The Darker Side of Mummy Misfit #2 (6 page)

My poor Max had spiked a seriously high temperature and had to be taken to A&E.  The doctors were taking precautions, as he was delirious and there had been a few cases of meningitis in our area lately.

The journey home was a nightmare.  Nic and I left the club as soon as I heard the news and legged it to the hotel to grab our cases and book the cab.

I was shaking so much, Nic had to do my packing (or chucking, as it turned out) and settle me down with a brandy.

We arrived at the hospital at just gone midnight and found Ned by Max’s bedside.  They’d managed to get his temperature down slightly and he was sleeping peacefully but still looked very hot and clammy.

“The test results are back, Lib and it’s not meningitis,” Ned told me as he folded me into his arms.  “They think it may be a virus.  He’s going to be OK.”

I slumped into a chair and sobbed uncontrollably.  It was every mum’s worst nightmare - not being there when your child needed you most.

What was I thinking, skiving off to Brighton for a bit of footloose and fancy free fun?  I’m a wife and mother and I should have been at home where I belonged.

I think losing our baby may have resulted in me losing the plot ever so slightly and things need to change.  I have to get my act together and start being a proper mum again.

I’ve also been thinking about my unreasonably bitchy scribblings about Fenella and I think I need to start being a friend again too.

Thank goodness no one ever reads my diary.

Sunday 19
^th
October

They let us bring Max home from hospital yesterday morning and, although he’s still got a very sore throat and a runny nose, he seems much brighter in himself.

It’s half term next week so I think lots of treats and TLC should soon have him back on his feet - gave us quite a scare though.

Called Lou in Scotland to fill her in on all the details.

“Och, no Lib!  He could have died, poor wee lamb.  Is he alright now?  Are you
sure
he’s OK now?   These fevers can come back just when you least expect them to.  You need to set your alarm and check him every hour in the night -
I’d
do every half hour but I think hourly would be OK.”

I’d expect no less from Lou and assured her he was fine.

I called Fenella and thanked her for everything she’d done while I was away and I even invited her around for coffee with the kids tomorrow.

‘Operation Be Nice’ is now in action.

PM

Max was snuggled in bed by seven and Ned and I shared a bottle of Pinot (the seven pound variety and not three-for-ten.  We’re
posh
!)

Felt I had to tell Ned how sorry I was for the way I’d been acting in the last few weeks.  He was very sympathetic and said all the right things.

Until he stupidly suggested an early night …

Monday 20
^th
October

I love my husband, I really do, but the whole idea of the sex thing just threw me a bit.  I’m still not ready and he has to realise that.

He took my refusal very well, I have to say, but I don’t know how much longer I can stall.

Are there any guidelines or regulations in the marriage contract that tell you the ‘acceptable length of time for withholding conjugal rights after a miscarriage’, I wonder?

Decided I wouldn’t ask Fenella for advice on this particular topic as I had a feeling her answer would probably be something along the lines of “Just get back on that horse, Sweedie!”

Trouble is, I don’t want to get back on the horse (or under it) and I can’t imagine when I will.

Tuesday 21
^st
October

Coffee with Fenella was a little strained to begin with.  The kids went up to Max’s bedroom, taking the dogs with them to play vets.  Fenella had brought Splodge and Brown too, so Dog was delighted to have three of ‘his’ babies at home.

Fenella broke the ice in typical Fenella-esque style.

“Go on, Hun, tell me you hate me.  I know
I
would if the situation were reversed.”

That was the moment I knew we were going to be OK.

I told her, as openly and honestly as I could that yes, I resented her and her healthy baby.  I said that she had two already and that didn’t seem fair.  I even confessed that I’d called her ‘Gob Almighty’ in my diary.

“Oh, Libs!”  She laughed.  “I
love
it!  ‘Gob Almighty’.  Cripes, don’t tell
Josh
that one, he’ll never call me anything else.  Everything you’ve been feeling is totally
natural
and I know I’d feel the same way too.  I bet you don’t even want to get down and dirty with Ned, do you?”

Typical Fenella - straight to the point!  Yeah, we’re definitely gonna be OK.  It’s not going to be easy but we’ll get there.

And we both had a jolly good giggle when the kids joined us in the kitchen with the four dogs sporting bandages on various limbs and appendages.

Wednesday 22
^nd
October

Received a lovely email from Hinge & Bracket today, despite it being their half term break too, and it really cheered me up no end.

‘Dear Libby

We were so sorry to hear of your loss.

After discussions with Mr Rooney, we apologise for the behaviour of some of the mothers in your last meeting.  It could not have been an easy meeting for you to chair at such a difficult time.

We understand that Fenella Hunter-Barnes took the meeting in your absence of last week and all is now back on track with fundraising and Christmas fair preparations.

Thanking you once again for your dedication and commitment to CCL and we look forward to seeing you at the next meeting on 4
^th
November.

All good wishes for a relaxing half term’.

I then went on to read an email from Barbie which had the reverse effect.

‘Libby

Just a quickie from my hotel in Barbados, hope you’re enjoying the break too.

I know I took on the responsibility of organising the Poetry and Prose Anthology for the Christmas fair but I’m afraid I’m going to have to bail out.

