Me and My Sisters (21 page)

‘Thanks. It’s really nice of you to say. I recognize you – are you an actress too?’

‘No, nothing as glamorous.’ I blushed. ‘I used to be a model.’

‘That’s it – I remember you from the Special K ad. You look great.’

‘Thanks.’ I was thrilled. Kate Richardson had recognized me! She was a big star. It was a buzz just meeting her.

‘Well, I’d better get back to my friends. See you around.’ She turned to Victoria. ‘You should buy your dentist a big present. He performed a miracle with those teeth.’ With that, Kate walked back to her table.

‘Bitch,’ Victoria muttered. ‘She was always a cow.’

‘I thought she was lovely,’ I said.

‘You don’t know her. She was always full of herself.’

‘I liked her,’ Saskia said.

‘Well, you’re not a very good judge of character,’ Victoria snarled. ‘Now, can we please talk about something else?’

After lunch, by which time Victoria had calmed down and was back to herself, the two of us decided to go downstairs to the Harvey Nichols department store. I had spotted a gorgeous Missoni scarf that I knew would look great with my Miu Miu coat.

‘It’s lovely,’ she agreed. ‘You should definitely buy it.’

As I went to pay for it, Victoria came over to me. She was wearing two different shoes – both Jimmy Choo. One was a black sling-back and one was a black open-toe high heel; they were quite similar. ‘Which one?’ she asked.

‘They’re both lovely, but I think I like the sling-back better.’

‘Mmm.’ She looked into the mirror. ‘Oh, I can’t decide … I’ll take them both.’

Nora, the woman at the counter, swiped my credit card. ‘It’s a really beautiful scarf,’ she said.

‘Yes, I love it.’ I smiled.

‘You can’t go wrong with Missoni,’ Victoria said, drumming her nails on the counter as she waited for the other shop assistant to box up her shoes.

‘There seems to be a problem with your card, madam,’ Nora said. ‘It’s probably this machine, though – it acts up sometimes. Would you mind coming over to the other till?’

‘No problem.’ I glanced at my watch. I needed to go to pick up Jess.

She tried the card on the second machine. ‘Um, I’m so sorry about this, madam, but the card seems to be blocked.’

‘OK – use this one.’ I handed her another. Victoria was hovering behind me, talking loudly to someone on her phone.

‘I’m terribly sorry, but this one won’t go through either.’ Nora looked flustered. ‘I’ll give them a quick call for you.’

I tapped my foot impatiently as she muttered down the phone to the Visa people. She hung up and handed me back my card.

‘Is it sorted out? What did they say?’ I was getting annoyed.

‘Um, well, they’re saying that you have insufficient funds,’ she whispered.

‘What? That’s ridiculous. Try the other again.’ I handed it to her.

The same thing happened.

Victoria hung up and sighed impatiently. ‘What’s taking so long?’

‘The machine won’t take my Visa card for some reason – it’s really annoying.’ I was embarrassed. I knew there were ten thousand euros in the account. I’d spent about four thousand in London, so there was no way I had insufficient funds, unless Jack had been using the same card in New York instead of his business card.

‘Here, let me. You can pay me back.’ Victoria handed over her American Express black card.

‘No, it’s fine – I’ll come back tomorrow.’

‘Don’t be silly, Sophie, it might be gone by then. It’s no problem.’

‘OK, thanks.’

Victoria’s card was accepted straight away.

19

Julie

I don’t know what the hell is wrong with Harry. He came home from work in a foul mood. I thought at first it was because he’d seen the car. I’d reversed it into a wall and dented the boot. Leo and Luke were fighting over a book in the back of the people-carrier while I was reversing out of the school car park. Eventually Leo grabbed it and flung it away. It hit the side of my face and I got such a shock that I stepped on the accelerator instead of the brake. It wasn’t the first time the car had been dented, but this was a big one.

He came in and barely said hello.

‘How was work?’ I asked.

‘Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy!’ The boys ran over to him.

He pushed them away. ‘I’m tired. I’m not in the mood to play.’ I was taken aback. Harry could be grumpy coming in from work, but once he saw the kids he always cheered up. He never took it out on them.

