by Suzy K Quinn
‘What does Sadie think about that?’
Nick shrugged. ‘She doesn’t like any of my decisions right now. Things are … fragile.’
‘Listen, you understand I’ll accompany Daisy during the visits, don’t you?’ I said. ‘At least at first. She might freak out, otherwise.’
‘I was hoping you’d want to be there,’ said Nick.
‘Stop it, Nick,’ I said. ‘If you get flirty, I’m not signing anything.’
‘Sorry,’ Nick said, pushing up his glasses. ‘Bad habit.’
Then he gathered his team together and had a serious chat about goal setting and positive thinking.
Afternoon
Alex’s secretary just phoned.
She’s made a lunch reservation somewhere called the Chimney House – a Michelin star restaurant just outside Great Oakley.
‘Is there any sort of dress code?’ I asked.
‘It’s a countryside setting,’ she said. ‘So … do you have any Laura Ashley?’
Looked through my wardrobe for suitable ‘lunch with Alex’ dresses.
Have decided on a nice green jumper (clean!), skinny jeans (clean!) and brown riding-type boots.
That’s kind of a countryside look, right?
Tuesday 30th May
Lunch with Alex.
The Chimney House was on the river, surrounded by willow trees.
It was quiet as a library and full of old people clinking wine glasses against false teeth.
Seemed an odd restaurant for Alex to have chosen, especially since the manager was so unhappy to see Daisy.
‘We don’t have the facilities for such a young child, madam,’ he said, accosting me at the door. ‘The child’s age should have been given when making the booking.’
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I can just tie her to a chair with my scarf. She won’t fall off.’
The manager looked horrified. ‘Tie your child to a chair?’
‘Look, I’ll show you.’ I attempted to attach a wiggling Daisy to an upholstered chair with my scarf.
The manager blinked quickly. ‘You cannot … madam I really think … wait, I’ll try to find something more suitable.’
He reappeared with a solid-oak high chair.
While I was trying to get Daisy’s legs through the holes, Alex arrived.
He was smart as always and unsmiling, casting his eyes around the restaurant.
‘Juliette,’ he said, when he saw me. ‘Why have they put you at this table? We’re over there. Anya is here already.’
He pointed across the restaurant, and my smile froze. I then understood why he’d chosen such an old-lady place to eat.
Catrina Dalton sat at a window table, smiling at her reflection in the glass, white-blonde hair in a shiny French pleat.
She wore a black cocktail dress with shoulder pads, and glittered with diamonds. It’s true what they say about fashion – if you hold on long enough, it all comes around again.
‘We’re having lunch with your mother?’ I said, hoping I didn’t sound as horrified as I felt.
‘Didn’t my secretary tell you?’ said Alex. ‘I asked Anya to join us.’
I should have said, ‘How delightful that your mother is here!’ But all I could manage was a flat, ‘Your secretary didn’t tell me.’
‘Anya’s not been well recently, Juliette,’ said Alex, pointedly. ‘I know she can be difficult, but she’s still my mother.’
Alex asked for the high chair to be moved, then led us to Catrina’s table.
‘Anya.’ Alex stooped to kiss Catrina’s taut, white cheek.
‘Alex, darling.’ Catrina tugged at his sleeve. ‘Don’t you look handsome.’
‘How are you?’ Alex asked.
‘I am sad today darling. Carlos is being difficult. These young boys don’t know how to be gentlemen.’
Catrina noticed me then, pinched nose twitching, brown-green eyes flitting between my face and outfit. ‘Who is zis?’
‘This is Juliette,’ said Alex. ‘You’ve met her before. And her daughter. At Westminster Cathedral. Remember? I’ve told you about Juliette many times.’
Catrina’s eyes went faraway, as if searching for a distant memory.
‘Nice to see you again,’ I said, pushing Daisy’s high chair up to the table.
‘Juliette is Laura Duffy’s sister,’ said Alex, pulling out my chair. ‘And this is her daughter, Daisy. She reminds me of Jemima at that age. Don’t you think?’
