Emma nodded. She recognised her now: Maggie. She’d seen her at the school gates. And Beth had told her about her. She was one of Jools’s friends.
‘Sorry,’ Maggie said, as they headed along the prom towards the school. ‘I had a meeting with Mrs Walker this morning and she suggested I have a word with you about our daughters? Getting them together? I’m Amy’s mum. God, sorry, I’m not making much sense.’
‘Oh!’ Emma said. ‘No, that sounds good. I know Ruby likes Amy. She’s talked about her at home.’
‘Oh I’m glad,’ Maggie said. ‘Mrs Walker’s worried that Amy doesn’t have enough friends and that maybe your daughter might … They’re both friends with Flora Wilson?’
‘Oh yes!’ Emma said. ‘Ruby loves Flora.’
‘Amy does too. You could come round to mine – I can ask Beth about Flora. I was talking to Sofia – Jools’s nanny? – and she mentioned bringing Violet round too.’
‘Sounds great. Thanks.’
When they got to school, Maggie followed Emma over to Beth. Emma noticed Beth’s eyes widen at the sight of the other woman, but she was perfectly nice when Maggie suggested getting the girls together.
‘Wow,’ Beth said, once Maggie had confirmed that Beth was up for it and headed back across the playground to Flic, who was sitting on one of the picnic tables, breastfeeding her baby. ‘She must’ve fallen out with Jools badly if she wants to slum it with us.’
‘Beth!’ Emma laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘She said one of Jools’s daughters will be there too.’
‘Yeah, with the nanny. Not with Jools.’
Emma shushed her. Sofia was over near the gate, but Beth’s voice wasn’t quiet.
‘Still,’ Emma said. ‘It’s a good thing. It’ll be nice for the girls to get together.’
Beth smiled at her. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, I’m being a cow. I’ve just been around these women much longer than you. I don’t trust any of them.’
‘That’s probably wise,’ Emma said. But she hoped Beth was wrong.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Ooh!’ Eve said, reaching for a long, dark wig. ‘Can I try this one?’
‘Sure,’ Angie, the stylist, said. ‘Try on anything you like.’
‘But don’t forget we’re actually here for me,’ Jools said, running her fingers over a short cropped wig.
‘As if I would,’ Eve said. She pulled the wig off the stand and arranged it over her own short hair, turning to pout at Jools. ‘What do you think?’
Jools laughed. ‘It’s not really you.’
‘Have you got anything in pink?’ Eve asked Angie.
‘My customers tend to favour more natural colours,’ Angie said, passing Jools a look book. Jools sat down on the sofa in the window and flicked through, trying to find a wig that looked as close to her own hair as possible. She’d thought about trying something different – Eve had suggested a shoulder length bob – but apart from deciding to try a sweeping fringe, she wanted to stick with her own look. She didn’t want anyone asking about it, or noticing anything at all. And these wigs were so good, she hoped she might get away with it. That was also why they were so expensive, but, as Eve had said on the way in the car, it’s not every day you get to replace your hair.
‘Has your hair actually started falling?’ Angie asked Jools.
Jools reached up instinctively. There’d been hair on the pillow when she woke up that morning. Hair sliding down her back and tangling in the plug when she’d showered. You couldn’t tell looking at her, but it was definitely starting to fall out. The thought of it made her feel sick. Which was why she’d made this appointment.
‘A little,’ Jools said. ‘Not much.’
Eve was trying on a short black bobbed wig. ‘Do I look like Louise Brooks?’ She reached for her phone and snapped a selfie.
‘Don’t post that,’ Jools said.
‘I’m not going to tag it,’ Eve said, tapping her phone.
‘I know,’ Jools said. ‘But don’t post it.’
Eve stared at her. ‘OK.’
‘I just—’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Eve crossed the room and sat on the sofa next to Jools. ‘I wasn’t going to tag it. You know that.’
‘I know. And I know I’m being paranoid.’
‘You could just tell people, you know,’ Eve said, taking the look book from Jools and putting it down on the seat next to her. ‘People would want to help.’
