by Sophie King
‘Now, what’s this about Freddy wearing Hilary’s clothes?’
Mark groaned. ‘It was a jumper and he was smelling it because it reminded him of her.’
Daphne’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh dear. Poor child.’
Mark patted her shoulder. ‘I know. The kids miss her and, to be honest, Daphne, I think we should tell them the truth.’
‘No, absolutely not. We promised, remember?’
‘Promised what, Gran?’
Mark stiffened. How long had Florrie been standing outside the door before she’d flung it open?
‘Hello, darling.’ Daphne beamed. ‘Oh dear, I’ve knocked over my hot water. Sweetie, would you get me a cloth?’
‘Promised what?’ repeated Florrie, sullenly. She fetched the J-cloth from the sink and carried it, dripping, to her grandmother.
She began to sob. ‘You were talking about Mum, weren’t you? She’s left home, hasn’t she? That’s what happened to a girl at school. Her dad went and they told her he was working in Dubai.’
‘No, darling, no.’ Daphne gathered Florrie to her. She sat like an overgrown doll on her grandmother’s lap, her head resting against the older woman’s crinkled cheeks, tanned from the sun. ‘I promise you on my absolute honour that Mummy would never leave you. Would she, Mark?’
‘Of course she wouldn’t, poppet.’ Clumsily, he put his hand on hers. But she pulled away. Hurt, Mark recalled how when she was little he could always pull her on to his knee and make it better.
‘We must be proud of her,’ Daphne added. ‘She’s a very clever woman, your mum. And she’ll be home by Christmas. I promise. Isn’t that right, Mark?’
He nodded. ‘Look, I need to check my emails. There’s a bit of a work crisis on.’
‘That’s all right. We girls need a bit of time together, don’t we, darling?’
Florrie, head still buried on Daphne’s shoulder, nodded.
It was such a relief to escape to his study, away from all the lies and tension. ‘It’s so difficult being an intelligent parent.’ That was what Hilary used to say after one of Freddy’s tantrums or Florrie’s rudeness. He hadn’t understood: he’d been confused by the edgy woman who burst into tears at the slightest provocation and was so different from the Hilary he had married. It had got worse when she’d been promoted and began working even longer hours, relying on a string of first nannies and then au pairs to hold the fort.
Your inbox is full.
Mark groaned. Now, on top of everything else, he needed to delete some messages for new ones to come through. Here they came, tumbling on to his screen; a mass of tirades from clients, possible editorial from a couple of journalists and a load of other stuff that was as important to him as those pamphlets that came with the Sunday papers.
It was also the ultimate excuse to put off proper work, thought Mark as his fingers began to fly across the keyboard.
From Mimi to Part Time Mum: Thanks for the kicking advice. Freddy’s still doing it and Florrie – my daughter – now has bruises on both legs. I’ll have to tell their holiday club or else I’ll be had up by Social Services. I’d like to tell their dad but he’s still away. I’m not sure I’m really cut out for this working-from-home business. I used to work in Central London, but since my husband started working away I set up on my own at home so, in theory, I could look after the kids. My mother-in-law helps but she makes me feel inadequate because she’s always giving me advice and barging in without knocking.
Don’t know how you manage to get to an office and have three kids. Am enjoying What Mums Know – it’s a break from all my work emails.
From Part Time Mum to Mimi: Didn’t realise you work from home. So you’re really part-time like me. The office is bliss, actually. Sometimes it’s a huge relief to get away from them. Sympathise about the mother-in-law. Mine is safely tucked away in Scotland. My husband doesn’t work abroad but he might as well. He’s got the kind of job that means he’s not usually home until really late. I joke that during the week I’m a single mother.
That was quick. For a minute, he felt tempted to reply again – even tell her about Hilary. No, she’d think he was a nutter to pretend he was a woman. And there were already a few weirdos in their group, including that outspoken ‘Expectent’ Mum. But what Part Time Mum had said about getting out of the house made sense. It did help. And, frankly, he was looking forward to that meeting with Zelda someone from Beautiful You magazine next week, which would hopefully result in some editorial. Maybe that would appease EFT – a client he couldn’t afford to lose.