Catrina gave a passing waiter a dazzling smile. ‘A Martini, Tony. VERY cold.’
‘How are you?’ I asked. ‘Alex said you haven’t been feeling well.’
Catrina gave me a film-star smile. ‘Zank you darling. I am love sick more than anything else. My heart is broken when I am alone.’
‘I didn’t realise Carlos would be away,’ said Alex. ‘You should have told me.’
Catrina waved a dismissive hand. ‘I’m too busy to call people. Alex, why do I bother with all this charity? Nobody appreciates it, and nothing is glamorous anymore. Nobody dresses like they used to.’ Then she put diamond-ringed fingers over mine and said, ‘My son will never marry you, you know.’
I gave a shocked laugh.
‘Anya.’ Alex frowned.
‘I’m only trying to help the girl,’ said Catrina. ‘What’s her name … Juliette? Didn’t you say she wasn’t marriage material?’
I turned to Alex. ‘Did you say that?’
‘I said some aspects of your life were … undesirable,’ said Alex. ‘Nick Spencer being the key undesirable.’
‘You said I wasn’t marriage material?’
‘Men can be very insensitive when it comes to marriage,’ said Catrina. ‘They don’t understand what it means to a woman. But I understand. You want the fairy tale, of course. But Alex will never be your handsome prince.’
‘Anya.’ Alex’s voice was thunderous. ‘You’re on dangerous ground.’
Catrina squeezed my hand. ‘My heart has broken a thousand times. But still I keep looking for love. No matter what, keep looking.’ She fixed me with earnest, sparkling eyes.
Then she sprung back and took a sip of the Martini that had been placed by her elbow. ‘Vell. Tell me all the news, Alex. I want to hear all about your father’s latest acquisition. And I don’t mean in business. This new girlfriend of his …’
‘Do you know what?’ I said, dropping my napkin on the plate. ‘I’d rather eat at home.’
‘Juliette.’ Alex looked at me meaningfully. ‘Sit down. Please. My mother is … this is my mother.’
‘Isn’t anyone going to ask me about my new necklace?’ Catrina asked. ‘Carlos bought it.’
I stood up then, unthreading Daisy’s chubby legs from the high chair.
‘I bloody well am marriage material,’ I told Alex. ‘And I would never talk about you like that to my parents. Daisy. Say bye bye.’
‘BYE BYE!’ Daisy shouted, grabbing two crisp white rolls from the breadbasket. She stuffed one roll into her mouth, and threw the other at an elderly female diner.
I manhandled Daisy out of the restaurant, as she shouted, ‘Did POO Mummy. Did POO!’
She certainly picks her moments.
As I was changing Daisy’s nappy on the car seat, I thought Alex might come out after me.
But he didn’t.
Feel so hurt.
Marriage isn’t the be all and end all to me, but that’s not the point.
If Alex doesn’t think I’m good enough to marry, then this is a waste of time.
I just have to eat lots of cake and get over it.
Wednesday 31st May
I’ve been ignoring Alex’s calls – ten of them since lunch yesterday.
We have nothing more to say to each other.
Laura had an antenatal visit today.
She didn’t go to the doctors, like I did. Instead, a private maternity specialist visited her in Bloomsbury, where she’s now living with Zach.
Daisy wasn’t too bad on the train up t
o London. Although a lot of travellers moved to the other carriage.
God – the big city feels so cutthroat when you have kids. I mean, people literally trample over you to get where they’re going.
I had to form a barricade, threatening people with the chunky Maclaren wheels so Daisy could stumble up the underground steps by herself.
Part of me considered texting Nick to tell him Daisy and I were in London, but I decided against it. Daisy would be a nightmare around rattling buckets of money.
It’s a whole new world to me – Nick and I being civil to each other.
Meeting Laura and Zach at their Bloomsbury townhouse was like visiting the pages of Hello magazine.
The couple stood on the doorstep to greet us – Zach, tall, blond and ruddy cheeked; Laura with gleaming skin and shiny hair.
