Mad About You (17 page)

Jo put one perfectly manicured hand over the other. ‘They’re marvellous, Emma. They teach the girls how to walk and sit and behave in public. Miss Herrington-Brown is very strict on manners and etiquette. Annabelle’s come on so much since she started going – people always comment on how poised and graceful she is.’

Maybe I should send Yuri and Lara to deportment classes. Maybe Miss Herrington-Brown could get them to stop shouting, spitting out their vegetables and screaming like banshees when they heard the word ‘bath’.

I wondered if French children did deportment classes. When we went to France on holidays last year, Yuri and Lara had wriggled and writhed, roared and shrieked in every restaurant we entered. Yuri had a full-scale meltdown when the waiter served his pizza with a sprinkling of chives on it. He kept shouting, ‘Get the green things off.’ Meanwhile, the French children sat calmly and quietly, eating frogs’ legs and squid while their parents had interesting and stimulating conversations about Proust and existentialism.

James and I, on the other hand, had spent our mealtimes whisper-shouting at the children, scooping large amounts of food off the floor and shoving ice-cream down their throats to shut them up for five minutes. Our ‘adult’ conversations consisted of blaming each other for being too lenient with Yuri and Lara, swearing to be stricter in future and getting as much wine down our necks as we could before going home and facing bath- and bedtime.

When we’d got back from the holiday, I’d asked my mother how Babs, Sean and I had behaved when we were taken out to restaurants as children. Mum had looked at me as if I had three heads. ‘Restaurants? Are you mad? Do you honestly think your father and I would have paid good money to listen to you lot moaning, watch you run wild and waste food?’

I was brought back to the present when I heard Sasha ask Jo, ‘What gift should I buy for Annabelle? I was thinking an iPod touch?’

‘She has one,’ Jo said.

Of course she does. She probably had it before any normal grown-up. She probably has a pony, an LCD TV and a Kindle Fire too, I thought.

‘How about a little outfit from Chloé, or would you prefer Prada?’ Sasha persisted.

Jo thought for a moment. ‘I think I’d rather Prada. They
have some really nice colours this season. Burgundy is particularly stunning on Annabelle.’

You’d need a bank loan to go to this kid’s party. I sincerely hoped none of the children in Yuri and Lara’s classes had parents with as much cash to burn. Clearly the global recession hadn’t affected these women. Whatever happened to colouring books and jigsaws as good birthday presents? I sighed. In Dublin I could spot one of these ladies-who-lunch a mile away and avoid them, but in London I was so grateful to be invited anywhere, I had to put up with it.

I placed my cup on the coffee-table and picked up another cake. I knew they were staring at me as if I was some kind of savage. Apparently eating was not the done thing in London either, but I needed the sugar to cheer me up and get me through this conversation. As I took a large bite, I caught Carol’s eye. She discreetly rolled her eyes. Thank God! I was so relieved that someone else in the room thought Prada outfits and dinner at Nobu for eight-year-olds was nuts. I wasn’t alone. Hurrah!

‘I can’t help wondering where you got your shirt, Carol? Is it new season Tibi or Peter Pilotto?’ Jo enquired.

I disguised my laughter with a coughing fit.

Carol gave Jo a dazzling smile. ‘It’s neither actually. It’s an original Carol Richards.’

Jo’s brow tried to frown, but it was frozen in place. ‘I haven’t heard of her. Has she just left design college? It does look a bit … well … uhm … raw.’

Poppy clicked her tongue. ‘Carol makes her own clothes. And grows all her own vegetables and cycles everywhere. She thinks I’m a disgrace to the human race for driving an SUV.’

Emboldened by the sugar rush from the second cup cake, I announced, ‘My outfit is last season’s spring/summer collection from Primark.’

Sasha squealed. I thought I’d pushed her over the edge with my Primark comment. ‘OMG, it’s eleven thirty! I have to go! I’ve got an appointment with my stylist at twelve.’ She stood up and was followed by Jo, who had a hair appointment even though her hair was absolutely perfect, and Holly had to run to get her immaculate nails redone.

