Authors: Sinead Moriarty
‘Have some milk,’ I said, pouring him a glass of organic goat’s milk.
‘I don’t like this – it tastes weird.’ He put down the glass.
‘I’m thirsty,’ Leo said.
‘Milk or water,’ I said.
‘The milk is yucky,’ Luke assured him.
‘I don’t want yucky milk or water. I want juice.’
‘Juice is bad for your teeth,’ Jessica explained to her cousin, as she sipped her goat’s milk. ‘Do you want to have yellow teeth that fall out? No. Well, you mustn’t drink any juice.’
The triplets began to chase each other around the kitchen. Sophie ordered them to stop and ushered them back into the playroom, which was a shrine to princesses. Everything in it was pink and sparkly. I could hear the boys bashing around, giving out that the toys were only for girls. Tom, meanwhile, sat on the floor happily chewing my handbag strap. Jessica finished her milk and gingerly went to see what chaos her cousins were creating in her beautiful playroom.
‘Do you have any biscuits?’ I asked my sister. ‘I’m starving. I didn’t have a chance to eat lunch.’
‘Come on, Julie, you know I never have chocolate or biscuits in the house.’
‘I thought Jack might have a secret stash somewhere.’
‘Nope. I have hummus and carrot sticks, no-fat yoghurt, apples or blueberries. Or some pumpkin-seed bread.’
‘No wonder you’re so thin – there’s nothing to eat here. Can I at least have some sugar for my latte?’
‘I only have Sucralose. It’s zero calorie.’
‘Fine.’ I put two large spoonfuls into my watery latte, while Sophie sprinkled a few grains into hers. ‘Did I tell you I met Gavin’s new girlfriend, Acorn?’
‘No! What’s she like? Does she really look like Angelina Jolie?’
‘Better.’
‘Wow. Is she thin?’
‘Stick. And she has great boobs. Harry spent the whole morning staring at them.’
‘I wish I had bigger boobs,’ Sophie admitted.
‘The ones you’ve got look good in that top.’
‘Only because I’m wearing a push-up bra with those silicone inserts.’
‘I wish mine were smaller. I keep thinking they’ll shrink when I lose weight.’
‘Jack’s a boob man – I think he’d like it if mine were bigger.’
‘Maybe if you ate something they’d grow.’
‘There’s no way I’m putting on weight. I might get a boob job when I’m forty.’
‘For my fortieth, I’d like a face-lift, boob reduction, liposuction, a tummy tuck and for Super Nanny to move in with me.’
‘It’s only a few months away now. Are you and Harry going to do something special to celebrate?’
‘He’s promised to take me to Paris. I honestly cannot wait.’
‘Who’s going to look after the boys?’ Sophie pointedly didn’t offer.
‘Marian said she’d take the triplets and I’m going to ask Mum and Dad to have Tom.’
Sophie looked relieved. She was obviously worried I’d planned to ask her. I smiled at the idea of the triplets moving in with Sophie and Jack for a weekend of Evian and rice cakes.
‘It’ll be great for you to get away. You deserve a break.’ Sophie sipped her coffee.
‘We actually haven’t been away on our own in five years.’
‘God, is it really that long?’ She was genuinely shocked.
‘Yes. We definitely need it.’
‘I can give you a list of really cool restaurants and places to shop.’
‘Great.’ I knew that Sophie’s recommendations would be really expensive Michelin-starred restaurants and designer boutiques. Harry and I would be on a tight budget. I just wanted to eat in local cafés and drink carafes of wine. I had no interest in shopping; French women were unnaturally thin. They invented the word
petite
, for goodness’ sake. Regardless of how many no-fat yoghurts I ate,
petite
was never going to apply to me.
‘There’s an amazing little boutique just off rue St-Honoré –’ Sophie stopped mid-sentence as Jess rushed over to her, tears streaming down her face. Shit!
‘Mummy, the boys are breaking all my toys,’ she bawled.
I ran into the playroom, hoping to hide some of the damage before Sophie saw it. But they weren’t there. They were in the utility room, staring at the washing-machine, which was making very strange noises as soapy water gushed all over the floor.
‘I’m going to kill you,’ I hissed, as my socks sloshed about in the water. Sophie came rushing in behind me.
‘Aargh!’ She backed out in her now soggy suede boots.
‘What the hell have you done?’ I asked, turning the washing-machine off before it flooded the house.
‘We wanted to wash Jess’s tea set and her dolls, so we put them in the washing-machine.’
Sophie came back, barefoot. ‘Jesus Christ! Look at this mess. They’ve broken the bloody washing-machine. It’s top-of-the-range – I had it imported from Germany. This is why I never want your kids in my house – they break everything. They’re completely out of control.’
‘Look, I’m sorry about the machine, but I can’t watch them every second of the day.’
‘And my floor is ruined and my boots are wrecked and it’s just a bloody mess. They’re wild.’
‘No, they aren’t. They’re just curious and lively. Boys need to be running and climbing and exploring.’
‘Not in my house, they don’t. They can do it somewhere else. They’re never coming here again.’
‘Jesus, Sophie, calm down, it’s just a bit of water. I’ll mop it up.’
‘Don’t tell me to calm down. It’s an inch of water, my daughter’s china tea set is broken, most of her dolls have lost limbs and the washing-machine is banjaxed.’
‘I’ll pay for the bloody washing-machine and I’ll get Jess a new tea set.’
