Feels Like Maybe

by Claire Allan

  “Okay then,” I mumble, closely followed by a litany of who, what, where questions that any woman needs to know the answer to before she can even think about picking out an outfit. For one brief moment I wonder if we are going somewhere nice, just the two of us.

  “It’s one of the new bosses at work,” Aidan replies. “He wants to talk to me about my job prospects. He thought it might be nice for us to go out for dinner.”

  I agree, hang up and contemplate suicide. You see, I don’t like going out for dinner with strangers. (Strike Two against my ability to be a fabulous journalist.) There is always a great deal of awkwardness when deciding whether or not to have that extra garlic bread or dessert, and I inevitably end up choosing the most unappetising salad on the menu as I don’t want to appear a greedy gulpen.

  And of course, the menfolk will be talking business – of which I know nothing and care even less for. (Strike Three against my ability to be a renowned journalist – apparently I should be very interested in business and politics etc.)

  As I get in the car and leave for Cheeky Monkeys, I’m already frantically trying to figure out what to wear. I have two problems. The first is that when it comes to suitable evening attire, I’m pretty limited to cosy pyjamas and, second of all, even if I do find some treasure lurking in the back of my wardrobe, I’m not sure how to get out of the door without Jack leaving a special food-stain reminder on it.

  I think about this, while driving along the Foyle Road towards Cheeky Monkeys. I have approximately twenty-three pairs of tatty tracksuit bottoms and a million T-shirts, but when it comes to glamming it up I realise it will have to be the RBTs again (Reliable Black Trousers), some killer heels (as we will be in a restaurant and therefore not required to walk any further than the toilet and back) and perhaps my nice turquoise satin vest-top would finish it off nicely. (I don’t know why I say ‘perhaps’: it is in fact the only dressy top I have that still fits.)

  Congratulating myself on my quick outfit-choosing decisions, I park my car, head inside and immerse my arms in a bowl of jelly.

  Whoever said being a journalist wasn’t glamorous?

  Apparently I am growing too fond of my evening glass of wine. Mammy is concerned. She has been surfing the net, reading about working mums under stress and has even suggested in her ever-so-subtle-as-a-brick way that perhaps I might want to “write a wee feature on parents who hit the sauce”.

  It was never this way in her day. Oh no, you made do and you survived on a fiver a week and you were there for your children and you didn’t want it all. You didn’t need to drink and, even if you did, you couldn’t afford it anyway. As I listen to The Speech, as my friend Daisy has dubbed it, I pour myself another glass and start to fill the bath.

  This is my salvation – my Me Time. A glass of wine, a bubble bath, a good book or, if I’m feeling too tired to read a book, a cheesy weekly magazine to soak away my troubles and forget about the stresses of the day that has passed.

  It has only been in the last few months that I’ve actually been able to get away with a soak. Before then it would be almost guaranteed that no sooner would bum hit bubbles than Jack would wake screaming and I would run, soaking and dripping, to his room where he would then stare at my nakedness with a strange mixture of curiosity, disgust and humour. By the time he was settled the bath would be cold, the wine would be warm and the magazine would be soggy so I’d opt for a quick shower before climbing into my jammies.

  I don’t drink too much, honestly I don’t. Well, not unless Daisy and I have dumped the children for the night and we are on the proverbial piss. But I suppose mammies will always be mammies and mine is as prone to worrying as I am. It is a genetic curse.

  Aidan, for those who are interested, is working tonight. He doesn’t normally work on a Thursday but, as he isn’t working tomorrow night for the big dinner meeting, he has to make up his hours. I decide to make the most of the peace and quiet and climb into the bath and try to lose myself in the latest Marian Keyes while trying to de-fuzz, exfoliate and moisturise all at the same time. I realise that, much as I am not used to pampering myself, I’m actually quite good at multi-tasking and I even manage to tidy that delicate bikini area without clipping a vein.

  Climbing out of the bath I start the arduous task of applying self-tanning lotion. Trust me, when you are on the larger side it takes some time to smooth it into your skin. The smell is cloying, but then I tell myself it will all be worth it when I look like a tanned goddess as I step into the restaurant tomorrow night.

  Checking the RBTs are clean, and the turquoise top is back from the dry-cleaner’s I find myself then faced with an array of shoes of various heights, styles and colours and the real decision-making process has to start.

  “Three-inch, four-inch, sparkly or black?” I ask down the phone without even saying hello.

  “Occasion? Location? Water-retention levels?” Daisy counters – she knows me so well.

  “Dinner with Aidan’s bosses,” I reply. “Swanky new Italian beside the river, mid-cycle-ankles decidedly unpuffy.”

  “Outfit?” she counters.

  “RBTs,” (Daisy knows all my code words as I do hers) “and satin top.”

  “Three-inch sparkly, with that silver cross I bought for your birthday and your hair swept up at one side with that wee sparkly clip.”

  “Love you,” I answer.

  “Love you too,” she replies, and hangs up.

  The thing with Daisy is that there is no bullshit. She knows me, I know her and there is no need for small-talk – no need to pepper every sentence with pauses and niceties. She is like the modern-day ghostbuster: she comes, she sees, she kicks my arse.

  I’ve only known Daisy two years. We met when I was heavy with child as opposed to being just ordinarily heavy. She was the little ray of Scottish sunshine who phoned the office one day to ask me to feature her nursery in the magazine. We met for coffee, swapped pregnancy stories and became friends.

  She assures me she is not merely my friend for the copious amounts of free publicity I can offer her – and, after feeling hormonally paranoid for the first year of Jack’s life, I now believe her.

