The Bad Mothers’ Book Club

by Keris Stainton

  It probably made her a terrible person. It almost certainly made her a terrible mother.

  Emma called out to Buddy, who stopped dead, stared at her, then took off in the direction of Hilbre Island. The kids had been asking to walk out there since they’d first arrived in West Kirby, but they hadn’t got around to that yet either.

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ Emma said. She could run after him, but he’d probably think it was a game and have her chasing him all round the beach. Or. She could just leave and hope he came after her.

  ‘OK, bye!’ she called, jangling his lead, as she walked towards the slipway. ‘See you at home!’

  Buddy stopped again and looked back at her, his head on one side. By the time Emma had reached the promenade, he was jumping up at her heels and trying to grab the lead in his mouth.

  ‘Idiot,’ Emma said, affectionately.

  She turned towards home, before remembering she’d used the last of the milk, and pivoting back in the direction of the town centre.

  Forty-five minutes later, she’d been to the butchers, the grocers, the chemist, and the greengrocers. This was one of the things she’d wanted when they’d moved – local shops and local produce, not having to support the big bad supermarkets. But big bad supermarkets were quicker, she had to admit. And cheaper. She turned down a side street that she suspected was a short cut to the main road. It had looked like a normal terraced residential street as she’d headed into it, but there was actually a parade of shops along the right hand side. How had she never been down there before?

  The first shop was Saucer, a small coffee shop with forest green bi-fold doors dotted with flyers and posters, the compact seating area in front bordered with planters full of flowers. She got herself a coffee, sat outside, and watched the world go by. It was the most relaxed she’d been for weeks.

  Chapter Ten

  Matt had tried to convince Jools to give up her book club while she was ill, but she had flat-out refused. For a start, she wanted to keep everything as normal as possible, for herself, for the girls, and so that her friends didn’t actually get wind of the cancer. If she cancelled book club, questions would be asked. And questions lead to gossip and the last thing Jools wanted was gossip about her health.

  She had decided, however, that she would try to keep the evenings a little shorter – focus more on the books and less on the chat. They could chat at the school gates, there was no need to do it at home too. Though she didn’t know if it would work. Once Eve got going – and got a couple of gins down her – they were in it for the long haul.

  Sofia had offered to put the girls to bed when she noticed that Jools’s eyelids were drooping over dinner. Jools usually loved to do it herself, but she definitely did fancy a quick nap before book club. She crawled into her bed and immediately fell to sleep.

  Maggie sat in Jools’s lounge by herself. She’d arrived a little early, hoping to catch Jools alone and see if they could get over the awkwardness between them. But the nanny, Sofia, had answered the door and said Jools was having a nap. She’d shown Maggie into the living room, got her a glass of wine, and then run up the stairs two at a time.

  Jools’s middle daughter, Eloise, had come in to ask some questions about Amy – was she in bed already? Who was looking after her? Could she maybe have one of Amy’s puppies? – but then she’d wandered off and Maggie was alone again.

  She envied Jools. She’d always envied Jools. For pretty much everything. But right now she was envying the fact that she’d had a nap. Maggie would have loved a nap, but she’d made Amy’s dinner, helped her with her homework, given her a bath and washed her ever-knotty hair, helped her with her school reading book, then read the fun book they were reading together, and then cuddled her until she was almost asleep.

  Maggie did sometimes fall asleep too, waking up hours later with a stiff neck and a dead arm, but it was hardly restorative. She didn’t imagine that was Jools’s current circumstance. Maggie had seen Jools’s bedroom – it was a sanctuary, like a boutique hotel room. Maggie and Jim’s room was messy and tired and had mildew curling around the tops of the wallpaper. Even though Jim was a builder, he never seemed to have time to fix anything around his own house.

  She was topping up her wine when Sofia came in and apologised on Jools’s behalf.

  ‘She’s very embarrassed,’ Sofia said. ‘She meant to set an alarm on her phone. But forgot.’

  Maggie was about to say ‘she must’ve needed it’ but that was exactly what her mum would have said and Maggie was still smarting from Nick’s comments about their similarities. Instead she said, ‘It’s not a problem.’