I feel it would be terribly time-consuming and, on reflection, a little boring as a means of raising money.

Could we not go ahead with the Beauty Pageant idea instead?

I will of course continue working on the Christmas fair.

Ciao!

Millicent Finnigan-Potts’

The cheek of the woman!

Thursday 23
^rd
October

“A bloody beauty pageant!  What’s wrong with the brainless little tart?” was the response I got from Fenella when we took the kids out to lunch today.  Poetry and Prose were probably just beyond her intellectual capacity.  I hope you told her where to shove her pageant?  We’ll sort the Anthology ourselves, Lib.  We did the cookery book last year so it’s not a biggie.”  Fenella finished the last of her pizza and emitted a reverberating belch.

“Pardon
me
!  Stopped feeling sick now but I’m rather gassy.”

Don’t think she noticed the look of disgust shot at her by a nearby Meemie!

PM

Nic called tonight to say that it’s only a week and a half until they collect Baby Mikhail.  I know he’s trying to contain his excitement to protect my feelings but I could hear the thrill in his voice.

I could also hear Rick in the background, knocking together yet more shelves for the nursery and singing ‘Hickory Dickory Dock’.

He seemed to be doing a gay adaptation of the song because the second line most definitely didn’t end in
‘clock’
.

“Libster, I keep telling Rick he’s going to have to stop with the rudie songs when we become parents.  He’s a nightmare!  We can’t have our lad going off to nursery and reciting dirty versions of nursery rhymes”.

Agreed that wouldn’t be a great idea as I strained my ear to hear Rick’s version of ‘Wee Willie Winkie’.

They’ll be great parents just so long as they learn to tone things down a bit.

Friday 24
^th
October

Mum called to say that she and Bert are looking after my niece, Gracie, while Elle goes to the theatre.

Funny that!  She’d normally ask
me
to babysit.

Is she just sparing me or am I not considered to be ‘of sound mind’ at the moment?

Can’t say I actually blame her -
I
wouldn’t leave a baby with me at the moment, I have a terrible knack of losing them.

PM

Ned’s new job is going well and we take great delight in looking at our bank statements now.  This time last year they would have been shoved hastily to the back of a drawer.  Now it’s all we can do to stop ourselves framing them, with a little halogen light over the top to highlight the balance.

“Funny how things change, isn’t it Lib?” Ned said as he topped up my wine glass.

I agreed that, yes, things were very different.

“We could always try for another baby, you know.  It’s not too late” he added cautiously.

Just can’t help feeling that it
is
too late.

Saturday 25
^th
October

We’re going out for dinner with Fenella and Josh tonight - apart from a few cheapies with them last year, this is a first.  We could never afford to go to up-market restaurants with them so it’s great to be able to keep up with the Hunter-Barnes’s and even pick up the bill.

And
we’re paying Olga to babysit for us.  I’ve
never
paid a baby-sitter in my life!  Always had to rely on Mum and that usually resulted in a quid pro quo deal.

Olga’s been given strict instructions to come alone and not to bring her live-in-lover Zsa-Zsa.  I may be liberal, but I don’t want my son subjected to snogging lesbians on the sofa.  We’re having enough trouble dealing with the Nic and Rick baby saga.

“No, Libby.  I vood not disrespect you or our friendship by bringing Zsa-Zsa.  I vill be caring for your little Maxie and vatching some of your trashy British telly.  I only rub Lydia-Boss-Lady’s face in my privates because she is such a bitch.”

Not a mental image I wanted to entertain.

Sunday 26
^th
October

It would have been great last night had we not booked the same restaurant that Gestapo and Pritesh had chosen.

It really was enough to put me off my moules marinières.

Gestapo acted like an over-sexed schoolgirl and Pritesh just looked stupidly smug and pathetic.

They insisted on joining our tables together and I could see by the look on Fenella’s face that she felt the same way as me - our first fancy night out together and we get lumbered with Gestapo-on-Heat.

Had no idea that things were about to get even worse.

Within ten minutes Gestapo informed us that they were expecting the Gnome and Letchy.

“Quite a little Manor House gathering, eh gels?” she giggled as she quaffed her bubbly.

How Pritesh is managing to fund her excesses, I have
no
idea.  His ‘White Goods Emporium’ in Wembley can’t possibly be generating
that
much.

Letchy’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he arrived with the Gnome and saw he had more totty to ogle than originally planned.  Fenella is at that stage of pregnancy where the bump is almost easy to ignore because the knockers are wonderfully full and buoyant - and, of course, she’d done everything to disguise her tummy and accentuate her couple of positives.  Her dumplings were boiling over in a flimsy gypsy top and Letchy thought all his Christmases had come at once.  The Gnome looked suitably put out but I would have thought she’d be used to it by now.

“Well, ladies, isn’t this nice?” he leered at us as he spoke.  “And how lovely for
you
Ned, to be able to play with the big boys now you’ve got the cash to flash.  Perhaps you’d like to join me at the old ‘Spearmint Rhino’ one night?  I’m a regular there you know. 
All
the ladies know
me.
”

Yeah, I
bet
they do.

Ned declined the offer - clever husband - and we continued with ordering our food.  It was the usual debacle of no carbs, sugars or salts for Gestapo and I could see the waiters gradually losing their patience.