‘You’re a meanie, Daddy,’ the triplets said, and slunk back to their game.

‘What’s wrong? Is it the car?’ I asked.

‘What?’ He looked at me blankly.

‘Nothing.’ He obviously hadn’t seen the damage and I didn’t want to tell him … yet.

Tom followed him around with his arms in the air, saying, ‘Dada up up up.’

‘Pick him up, Harry,’ I said.

Harry looked through his toddler son.

‘DADA, UP!’ Tom pleaded.

‘Go on – look at the poor little thing. Just pick him up and give him a cuddle.’

‘Julie, I’ve had a shit day and I want some peace.’ Harry took a beer from the fridge and went into the TV room with his laptop. He must have had the worst day ever. Even when his salary had been reduced for the second time, he hadn’t ignored the kids. He’d hugged them even tighter. They’d been a comfort to him.

I followed him in. He snapped the computer shut when I opened the door. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing. I just need some space.’

‘What happened in work? Did they cut your salary again?’

‘No, Julie, they didn’t. Can you just drop it and leave me alone?’

‘Listen, Harry, you may have had a rotten day, but it’s not the kids’ fault, so don’t take it out on them. It’s not fair. They love when you come home and so do I because I get a brief break while you play with them. So whatever’s wrong, you just have to park it and come back in and see your children. You can come back to your computer and your bad mood later.’

‘Jesus, Julie, I just want ten minutes to myself. Ten lousy minutes. Is it too much to ask?’

‘Yes, actually, it is. I’d like ten minutes to myself too, but I don’t get it – ever. You can have peace in the office whenever you want it – you can go for a coffee or lunch. I don’t get that. You drive home on your own. That’s half an hour of peace and quiet. I’m never in the car on my own.’

‘I’m working on a very important project and I need to send an email. Can you please take Tom out and close the bloody door?’

‘What project?’

‘It’s a new thing that’s just come up.’

‘Will you get paid more for it?’ Maybe the project would be a good thing. I’d take his grumpiness if it meant more money and less scrimping.

‘No, Julie, I won’t. Now, give me some space.’

‘Why can’t you do it later when the kids are in bed?’

‘Jesus Christ, I just can’t. I need to send this off now.’

‘Fine.’ I picked Tom up. ‘But I have to give the boys a bath tonight and I’d appreciate it if you’d help out. So when you’ve finished your incredibly important email you might get off your arse and give me a hand.’

‘Fine.’

I slammed the door.

I went in and gave the boys macaroni and cheese for dinner. Leo only ate the pasta. Luke only ate the cheese. Tom liked to chew it and then spit it out. Liam ate it all, like a normal person.

After dinner I told them they had to have a bath. I only subjected myself to it once a week. That’s not very hygienic, but it was an ordeal I couldn’t face any more frequently. Every week was the same: the minute they heard the word ‘bath’ they’d all run in different directions. I had to chase them and yank their clothes off. Then they’d run off naked and hide. Eventually I’d lift them one by one into the bath and they’d all proceed to pee. They thought this was hilarious. I thought it was disgusting. It was the reason Tom didn’t have a bath with them – I figured he was a bit too young for golden showers.

Once they were in the bath they had great fun. They threw water over each other, splashed, kicked and wrestled. A good third of the bathwater ended up on the floor and all over me. I sometimes thought I should wear a raincoat on bath nights because I always ended up soaked. Hair-washing was another ordeal. They hated it. They roared and screamed, and if a tiny bit of shampoo got into their eyes, all hell would break loose. They’d jump up and down, screeching and flailing their arms as if they’d been stabbed. I never had enough time to rinse the shampoo out because they wouldn’t sit still. So their hair, like mine, was limp.

Then they’d refuse to get out of the bath they’d refused to get into. I’d have to drag one out and quickly dry him, but as I grabbed the next, the first would jump back in. This could go on for ages until I’d explode and threaten them with no TV, no sweets, no toys, no Santa and no Easter bunny. While they ran around naked, I mopped the floor and rinsed out the bath.

