess I’ve been choosing to ignore a lot of it, if I’m honest. I always like to look at the bright side of things.’ He chuckled. ‘It works with a lot of situations, you know. Positive output equals positive feedback!’

  ‘So you accept that the incidents Francine has described could be happening on a more regular basis than you’d imagined?’ Nuala asked.

  ‘Sure,’ Carl said, taking Francine’s hand. ‘This is one of the best women you’ll ever have the pleasure of meeting. All our other children are a breeze – not to say they don’t have their moments, of course, but all in all they’re tickety-boo. Francine is a superb mother and I feel dreadful that things have become so sticky. So I’m all on for fixing it.’

  Nuala smiled. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath. ‘Right so. First, Cameron isn’t a broken toy car, so we aren’t going to be able to put him up on the table and mend him in the space of an hour,’ she said firmly. ‘I’d like to have an observational session with him now, if it’s all right with both of you?’

  ‘Okay,’ Francine said, looking nervous.

  ‘Okily-dokily. That sounds like a good plan,’ Carl agreed.

  Francine shot him a glance. So that was why Andrea had said he was like Ned Flanders.

  As they all filed back into the main room, Cameron was engrossed in setting up knights on a large wooden castle with Tracey.

  ‘Look what we’re doing,’ he shouted. ‘Tracey knows how to do battles – there’s horses and the men sit on them and we’re going to attack the castle. The soldiers are all hiding in here because the wicked king has kept them in the basement!’

  ‘Wowzers!’ Carl said. ‘That looks like a seriously brilliant game. Listen, buddy, Mum and I are going for a coffee and you’ll stay here and play for another little bit. That okay with you?’

  ‘Are you going too, Mum?’ Cameron asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Francine said, feeling sad suddenly. She wanted to get to the bottom of the naughty behaviour, but as she gazed at her little boy she felt an urge to scoop him up into her arms and run away. He was so small and innocent as he stared up at her for reassurance.

  ‘You said you wouldn’t leave me here,’ he stated. ‘And, Dad, you promised we could have cake and hot chocolate.’

  ‘Yes, I did, and we will. But first we need you to have a little minute with Nuala,’ Carl said.

  ‘I won’t break my promise either,’ Francine assured him. ‘So I’ll wait in the corridor just here.’

  ‘Ah, no, it’s really fun here with Tracey and the castle. You and Dad can go and have a cappuccino. Ask for lots of chocolate on top. I usually get a teaspoon and gobble it all up!’ Cameron said, as he smiled at Nuala.

  ‘I love that bit too!’ she said, grinning. ‘I promise it won’t take too long here and then you can have your treat. Is that a deal?’ she asked, with her hand in the air.

  ‘Deal,’ Cameron said, instantly jumping up to reward Nuala with a high five. Then he ran to his mother. ‘Bye-bye,’ he said, hugging her.

  ‘Bye, sweetheart.’ She was trying not to look as distressed as she felt.

  ‘I’ll look after him,’ Nuala whispered, as they retreated.

  ‘Do you think Cameron hates me?’ Francine asked, as they walked across the road to a nearby café.

  ‘God, no!’ Carl said, looking puzzled. ‘Why do you ask that?’

  ‘We promised on the way here that we wouldn’t leave him by himself and now we’ve gone back on our word,’ Francine fretted.

  ‘But he was happy to stay, and you explained that we’d be back. You even offered to stay and he was fine,’ Carl answered.

  ‘I suppose.’ Francine tried to look as if she was comfortable with the set-up. She felt immeasurably ashamed that they’d ended up in a psychologist’s office. More than that, she felt so guilty that her little son w
as such a mess.

  As Carl stood in the queue, she found a table and sat down. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to sit straight without hunching her shoulders. This was surreal. She thought she’d done everything right. She’d put her heart and soul into making sure their house was well run, that the children ate nutritious food and had lots of friends to play with. The list of extracurricular activities they attended was well-thought-out and she felt they were offered the best opportunities in life.

  Cara did ballet, horse riding, drama, hockey, athletics and swimming. The two older boys did athletics and swimming at the same club, with rugby, soccer and golf. Every Thursday evening they all had a piano lesson. On the first Saturday of the month a French student came to speak to them for half an hour. Francine had read all the theories on multilingual skills. If children were immersed in foreign languages from an early age, they would have a natural aptitude for them in later life.

  Cara had the book club and all the children had limited access to television and computer games. At least one evening a week she and Carl played a board game, like Scrabble or Monopoly, with them. Every Sunday after mass and before their roast dinner, they’d go for a bracing walk either by the sea or, if it was wet, to the woods.

  How had Cameron slipped through her carefully woven net? Francine was certain that was what had happened. She was his mother. She should have realised he was heading in the wrong direction. Her conversation with Annie came back to her. That poor woman had done her best. She’d managed to mind the other three and they were all fine, so there was no way she could even consider laying the blame at Annie’s feet. He’d been in school only a wet week, so Mr Matthews wasn’t to blame. All this rude and unruly behaviour had to be her fault.

  ‘Here we go! I decided to go all out and treated us to a slice of carrot cake and a piece of double chocolate fudge,’ Carl said, laughing. ‘We can share and compare!’

  Francine wished she felt even a shred of the relaxed confidence her husband was displaying. As she saw it, she’d made such a mess of raising Cameron that the last thing Carl needed was to have elevenses with a sourpuss. She forced herself to smile and chat in a bubbly way about the cake. ‘While I like the carrot one I think my recipe is moister. It’s a lovely treat, though, thank you, darling,’ she chirped.