We all said polite goodbyes. I picked up my bag to go, but Poppy told me to put it down. Kicking off her sky-high shoes, she linked her arm through mine and Carol’s. ‘You’re going nowhere. I need a drink after that. Is it too early for gin?’

Carol grinned. ‘Probably.’

‘You could have a brandy coffee, though,’ I suggested.

‘Emma, you’re a genius.’ Poppy led us into her kitchen and we sat down at the table while she made us coffee. Mine was laced with brandy but she left Carol’s plain. Her own was really just brandy with a dash of coffee. Clearly she was feeling stressed.

‘How do you know those women?’ I wondered.

Poppy took a glug of her coffee. ‘We grew up together. We were good pals for years but when I ended up divorced and living in Putney, we drifted. They’re nice girls, they still invite me to lunches and things, but we have less in common. I’m on a budget now and they have husbands with very, very deep pockets. God, I miss the good old days.’ Poppy sighed and drank deeply from her brandy coffee.

‘Is Nigel keeping up his payments?’ Carol asked.

Poppy nodded. ‘He missed last month, but I sent him a solicitor’s letter so he’s paid up now. Hopefully that’s the end of him shirking his responsibility. Bastard keeps telling me things are not going well at work and then I find out he’s going to St Lucia for Christmas with that bitch Georgina.’

‘You’ll be all right, Poppy. You’re made of stern stuff,’ Carol said.

‘I’m tired, Carol. I’m sick of being on my own. I hate having to pay bills and put the bloody bins out and deal with the boys on my own. I wasn’t made for singledom. I’ve always had a man in my life. I know we’re all supposed to be modern women who can do everything for themselves, but I hate it. I need to meet a millionaire who’ll look after me.’

‘Well, you look amazing, so I’m sure you will,’ I said, trying to make her feel better.

Poppy patted my arm. ‘Thank you, darling, but London is cut-throat. There are a million stunning young women out there looking for men with money. I’m positively ancient compared to them and I have the baggage of two young boys. If only Daddy hadn’t gambled all the money away, at least I’d be rich and lonely.’

‘Money isn’t everything,’ Carol pointed out. ‘Happiness comes from inside, not out.’

‘Christ, Carol, spare me your hippie-dippy crap today. I can’t take it.’

‘You know I’m right,’ Carol said good-humouredly.

‘Happiness is a black American Express card and a bottomless bank account.’

‘Rubbish,’ Carol said. ‘Happiness is being content with what you have. Living in the present, not the past.’

‘Well, I’m not content.’ Poppy rubbed her eyes, and mascara smudged onto her cheeks. ‘I’m bloody miserable. I want to be looked after. I want to be secure.’

‘Do you think marriage brings security?’ I asked, emboldened by the brandy coffee.

Poppy snorted. ‘It didn’t bring me much security. Nigel was unfaithful after only a few years. And I was a good wife to him. I really tried because I wanted it to work. But it wasn’t enough for him.’

‘So what is the secret to a happy marriage, then?’ I asked.

‘Communication and respect,’ Carol answered, without hesitating.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, I know from experience. Keith isn’t my first husband. I had a disastrous first marriage that ended after three years.’

‘I had no idea. I’m sorry.’ Everyone on this road had a story to tell. I felt positively boring.

‘I’m glad it happened. I learnt a lot from that relationship. I think I’m a better wife this time around.’

‘You’re a bloody saint, Carol,’ Poppy said. ‘Keith’s a lucky man.’

‘In what way are you a better wife?’

‘I listen, I talk honestly and I don’t take Keith for granted.’

‘But don’t you occasionally want to punch his nose? Like when he does something really irritating?’ I asked, thinking about how annoyed I was with James for standing me up again last night.

Carol laughed. ‘When I feel like that, I go out and start digging. Physical exertion takes the edge off.’

‘I need to buy a spade.’ I grinned.

