Bad Mother's Detox - a Romantic Comedy: Funny Romance (Bad Mother's Romance Book 2)

by Suzy K Quinn

  I said, ‘Head of Training? What’s that?’

  Hari said it was an exciting opportunity, with a solid baseline pay and excellent bonus structure – including a free cinema ticket and standard-sized Starbuck’s drink ‘each and every week’.

  ‘You won’t ask me to wear a neon tabard and harass strangers for money, will you?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course not!’ Hari laughed. ‘The streets are a young person’s game. You’ll stay in the office with me and manage the new recruits. We have a high turnover here. Street monkeys leave every day, so we need new faces. That’ll be part of your job. Bringing in the new faces.’

  ‘In what way?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s not difficult,’ said Hari. ‘Just never use the word “begging”.’

  I don’t have a good feeling about my new boss.

  Alan Bender wanted to do something good for the world.

  Something tells me Hari doesn’t share those values. Although I’ll admit I’m pretty happy about the free Starbucks.

  Got home at gone seven, due to train delays.

  Thought Daisy would be upset when I got back, but she was fine.

  She’d had a great afternoon with mum, eating nearly-out-of-date crisps and playing with the pub optics.

  Tuesday 31st January

  Alex phoned again to see how I am.

  He’s STILL in Dubai, but says he’ll try and cut the trip short so we can see each other.

  Told him about Give a Damn.

  ‘If you needed a job, why didn’t you say so?’ Alex said. ‘There’s a new position opening up in my Chelsea office. Events manager. Part-time. You’d be perfect.’

  ‘Most people would say congratulations,’ I said.

  ‘Then most people wouldn’t have listened correctly,’ said Alex. ‘Because quite clearly, you’re starting a job you don’t want.’

  Alex can be quite perceptive at times.

  ‘It’s okay for the time being,’ I insisted. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t work for you. It would be weird.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have to work at all,’ said Alex. ‘Not now you’re a mother.’

  I laughed. ‘Welcome to the twentieth century, Alex.’

  ‘It’s the twenty-first century, Juliette. And whatever century it is, a man should be responsible for his children.’

  ‘You have met Nick, haven’t you?’ I said. ‘When it comes to being a responsible adult he falls well short.’

  Alex was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘Have you seen him again? I find it extremely difficult when you see him.’

  ‘I know, Alex,’ I said. ‘But Nick is just someone you’ll have to accept.’

  Wednesday 1st February

  I’m having mum guilt about work.

  Told Dad today how awful it felt leaving Daisy for the job interview. Like a part of my body was missing.

  ‘I’ll have to do that three times a week from now on,’ I said.

  ‘I know exactly how you feel,’ said Dad, who’d just come back from his allotment and was hanging up his bobble hat. ‘It was the same when you were growing up. You don’t want to miss a moment, do you?’

  ‘Dad,’ I said. ‘What happened to your hair? You look like a scarecrow.’

  ‘New Year’s resolution,’ said Dad, admiring his badly chopped brown-grey hair in the hall mirror. ‘I’m cutting it myself to save a fortune at the barbers.’

  I wish I could say I didn’t want to miss a moment of Daisy. But actually, there are some moments I’d be happy to miss. Daisy threw up on my face yesterday.

  Alex didn’t call today. I get the feeling he’s angry about our Nick discussion.

  I miss him. Will it always be like this?

  Thursday 2nd February

  Alex surprised me at St Pancras station on the way to work this morning.

  I was running past the Meeting Place statue with a hot coffee in one hand and croissant in the other, when I heard someone call out:

  ‘Slow down, Juliette, you’re spilling your coffee.’

  I turned around, and there was Alex – hands in his suit pockets, smiling with his dark brown eyes, but not his mouth.

  It was good to see him. And very romantic too, by a statue of two travellers embracing.

  ‘Did you wait by this statue on purpose?’ I asked, smiling.

  ‘Which statue?’ said Alex.

  ‘This statue,’ I said, gesturing to the metal man and woman, caught in a passionate clinch.