‘Dad, there’s nothing to do.’
Oh, for God’s sake. In his day, kids had amused themselves.
‘Well, can’t you read or play a game?’
Florrie eyed the computer. ‘We want to go online.’
This was his fault for not doing enough with them. He had failed to stimulate their imagination. ‘Why don’t we do a museum?’ he suggested. ‘Or even go camping for the weekend?’
Both children looked horrified. ‘Get a life, Dad,’ said Florrie. ‘That’s really sad.’
Was it?
‘When I was your age, I used to write stories,’ he said, remembering.
‘I’ll write to Mum,’ said Freddy, suddenly.
Florrie shrugged. ‘OK. So will I. Although I think it’s weird she hasn’t got an email address yet.’
‘I told you. They’re still sorting one out.’ He handed them some writing-paper. ‘When you’ve finished, I’ll post them for you.’
There was only one problem, he reminded himself, as he left them to it.
Hilary never wrote back.
16
From Expectent Mum to What Mums Know: This is really for Rainbow but you can all read it. I think she ought to let her ex see her kid. My mum wouldnt let dad see us and now I dont know where he is.
Five minutes until they were due back, thought Susan, nervously, checking the lounge clock with her watch to make sure she was right. Last weekend when Josh and Steff had taken Tabitha for that first walk they’d returned exactly when they’d promised. It had surprised her because Josh had never been punctual in the past and she would have bet he’d be late this time.
But there they were, rounding the corner, Josh pushing and Steff walking alongside, laughing. They looked, thought Susan, with a blinding stab of pain, like a normal happy family on a Sunday evening walk, despite the wheelchair. It was all she could do not to bound up, like some pathetic puppy, to meet them.
‘Was she all right?’
Steff beamed, holding Josh’s hand. ‘We had a great time, didn’t we, Tabs?’
Suddenly Susan realised she’d done something that she’d always hated other people doing: she’d asked someone else about her daughter, not Tabitha. Furious with herself, Susan crouched so she could look into her daughter’s eyes. ‘Did you enjoy it, love?’
Josh bent down and gently smoothed back his daughter’s hair. ‘She can say quite a bit, now, can’t you, Tabs? You’ve really come on.’
‘Yes, well, it’s been a while,’ said Susan, drily. ‘Don’t assume you can catch up that fast in two visits.’
Josh looked uncomfortable. ‘I know, but that’s going to change now we’ll be living nearer.’
She didn’t need reminding. ‘Come on, Tabs, let get you in.’
Steff opened the front door wider. ‘I’ll help you.’
‘No, thank you. We can manage fine on our own.’
That was better. Firm voice. Look her in the eyes. Show her who was mother. If she thought she could come running in to play happy families, she was sadly mistaken. Steff and Josh made themselves comfortable on the sofa. She felt like a teenage gooseberry. Steff flushed. ‘I’d offer to make a cup of tea but I don’t want to interfere.’
Nice to see she was getting the message.
‘You’ve done a great job with Tabitha, Susan,’ said Josh. ‘Really. Steff’s awfully impressed.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘No,
don’t take it the wrong way.’ Steff stood up and, for a ghastly minute, Susan thought she was going to take her hand. ‘I know how difficult it is. I’ve worked on wards with people in Tabitha’s situation.’
‘Wards?’ Susan laughed hoarsely. ‘Not quite the same as living the life, is it?’ She looked down at Tabitha, who was already engrossed in the new jigsaw Josh had brought, reminding herself silently to be careful about what she said.
‘No,’ said Steff, slowly. ‘But I still learned a lot. Hope you don’t mind me asking, but how much physio does Tabs get a week?’
‘A week? I don’t know what it’s like at Stoke Mandeville, or wherever it was you were, but round here we’re lucky to get one session a month. And I told you the centre’s closing because of cuts. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to put the kettle on.’