Zach gave Daisy a fluffy Steiff teddy bear with a giant silk bow, then welcomed us inside.
I bumped Daisy’s pram up the stone steps, swearing when the Maclaren wheels caught under the overhangs (bloody Victorians – they had prams back then, surely they knew to design better steps?), and smiling apologetically at the solicitors in the basement office below.
In the gleaming kitchen, Laura served homemade wheatgrass cookies. She apologised about the bitter aftertaste but, like she said, my insides will thank me.
Zach put a proud arm around Laura’s shoulder and said, ‘I hope you’ll forgive this unplanned pregnancy. I would have liked to do things properly – marriage first and all that – but I have to tell you I feel like the luckiest man alive.’
Zach doesn’t need to defend himself to me. Nick and I weren’t even engaged when Daisy was born. At least Zach has been decent enough to shove a ring on Laura’s finger.
Private health care is a world away from the NHS.
For a start, the maternity specialist turned up on time. She also sprayed the room with lavender oil, and gave Laura a light head massage to relax her for the appointment.
After a detailed log of Laura’s diet and daily activities, the specialist administered twenty different tests, including one for vitamin deficiency and blood platelet count. Then she gave Laura a sack of expensive organic vitamins to take, and signed her up for a full-body pregnancy massage.
I remember my first NHS pre-natal visit.
The midwife asked if I was pregnant.
I said yes.
She said I should ‘avoid cigarettes, alcohol and blue cheese if possible, or at least cut down’. Then she told me to drink a bottle of Lucozade before my next appointment for glucose-testing purposes.
And I had to buy my own Lucozade.
Was desperate to ask Zach about Alex, but resisted.
Not marriage material!
How dare he.
Thursday 1st June
Brandi’s birthday.
Don’t have much disposable income right now due to impending house move, so bought Brandi a trio of nail polish in fluorescent shades and a box of Maltesers.
Brandi was delighted – much more so than when I buy her those expensive pampering products.
At breakfast, Brandi announced (whilst eating Maltesers) that she would be heading into London with some single-mum friends and would be back very late.
Nana Joan, who’d travelled over on her electric wheelchair to see the birthday girl, said, ‘Well if Brandi’s off out with her friends, will someone take me shopping?’
At Nana’s time of life, her social life revolves around funerals, and she needed a new mourning dress.
Took Nana to Debenhams, and steered her towards conservative outfits, but she refused all of them, saying, ‘Blondes should never wear black.’
In the end, Nana chose a peacock-blue prom dress with a lace panel over the cleavage, rainbow-feather fascinator and four-inch red heels. Then she popped into the hairdressers for ‘a bit of a do before the big day’.
When I picked Nana up a few hours later, she had waist-length curly blonde hair extensions.
Nana loved her new look, throwing her hair extensions from one shoulder to the other.
‘They’ve taken ten years off me, don’t you think?’ she asked.
I lied and said yes.
It would have been cruel to say she looked like Dog the Bounty Hunter.
Have just realised that sometime THIS month I will be the proud owner of Station Cottage.
Good news, after all this Alex stuff.
Onwards and upwards.
Friday 2nd June
Weird day.
Got a phone call from Sadie, whilst playing hide and seek with Daisy.
It was a short game, because Daisy thinks if she closes her eyes no one can see her.
When I saw Sadie’s number flashing on the screen, I thought, She’s found out about Nick seeking residency. She’s going to demand the truth, and frankly I think she deserves to know – for Horatio’s sake, if anything.
Foolishly picked up the phone.
Sadie was in hysterics. ‘Jules! I can’t cope anymore. I’m in old person countryside hell. Nick’s Mum is round all the time. If she brings another wooden duck ornament into our living room, I’m going to scream. I really need someone to talk to. Please, Jules. I’m so lonely.’
It was the phone call I deserved last year, when Nick and Sadie moved in together. I should have felt tremendously smug. But all I could think about was poor Horatio.
‘You need to find another friend,’ I told Sadie. ‘And try not to steal their boyfriend this time.’