  Alex turned. ‘This statue? You mean the Meeting Place statue? No I most certainly didn’t wait here on purpose. I’ve actually complained about this statue before. It’s nauseating.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I said. ‘Two travellers meeting after being apart.’

  ‘It’s sentimental nonsense and everything art shouldn’t be,’ said Alex. He looked up. ‘That piece up there – that’s art.’

  I followed his gaze. ‘It’s a clock.’

  ‘No. The black clock is a work of art by Cornelia Parker. A reflection about time, reminding us to live in the moment. Hang on to every precious second. Like the precious seconds we’ve spent together. Which I treasure.’

  ‘You don’t strike me as a live in the moment sort of man,’ I observed. ‘More like plan every second.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I know about moments.’ Alex gave me that intense stare of his. ‘I’ve missed you. You know that, don’t you? Not being able to see you … to make sure you’re okay … it’s been hard. Are you ready for your first day back at work?’

  ‘Not in the slightest,’ I admitted.

  Alex escorted me downstairs, past cafés and a pianist playing, ‘The Entertainer’.

  ‘Christ, he’s massacring that,’ said Alex.

  ‘Could you do better?’ I asked.

  ‘I should hope so. I used to play for the National Youth Orchestra.’

  A typical Alex response.

  ‘Can you play the theme from Game of Thrones?’ I asked.

  ‘Four notes, repeated? I think I could manage it.’

  ‘What about “Somewhere Only We Know” by Keane?’

  ‘Yes. But I wouldn’t.’

  ‘What about—’

  ‘I don’t do song requests.’

  When we reached my workplace, Alex was all frowns again.

  ‘You work here?’ he said, looking over the electric-blue walls.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It looks bloody awful.’

  ‘Just because it’s not part of London’s regal past, doesn’t mean it’s not a nice place to work,’ I insisted.

  ‘You make some interesting choices, Juliette,’ said Alex. Then he kissed my forehead and said, ‘I’ll meet you after work.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I have to get back for Daisy.’

  Alex’s expression darkened. ‘Are you meeting Nick Spencer?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Alex, you need to stop this. It’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Will you tell me if you meet up with him?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. But as I said it, I thought, Am I really going to do that? Report back to Alex whenever I see Daisy’s dad? That doesn’t sound very healthy …

  ‘I’ll take you to lunch tomorrow,’ Alex said. ‘Will St Pancras do you? I have to catch the Eurostar, mid-afternoon.’

  I said it would do me just fine.

  Then Alex asked about Daisy, and I told him I was worried about her walking.

  ‘She’s cruising,’ I said. ‘But she won’t take a step.’

  ‘Cruising?’ said Alex. ‘Isn’t that something you do in a large car on the American freeway?’

  Friday 3rd February

  First day back at work was … not great.

  Give a Damn doesn’t feel like a charity anymore.

  I mean, yes – some profits do go to charity. But everything is run like a business. There are bonus schemes and shareholders and fabulous prizes for staff who bring in big profits.

  Helping third-world countries is sort of an afterthought.

/>   Hari Khan’s background is in credit card sales, and he thinks asylum seekers are ‘scroungers’.

  My shifts are all over the place too, and I have to work bank holidays.

  ‘Can’t I just do the same days each week?’ I asked Hari.

  But he said no. Apparently, recruitment is ‘unpredictable’ on the Street Collection Team. Meaning you never know who’ll quit and when.

  On the positive side, I did manage a nice lunch with Alex before he left for Paris.

  We met at St Pancras, and ate at an expensive salad bar.

  Alex took my hands over the table and said, ‘I feel very protective of you. And Daisy.’

  It was just like that scene in Twilight, when Edward says more or less the same thing to Bella. Minus the child reference.

  Would have been a lovely, romantic moment, except an old lady behind us shouted, ‘It’s a bloody disgrace! Nine quid for a bunch of lettuce leaves.’

  Saturday 4th February

  Brandi has bought a huge flat screen TV for her bedroom.