Jools shook her head. ‘I know they would. But they’d also want to know my prognosis. They’d look at the girls with their heads on one side and wonder if Matt would marry again after I’m gone. I don’t want any of it. The oncologist said it could all be over in less than a year if we’re lucky. No one needs to know.’
‘OK,’ Eve said, standing again. ‘Let’s find you a wig then.’
Despite finding the one she wanted almost immediately, Eve had made Jools try on almost every wig in the shop. She’d insisted on taking photos of a few of them and sending them to Matt because Jools looked so beautiful. There wasn’t a single colour or style that didn’t suit her. And Jools had laughed so much she’d cried and it had made Eve’s heart hurt.
‘You make me sick,’ she said on the way back to the car. ‘I don’t know how you still looked gorgeous in that short blonde one. It made me look like Boris Johnson.’
Jools snorted, just like she’d snorted when Eve had tried it on. ‘It did not. And anyway, you’re not allowed to be sick. I’ve got cancer.’
‘Way to keep it on the DL,’ Eve said. But they were in Eve’s car, so it wasn’t as if anyone was going to overhear. ‘And you’re going to have to stop playing the cancer card eventually, you know? It’s getting old.’
‘The only way I stop playing it is if I die,’ Jools said. She’d been testing the idea out mentally, emotionally, over the last couple of days and she’d managed to downgrade her response from total panic to a feeling of mild terror with a side of vomit.
‘You should at least tell book club,’ Eve suggested. ‘They could help with the girls. Make you food. Do other things that women do for each other on TV and in films. Pillow fights, face masks, I don’t know.’
Jools shook her head. ‘I don’t want any of that. Particularly not pillow fights. I just want everyone to act like everything’s OK. To treat me like everything’s OK.’
‘But,’ Eve said.
‘I know. But that’s the way I need it to be. OK?’
‘OK.’ Eve picked up her phone and poked at it for a bit before looking at Jools again. ‘But why?’
‘Why are you so annoying?’ Jools said.
‘I don’t know. Always have been. Just … can you tell me? Because I don’t get it. If it was me, I’d want everyone to know. I’d want every man I’ve ever slept with to send me flowers.’
‘You’d have to hire somewhere to put them all,’ Jools said.
‘You’re funny. And I’d want people to cook me food and take me out and basically coddle me until I felt better or got better. I don’t get why you want to do all of this alone.’
‘I’m not alone,’ Jools said. ‘I have you. And Matt. Sofia’s great. She shields the kids and distracts them. It’s fine. I’m fine. I definitely don’t need flowers from ex-boyfriends or meals from the neighbours.’
‘Well, you’ve only got one ex-boyfriend and you don’t know your neighbours, right? But you know what I mean? Wouldn’t it be easier to tell people than to try to hide it?’
Jools shook her head. ‘Matt … we have an image.’
‘Oh my god,’ Eve said. ‘Fuck off. You’re not Posh and Becks.’
‘Shut up. Not like that. Like … it’s not Matt. It’s me. It’s just easier for me if I control everything.’
‘But you can’t control everything,’ Eve said. ‘That’s not possible.’
Jools stared down at her fingers. The skin around her cuticles was dry, but her manicure still looked perfect.
‘I can’t control cancer,’
Jools said. ‘But I can control how I deal with it. And this is how I want to deal with it.’
‘Mummy got in trouble for hitting,’ Amy said without even looking up from her bowl of spaghetti Bolognese.
Without thinking, Maggie shushed her before turning it into a laugh. ‘I didn’t really.’
‘Who’d you hit?’ Jim asked Maggie, also without looking up from his plate.
‘Did you really?’ Nick asked, reaching across the table for the parmesan.
‘Someone nearly hit us with their car,’ Amy said. ‘And Mummy jumped over! And pulled the door open! And—’ She clapped her hands.
‘Amy!’ Jim yelled, dropping his fork on his plate.
Amy and Maggie both jumped, but only Amy burst into tears and fled from the table, running up the stairs to her room. They sat in silence until they heard her door slam.
‘She’s got a hell of a temper,’ Jim said. ‘Gets it from you, eh?’
Maggie bit the inside of her cheek, digging her fingernails into her thighs under the table. She didn’t even dare look at Nick.