‘One physio session a month?’ Steff had trailed behind her, out to the kitchen. ‘That’s awful. No wonder . . . I mean, Tabs can walk a bit, can’t she?’
‘Yes. As long as someone’s there to catch her and there’s a handrail.’
‘And she’s great at using her hands to do jigsaws.’
‘It helps make them stronger.’
‘Exactly.’ Steff’s blonde fringe was bobbing up and down. ‘So if she had more physio, she could make even more progress.’
Susan slammed down the teapot. ‘Look, Steff, I appreciate your concern. And I can also understand that because you’re with Josh now, you want to do everything you can for his daughter. But, believe me, I’ve argued my head off for more physio and they won’t bloody give it to me. I’ve learned the exercises myself and I do some of them with her as well as I can but I’m not a nurse and—’
‘Precisely,’ said Steff, quietly. ‘But I am.’
She’d walked into that one, Susan thought.
‘And I could give her physio. I could treat her right here, if you like. Or at Josh’s place if she came to stay with us for a weekend.’
‘Oh, no. Oh, no. Don’t start thinking you’re taking her away from me.’ Susan was shaking. ‘You can’t do that.’ She sank down on to the kitchen stool. ‘You can’t.’
‘Steff!’ Josh was standing in the doorway, frowning. ‘I asked you not to mention that to Susan yet.’
‘Why not? She’s her mother. She’s entitled to know what we hope for. And I want us to be friends. I really do, Sue. I want us to be good friends.’
Susan couldn’t stop the tears. ‘You can’t have Tabitha. I’ll take legal proceedings.’
Josh laughed. ‘Go ahead. We’ve been through that one before and you know perfectly well what happened. You got custody but I had full visiting rights.’
Susan raised her swollen face. ‘Which you failed to take up.’
‘A mistake I’m rectifying now.’
‘Stop, please!’ Steff put her arm round Susan. ‘Josh, you can see she’s upset, and it’s understandable. Sue, I just want you to think about it. Every now and then – say, once a month – we’d love to have Tabitha for a day or, even better, a weekend. It would also give you a break.’
‘I don’t need a break,’ said Susan, sullenly.
‘Don’t you, love?’ Steff’s eyes moistened understandingly. ‘I think that if I were you, I’d need one. Especially if you don’t succeed in saving the centre. Just give it some thought, will you, Sue? That’s all we’re asking.’
17
TIP FROM FRAN 3
If your kid throws a wobbly in the supermarket, say in a loud voice, ‘Stop or I’ll tell your mother when we get home.’ Then no one will blame you for the brat.
How bad was that? Lisa was so cross she couldn’t get it out of her head even though she’d already posted a disapproving message.
If a kid has a tantrum in the supermarket, it’s the parents fault for not bringing them up rite. Its evil to say they belong to someone else.
Fran 3 would know that if she was standing in the maternity wing, like Lisa was right now, on a sunny Monday morning. Careful. Wait for the automatic doors to open and close three times for luck, then go in.
Past the League of Friends shop. First right. Second left. She was getting to know the layout now. The blue footprints on the lino to the right went to A and E, the red footprints up the stairs to Gynaecology, and the yellow footprints to the left to Maternity.
If she placed her feet very carefully on the yellow footprints, she’d be safe, like you were if you didn’t tread on the cracks in the pavement.
‘Excuse me.’
Lisa found herself almost chest to chest with a short, ginger-haired man in a white coat. The shock of recognition was so acute that it almost knocked her over.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, sidestepping round her.
All the words, all the things she had told herself she would tell him if she saw him again, flew out of her head. Instead she walked on as fast as she could, forgetting for once to mould her feet to the yellow footprints. Rounding the corner, she couldn’t stop herself looking back. At the same split second, the ginger doctor did the same and Lisa’s heart pounded. Did he remember her? Fat chance. He must have seen thousands of women since then.
‘Nature’s way,’ he had said, after the miscarriage. ‘Miscarriage is often nature’s way when something isn’t quite right.’
But how did he know? And, anyway, she wouldn’t care if there was something wrong with her baby. She just wanted someone to love, someone who would love her back.