‘I have a shed full of them.’ Poppy giggled.

‘It takes work, though, doesn’t it?’ I mused. ‘When kids come along and other stresses, you really have to work at your relationship.’

‘Of course you do,’ Carol said. ‘Marriage is a job, like any other. You need to work hard to keep it alive.’

‘And keep the sex going,’ Poppy added. ‘I made that mistake. I thought Nigel was just too old and tired to have sex with me, so I let it go. I should have guessed something was up. It was only when I found the texts that I finally realized what was going on. I should have seen it a mile away. A man not wanting sex is a cheater.’

‘James has been getting saucy texts.’

‘What?’ Both women were shocked.

‘No! It’s OK – they’re from the players on his rugby team. They’re just trying to wind him up.’ James had had another late last night, saying,
I no u fancy me, I can c it in ur eyes. Im here waiting 4 u
.

Poppy took my hand. ‘Darling, are you sure that’s who they’re from?’

I smiled. ‘Positive. I think they’re kind of funny, but James is getting very het up about it. He thinks it shows a lack of respect for him as a manager.’

‘I can see his point. I doubt the Manchester United players ever sent sexy texts to Alex Ferguson,’ Carol put in.

‘That’s exactly what James said. He tried to trace the number last night, to find out which player it is, but you can’t reverse-search a mobile phone in the UK. He’s gone to work today to sort it out. He was pretty angry. I’d say the players ever are going to get a roasting.’

Poppy looked at me. ‘I’m sure it is the boys being silly, but I’d keep a close eye on it. Check his phone regularly.’

I finished my coffee. ‘Honestly, Poppy, I’m not being stupid or naïve. I know from James’s reaction that this is just one of the guys messing about. He’s really annoyed about it.’

‘Hopefully he’ll sort it out with the players today and it’ll stop,’ Carol said.

‘Good old Carol, always looking on the bright side.’ Poppy put an arm around her. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing, darling, but I’d keep an eye on his phone anyway, just as an extra precaution.’

‘Don’t listen to Poppy,’ Carol said. ‘She doesn’t trust anyone.’

‘In my sad and sorry experience, men are pigs,’ Poppy slurred. The brandy was taking effect.

I glanced at my watch. ‘Oh, God, I’m late to pick up the
kids. Sorry, guys, I have to dash.’ I kissed Poppy and Carol, ran out of the door and all the way to the school gates, where a very grumpy Yuri and Lara were waiting for me with their teachers. They were the last children to be collected. I felt terrible, but at least none of the other mothers had been there to smell my brandy breath.

James tossed and turned all that night, then got up at six and began pacing up and down like a caged tiger. At half past I told him to go to the club. There was no point in him being at home: he needed to be at work, near the pitch, near his players and staff. Today was the first Heineken Cup match of the season, the first opportunity for James to prove himself as the new coach. I’d never seen him so nervous. I couldn’t wait for the damn match to be over.

Minutes after he’d left, I fell asleep again, but was woken at nine when Yuri climbed into bed beside me and tugged at me. ‘Mummy, I’m starving. I need Cheerios or I’ll die.’

I hugged him tightly.

‘Ouch, you’re hurting me.’ He wriggled away.

‘I need a hug. Please, Yuri, just give Mummy a big one.’

‘Will you give me a treat if I do?’ he bargained.

I nodded.

Yuri grudgingly obliged and let me hug him, while his hands hung limply by his sides. I inhaled the scent of his hair. How I loved this child.

‘Get off me now,’ he said. ‘Where’s my treat?’

‘I want a treat, I want a treat!’ Lara padded into the room in her Minnie Mouse pyjamas, looking adorable. I picked her up and squeezed her.

‘Mummy! Squashy,’ she squealed.

‘She squashed me too,’ Yuri complained.

I kissed them both. ‘Sometimes mummies need hugs.’

‘Treat!’ Yuri demanded.