  Why do people keep giving her credit?

  Probably flirtation has something to do with it. My little sister is extremely appealing to the wrong sort of man, with her spray tan, fake eyelashes and acres of blonde hair extensions.

  Since starting her beauty course, Brandi looks more like Barbie every term. Albeit a Barbie with heavily pencilled eyebrows.

  The new TV covers half of one wall, and can be seen flashing away from the village play park. It’s extremely loud too, which adds something else to my long list of reasons to move out.

  Brandi is delighted with the TV and so, of course, is little Callum.

  His favourite thing is trying to kick Power Rangers in real life.

  Game of Thrones is now absolutely terrifying.

  Was relieved when the final credits came up, and the announcer said, ‘If you’ve been affected by the issues in Game of Thrones, call this number.’

  Brandi snorted, ‘What is that announcer chatting about? Oh yeah – I’ve been affected by Game of Thrones. I just found a White Walker in my garden.’

  Sunday 5th February

  Nana Joan visited the pub today.

  She’d made a dress for Daisy at her Singer sewing club. It was as long as it was wide, and made Daisy look like Mr Strong.

  After a cup of tea and a Blue Riband biscuit, Nana fell asleep on the sofa, sitting upright with her mouth open.

  She looked like she’d been unplugged.

  Monday 6th February

  Went to the sexual health clinic this morning to discuss contraception.

  Things haven’t moved on with Alex and I since New Year’s Eve, but I want to be prepared, contraceptive wise.

  The nurse presented me with some options – a diaphragm, a coil and a vaginal ring.

  Why are all vaginal devices so massive?

  The medical profession seems to think vaginas are large enough to hold a mug of tea.

  When the nurse showed me the digestive-biscuit-sized vaginal ring, I asked, ‘How on earth will that fit around my cervix?’

  ‘Oh, it doesn’t have to fit exactly,’ said the nurse. ‘You just shove it up there.’

  ‘And what about this?’ I asked, picking up the equally large diaphragm.

  ‘You’d be surprised how accommodating the vagina can be,’ said the nurse. ‘It can manage a baby’s head. So theoretically it could fit a watermelon.’

  It’s always fruit, isn’t it?

  I am considering the vaginal ring, but the diaphragm is a definite no. I could imagine Callum using it as a mini trampoline for his action men.

  Tuesday 7th February

  I really miss running. But Dr Slaughter says I should give my ankle a rest this year. It’s still not quite right since I hurt it in the marathon.

  I mean, I can run if I really need to. Which is lucky, because I’d never catch the train otherwise. But I won’t be doing any long-distance jogging for a while.

  I bet Alex still runs every day.

  Maybe we can start running together again next year. On the understanding that it will be purely recreational, and that I am never, ever training for another marathon.

  Wednesday 8th February

  I thought the pub was crowded before, but with John Boy sleeping in the lounge, we’re bursting at the seams.

  Also, all the landings now smell of Lynx deodorant.

  On the positive side, John Boy and Callum are getting on well. They did an assault course together this morning, jumping over the sofas and running up and down the stairs. Then John Boy pulled down the loft ladder and did pull ups from the top step, whilst Callum hung off his feet.

  John Boy has been sensible with Callum and ‘laid down some ground rules’. The key one is ‘don’t punch me in the balls’.

  Thursday 9th February

  Work.

  Tired.

  Friday 10th February

  Ugh.

  Letter from the Family Mediation Council.

  They’ve requested I arrange a MIAM session at my soonest convenience.

  The letter came with an accompanying leaflet, advertising the services of Fiona Skelton – my nearest mediator.

  There were directions to a mediation centre in Great Oakley, which is ironically the church Nick and I nearly married in.

  Under the map were instructions:

  We understand this is a sensitive time, but kindly request no raised voices in the car park either before or after the session.

  Have managed to book in for next week, because Fiona Skelton had a cancellation.