Then the pyjamas race would begin, lots of chasing and putting them on only to take them off again, until I lost my temper. Finally they would sit down in front of the TV, I’d put Tom to bed and collapse into a chair. How I wasn’t thin was beyond me. I never stopped. I ran around all day. I should have been a stick insect.

Just as I was psyching myself up to chase them around for the bath, Harry came in to help me. He looked very pale and stressed. I felt bad about giving out to him. ‘You look shattered,’ I said.

‘I’m fine. Sorry about earlier.’

‘Maybe you’re coming down with something – you’re very pale.’

‘No, it’s just … this project. I need to sort it out.’

‘Can I help?’

‘No. Just forget about it. Come on, let’s get these rascals clean.’

Harry did the chasing and I did the washing. It was so much easier when he was home to help. We had them washed, dried and in their pyjamas within twenty minutes.

Later, when Tom was asleep and the triplets were watching cartoons, Harry disappeared to the bedroom with his laptop. I decided to call Louise to see how she was getting on with Clara. ‘Hi, Lou, how’s it all going?’

‘Fine, thanks. I’m back to work tomorrow and I can’t wait, to be honest.’

‘Aren’t you tired?’

‘No. I put her in the nursery every night in hospital and slept for ten hours, and I’ve had a night nurse since I came home, so I feel fine.’

Oh, the luxury of a night nurse – it sounded like heaven. ‘What time does she come in?’

‘She arrives at seven in the evening and leaves at seven in the morning.’

‘Wow, it sounds great.’

‘It is. By seven I’m ready to hand Clara over. My cleaning lady babysits for three hours during the day, from eleven to two, so I can exercise and do some work. But I find after five hours of just changing nappies and giving bottles, I’m ready to hand the baby over. It’s pretty boring and she cries after her bottles and vomits up a lot. I’ve actually started putting a bath towel over myself when I’m feeding her. My clothes were getting ruined.’

‘I don’t remember the triplets as babies at all. It’s a complete blur. And when I had Tom they still needed to be looked after, so I was never bored – overcome, overworked, overtired, yes, but never bored. You sound like you have it sussed.’

‘Well, I need to be clear-headed, going back to work. The night nurse is going to stay for six weeks to get Clara sleeping through the night and then I’ll just keep her routine exactly as it is and that’s it.’

I smiled. No baby, not even Louise’s, would stick to a routine. She’d get colds and coughs and teeth and earache: there would be many nights when routine went out of the window. ‘When does she start in the crèche?’

‘Tomorrow.’

I winced. It just didn’t seem right to put a tiny baby into a crèche, no matter how posh it was. ‘Couldn’t your cleaning lady look after her for a few more weeks until she’s a bit stronger?’ I suggested.

‘Julie, it’s not a big depressing room stuffed with babies. They only have six under three months in the nursery room. They have three properly qualified maternity nurses looking after them. It’s a lovely room, white and pristine. Everything is washed and disinfected daily and there’s a GP who specializes in kids next door, should they need him. She’ll have better care there than with any childminder. To be honest, I feel much happier leaving her with professionals than with my cleaning lady. Agnes is great, but if Clara got sick or anything happened, I’d prefer her to have nurses and a doctor close by.’

‘I suppose you’re right. How’s your scar? Is it sore?’

‘It hurts a bit today. I went for a run and probably did too much.’

‘You have to be careful, Lou. You don’t want it to open up.’

‘I know, I know. I’ll take it easy tomorrow. I’m just dying to get fit again, although I’m already back in my jeans, which is great.’

Typical. The skinny cow was back in her jeans after three weeks and I hadn’t got mine over my thighs since the triplets were born almost five years ago.

‘You lucky thing! Have you been starving yourself?’

‘No, I’ve just been following a high-protein/low-carb diet that my trainer gave me. I’m only doing it for a month and then I’m going to start reintroducing carbohydrates and eat the way I always do. When I’m running for an hour a day I can eat what I want – and I never liked junk food anyway. It’s not hard to maintain.’

‘Can you fax me the diet?’