We went down to the kitchen where I handed them both, as a special treat, a chocolate chip cookie. While they were happily dropping crumbs all over the place, the doorbell rang. I peeped out of the window. It was Mum and Dad!

Christ, they were due at eleven! They’d come over for James’s first match, but I’d thought I had a couple of hours to set things straight. The house was a mess and so was I. With James’s constant tossing and turning, I’d had a terrible night. I had huge black shadows under my eyes and my hair was sticking up.

‘Mummy, there’s someone at the door!’ Yuri shouted.

‘Yes, I know. Guess what? It’s Granny and Granddad.’

‘Hurrah!’ Yuri and Lara jumped down from their chairs and ran to the door.

‘About bloody time! We’ve been standing out here for ten minutes.’ Dad swept past me. ‘We’ve been up since four this morning. Your mother insisted on getting an early flight.’

Dad patted the children on the head, marched into the kitchen, sat down, opened his newspaper and began to read it.

‘Don’t mind him. He’s very grumpy.’ Mum kissed the children, then took in the mess in the kitchen. ‘I would have thought you’d put on a bit of breakfast for us. I texted you to say we’d be here at about nine thirty.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s been a bit crazy and my phone is on silent.’

Mum took her coat off. ‘Well, I’ll put the kettle on and you can tidy up a bit.’ She looked around. ‘It’s not bad, Emma. It’s a nice family house. It needs cleaning and tidying, but it’s got a nice feel to it. We passed some lovely shops in the taxi. It seems to be a very pleasant area. You did well, pet.’

Lara waved her cookie in her granny’s face. ‘Look what we got for breakfast.’

Mum glared at me. ‘What on earth are you filling them
with rubbish for at this hour? Porridge is what you should be feeding them, especially Yuri. All that sugar will stunt his growth.’

‘Do you think I’m bigger since you saw me, Granny?’ Yuri’s brown eyes begged his grandmother to say yes.

Mum squeezed his cheek. ‘The minute I saw you, I knew you’d grown. Sure you’re flying up. But you need to eat healthy food.’

Lara hopped from one foot to the other. ‘Guess what? I can count to twenty. Claire teached me.’

‘Taught you,’ Mum corrected her. ‘Good for Claire.’

‘And she teached me how to do a jigsaw with twenty pieces all by myself,’ Lara added.

‘Claire sounds like a gem,’ Mum noted.

‘Why don’t you go and do your jigsaw now and show it to us when you’ve finished?’ I suggested. Lara ran out, keen to impress her grandparents.

‘Take your time, Lara, no need to rush it.’ Dad put his paper down and poured milk into the coffee Mum had made for him.

‘I can do a fifty-piece one,’ Yuri told his granddad.

‘Even better,’ Dad said. ‘Off you go.’

Yuri galloped after his sister.

I quickly tidied up the kitchen counter and wiped the table free of crumbs. ‘Sorry about the terrible welcome. We’ll go for a nice lunch later.’

‘What time is the match?’ Dad asked.

‘I think it’s a three o’clock kick-off, but I’ll call James and double check.’

‘Don’t be bothering him. I’m sure he’s in the middle of pre-match training. I’ll Google it here.’

Mum sniffed. ‘Google this and Google that. Since he got that annoying iPhone, he never has a conversation with me
any more. He’s got his nose stuck in it from morning till night. And, of course, there’s no mention of the ozone layer when he’s charging it every night.’

I nibbled absentmindedly on a biscuit.

Mum looked at me closely. ‘You’re exhausted and a bit rounder about the waist. Lord, Emma! Don’t tell me you’re pregnant. You’re far too old to be having more children.’

‘First of all, I am not pregnant. Second, you’re one to talk – you had Babs at forty.’

Mum pursed her lips. ‘And look how well that turned out! I didn’t have the energy to discipline her and she’s wild.’

She had a point there. If only she knew how wild. I concentrated on sipping my coffee and steered the conversation away from Babs. ‘You can relax, Mum. I’m not planning on having any more children.’