  ‘Is Amy with your husband?’ Sofia asked. She was still standing near the end of the coffee table where she’d placed the wine earlier.

  ‘Sit down,’ Maggie suggested, gesturing at one of the other chairs. She half expected Sofia to say she wasn’t allowed on the living room furniture, but instead she perched on the edge of the chair opposite Maggie’s and smiled.

  ‘My brother’s looking after her actually,’ Maggie said. ‘Husband’s working tonight.’

  Sofia asked about Jim’s job and by the time Jools appeared, they were deep into a conversation about Polish builders, both laughing, and Maggie was on her third glass of wine.

  ‘Sofia, I think Eloise was calling you,’ Jools said.

  Sofia sprung to her feet. ‘Sorry, I’ll go up now.’ She smiled at Maggie. ‘It was nice talking to you.’

  ‘You too,’ Maggie said.

  She watched Sofia leave the room and then turned to look at Jools. She didn’t look like she’d just got up. She was wearing a black jumpsuit and leopard print ankle boots with a heel. Her beautiful hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and she was wearing the sort of make-up that made you look like you weren’t wearing any and which Maggie had never been able to master.

  ‘So how are you?’ Maggie started. ‘I—’

  She was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  ‘So you’re actually telling me that you’d choose romance over passion?’ Eve asked Flic.

  Flic’s cheeks were pink. ‘Yes! And I think you probably would too.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ Eve argued. ‘If I had to choose between Darcy and Heathcliff, it’d be Heathcliff every time.’

  ‘Even though he’s a sociopath?’ Jools asked.

  ‘Psychopath, in my opinion,’ Flic said. ‘He kills the puppy.’

  ‘Because he’s passionate,’ Eve says. ‘Darcy’s repressed and obnoxious and the only reason anyone finds him remotely attractive is Colin Firth.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Maggie said, laughing. ‘The book was popular for a long time before the wet shirt thing.’

  Eve flapped her hand. ‘I just can’t believe anyone would choose a wet lettuce like Jane Austen over Emily Brontë. Needlework versus the dark and stormy moors.’

  ‘I’d rather take a turn around a rose garden than try to slit my wrists on a broken window,’ Maggie said. ‘But that’s just me.’

  ‘It’s not passion, it’s petulance,’ Flic said.

  Eve rolled her eyes. ‘This is all because you’re not passionate about anything.’

  ‘I am!’ Flic said. Her cheeks were a much deeper pink now.

  ‘What are you passionate about?’ Eve challenged her.

  Maggie topped up her wine glass and realised she’d drunk a full bottle. How had that happened?

  ‘I’m passionate about baby-wearing,’ Flic said.

  ‘Oh my god,’ Eve groaned.

  Flic laughed. ‘I’m passionate about music.’

  Flic had surprised them all by recently admitting to being a huge fan of hair metal. Eve said it was her dream to go to a gig with Flic and just watch her in the mosh pit.

  ‘OK,’ Eve said. ‘You can have that one. What about you two?’ She gestured at Jools and Maggie.

  ‘I’m passionate about lots of things,’ Jools said. ‘Family. Parenting.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Eve said.

 
; ‘Travel,’ Jools added. ‘And good coffee.’

  ‘This is depressing,’ Eve said. ‘Cheer me up, Maggie.’

  While Flic and Jools were talking, Maggie had been trying to think of something – anything – she was passionate about, but there was nothing.

  Well, there was Amy, of course. But that was basic. If Eve had asked her ten years earlier, she probably would have said Jim. But that certainly wasn’t true now. And it probably hadn’t been true then either.

  ‘Nothing?’ Eve prompted.

  ‘Days like today when it’s cold but sunny and the air feels crisp,’ Maggie said, looking the length of the room into the garden. ‘I’m passionate about that.’

  ‘I’m sorry I even asked,’ Eve said. ‘You’re all useless.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘I hate him!’ Ruby screeched from the corner of the dining room.

  ‘That’s not very kind,’ Emma said, from the stove.

  She’d accidentally turned on the grill instead of the oven, which meant the kids’ oven chips were still frozen, and the baking tray she’d left under the grill was burned black and billowing eye-melting smoke.