  Lifting the sparkly shoes out of the cupboard, I realise Daisy has indeed made the right decision and I could look half-respectable after all.

  I climb into bed, close my eyes and drift off to sleep, hoping that Dermot and I get to go to the BAFTAS again tonight.

  If you enjoyed this chapter from Rainy Days & Tuesdays

  Why not download the full book below

  Rainy Days & Tuesdays

  Also By Claire Allan

  If Only You Knew

  Cousins Ava Campbell (married, sensible, feeling old before her time) and Hope Scott (single, debt-ridden, in love with a man who will never love her back) have nothing in common.

  But fate is about to throw them together.

  When their beloved Aunt Betty - the free - spirited black sheep of the Scott family - dies in France the girls find themselves flying to the picturesque village of Saint Jeannet, tasked with sorting through her belongings and fulfilling her last wishes.

  To guide them on their way, Betty has left them a series of letters detailing her own life, the heartbreak that lead her to move to France and the peace she found there with her beloved Claude.

  As the women find each letter, a different layer of Betty's life, and their own lives, unfolds with hilarious, devastating and life-affirming results.

  Buy If Only You Knew Now

  It's Got To Be Perfect

  All Annie Delaney really wants is her happy ever after. A big dress. A big day. A big commitment. She even has a scrap book filled to bursting with ideas for her dream day, her dream home and – of course – her dream man.

  Only problem is, the current man on her arm isn’t so much of a dream as a nightmare and as for the man currently in her bed… that’s a whole other disaster in the making.

  With her relationship, and her life, heading into a tailspin An
nie realises she has to re-examine just what can make her happy, while trying (and failing) not to make things worse.

  But it’s never going to be easy – especially when she sees her friend Fionn heading straight towards her own big day with her Mr Right. But then Annie misjudges the difficulties Fionn faces with Mr Right’s very own Little Miss, not to mention the ex waiting in the wings.

  Turning to her sister, Darcy, for support Annie has her eyes opened to just what can make you happy – or indeed make you sad. And she ponders that age old question – is there ever such a thing as the perfect relationship?

  Buy It's Got to Be Perfect Now

  Jumping In Puddles

  When Detta O'Neill returns to Rathinch - a village in Donegal - she is determined to make a difference.

  Bringing together four lone parents for a support group which has the old biddies of the village scandalised, she tries her best to build bridges and forge friendships among her charges.

  Niamh Quigley’s dream of a perfect life in the country was cut cruelly short with the death of her husband Seán. A woman on the verge of meltdown – but with a kitchen island you might just kill for – she has to find her way again without the man she never thought could hurt her.

  Ruth Byrne was left high and dry when her husband ran off with a younger woman. But could his desertion have been a blessing in disguise for Ruth and her children?

  Liam Dougherty doesn’t think so. His wife is the younger woman in question and he would do anything to win her back . . . or would he?

  Which leaves teen mum Ciara Boyle. Everyone is just dying to know who the father of her child is, but does she have a good reason for keeping her secret to herself?

  Apart from being parents, can the group find anything in common? Can they find happiness and confidence again? And can Detta really make the difference she wants to make?

  Buy Jumping in Puddles Now

  Rainy Days & Tuesdays

  Journalist Grace loves her son Jack with all her heart but she can't quite understand why, since his birth, she has felt at odds with herself.

  And – to add to her worries – she is still as heavy as she was at nine months pregnant and can't remember the last time she put on make up without leaving streaks across her face or smudging her mascara. This is a far cry from the glamorous Health and Beauty Editor she used to be but when the office bimbo reveals that all her colleagues have been talking about her about her back, things come to a head.

  The magazine Grace works for wants her to be a guinea pig, someone who will be the subject of their little experiment to have someone's life transformed.

  Yes, this may involve taking some happy pills. It may involve crying like an eejit in front of her hard-nosed editor Sinead, being weighed in public, and wondering whether or not she wants to stay married…but happiness always has some sort of price. Doesn’t it?

  Buy Rainy Days and Tuesdays Now

  The First Time I Said Goodbye

  Would you hold on tighter if you knew you were saying goodbye forever?

  In 1959, factory girl Stella Hegarty finds herself falling unexpectedly for the charms of a handsome US marine based in Derry.Caught up in a whirlwind of romance, Stella finds herself planning a new life in America with her beloved Ray.But when tragedy steps in, both their lives are thrown into turmoil and they come to realise they may have said their first, and last goodbye.

  In 2010, Annabel Jackson, reeling from the loss of her father, agrees to accompany her mother Stella back to Ireland to meet her family for the first time. In Derry they both start to realise that sometimes you have to say goodbye to what you thought you always wanted, in order to find what you have needed all along.

  Buy The First Time I Said Goodbye Now

  What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted?

  It only takes a moment for your life to change forever. And a heart can be broken in a second . . .

  Kitty Shanahan, proprietor of The Dressing Room, is very much in love with love. But a routine phone-call turns her seemingly perfect life on its head. It’s not easy to help hopeful brides choose their dream dresses when your heart is in pieces. And it’s hard to know who to trust when the man you trusted with your entire life has mysteriously disappeared.

  Journalist Erin Brannigan knows exactly where the love of her life is. But Paddy, who happens to be battling cancer, has turned into a ‘Groomzilla’ – planning their forthcoming wedding to the very last detail. When she is challenged by her bosses to write about her forthcoming wedding, Paddy’s cancer and the man who first broke her heart, she finds herself caught up in a whirlwind which spins far out of her control.

  Thrown together in the elegant dressing-rooms of the bridal shop, Kitty and Erin find themselves caught up in each other’s lives and wondering if broken hearts can ever be mended.

  Buy What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted? Now

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