The Darker Side of Mummy Misfit #2 (18 page)

Why do they feel it’s acceptable to use restaurants as playgrounds?  If a hot dish or drink landed on one of their little darlings, they’d be the first to complain.

At one point Fenella stuck her foot out to trip up a particularly obnoxious child who had been constantly knocking our chairs and picking his nose and wiping it on his trousers.

The mother approached our table with said child dangling from under her arm.

“Did you trip my son up?”

Fenella raised her head from her lasagne and looked her straight in the eye.

“Yes.”

The mother was obviously stunned by her forthright answer and looked flummoxed while she constructed her response.

“Why?  Why would you
do
that?”

“Because he was pissing me off with his constant bloody bashing of my chair and his vile nose excavations.  This is a restaurant, not a recreation ground.  Now please, we’re trying to eat here.  Try teaching your child some manners.”

I prepared myself for a full blown showdown but ‘Cranky Mummy’ merely turned on her heel and went back to her table with the Bogey Monster.

I looked at Fenella and shook my head.  “I honestly don’t know how you get away with it.  If
I
tried that, I’d end up barred and leaving here with a black eye.”

“Oh no, Sweedie.  It’s all in the delivery.  Plus she wouldn’t mess with a pregnant woman, would she?”

Within a few minutes the offending table had paid their bill and left.

We were then treated to puddings and coffee - on the house because the waiters were so grateful.

Fenella tucked in to her Death By Chocolate and winked at me.  “Stick with me kiddo.  Never a dull moment!”

Wednesday 24
^th
December

Christmas Eve

Ned’s finished work for Christmas now so the three of us went to the garden centre to buy a real (and huge) Christmas tree - no manky, fake one for us this year.

We were just putting the finishing touches to it and happily singing along to carols with the dogs chasing one another round the house, when there was a loud rapping on the door.

And if I was beginning to think that this Christmas would be a happy one after all, I soon abandoned
that
idea.

Mum was standing there with two huge suitcases and a face like a slapped arse.

“For heavens sake, let me in Libby.  It’s bitter out here.”

The long and the short of it is … she’s left Bert.

“I quite simply cannot stand his unreasonable demands any longer.  I will not be talked into S.E.X with him.”  This was spelled and whispered for Max’s benefit.

She underestimates my son’s intelligence
and
his hearing though because he happily replied, “S.E.X spells sex, granny.  We didn’t know what sex Dog was but now we
know
he’s a girl cos he had puppies.”

The look on my mother’s face was priceless!

Fuck!  I have my miserable bloody mother here for Christmas and my marriage is still on the rocks.  I’d hit the bottle but I don’t want to have to cope with all this with a hangover on top.

Sneaked out in the freezing night air for an illicit fag.

HAPPY BLOODY CHRISTMAS!

Thursday 25
^th
December

Christmas Day

The highlight of the day was opening our stockings in bed with Max before we had to face the misery of my mother.

The fact that it’s Christmas and we should be making it a happy day for Max didn’t enter into her selfish little over-permed and over-lacquered head.

I tried to put a call in to poor Bert but I think he must have gone off to see his own family because I couldn’t get an answer.

Ned and I spent most of Christmas lunch trying to be upbeat for Max’s sake but it seemed to be coming out as forced, stilted jollity.

“Ooh, listen to my funny joke from my cracker” or “Doesn’t Mummy look silly in her hat?” is what may have been
said
but what we
really
wanted to say was,

“Let’s pull the wishbone and pray for a bloody miracle where Mummy and Daddy are at it like bunnies and Granny disappears in a puff of smoke.”

Left Mum and Ned to the washing up and popped next door to see how Mrs S was getting on.  Found her with Pritesh, Skunk and Silver amongst a heap of wrapping paper and packaging.

“Libbybeta, we have been having the best Christmas ever.  I have been very much spoiled and I still have my visit to my other boys tomorrow.”

Was glad that Mrs S was so happy and could feel the difference in the festive atmosphere compared to
ours.

Stayed for a Babycham and then made my way back to Bleak House.

Friday 26
^th
December

Boxing Day

Had a call from Fenella inviting us for drinks but told her I didn’t want to inflict my mother on
anyone
at the moment.  It wouldn’t have been fair to ruin another family’s Christmas with the negative vibes oozing out of my mother’s (still) wrinkled skin.

Settled at the kitchen table to play a game of ‘Operation’ with Max while Ned took the dogs out - probably just an excuse to get out of the house - and who could blame him?

I could hear Mum bashing around upstairs and then she suddenly appeared in the kitchen and asked Max to go in the other room for a minute.

She stood in the kitchen like Margaret Thatcher personified with her hands on her ample hips and said, “Now Libby, I’m only saying this because I care, but if you don’t sort your sad excuse of a marriage out soon, you’ll be sorry.  I quite simply can’t stay in this forced environment a minute longer.  I’d rather go back to Bert and his unnatural urges than continue to stay here.”

Then she picked up her suitcases and headed to the door.  “You were
barely
pregnant Libby.  Accept it and move on, for
God’s
sake.”

Caring?  My mother?  I don’t think so.

Sensitive?  Nope.

Tactful?  Yeah right!

Gone?  Yes!  But her heartless words continue to echo around my house and in my head.

Ned returned from his walk to find me sobbing at the kitchen table.