  ‘What’s that smell?’ Sam called from the hallway where he’d been banished by Ruby.

  ‘You!’ Ruby bellowed.

  Emma smothered a laugh. ‘I just burned a pan, sweetie, don’t worry about it.’

  ‘When’s Daddy home?’ Sam asked, peeping around the door.

  ‘Get out!’ Ruby yelled.

  ‘Rubes,’ Emma said. ‘Get a grip.’ They were approaching half-term now and both children were exhausted and crotchety. Emma wasn’t feeling much better herself.

  She shook the oven chips on the tray and put them back in the oven. ‘Sam. I’m not sure when Daddy’s back. He said he wasn’t going to be late, but I don’t know what time it’ll be.’

  ‘Before my bedtime?’ Sam asked.

  ‘I don’t know, hun. I hope so.’

  ‘OK,’ Sam said, cheerfully, and went back to his Lego.

  ‘You shouldn’t be nice to him, Mum,’ Ruby said, sidling up to Emma. ‘He ruined my picture.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ Emma said, even though she knew it probably hadn’t been. ‘And he’s little.’

  ‘He’s not that little,’ Ruby said, but her voice had already softened. ‘He’s five! Can I do something?’

  Emma leaned over and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. ‘Want to do the peas?’

  While Ruby was emptying the peas into a microwavable dish, Emma heard the key in the front door and Sam shouting ‘Daddy!’

  She poured herself a glass of wine.

  Dinner was already on the table when Paul came down from his shower. His hair was still wet and curling against the collar of his T-shirt. He hadn’t shaved, but Emma could smell the shower gel he’d bought in duty free when they went to Madeira in the summer. Lemons and a hint of tobacco. They’d had some good sex in Madeira. There’d been a problem with the main building of the hotel so they’d been upgraded to a villa. The kids had their own bedrooms and they were a couple of rooms away from Emma and Paul’s. The sun and the sea and the wine – and Paul being away from work – meant that they were more relaxed than they had been for a long time. Most nights, they’d crawled into bed not long after Ruby and Sam had.

  In fact, was that the last time they’d had sex? That might’ve been the last time they’d had sex.

  ‘Busy today?’ Emma asked.

  Paul shrugged. ‘It’s always busy. Today wasn’t bad though. Not like yesterday’s sh—’

  ‘No swearing, Daddy,’ Ruby said.

  Paul grinned and reached over to ruffle her hair. Ruby jerked her head away and smoothed it back down.

  ‘What happened yesterday?’ Emma asked.

  ‘We’re doing a big deal,’ Paul said, rubbing a hand over his damp hair. ‘But the guy at the club’s being a—’

  ‘No swearing, Daddy,’ Emma said, raising one eyebrow at him.

  ‘Difficult,’ Paul said, smiling. ‘He’s being difficult.’

  ‘Anyone I’d have heard of?’ Emma asked. It was unlikely. But possible.

  ‘Actually, maybe,’ Paul said. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘Why can’t you tell us now?’ Ruby asked, frowning.

  ‘Because it’s not official yet,’ Paul said. ‘And little jugs and all that.’

  Ruby rolled her eyes. She hated being left out of anything.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about my boring job anyway,’ Paul said, reaching out and poking her gently in the side. ‘Tell me about school.’

  ‘I hate it,’ Sam said.

  ‘You do?’ Paul looked over at Emma.

  She stared back at him. She’d told him. More than once. She’d met with the head who had referred Sam to a psychologist who was coming to see them at home. The head agreed that it was probably just a settling in issue, but better to nip it in the bud if possible. Emma wondered if Paul had been listening even as she’d been saying it.

  ‘I want to stay home with Mama,’ Sam said. ‘Can I stay home with Mama?’

  ‘No, you can’t,’ Emma said.

  ‘So who’s the player then?’ Emma asked, once the kids were both in bed.