‘Good. I don’t think you’d be able for any more. You seem to find two difficult enough.’

‘No, I don’t. I just –’

Mum cut across me: ‘Why do you look so shattered? Were you out gallivanting last night?’

‘No, I just slept badly.’

‘Two o’clock kick-off,’ Dad announced, waving his phone.

‘Plenty of time to smarten yourself up for your husband,’ Mum said to me. ‘Now, why don’t you go off and get your hair done? We’ll mind the children.’

‘Really?’ I was thrilled at the prospect of an hour to myself.

‘What?’ Dad didn’t like this plan. If I was gone, he’d have to do some actual childminding rather than being Grumpy Granddad in the corner.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, we haven’t seen the little dotes in ages. Get your nose out of that paper and turn your phone off,’ Mum snapped.

Before they could change their minds I ran upstairs, flung
on tracksuit bottoms and a fleece jacket and sprinted out of the house.

When I got back from the salon, I found Dad watching
Tangled
, with Lara howling the songs into his ear. Mum was in the kitchen with Yuri, reading him stories from his
Batman
comic.

‘Much better,’ Mum said, when she saw me. ‘Now you just need to find something smart to wear. I see the diet hasn’t started yet.’

I sat down and stroked Yuri’s hair. ‘It’s been stressful settling in.’

‘Fair enough, but you’d need to get on with it. Be nice to lose it before Christmas – and it’s not that far away.’

I was tempted to tell Mum I was lonely but I didn’t want to worry her, especially as she was soon going to find out that her younger daughter was pregnant with a married man’s child.

‘How is James getting on in his new job?’ Mum asked. Yuri climbed down from her lap and carried his comic to his granddad.

‘Well, I think. He spends all of his time there – he’s always working late. He’s really uptight about this match, but maybe if they win today he’ll relax a bit.’

‘I can understand him being stressed. It can’t be easy training all those lads and managing all the personalities.’

‘They seem to like him. One of the players has been sending him texts saying “I really fancy you” and “You have a great bum”, that kind of thing. He’s going to nip it in the bud. You can’t be too friendly with the players – you need distance.’

‘That sounds very odd,’ Mum said. ‘Whoever is sending them needs to be told off. James is the boss. He should be treated with respect. Does he know which player it is?’

‘None of them owned up when he asked them. They all denied it.’

‘And you say the texts are about fancying him?’

I nodded.

Mum shook her head. ‘I don’t like the sound of that, Emma. I think someone else could be sending them.’

I looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

Mum sipped her tea. ‘James is a very handsome, charming man. I’m sure there’s many a lady whose head would be turned by him. I’d keep an eye on that texting if I was you.’

‘Do you think James is lying to me?’

‘Of course not, but it’s possible that those messages could be from a woman who likes him.’

‘But he said –’

Mum shook her finger in front of my face. ‘Now don’t go off on one of your tangents and start dreaming up all sorts of problems for yourself. It’s probably nothing, but I’m just saying you need to mind your husband. A lot of women out there would gladly run off with him.’

‘I do mind him, Mum. I’m a very good wife, actually. Haven’t I just moved country for him?’

‘That’s what wives do, Emma. They support their husbands – and they don’t get medals for it,’ she said pointedly.

‘Not all wives, Mum. Lucy’s moved here to start a new job that’s going to make her millions. Donal didn’t follow her.’

Mum looked unconvinced. ‘Lucy would need to be careful, too. No man likes to be alone. Men are no good on their own – they always seek out a woman. They like to be minded.’

‘What about us? Don’t we women get a say? I’d like to be minded. I’d like to come home to a clean house and a cooked dinner every night after work.’

Mum shrugged. ‘You can say what you want about the
world changing and equality and all of that, but it comes down to human nature, Emma. Men do not like being alone, and a wife who doesn’t look after her husband will lose him. Mark my words, I’ve seen it happen. And your forties are the most dangerous time of all.’

I hadn’t heard anyone say that before. ‘Really? Why?’

