51 Weeks

by Julia Myerscough

  Bea is a key player in this challenge. I brief her on her role and invite her round to watch the movie with us. “Now remember,” I say, over a coffee, “You will live under my roof for twenty-four hours and shadow Pippa twenty-four seven. Unless she’s doing something downright dangerous or illegal, you must not butt in – oh, except for when she’s having a wee – you know, stuff like that.”

  Bea’s eyes light up. “God, Amy – I just love it!” she says excitedly. “How do I deal with a credit card situation?”

  “I have transferred two hundred pounds onto her debit card. She can’t go overdrawn with that, and if she does use it all up and tries to spend more, well, that’s a valuable life lesson, isn’t it?” I laugh. “She has to learn that money doesn’t grow on trees.” My eyes crinkle with mirth as the full implication of this challenge hits me. “I don’t know how Geoff will take it, though?”

  “I take it that the novelty of your year is wearing off? Never mind, pet. You leave Geoff to me, and stay strong.”

  Late that afternoon, while Geoff is at Bob’s, Pippa and Evie are made to watch the movie with Bea and me. Bea’s sworn them to secrecy until all the arrangements are in place because she’s sure that the instant Geoff knows what’s in store, he’ll do everything in his power to scupper the challenge.

  Pippa’s chuffed to bits that she’s going to take centre stage. As I pass the study on my way downstairs, I overhear her nattering away on Skype. “I’m going to be Mum for a whole day… eat what I like… go shopping… watch crap TV… get my hair and nails done… yeah… forgot about a facial… might have her credit cards…”

  Monday evening.

  Geoff, Evie, Bea and I finalise the challenge, which officially begins tomorrow night. Geoff is particularly belligerent. “I would never have agreed to this if you’d bothered to ask me first. You’ve been uncompliant within the terms of our marriage agreement again, Amy.”

  Bea tsk-tsks. “Amy didn’t say anything earlier, Geoff, because I knew how you’d react, so I told her not to. Anyway, you can’t get out of it now. I’ve announced it on Twitter. Pull out, and I’ll tell everyone what a killjoy you are.” She continues with a sadistic chuckle. “You do realise that Pippa will be sleeping next to you in your bed, don’t you?”

  “What?” he scowls.

  “Well, yes, pet. We have to make this as realistic as possible. When I wake her at midnight, I’ll take her into your bedroom, and Amy will disappear into hers. Hope you’ve some appropriate pyjamas. You can’t exactly lie next to her naked.”

  “Where will Bea sleep?” asks Evie.

  “On the camp bed in the hall,” I reply.

  “Better get some PJs then, Dad,” says Evie. “Or Bea will see your willy, ha ha ha! Can I talk to you when you are here, Bea?”

  “No Evie,” says Bea firmly. “I’m going to be ‘invisible’. I’ll wear all black, like a mime artist. You can talk to your dad, but you must act as if I am not there. The only person who can talk to me is Pippa, and the only time I will talk to your dad or mum is if there is a problem.”

  “You are all going to have to try your hardest to treat Pippa as if she is me and me as if I am her,” I say solemnly. “Now, is everybody clear?”

  “Geoff?” Bea raises her eyebrows.

  “I don’t have a choice, do I, Bea?”

  “No, pet, you don’t.”

  Wednesday, 0.01 a.m.

  The challenge has begun. I am in Pippa’s bed and she is in mine. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. Wish I’d washed her duvet and pillow. They reek of teenager.

  7.00 a.m.

  My bedroom door is flung open. Pippa, hands on hips and wearing my favourite work suit and quite a lot of my make-up and jewellery, eyes me scathingly. I bite my lip. I must say nothing. I lie there as she would.

  “You know the time,” she announces. “You will be late if you don’t get up now. Why didn’t you set your alarm?”

  She sounds exactly like me. I want to laugh, but I don’t. I have to take this seriously, so I grunt and say what she always says every single morning. “I’m doing it, Mother. Okay?”

  8.00 a.m.

  “Where’s Dad?” I whisper to Evie.

  “Gone to work, Mum. He can’t bear it. Pippa is very grumpy.”