  Paul was stretched out on the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table, Grand Designs on the TV. Emma was sitting in the armchair, her feet curled up underneath her, but she was considering joining Paul on the sofa. Maybe. Over the past few weeks since she’d found it, she’d tried so many times to think of a way to ask Paul about the lube and eventually decided not to. His wanking habits were his own business. It wasn’t like she didn’t have her own me time every now and then.

  Paul looked up. His glasses had slid down to the end of his nose and he peered at her over the top of them. His hair had dried fluffy and he looked a bit like a sexy owl. He was still so gorgeous. Emma had always fancied him, since the first time they’d met – at Emma’s work Christmas do. At the time, Paul was best mates with Carl, one of Emma’s colleagues. Carl’s girlfriend had moved out unannounced while he was at work earlier that week, so Paul had come along with him to both help him drown his sorrows and stop him going completely off the rails. Emma had got talking to him at the bar and had kept talking to him for most of the night. The following day he’d sent her flowers and they were living together within three months. He’d hardly changed at all, which was a bit galling since Emma felt like she was an entirely different person.

  Emma moved to the sofa.

  ‘The player you’re signing,’ Emma repeated.

  ‘Oh. Yeah. Matt Jackson. He lives off Grange Road. You know near that wine place? His kids go to Hillcrest.’

  ‘Oh my god,’ Emma said. ‘I know his wife. I mean, I don’t know her. God, she’s a bitch.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Paul said, folding the newspaper and leaning forward to put it on the coffee table. ‘How?’

  Emma turned on the sofa so she was facing Paul. ‘She’s like the Queen Bee of the school. She runs an exclusive book club. Invitation only.’

  Paul laughed and Emma felt something loosen in her chest. It couldn’t have been that long since she’d seen him laugh, could it? But it felt like maybe it was.

  ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘No! I know! That’s what I said.’

  ‘What does she look like?’ Paul said.

  ‘Like … a footballer’s wife. Long, shiny, blonde hair. Tan. Teeth. You know.’

  Paul smiled. ‘I do.’

  Emma didn’t dare think about what she might look like. In her saggy tracksuit bottoms and oversized stripy T-shirt that she’d flopped a bit of ketchup on during dinner. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail. No make-up. She wasn’t sure if she’d even cleaned her teeth that morning. She knew she’d intended to, had possibly made it as far as the bathroom, but she had a sneaking suspicion that one of the kids had called her and she hadn’t done them. She wasn’t even sure she’d put on deodorant, now that she thought about it. She knew she hadn’t moisturised. In fact, she
thought maybe she was out of moisturiser. Jools Jackson probably used Crème de la Mer. Or that one made from baby foreskins.

  But Paul didn’t care what Emma looked like. In fact, he used to say he loved her most when she was all relaxed and cosy at home. Although maybe he didn’t mean quite this relaxed. She should probably try a bit harder.

  Paul leaned forward and topped up Emma’s wine, emptying the bottle. Emma smiled to herself. That was one of Paul’s tells. He wanted to have sex. It wasn’t ideal that he felt like he had to get her tipsy first, but it was fair enough really. She definitely found it hard to relax enough to really go for it. She was tired. She worried that the kids would overhear. And apart from anything else, after a day of being bothered by the kids the last thing she wanted was someone else pawing at her. But she knew that wasn’t the healthiest way of looking at it. So she shuffled along the sofa towards Paul and put her head on his shoulder. He made a surprised sound, but relaxed against her, his hand brushing against her thigh. Emma felt a frisson of … something, run up between her legs.

  ‘Want to go upstairs,’ she murmured.

  ‘Thought you’d never ask,’ Paul replied.

  Emma slumped slightly as Paul leapt to his feet and grabbed their wine glasses off the table, before heading out of the room.

  As Emma hauled herself to her feet, she glanced at the pile of mugs on the coffee table that should be in the dishwasher. On her way out of the room, she spotted Sam’s school sweatshirt where he’d pulled it off and left it on the floor. It should’ve gone in the wash, she wasn’t sure if he had a clean one. On the way up the stairs, she remembered that she’d promised to do Ruby’s reading with her and had then forgotten all about it – they’d have to do it in the morning. She’d have to wake up a bit earlier. She didn’t even want to know what time it was now. It was fine.