‘Julie, I gave you the perfect regime to follow in January.’

‘I know, but I was hungry all the time. Maybe this one will suit me better.’

‘OK, but what you need is more willpower.’

‘Well, I guess you got all the self-discipline genes when you were born and there were none left for me.’

Louise laughed. ‘I’d better go. I want to get ten hours’ sleep so I’m fresh for tomorrow.’

‘Do you have any idea what a luxury that is for a new mum – or any mum for that matter?’

‘Maybe you should try
The Contented Little Baby
routine on the boys again. I’m sure it works on all ages.’

‘Louise, the triplets are almost five. How am I supposed to do controlled crying on kids that can walk, run and jump? If they don’t want to stay in bed, they just get up. Even Tom can climb out of his cot. I’m way beyond routines.’

‘Well, Clara is doing the routine, no matter what. I need my sleep.’

‘Won’t you miss her all day?’ I asked.

‘I doubt it. I’ll be too busy. I barely have time to grab a sandwich in work. Besides, I’ll see her in the evening and the morning, so it’ll be fine.’

‘Well, good luck in work.’

‘Thanks. I need to show those vultures that I’m still at the top of my game and haven’t become a leaky, bleary-eyed mess.’

Louise had just described me and millions of other new mothers.

I went in to talk to Harry. He jumped when he realized I was there and closed his laptop. ‘Louise has Clara in a routine that the SAS would find difficult to follow.’

Harry half smiled. I could see he wasn’t listening. I sat down beside him. ‘Harry, what’s wrong? You’re not yourself. Talk to me.’

He put his hand out and took mine. ‘I’m just stressed with work and tired. I’ll feel better after a decent night’s sleep. I’m going to crash out now.’

‘If you’re not feeling better tomorrow, you should go to the doctor. And if that project is going to make you this strung out, maybe you should pass it on to someone else.’

‘It’s fine, Julie, seriously. Forget about it.’

I left him and went to clean up the mess in the kitchen. Then I logged on to see if I’d had any replies to my last posting on
mumskeepingsane.com
. Wow! There were more than two hundred. They had come from women whose husbands had taken salary cuts, like Harry, and from women whose husbands had lost their jobs and were now trying to survive on the dole. Harry’s request for us to cut back on all TV channels, including cartoons, was a hot topic.

MiniMum responded:
Under no circumstance are you to let that husband of yours take away the cartoon channels. They are our lifeline. We will DIE without them.

Hazel5 said she thought TV was bad for kids and made them hyper. She said I’d be better off letting them play and reading them books and doing arts and crafts with them.

MiniMum ranted at Hazel5:
Who the hell wants to do arts and bloody crafts at seven o’clock in the evening? You’ve just tidied up the kitchen. The last thing you want is cotton balls, glue and paint all over the table. Clearly, Hazel5, you don’t have sons. Arts and crafts my arse.

Hazel5 was quick to respond:
Actually, MiniMum, I do have a son and he loves to paint and doesn’t make a mess. He goes to bed calmly and without any fuss because he hasn’t been driven into a frenzy by noisy and violent cartoons.

MiniMum:
Well, he’s obviously weird.

Hazel5:
He’s perfectly normal. In fact he’s extremely clever.

MiniMum:
I knew it. He’s one of those nerdy kids with intellectual snobs for parents. I bet all he wants to do is play and be a normal kid but you and your husband insist that he reads books and paints and listens to classical music and learns Japanese in his spare time.

Hazel5:
It’s Mandarin, actually – which is Chinese to a Philistine like you.

MiniMum:
**%&&*%£$’* – which is a line of expletives to a knob-head like you.

There was a lot of sympathy for my cancelled fortieth-birthday trip to Paris. Lots of women made suggestions of alternatives and one kind mum offered to lend me her apartment in Paris if I wanted it. Imagine a stranger offering to lend you their apartment! Obviously I couldn’t accept, but it was still a really nice offer.

The biggest response by far was to the part about having lost the romance in our relationship. Almost all the respondents said they felt the same way – too swamped to give time to their husbands and their relationships, but desperate to rekindle romance.