  “Where’s my packed lunch?” I ask Pippa. She looks up, alarmed. I can tell she’s forgotten about it. “You’ll have to do without it today, as I have run out of bread,” she lies. “Here’s some dinner money.” Pippa delves into her purse, which I know contains around ten pounds in coins, and hands me four pounds. I grunt, sit down on the floor and slowly put on my socks and shoes, exactly as she does, every day. I know that she is going to have to drive me to school now. I have missed my time slot to meet the bus.

  “Bugger!” she exclaims. I hide a smile. “I’m going to have to drive you all to school, and today my shift starts at nine.” She flies around the house, checking the doors and windows are locked, spends slightly too long admiring her reflection in the hall mirror, grabs my favourite handbag and pushes us out of the house and into the car, where Bea is in the driver’s seat, waiting. As I get in, she scrutinises my face. “Wipe it off right now, madam, or I will do it for you.”

  Blimey, I think. I’m not as harsh as that when I’m being the make-up police. Well-spotted, though.

  Pippa hands me the wipes that I conveniently keep in the glove compartment and watches as I scrape the foundation I’d used to try and conceal my moustache and the blusher off my face. Oh God, now my face is clear of make-up, I feel very self-conscious. Stay in role, Amy. One day of pain, but think of the gain… I keep my mind firmly on my mantra and climb into the back seat of the car.

  9.00 a.m. MUM’S DAY

  It’s registration. Pippa’s peers don’t seem to be at all concerned with my bushy ’tash and brows, which is refreshing, and I soon forget all about it. They’re more amused that I’m in school with them for the day. I sit next to Pippa’s best friend, Cara, and try to engage her in conversation. I want to experience as normal a day in her life as I can.

  The kids chit-chat about the latest cool vlogs and sport. They taunt each other while their form tutor shouts a lot; trying to keep control of the class, take the register and make some key announcements all at the same time. Nothing’s changed since I was at school then, I think, and I smile.

  10.00 a.m.

  God, what a boring English lesson! The teacher’s voice is sooo monotonous and I’m not surprised that most of the class is fidgeting and mucking about. I tune into the lads’ banter going on behind me and strain my ears to pick up on what they are saying. It’s much more interesting, extremely rude and very funny.

  1.00 p.m.

  Being surrounded by so many children in the playground feels intimidating, and the noise level is deafening. I attempt to buy a cup of coffee alongside my meal and am politely informed that it’s not allowed. I am offered water and take two headache tablets.

  2.00 p.m.

  I have a wonderful time reliving my youth, playing netball as wing-attack. I give it all I’ve got. After fifteen minutes I am completely exhausted.

  2.45 p.m.

  The school nurse treats me for grazes to my knees and elbows. I think I’ve also strained my shoulder. She offers me an ice pack and a chocolate digestive. I accept gratefully.

  3.30 p.m.

  It feels like I have been in school forever. I have caffeine withdrawal symptoms, and my knees and right shoulder feel sore. I don’t want to go to Pippa’s usual after-school activity tonight, which is choir, but I have to because I don’t want to break the rules of the challenge. I turn up in the music room and am met by the music teacher. “Mrs Richards. Let me offer you a lovely mug of filter coffee. You must have had a very interesting day…”

  4.45 p.m.

  I now remember how much I adored choir at school. We belt out sele
cted numbers from the musical Les Misérables and, very quickly, I realise what a wonderful time I’m having. I lose myself in the music and feel my tension ebb away. I must start singing again, I think. Why did I ever give it up? I think Geoff persuaded me shortly after we got married…

  5.15 p.m.

  School is deathly quiet. Everyone has gone home except for me. Pippa has forgotten me. I send her a text, sit on the bench outside the school gates and fully enjoy the moment. I’m in no hurry.

  6.00 p.m.

  I keep out of the way, which is what Pippa would normally do, by sneaking a flask of tea upstairs into the study and catching up on my emails and social media notifications. I can’t smell any cooking, though. I clearly hear Geoff addressing Pippa. “Is tea on? Hope you’ve made a fruity pud for your dad, Pippa? Give me a shout when it’s ready, I’ll be vacuuming my car.” I want to slap him. Is this what my children see and hear? Is this the role model they should have? I feel sick.

  7.00 p.m.

  “Is tea nearly ready?” I ask Pippa. “I’m hungry.”

