The Bad Mothers’ Book Club

by Keris Stainton

  When she got back downstairs, Wendi had closed her notebook and was smiling down at Sam. She pushed her chair back.

  ‘I think we’re done,’ she told Emma, unhooking her jacket from the back of the chair. ‘Lovely to see you again, Sam.’

  Sam glanced up at her from under his fringe and smiled. ‘Bye.’

  As they walked down the hall, Wendi lowered her voice and said, ‘Clearly there’s nothing wrong with his speech. And I don’t think with his hearing either.’

  ‘Right,’ Emma said. ‘Good.’

  ‘Which means that the issue is with school.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma said.

  ‘I’ll report to Mrs Walker. And then I’m sure she’ll want you to go in for a chat. School refusal is common too,’ she said. ‘So no need to worry.’

  Emma had just opened the front door when Sam shouted something from the kitchen.

  ‘What was that?’ Wendi said. ‘Did he say ‘abundance’? His vocabulary is actually very good.’

  ‘No,’ Emma said, wincing.

  Before she could explain, Sam appeared in the hallway, skidding a little on the wood floor in his socks, bent over and wiggled his hips from side to side.

  ‘A bum dance,’ Emma explained.

  Wendi laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘He’s a little sweetheart.’

  Emma felt immensely relieved. Sam absolutely was a little sweetheart and she hated the idea that the school thought there was something wrong with him.

  ‘Could I just mention something?’ Wendi said, from the front path. ‘It’s not really my place since I came to see Sam, but I’d feel remiss if I didn’t at least mention it.’

  ‘Of course,’ Emma said, her stomach clenching.

  ‘Ruby is clearly a very dedicated student.’

  Emma nodded.

  ‘But she’s much too stressed for a child her age. I think it would be a good idea to help her to relax, explain that homework isn’t the be all and end all, no matter what the school will try to tell her – and you.’

  Emma closed the door and rested her forehead against it. There was always something. She never seemed to be able to keep track of everything at the same time. While she’d been worrying about Sam, she’d somehow failed to notice that Ruby needed help. Her smart, perfect, highly strung Ruby. She banged her head gently against the wood. She didn’t think she’d put any pressure on Ruby, but maybe she had. Or maybe it was hereditary. Emma had been so dedicated and determined at school, afraid to make mistakes, scared of getting told off, perhaps she’d somehow communicated that to Ruby, totally unintentionally.

  Back in the kitchen, Ruby had set herself up at the dining table, an exercise book and a row of printed papers in front of her.

  ‘Wow!’ Emma said, standing behind her and kissing the top of her head. Her hair smelled like strawberries. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I asked Mrs Button for some more work,’ Ruby said, glancing up briefly, before turning back to the pages.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I like it.’ She shrugged. ‘And I thought that lady might talk to me.’

  ‘Oh!’ Emma said. ‘No. She was just—’ Buddy was pressed almost flat against the glass of the back door.

  ‘Let me just let Buddy out …’ Emma said.

  She opened the back door for Buddy, who hared to the bottom of the garden, and then stood still, staring up a tree at a squirrel or pigeon or perhaps a particularly animated leaf. Emma pulled out a chair and sat down next to her daughter.

  ‘Wendi came to talk to Sam because he doesn’t talk at school.’

  ‘I know,’ Ruby said. ‘I just thought she might … ask me some things.’

  ‘OK,’ Emma said gently. ‘You know you don’t have to do extra work, right?’

  ‘I know,’ Ruby said. ‘I like it.’

  Emma reached over and stilled Ruby’s hand as it moved over the paper. ‘Look at me.’

  With an exasperated groan, Ruby dropped her pencil and turned to look at her mother.

  ‘Rubes,’ Emma said. ‘Is this about the SATs? I don’t want you to feel like you’re under pressure.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Ruby said. ‘I like it. Really. It makes me feel …’ She frowned and glanced down at the papers again. ‘You know when you do a jigsaw and you find the right piece and you get that feeling when you put it in the right place?’

  Emma nodded. She hated jigsaws. She got frustrated when she couldn’t find the right piece and just found the entire endeavour boring.