  ‘It will be just you at first,’ Fiona told me, in a dreamy voice. ‘I give women their own session to begin with. That way they can speak freely, without being intimidated or talked down.’

  Assured Fiona that I wasn’t a downtrodden, broken ex-girlfriend, and that Nick was far more scared of me than I was of him.

  Saturday 11th February

  Clarke from Belle Homes told me, over his lunchtime rum and coke, that the Jolly-Piggott family would soon complete on a Great Oakley High Street property.

  It’s a big double-fronted house called the Gables, and has ‘perfect family home’ written all over it.

  I’m guessing Helen is buying the home for Nick and Sadie, and am extremely jealous. Not to mention mortified that they could be living down the road.

  Feel especially bitter, because my own living situation is becoming increasingly difficult.

  The pub feels really crowded.

  Nana came for tea, and there weren’t enough seats.

  Dad was happy to stand, though.

  ‘In our day, sitting was a luxury,’ he informed us. ‘I stood every Christmas day from 1955 to 1969, until your grandad made me a stool from the stair banisters. I counted myself a very lucky boy that year!’

  Sunday 12th February

  Facebook spied on Nick today, to see if I could work out if he’s moving house or not.

  No clues about that, but there were lots of pictures of Horatio.

  Daisy has a stepbrother.

  SUCH a weird thought.

  How on earth is Nick going to handle another baby, when he hardly ever sees his first one? And what on earth makes him think he should have sole residency of Daisy? ALSO, what does Sadie think about him seeking residency? Surely she can’t be happy.

  Baby Horatio does look like Nick – he has the same dramatic eyebrows. But then again, Sadie has slept with a lot of men with dramatic eyebrows.

  So you never know.

  Monday 13th February

  Alex phoned from Paris to wish me an early happy Valentine’s, and invite me for ‘elevenses’ this Wednesday at the Bond Street Dalton.

  Not entirely sure what elevenses are in a hotel setting, but I’m guessing it won’t be a two-finger Kit Kat and a cup of tea, like at Nana’s.

  Am praying Daisy behaves herself.

  She is a liability around china these days.

  Told Alex about the upcoming mediation session w
ith Nick.

  He seemed annoyed. ‘Why don’t you just go to court and be done with it?’

  Explained that’s not how things work these days.

  You must pretend to be civil first, before the courts let you legally beat the hell out of each other.

  Tuesday 14th February

  Valentine’s Day

  Aw … got fifty red roses from Alex, and a four-leaf-clover pendant necklace in a velvet jewellery box.

  The pendant leaves are, according to Nana Joan, solid platinum and set with real diamonds and emeralds.

  None of our family knew the jewellery brand, so it must be very expensive.

  Alex phoned in the afternoon, apologising for not being with me in person.

  Thanked him for the gifts and said, ‘It’s okay that you’re not here. I know you have a business to run.’

  ‘I hate being away from you,’ said Alex. ‘I have nightmares. That something has happened. That you’ve had a car crash or …’ He gave a curt laugh. ‘I dreamt last night that Nick Spencer kidnapped you.’

  ‘Nick isn’t capable of organising a kidnapping,’ I said. ‘And if he ever tried it, I’d break his nose.’

  Alex laughed too. ‘I believe you. I just … my mind plays tricks.’

  ‘Well tell it to stop.’

  ‘Easier said than done. This is new for me, having someone to lose. I mean, obviously I have my family. But this is different. There’s a song, isn’t there? Freedom means having nothing to lose. Now I have something. Well, someone. It’s an adjustment.’

  I found myself smiling at the phone then. ‘You won’t lose me, Alex.’

  ‘Tell that to my subconscious.’

  Wednesday 15th February

  Alex’s driver took Daisy and me into London this morning.

  Very thoughtfully, there was a new child seat in the car. It looked unnaturally clean, but Daisy soon got to work grinding oatcakes into the mesh fabric and making spitty trails on the straps.

  When we arrived at the Bond Street Dalton, Alex was waiting by the revolving doors. He had a bunch of giant daisies in his hand.