‘Did you really smack someone?’ Nick asked her.
Maggie forced herself to take a breath in and then out. ‘Yeah. I mean, I barely touched them really. Mandy totally overreacted.’
‘You smacked Mandy Catchpole?’ Jim said.
‘No,’ Maggie said, stabbing some pasta and twirling it round her fork. ‘Her boyfriend.’
‘Oh that wanker,’ Jim said. ‘He was in the Railway last weekend. I thought he could do with a smack actually.’
‘I’ve got to ring her. Apologise.’
Jim shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t. Fuck ’em.’
‘I have to see her every day at school—’
‘I take Amy to school too. And pick her up.’
‘I know you do. I just mean, I do it almost every day. So I see her a lot more than you do. And I don’t want Amy to not get invited if Georgie has a party, that kind of thing.’
Jim finished his pasta and dropped his cutlery on his plate. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded, and looked over at Maggie.
‘You don’t need to grovel though. Just say you’re sorry you smacked the dickhead and leave it at that.’
‘I wasn’t planning on grovelling.’ Maggie pushed her chair back and reached for Jim’s plate, sliding it under her own, before carrying both of them through to the kitchen. Nick was still eating, so Maggie would usually stay at the table, but she didn’t want to argue with Jim in front of her brother.
Jim followed her into the kitchen and came up behind her, pressing her against the counter, his hands on her waist.
‘Fancy a bit while the brat’s having a tantrum?’
‘Nick’s in there,’ Maggie said, embarrassment pricking between her shoulder blades.
‘He’ll make himself scarce,’ Jim said. ‘He’s not daft.’
He kissed the back of her neck and ground his hips against her bum.
‘Amy’ll probably be down in a minute,’ Maggie said. ‘She didn’t finish her tea. You know what she’s like with her food.’ She wanted to ask about Eve, suggest he go and try this with her instead, but she couldn’t do it. Not with a chance of Amy walking in.
‘I can be quick,’ Jim said. ‘Come upstairs.’
Maggie stared at her reflection in the stainless steel of the kettle. She looked pale and odd, although she supposed a kettle wasn’t the most flattering surface in which to consider her appearance.
‘What’s got into you?’ she asked him, twisting away a little.
‘I like the idea of you smacking that dickhead. S’hot.’
‘God,’ Maggie said, wondering if Nick had finished eating yet, if he’d bring his plate through or stay at the table for a bit longer. ‘It’s really not.’
‘What are you doing?’ Amy said from the doorway. ‘Are you cuddling? Gross.’
Jim stepped away and Maggie felt herself sag against the unit in relief. ‘I’m just putting the kettle on,’ she said.
Jim opened the back door and disappeared into the garden, where Maggie – and Amy – knew he was going for a cigarette.
‘What’s for pudding?’ Amy said.
‘I can’t believe you hit someone,’ Nick said, once Amy was in bed and Jim had gone out … somewhere.
Maggie shook her head. ‘I can’t either. I don’t know what came over me.’
Nick stared at her.
‘Don’t,’ she said.
‘Don’t what?’
‘He’s not like that all the time. Just when he’s tired.’
‘Is he tired all the time though?’ Nick asked. ‘He scared the shit out of Amy.’
‘She loves him,’ Maggie said. ‘He’s a really good dad.’
‘When he’s not scaring the shit out of her, I’m sure.’
‘Come on,’ Maggie said. ‘I don’t want to talk about this.’ She poured herself another glass of wine and leaned over to top Nick’s up.
‘No more for me,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you.’
‘I know. But we’re fine.’
‘You really don’t seem fine.’
Maggie’s hand was shaking as she poured the wine. She put the bottle down and picked up the glass.
‘Have you seen Mum lately?’ Nick asked. ‘I think she wants to come over and see us both together. Kill two birds with one stone.’
Maggie smiled. ‘No. She hasn’t been over. That would work for me though. It’s easier when you’re there too.’
‘We could take her to lunch,’ Nick suggested.
Maggie nodded. ‘She’d like that.
Have you told her about Simon? Or that you’re staying here?’