  ‘It’s like that. Or like when Sam builds a wall with Lego and it’s just perfect. Like that.’

  ‘OK,’ Emma said, curling an arm around Ruby’s shoulders. ‘I get that.’

  Ruby picked up her pencil again. ‘Can you make some fruit toast?’

  Emma laughed. ‘Yes. But promise me you’ll tell me if it gets too much.’

  ‘Promise,’ Ruby said. But she was already writing again.

  ‘We need to go to Hilbre Island,’ Ruby said through a mouthful of toothpaste.

  Emma was sitting on the loo, lid down, waiting for her daughter to finish her endless before bed routine.

  ‘How come?’ Emma said.

  ‘For our project!’ Ruby replied, exasperated. ‘I’ve been telling you.’

  ‘You have, darling, I’m sorry.’ Emma wanted to close her eyes. Maybe she could. On the loo. Just lean back against the cistern and close her eyes until Ruby was done.

  ‘Mama!’ Ruby said.

  Emma opened her eyes, reached a hand under the cold running tap and splashed water on her own face.

  Ruby laughed, spraying foam onto the mirror.

  ‘I’m tired, Rubes,’ Emma said.

  ‘I’m not.’ Ruby rinsed her toothbrush and poked it back into the tumbler. ‘Can I have another story.’

  ‘You’re joking, right?’ Emma said. ‘I can hardly keep my eyes open.’

  She stood up, steadying herself against the tiled wall.

  ‘I could read it to you?’ Ruby suggested.

  Emma took her daughter’s face in both hands and kissed her on the forehead. ‘That is a very sweet idea. But you need to go to sleep. And so do I.’

  Emma needed to take Buddy out, but she physically couldn’t face it. He’d be fine. She’d just let him out into the garden for a pee and then take him for a big beach walk in the morning.

  ‘Can we have a cuddle chat?’ Ruby asked, clambering into her bed and looking up at Emma with huge, hopeful eyes.

  ‘A little one,’ Emma said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘So,’ Emma said, twirling in her new dress. ‘How do I look?’

  Paul had loosened his tie, but was still wearing his work suit. Emma assumed he was going to leave it on for their evening out. She’d read about a new restaurant online and Paul had come home from work early especially. But now he had his phone up to his ear and a frown on his face. That was fine. She could deal with that. Get some food and wine in him, maybe run her foot up his inside leg in the restaurant. And then when they got back and the kids were fast asleep he could show her how he used that lube she’d been pretending to forget about. She couldn’t wait.

  The children were in the living room with Sage, and Emma’s stomach had been rumbling for at least the last forty-five minutes. She was going to get a burger. And chips. And onion rings. And maybe also garlic bread.

  ‘I’m sorry, Em,’ Paul said, ending his call, dropping his phone back in his pocket. ‘I can’t go out tonight. I’ve got to go and have dinner with Matt Jackson.’

  ‘Are you joking?’ she said. He had to be joking.

  He shook his head. ‘It’s something … I need to go and deal with this. It’s delicate at this stage. I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important, you know that.’

  Emma stared at him. She had known that, in the past, in London, but she wasn’t even sure any more.

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Go.’

  ‘It might not take long. Maybe we can still go when I get back, I—’


  Emma shook her head. ‘Just go if you’re going.’

  Fuck Paul and fuck work and fuck everything, Emma muttered to herself, once Paul had gone and she’d paid Sage and put the kids to bed. It was very much not the evening she’d had planned. She opened a bag of crisps and ate a couple but they tasted off. She threw them away, still muttering ‘fuck’ to herself.

  In London, if she’d felt like this she would have called one of her friends, complained about Paul, listened to them complain about their partner, and then ended up laughing ’til she cried. But she’d hardly spoken to any of them since she’d been in West Kirby. At first because she was too busy sorting the house, and then because she missed London, she missed her friends, she missed her old life, and she didn’t want to talk to anyone and be reminded of it. But she wanted to talk to someone now. And while Beth and Hanan were great, it was too soon to phone them like this.