  “It’s on its way alright. Leave me alone. I’m busy,” she snaps.

  “May I have a packet of crisps, then?” I whine, just as she would. She gives me a look of fury and I scarper. Great. Now, perhaps you understand just a little bit more, I think as I shoot upstairs.

  8.00 p.m.

  Critically surveying my bowl of lukewarm soup, bread and butter, rice-crispy cakes and watery jelly with satsumas swimming in it, I vow to teach Pippa some cookery basics. Geoff is unimpressed. “Is this it?” he growls. He glares at her and leaves the table.

  8.30 p.m.

  I know that Pippa has gone out. At least Bea is with her, so she can’t get into too much trouble. I take a shower, grab a banana and retire to my bed to watch iPlayer.

  PIPPA’S DAY

  I’ve made breakfast, got myself dressed and both ‘kids’ off to school, fed the fish, cleared away the breakfast things, and now Bea’s driving me to Mum’s workplace. I’m already exhausted and want a sit-down.

  Dad didn’t help one bit. In fact, he just did his own thing and then went to work without saying goodbye even. Why? Why didn’t he offer to help – or just do anything, in fact? Why didn’t he kiss any of us goodbye or wish us a nice day? Isn’t that what married people and families do? Mum always kisses us goodbye and tries to make conversation, even though I tend to ignore her.

  I don’t have time to think about this any more, as I have arrived at Mum’s office. I feel quite scared. I don’t know what to expect. I’m greeted by Mum’s boss and shown around. He treats me like an adult, which is nice. I’m to act as receptionist – answer the phone, transfer messages and calls and complete any IT work that is handed to me. Somebody shows me to my desk, and I’m left to start. I feel very important. I sort out my pen-holder and look at all the files on my computer.

  11.00 a.m.

  Having drunk three cups of coffee since I started, I feel a bit hyper. I’m missing the playground chat. I’m hungry, too, but I’ve forgotten to bring a snack, and some snotty woman told me that I’ll have to wait until lunchtime before I can go out and buy anything. I’m super-bored and start playing games on my phone. The snotty woman notices and reports me. I’m told off. It’s against company rules. I feel rather lonely. Nobody talks to each other about anything interesting. Everybody looks stressed and sad. I vow to work harder at school and get a job that is nothing like this one.

  I realise that I miss people and having a laugh with my friends. I sneakily ring Mum’s beautician and book a manicure with polish and full facial for four o’clock. That makes me feel a bit better.

  Midday.

  Bea arrives to drive me out for my half-hour lunch break. I’m not allowed to talk to her, which is super-depressing, as I really want some banter. I ask her to take me to the bakers.

  This is more like it. I buy two sausage rolls, a packet of crisps and a jam doughnut and wash it all down with a can of full-sugar coke. Ha, Mum, I think. Can’t stop me now. I have hated this morning, but this makes up for it.

  1.00 p.m.

  Back at my desk – my ‘prison’ – feeling tired and sick. I shouldn’t have eaten so much, and I could do with a nap. I have been given a pile of papers to input into a database. It’s repetitive work, and I can’t bear sitting in one place for so long. I dream of being back at school.

  2.00 p.m.

  Freedom. Bea picks me up in her car and takes me to town. It’s time to shop until I drop.

  I have spent a hundred pounds on clothes and make-up when my mobile rings. It’s Daisy Hill Academy sounding rather angry. I’ve forgotten to pick up Evie. It’s going to cost me ten pounds if I collect her now. However, if I pay twenty, I can leave her until six. I try to ring Dad. He just says he can’t help as he is working and to get on with it. I beg him to pick her up at six. He says he can’t, but he won’t say why and hangs up on me.

  I know that he can leave work right then if he wants. I think he’s just being pig-headed or lazy. In fact, he never picks us up or takes us anywhere unless Mum gets in a right strop or it fits in with his plans. I feel angry and frustrated and decide that he can pay the twenty pounds charge. He’s really pissed me off. I understand why Mum gets frustrated with his lack of co-parenting.

  4.45 p.m.

  Harmony presents me with a bill for ninety pounds. I can’t afford to pay it if I’m going to go out tonight, and I really want to do that. I try to ring Dad, but it goes to voicemail. I beg Harmony to wait until next week, when I’ll get Mum to settle up. She gives me a talking to about personal responsibility and money management and says I should go and get a Saturday job.