The antenatal clinic was packed. Lisa shifted awkwardly on the plastic seat, which was making her bum ache.
‘Makes you feel like a stuffed marrow, doesn’t it, in this heat?’ said the woman next to her. She had a toddler on her knee, sucking purple juice from a bottle.
Lisa eyed the drink suspiciously. ‘Is that sugar-free?’
The woman’s face hardened. ‘Why?’
‘There’s been a big scare about it. Didn’t you know? All over the internet, it is. About toddlers ruining their teeth on juice. Bottles are the worst. Isn’t she big enough for a trainer mug yet?’
‘It’s none of your bleeding business. What are you – a social worker? I don’t hold with them, I tell you.’
‘I’m just saying you ought to be careful with bottles and juice that’s not sugar-free.’
‘Julie Evans!’ A midwife came out to the front of the clinic, clipboard in hand. The woman flashed Lisa a dirty look, hoisted her toddler on to her hip and waddled off, muttering about busybodies.
Lisa helped herself to Baby Beautiful magazine and a white plastic cone of water from the machine. Water was so good for you. Earth Mother had been telling her that. Her baby would never drink sugary muck like that other poor kid.
Lisa read for nearly half an hour while the room thinned out. Everyone else seemed to have been seen except her and another girl who took Bottle Woman’s place. This girl wasn’t reading. Lisa could tell she was ready to chat, which suited her. She’d finished the magazine and didn’t fancy anything else in the pile.
‘How long have you got?’ asked the girl.
She had a small but unmistakable bump under some rather nice maternity jeans. Lisa eyed them enviously, recognising them from a well-known chain store. ‘Not sure, really. My dates are a bit weird.’
‘Going to give you another scan, are they? They had to do that to me and all.’ She leaned towards her and Lisa recoiled. The girl reeked of cigarette smoke. ‘I hate hospitals, tell you the truth.’
‘Me too.’ Lisa moved away a bit in case the smell of the fags on the girl’s clothes went down her lungs and into Rose. ‘But this one’s better than the old one.’
‘Thought they’d pulled it down years ago.’
‘They did. I was there when I was a kid.’
‘Why?’
‘I had a burst appendix. Really ill, I was.’
The girl frowned. ‘That’s nasty.’
‘Yeah. And the scarring blocked one of my tubes.’
‘Blimey. That happened to a friend of mine. You�
�re lucky to get pregnant, then. She’s having IVF.’
‘She must be loaded.’
‘Excuse me, dear.’
Lisa looked up at the midwife who was hovering with her clipboard.
‘You’ve been here for a while. Did you give your name at the desk?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mind giving it me again, duck?’
‘Lisa. Lisa Smith.’
‘Lisa . . . Lisa. We don’t appear to have you down, dear. Are you sure you’ve got the right day?’
Lisa delved into her carrier-bag and brought out a scrap of paper. ‘I wrote it on this cos I left my hospital card somewhere. Oh, bugger. It’s for next week. Sorry.’
The midwife patted her shoulder sympathetically. ‘Poor you. And you’ve had such a long wait, haven’t you?’
‘That’s what pregnancy does to you,’ said the girl. ‘Forget things all the time, I do.’
‘I could ask Doctor if she’d see you, if you like,’ said the midwife. ‘Just let me check your details on the screen.’
‘Don’t bother.’ Lisa heaved herself up. ‘I need to get back so I’ll ring when I’m home.’
‘Sure? I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time, dear.’
Lisa shrugged. ‘It’s my day off. Didn’t have much to do anyway.’
Follow the yellow footprints back out of the clinic. Right foot on the right print, left on the left. Then everything will be all right.
Straight ahead.
‘Can I help you?’
When she stood at the desk like this, she had a really good view down the corridor. Some curtains were open and she could see mothers sitting up in bed in large nighties. Some were reading magazines but others had their babies on their laps or were feeding them.
All the parenting sites said it was best to breastfeed. But if she couldn’t, she had enough bottles ready.