  She scrolled through her contacts. Gemma was probably out with her perfect husband, having a perfect meal before going home to have perfect sex. Steph might be home, but Steph could sometimes be a bit of a snore, if she was honest Emma didn’t really want to talk to her. She scrolled until she found Amanda and pressed call before she could change her mind. It rang for a while and she was just about to hang up when she heard Amanda answer.

  ‘I can’t talk,’ she said straight away. ‘I’m at a thing.’

  Emma wanted to ask her why she’d answered her phone then, but instead she said, ‘I was just checking in. Wondering how everyone’s doing.’

  ‘Aw,’ Amanda said. ‘You missing us?’

  ‘Madly,’ Emma joked. But it was entirely true. She missed the ease of her London friendships, where she’d known all the politics: who hated whom, who had previous with someone else’s husband, who could keep a confidence and who should never be told anything, ever. She hadn’t got to grips with that here yet. At all.

  ‘You haven’t replaced me yet then?’ Amanda asked.

  Emma laughed. ‘You’re irreplaceable.’

  ‘You got that right. Listen, I really do have to go. I’m at the theatre and people are giving me daggers.’

  ‘Oh my god, Mand!’ Emma had laughed. But then she’d ended the call and she was alone and the house suddenly seemed very quiet. She needed to make more of an effort with the West Kirby women. Not just Hanan and Beth, but Maggie too. And even Jools and Eve and almost-silent Flic. They obviously had something, the four of them, and there was no reason Emma couldn’t be part of it. She needed friends. She really needed more friends.

  Emma was about to take her dress off when she heard the front door open. She thought about clambering into her pyjamas and getting under the duvet, waiting to see what kind of mood Paul was in. But … it had been so long since they’d had sex. And she missed it. She sat on the edge of the bed and tugged the hem of her dress up to mid-thigh. She hoped Paul was tired enough to come straight up. If she smelled toast or heard the TV go on, she was going to be pissed off.

  But then she heard his tread on the stairs and immediately felt self-conscious, tugging at the hem and the waist of her dress. It was clingier than she’d expected it to be when she’d ordered it and she wasn’t sure if it was too clingy. She stood up and looked at herself in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. No, it was good. She looked good. She saw the door open in the reflection.

  ‘Hey,’ Paul said.

  Emma smiled at him in the mirror. ‘Hey.’

  ‘I’m sorry about earlier.’

  He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder, looking at the two of them in the mirror.

  ‘I wouldn’t have gone if it hadn’t been important.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Emma said. ‘I just hate it when it’s last minute. Or if we’ve got plans.’

  ‘I know,’ Paul said. ‘I’m sorry. I really like this dress.’

  His hands slid down and he started edging the hem up her thighs. ‘It makes your boobs look bigger.’

  Emma laughed and then tipped her head back to give him better access to her neck. She was still a bit pissed off with him. But she was also horny. And he’d pushed her dress up so far that she could feel his erection pressing into her bum.

  ‘What’s got into you?’ she said, laughing.

  ‘It’s just been a while since I saw you in a dress,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten how sexy you are.’

  Emma snorted as Paul’s hand sneaked down the front of her knickers.

  ‘This OK?’ he murmured.

  Emma dropped her head back against his shoulder, closing her eyes. ‘Yeah. S’good.’ Her legs were starting to feel wobbly and she was about to clamber onto the bed when Paul shifted slightly and bent Emma over face down onto the mattress. ‘I’m so hard.’

  ‘Shit,’ Emma said into the duvet, as Paul slid her knickers down her thighs and pushed his own trousers off, kicking them to one side.

  ‘Shit,’ she said again, turning her face to the side where her neck was aching. Paul was holding her hips up and pushing into her with little grunts. God, they hadn’t done it like this for so long, she’d forgotten how exhausting it was. Her thighs were burning. She pushed up on her arms and back against Paul who groaned and curled over her, pressing her down into the bed.

  ‘Missed this,’ he murmured into the back of her neck.

  Emma slipped one hand down under herself and pressed it between her legs, moaning as she hit just the right spot.