‘Mid-life crisis, I suppose. Your children aren’t babies any more so they don’t need you as much. You’re getting more sleep, you’ve got energy again and you know that the next big birthday is fifty, and fifty is old. People see their forties as the last hurrah. And not just men, women too. A lot of marriages go awry during your forties.’

I thought about my own friends. So far most of them seemed to be holding it together, except Lucy and Donal. No one had ever told me my forties would be a dangerous decade. ‘Did many of your friends have affairs, Mum?’

‘Some.’ She was being deliberately vague. I knew she’d never tell me who.

‘Did the partners forgive them or did they break up?’

‘About half and half, I’d say. Marriage isn’t easy, Emma. It’s a long, bumpy road and it’s not for the faint-hearted.’

So far my marriage had been quite smooth. We’d struggled to have children, but that had brought us closer. We’d fought, like most couples, and when the children came along and we were up all night, we’d snapped at each other because we were tired. But I had always felt loved and secure. James came from a solid background, his parents had been together for almost fifty years, and he believed in marriage and family. I knew there were times when I drove him nuts, but I had never felt for a second that he’d leave me. When I heard stories of women finding out their husbands were cheating, I always assumed their marriages must have been in crisis, or the husbands were the cheating kind. James was so solid and
steady. I had always trusted him … until the day I’d seen him with Mandy, but I was pretty sure that had been just a little flirtation. Hadn’t it? Now I was worried. I could hear Poppy warning me to be careful, too, just like Mum. Could those texts have been from a woman?

Mum patted my arm. ‘Don’t worry, Emma. I’m just saying that marriages need work. But keep an eye on those texts. Now, upstairs with you, and we’ll find you something decent to wear. I want you to give me that tracksuit. It’s going straight in the bin.’

We went up to my bedroom, where Mum riffled through my wardrobe.

‘Mum, I’m forty years old. I know what to wear,’ I objected.

Mum spun around, holding a pair of beige leather shorts I had bought in the sales the year before. ‘Clearly not!’

‘I’ve never worn them. They were a mistake.’

‘You can say that again.’ Mum kept rummaging. ‘Emma, there comes a stage in a woman’s life where anything above the knee just looks cheap.’ She turned again, holding a midnight blue wrap dress this time. ‘Here we go. This colour is good on you. It doesn’t clash with your hair.’

She was right. ‘Now I know where Babs gets her talent for styling from.’ We laughed.

‘She should be here soon,’ Mum said, looking at her watch.

‘What?’ There was no way Babs would be anywhere near Mum at the moment. ‘She isn’t coming, Mum.’

‘Oh yes she is. I sent her a text last night and told her to be here at twelve sharp or I’d go over to her flat and drag her out. I want to see her. I’m worried about her. She’s been avoiding me. She said she’d come.’

God, I hoped Babs would be able to hold it together and not give anything away. I’d been texting her every night after work to see if she was OK and had been getting the usual
‘I’m fine’ answers back. But that wouldn’t cut it with our mother, certainly not in the flesh.

I tried the dress on. It was a bit tight around the waist.

‘Have you got those suck-you-in pants?’ Mum asked.

‘Yes, lots of them.’ Sighing, I opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of flesh-coloured Spanx. I went into the bathroom and wrestled them on. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I stopped dead. I looked an utter fright.

Mum barged in. ‘Come on, we haven’t got all day. Your father’s complaining about being hungry. Lord, those are awful-looking things. Mind you, they do suck you in. My advice to you is to take them off privately. Men don’t need to know our secrets. A bit of mystery is no harm at all.’

I thought back to the day I’d bought them. When I’d got home, I’d put them on and stuck one of James’s gum shields in my mouth. When he arrived home, I had jumped out and paraded up and down in front of him, doing Sumo wrestler poses and laughing hysterically. He had laughed, too. But maybe he’d been thinking, My God, she looks a state. Maybe Mum was right: perhaps I needed to keep a bit of mystery.