‘I can’t make friends here,’ Sadie sobbed. ‘I tried the playgroup, but it smelt like old people. They didn’t even serve real coffee. And some little kid filled my handbag with dried macaroni.’
‘I can’t help you, Sadie,’ I told her. ‘You broke all the rules of friendship. You’re on your own.’
Hung up. Then had a bit of a moment, wondering if I should go round for Horatio’s sake.
Sadie did sound on the edge.
In the end, I phoned Nick.
‘Sadie needs you,’ I told him. ‘She’s having a meltdown.’
Nick’s response was casual. ‘She’s always having a meltdown.’
‘I think this is pretty serious,’ I insisted. ‘She phoned me.’
Silence.
Then Nick said, ‘Fucking hell, I’d better get round there. Hold the espresso mate.’
Saturday 3rd June
Literally counting down the days now until the Station Cottage sale completes.
According to the solicitors, there are a few admin bits to do, but we’re basically good to go. Everything is fine on the seller’s side too.
Woo woo!
Sunday 4th June
Laura’s second scan tomorrow.
I remember seeing Daisy for the first time, via ultrasound.
It was a bit of a let-down – just a blurry white blob with a giant alien head.
Laura’s scan is at the same private hospital where Madonna had baby Rocco.
Apparently, they have a wine list and resident chef.
Laura has already been emailed tomorrow’s menu, which includes Cromer crab and samphire dumplings.
Monday 5th June
Travelled into London for Laura’s scan.
Zach was in tears before we’d even got into the ultrasound room.
‘Our baby will be the size of a grape now,’ he told Laura, reading the leather-bound literature.
It’s ALWAYS fruit, isn’t it?
Zach burst into tears when my blobby niece/nephew appeared on the ultrasound screen.
He kissed Laura’s hand and said, ‘Well done, darling,’ over and over.
Nick and I had to wait an hour for our first ultrasound, in a litter-strewn waiting room by a sign that said:
‘We would like to remind expectant parents that this is a medical procedure, NOT a celebration.
You may get bad news.
No extended family members or buffet food please.’
Once again, I resisted asking Zach about Alex.
Alex has called loads, but I don’t answer.
If I’m not good enough to marry, what does he need to talk about anyway?
Tuesday 6th June
Fucking hell.
Give a Damn has been closed down, pending an HMRC investigation.
Arrived at work this morning to find the building locked up and all the staff outside, staring forlornly at the electric-blue walls.
No one knows where Hari is.
I thought Nick would be f-ing and blinding, being a drama queen as usual. But he was comforting his team, and rallying everyone for an emergency Starbucks meeting.
I asked Lloyd about pay cheques, and he snorted, ‘Pigs might fly.’
Phoned the mortgage company on the way home to tentatively enquire about the employment documents, and how urgently they were needed.
The mortgage company told me very urgently, as the mortgage couldn’t go through without them.
Asked what would happen if I changed my job.
The mortgage company said a change of job could cause the mortgage application to fail, especially if I took a job on an oilrig or as a bicycle courier.
‘Can’t you just hold off changing jobs until the application is finished?’ the mortgage girl asked.
‘Thanks for your time!’ I said brightly, and hung up.
Got back to the pub, cuddled Daisy, had a bit of a cry, then started applying for jobs.
Very worried about the mortgage. It all hinges on proof of income. So, if I don’t have any income …
Wednesday 7th June
Spent the day dragging Daisy from temp agency to temp agency, begging for employment. But no one was hiring.
Temp agencies are predominantly staffed by icy blonde twenty-somethings who look down their long, pointy noses at you, make you fill out twenty-page application forms, then tell you they don’t have any jobs.
I think having a toddler with me wasn’t a good move, especially when I had to pull paperclips out of Daisy’s mouth. But Mum and Dad were both working, and Brandi was doing her course.
I did consider asking Nick for help, but a quick Facebook spy told me he was out with Sadie, walking around the Tate Modern looking miserable and taking selfies.