  5.15 p.m.

  I have forgotten to pick up Mum from school. I daren’t ring Dad again. Anyway, what’s the point? I ask Bea to make a u-turn, and we go to get her. As we drive along, I’m sure I see Dad hugging a woman. She looks familiar. I think she’s one of Mum’s friends, but I don’t have enough time to see who it was.

  5.45 p.m.

  “What’s for tea?” Sis is at my side. Shit, I don’t know how to cook. I open the fridge and spy a tray of raw chicken thighs. They’ll do. Now, what about pudding?

  6.30 p.m.

  I check on the chicken and realise that I’ve turned on the mini top oven and grill instead of the main one, which is where the chicken is. The poultry is still raw, and there’s a burning smell coming from some bacon fat left in the grill pan. I start to worry a bit. The smoke alarm goes off…

  7.00 p.m.

  Mum’s nagging me to hurry up with tea. I’m trying my best, but it’s hard work keeping everyone happy. Dad is being a pig and putting me down. Why won’t he help? I’m tired and fed-up of his demands. I’d planned to have a bath and lie soaking in Mum’s fancy bath oil and then get dressed up to go out, but I have too many other things to do. I sit down to read the online newspaper. I want to cry. Mum is acting out me, whingeing and stomping around. This is how mean I am to her. It’s terrible, and I feel deeply ashamed.

  8.00 p.m.

  Dinner is served.

  “That’s a well-balanced meal. Eat it up, everyone. You’ve got some of your five-a-day there,” I say more loudly, “and, I made a fruit pudding.”

  Dad’s reply is brutal. Is this what Mum has to put up with every day? This wouldn’t be tolerated in school. It’s bullying. I sit down and think about our family and our daily routines.

  Mum looks at the food on offer and leaves the table. Evie eats without looking at me. I feel sad that my efforts have been ignored. I feel bad that I gave them such an awful meal. I need to learn some basic cooking skills.

  8.30 p.m.

  I tell Dad that I am going out with a friend and do a runner. I can’t be bothered to ask about homework or how everyone’s day has been, like Mum always does. I just want to get away and be free. I feel tired and run ragged. Bea dr
ives me to Adriano’s. Wish I could have a Pinot Grigio.

  * * *

  11.30 p.m.

  I peek over the bannister to try and see what’s going on. I don’t want to draw attention to myself and I don’t think I want to get involved. Bea is talking to a large hessian potato sack that she and Geoff are carrying from the car into the house. As they set the bag down on the floor, it moves slightly and a hand reaches out of it towards Bea. I realise that it’s an extremely drunk Pippa who is unable to stand. As she tries to raise herself, she retches and passes out.

  Saddened and horrified, I get into my and Geoff’s bed and try to sleep. I drift off, praying that she has learned as much as I have from this challenge.

  The next morning, Pippa doesn’t go to school. She is in bed nursing a hangover and I am caring for her. It gives us an opportunity to evaluate Wacky Wednesday. “So, tell me about your day,” I ask her over a cup of peppermint tea.

  “Mum, I have learned such a lot. This challenge has been the best and the worst,” she continues, blushing. She pauses. “Have you spoken to Harmony yet?”

  “No, why?”

  “Oh, well I… we… I owe her some money,” she says in a small voice. “And,” she continues, “I think I owe Aidan and Mario an apology too. Don’t ask me any more, I’m very embarrassed. Bea sorted it out.” She looks flustered. “Mum?” Her lip quivers.

  “Yes, darling?” I don’t know what else to say. She has obviously suffered enough, and harsh words from me won’t help.

  “Mum, I need a hug,” she sobs, holding her arms out to me. “I’m sorry for thinking you had it so easy. It was hard being an adult, having to remember so much, doing jobs you must hate and dealing with us… No wonder you go out with your friends when you can or have your nails done… no wonder I got… drunk.” She puts her head in her hands and tears splash through her fingers. “I love you, Mum. You go out and treat yourself because it’s a release from the pressures you’re under, don’t you? You do it to get away from us and all the stuff that sits there waiting for you all the time… and Dad doesn’t do much to help.” She wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “Why are you married to Dad?”