  ‘Too loud,’ Paul murmured, his mouth right against her ear. Even though his grunts were almost certainly louder. ‘You’ll wake the kids.’ But then he curled his hand over her mouth, his thumb pushing up against her cheekbone and she found herself coming, her feet pressing into the floor, hips jerking back against Paul’s. And then he was coming too before collapsing on top of her.

  ‘Fuck,’ she whispered into his palm, then poked her tongue out to lick between his fingers.

  ‘We should do that again,’ he said, his forehead resting between her shoulder blades. He kissed the back of her neck and then stood up, smoothing one hand over her hip.

  ‘I’ll go and check on the kids,’ he said.

  Once he was gone, Emma pulled the dress off and headed into the bathroom for a wee. She didn’t know what had got into Paul. Even when they’d been having sex more regularly he hadn’t really been one to ambush her – they’d almost always done it in bed, late, after the kids were asleep. It had become predictable, yes, but Emma assumed that was the same for pretty much all married couples. She certainly didn’t know any who were regularly shagging during the day or doing it anywhere other than bed. That stuff seemed to be reserved for the very early days of a relationship.

  She looked at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands. And he’d never put his hand over her mouth before. She would never have thought she’d have liked it, but she really had. She wouldn’t have thought Paul would have been into that either. But obviously he was. It had got both of them there really quickly.

  Maybe they should be mixing things up a bit more? Maybe she should suggest something. She’d just always thought it would be weird if she brought something new up after so long together. Like, why had she never mentioned it before? Where had she learned about it? But maybe she should do some googling and they could talk about it. Paul didn’t have to be the only one of them who had new moves. She smiled at herself in the mirror. Tonight had worked out pretty well after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The children had insisted they were fine to play out, even though it was cold, so Maggie, Emma, Beth and Sofia sat in the conservatory to keep an eye on them. They’d all been keen to finally make the playdate happen and it seemed to be going well so far.

  ‘It’s because of the playhouse,’ Beth said. ‘It was the first thing Flora said when she woke up this morning: ‘Can we play in Amy’s playhouse?’’

  ‘Ah, yeah,’ Maggie said. ‘It’s always a bit of a draw.’

  ‘It’s
amazing,’ Beth told Emma and Sofia. ‘Almost as big as my house.’

  ‘It’s not,’ Maggie said. ‘It is great though. Jim built it when Amy was tiny.’

  ‘I love this,’ Sofia said, pointing at the pebble picture on a side table. The box frame held three figures – clearly a dad, mum, and child – made of pebbles.

  ‘I made that,’ Maggie said. ‘Amy asked me to.’

  ‘Really?’ Emma said. ‘That’s amazing.’

  ‘Oh it’s easy really,’ Maggie told her. ‘The hardest part is finding the right pebbles.’

  The four women talked while the children played and Maggie found she was enjoying herself. Beth was hilarious, Emma seemed nice, and the children seemed to be getting on well. Maggie went through to the kitchen to make more tea. She was taking the milk out of the fridge when Sofia came through.

  ‘Is it really OK to make me the pebble picture?’ she asked, leaning back against one of the cupboards.

  Maggie glanced over as she took the sugar out of the cupboard. ‘Of course. I love making them. And it does sound like a nice thing to take home. Do you know what you’d want it to be?’

  ‘I think two figures, maybe? Me and my mama. I think she’d like that. Because I’m far away.’

  ‘You must miss her,’ Maggie said.

  Sofia nodded. ‘When I was little, she worked in London. I stayed in Poland with my aunt. Mama would come to work for nearly all year and just come home for Christmas. So we are used to being apart. But it’s still hard.’

  ‘That sounds really hard,’ Maggie said. ‘I can’t imagine being away from Amy for that long.’

  Sofia shrugged. ‘She had to make money, you know.’

  ‘Of course.’ Maggie had arranged everything on a tray and picked it up to carry through.

  ‘How much would it be?’ Sofia asked, as she passed.

  Maggie stopped. ‘How much?’

  ‘The picture.’

  ‘Oh! Oh no, you don’t have to pay. It’s just pebbles.’

  ‘And your time. And a frame.’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘You don’t have to pay.’

  ‘Thank you. I will think of another way to pay you.’ She smiled. ‘We still have to go for that drink.’