‘Have you told her about Jim?’ Nick said.
Maggie winced. ‘Please don’t.’
‘Let me ask you one thing though,’ Nick said, shuffling forward on his chair and resting his elbows on his knees. ‘Does he hit you?’
Maggie shook her head. He didn’t. He never had. He threatened to sometimes, but then he’d punch the wall or throw a chair or something instead.
‘Well that’s something,’ Nick said.
‘He’s just got a temper,’ Maggie told him. ‘But he’d never go that far. And apparently I have too.’
‘You were protecting Amy,’ Nick said. ‘It’s not the same.’
‘But it’s not that different either,’ Maggie said.
‘It is,’ Nick said. ‘You’re kind. And gentle. You always have been. He doesn’t appreciate you and he doesn’t treat you well and I know there’s nothing I can do to convince you of that. But I also want you to know that you just have to tell me you’re ready to go and I’ll help you pack.’
Maggie nodded. ‘I do know that.’
She did. She’d always known that. When they were younger, she and Nick hadn’t really got on. She’d thought they were opposites – he was so confident and comfortable in his own skin, and Maggie had no idea who she was or what she wanted. But as they’d got older they’d become closer and now Maggie had no idea what she’d do without him. And she prayed she’d never have to find out.
Chapter Eighteen
The West Kirby playground was so much nicer than their nearest one had been in London. That one had been behind Sainsbury’s and while it had that bouncy tar stuff on the ground, everything else had been basic – a metal slide, swings and a roundabout. Some toadstools for hopping on. A graffiti-covered climbing frame. And a bench next to the (ever-overflowing) bin. Emma had always hated going there, often had to bribe the children to leave with a packet of biscuits. Sometimes she talked them out of going altogether saying that there were teenagers hanging around – both children were nervous of teenagers.
The playground near the school was different. The wooden equipment was clean, well-spaced, and set on wood chippings on top of the bouncy tar stuff. The top of the slide was basically a fort accessed by a small climbing wall. Beyond it stretched a zipwire. And the roundabout was accessible for wheelchair users.
&
nbsp; It was the first bright, dry day after a seemingly endless spell of rain and so pretty much everyone had headed for the park after school.
‘This is so much nicer than they’re used to,’ Emma told Beth. ‘They’re going to think we used to live in Communist Russia or something.’
‘It hasn’t been like this for long,’ Beth told her. ‘It was a shithole for years. And then the council got a European grant or something and did it all up.’
Emma hadn’t noticed at first, but now she saw that there was an actual sandpit in the corner, and it probably wasn’t even dotted with dog shit. Flic was crouched down next to it, holding her baby under the armpits and letting him flap his feet in the sand. Eve stood just behind her, talking on her phone.
‘In the summer there’s a water feature,’ Beth said, pointing even further beyond the sandpit. ‘The kids got soaking wet and crusty but they loved it. We came almost every day.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ Emma said, watching Sam scrabbling in the sand like a dog.
‘Sam!’ she called, warningly. He glanced up, grinned at her, and then returned to spraying sand everywhere, the children behind him shrieking and hiding their eyes.
‘Sorry,’ Emma mumbled, glancing at the nearby parents, all seated on the wooden benches around the edge of the park, but with their eyes trained on Sam. And now Emma.
‘Don’t say anything,’ Emma told Beth and Hanan, ‘but I’ve got to go to dinner with Jools Jackson and her husband.’
‘Oh my god!’ Beth shrieked. ‘Why?!’
Emma shook her head. ‘Can’t really say. But I’m dreading it. And do either of you have a babysitter you can recommend.’
They all headed over to the sandpit while Beth told Emma about a babysitter she and her kids loved and Emma took her details down.
‘I’m bored,’ Sam said from the sandpit. He was lying on his back making sand angels. Every visible bit of him was encrusted with sand.
‘Come on,’ Emma told him. ‘I’ll help you up the slide.’
‘Not allowed,’ Sam said. ‘Ruby’s up there.’
‘So?’ Emma gripped her son under his armpits and hefted him out of the sandpit.
The Bad Mothers’ Book Club Page 10