NEW YEAR

FALLEN MUMMY

Wednesday 7
^th
January

School starts

Diary has been deserted over the New Year as I couldn’t seem to find a way to put into words what’s been going through my mind.

Ned went back to work on Monday and I think he’s probably relieved to get back to some sort of normality.  Mum’s words really put a downer on the rest of the festivities and, apart from a reasonably jolly New Year’s eve at F&J’s, everything fell a bit flat.

I know that what Mum said had a ring of truth about it - people lose babies all the time and brush themselves off and get on with things.  Why can’t I be more like them?  What’s wrong with me, dragging things on like this?  Why do I continue to push my lovely husband away?

All these questions continue to do the rounds in my head and I have to say I’ll be secretly relieved to get back to the school routine with fundraising and meetings to take my mind off everything.

Met Fenella and Patience for a catch-up coffee after drop off.  I’m sure Fenella has gained at least another half a stone since I saw her last week.  She’s now living in mini marquee type dresses and can only wear wellington boots as her ankles are too swollen for shoes.

She arrived at the coffee shop huffing and puffing, sporting a lime green dress with purple scarf and coordinated sequinned wellies.

“I can’t believe I’ve got to carry this lodger around for another month and a bit!  Surely I must stop growing soon.”  She scanned the menu for her second breakfast of the day and ordered a blueberry muffin and two almond croissants.

“But the upside is I’m off the Irn Bru - think it might have been making me a bit gassy.  I’m on hot chocolate with whipped cream now.”

Patience and I raised our eyebrows at one another.

“
What
?” Fenella questioned us.  “You think I’m pigging out, don’t you?”

She fiddled with her scarf and looked thoughtful.  “Well maybe I am but, bollocks, why shouldn’t I?  I can’t smoke, I can’t drink and Josh can’t get near me for a shag now, so I eat.  A girl’s got to have
some
fun.”

We told Fenella it was entirely up to her how much she tucked away and that we would fully support her when it came to ‘weight loss time’ in March.

Patience said we’d set up the Anti-Meemie Fat Busters Club and jog round the common with Baby Hunter-Barnes in a buggy.

I can just picture it now, us sprinting away after school drop-off with all the mummies shaking their heads at our DIY exercise regime - “What, no personal trainer?  No guided weight loss programme or dietician that costs a fortune?  How crass!”

Ah yes, a new term and a whole new set of challenges.

Thursday 8
^th
January

So, New Year, new beginnings.  I don’t believe in resolutions because I don’t think anyone ever
really
sticks to them.  I prefer to think of them as hopes and wishes.  SO what are mine for the year?

I WISH …

I could put my miscarriage behind me.

I could be nicer to my lovely husband.

My body would wake up and I’ll want to have sex again.

I could learn to deal with my Mother’s tactlessness and not let it get to me.

Fenella has a healthy baby who I will love and not resent or see as a constant reminder of my own loss.

Mikhail will improve and not show progressive signs of his condition.

I have the strength of character to deal with the mums at school and to do my fundraising job well.

Not much to ask, surely?

PM

I was pouring over notes for future fundraising suggestions for next week’s meeting when Max came running into the kitchen with a letter he’d found in his book bag.

“Mummy, I forgot to tell you.  We got a new girl in our class called Betsy and she’s really nice.  Look here’s her address and phone number to add to our list.”

Remembered that Jenny had mentioned the new addition so decided to do the decent thing and give the mum a welcome call.  Always think it must be so hard joining a school mid-year (it was hard enough for me at the
start
of our year when you’d expect everyone to be on equal footing) and I doubted anyone else had gone out of their way to take her under their wing.

Rachel was delighted to hear from me and she sounded really grateful.

“I don’t think I’ve made the best impression so far.  We got up late on the first day so I was doing a great Worzle Gummidge impersonation for drop off and then, when I collected Betsy yesterday, I made the mistake of revealing that I’m her step-mum.  The group I was talking to went deadly silent as if I’d announced I was on the prowl for kids to groom.  I didn’t realise there was such a stigma attached to it.”

Talked her through the Anti-Meemie guidelines and told her that the Manor House mummies didn’t approve of anyone who wasn’t exactly like them - bitchy, loaded, white, brash, selfish and opinionated.

“It’s called PLU apparently,” I added.  “’People Like Us’.  But if you don’t want to be a PLU you can always hook up with us.  We’re the normal mummies - well,
we
think we are - at least we keep one another sane.”

She laughed and said that sounded like a great idea.  “When’s your next meeting then?  And does it involve booze because I’ve only been a Manor House mummy for two days and it’s driving me to drink already.”

Can’t wait to introduce her to Fenella and Patience - our little band is growing.

Friday 9
^th
January

My mobile rang this morning and I had a Lou moment when I saw that the school was calling.  What was wrong with Max?  Had he had an accident?  Did he have a temperature?

Was relieved in more ways than one to hear that it was Dan.

Nothing important really.

I’m going for a drink with him on Monday night.

Just to discuss fundraising.

He’s got a few ideas.

Saturday 10
^th
January

Booked a hair appointment for this morning.  Well, I’d been meaning to get round to it again anyway and decided now was as good a time as any.  Ned could spend the morning looking after Max and I might nip into town and treat myself to some new clothes while the sales are still on.