‘Your children have no respect for other people’s property. They’re just like you.’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
‘Come on, Julie, you were always borrowing my clothes and losing them, or bringing them home torn or with cigarette burns in them. You’ve no regard for other people’s stuff and neither do your kids.’
‘Actually, Sophie, I borrowed Louise’s clothes. I never borrowed yours because I could never get close to them. You always locked your bedroom door.’
‘What about my cream suede jacket that you borrowed and gave back to me covered in red wine stains?’
‘Are you still banging on about that?’
‘It cost me four months’ wages. I’d only worn it once.’
‘It happened fifteen years ago – get over it! You’re a selfish cow.’
‘I am not selfish. I care about how I look and like to have a clean and tidy house but that does not make me a cow.’
‘Your house is like a bloody museum. I’m afraid to sit down in case I get a tiny speck of dust on something. You need to lighten up, Sophie.’
‘And you need to get your shit together, Julie. You used to be the prettiest of all us sisters. Stop letting your children rule your life. Stop using them as an excuse for everything. Go on a diet, exercise, lose weight, put on some makeup and get some decent clothes. Stop moaning about it and talking about it and just bloody
do it
.’
‘You try looking good with four boys! You try putting makeup on with triplets pulling at you and dropping your mascara into the toilet.’
‘Punish them and they won’t do it again.’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘It’s not that complicated.’
‘If I punished them every time they did something naughty, they’d live in the bloody bold room. You can’t keep punishing kids. They need some leeway – they need to be allowed to express themselves. I can’t keep them on a leash.’
‘Maybe you should try. They need a firmer hand.’
‘You don’t know anything about it. You’re too selfish to have another child and give poor Jess a playmate. You don’t want your perfect life interrupted by a screaming baby. You don’t want anyone or anything interfering with your ten holidays a year and your yoga.’
‘That is total bullshit. Jack and I are trying for another baby and I am not selfish.’
‘When was the last time you did something for someone else?’
‘Today! When I had you and your boys back to my house, and look what happened.’
‘Well, you won’t have to worry about that ever again. Send me the bill for the washing-machine.’ I grabbed my bag, picked up Tom and pushed the triplets out of the door.
It was only when I got to the car that I realized none of us had our shoes on.
When Harry got home late that night, I told him about the fight.
‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ he said, taking his tie off and throwing it over the chair beside him.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Sophie likes things to be perfect. Having the boys running wild in her house is her idea of hell.’
‘It’s not as if we’re there every day. We haven’t called into her in months. I only ever go there with Tom. She avoids the triplets like the plague.’
‘I agree she’s high maintenance, but she’s generous in other ways.’
‘What? Buying oversized presents for Christmas and their birthday?’
‘Well, yes, and she has offered to send Mimi over to clean the house, but for some reason you keep saying no.’
‘I don’t want to owe her anything. I don’t want her having done me any favours. She’ll just throw it back in my face if we ever have a fight – like the bloody suede jacket she keeps bringing up.’
‘What make was the washing-machine the boys wrecked?’ Harry asked.
‘I don’t know – some fancy German one.’
‘God, it’ll probably cost a fortune to fix.’
‘She won’t let me pay for it. Sophie’s not like that.’
‘We should, though. Our kids broke it.’
‘I know, but there’s no way Sophie’s going to send me a bill. She’s selfish with things, not money. Besides, she’ll probably just throw it out and order a new one.’
‘It’s the principle of the matter. I don’t want Jack slagging me off about my kids trashing his house and him having to pay for it.’
‘If he does, ignore him.’
‘I try to.’
‘He’s not the worst, he’s just a bit –’
‘Of a tosser?’
‘Yes, but Sophie said his family are really patronizing to him and that they consider him a failure so I think he’s probably insecure.’
‘He hides it well. It must be buried very deeply underneath that over-confident exterior.’
‘I suppose all that financial success would give you a bit of a swagger.’
‘I wish I could spoil you more. Get you a nanny and buy you nice jewellery.’
‘The best thing you could do to spoil me is take the boys out on Saturday morning and give me a lie-in. That would be the best present ever.’
‘It’s a deal. But I do wish I earned more, so you could have some help.’
‘Look, Harry, you do the best you can and I think you’re brilliant. We have everything we need. Besides, there is light at the end of the tunnel. The triplets will be going to proper school next year from nine until one thirty, with the option of after-school care until five thirty. It’ll be bliss.’
‘Money would make things easier, though.’
‘It doesn’t necessarily bring you happiness. I think Sophie’s life is really empty. She has far too much time on her hands. She’s obsessed with her appearance, her clothes and her car. It’s all about status, not about real life. Mind you, she looks great, doesn’t she?’
‘God, no. Her face is strange because of all that crap she injects into it and she’s far too thin and bony. I like a bit of flesh on my women.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly got that here.’
Harry put his arm around me. ‘You’re gorgeous and sexy.’ He bent down to kiss me.
‘Are you angling for sex?’
‘It’s been ages and I’m horny as hell.’
I giggled. ‘OK, let’s go before you start humping bus stops.’
Harry grabbed my hand and sprinted towards the bedroom.
Five minutes later he was fast asleep with a happy grin on his face and I was wide awake, trying to avoid the wet spot.
I couldn’t sleep. I kept going over my fight with Sophie. I got out of bed and crept into the kitchen. I took out my phone to text my sister, but there was a message from her already: Sry I freaked. Dont wry bout washg mchn, is working fine.
That was the thing about Sophie. She wasn’t a sulker. She didn’t like any tension or bad feeling in her life. She liked everything to be sorted out and in its rightful place. I knew she was lying about the washing-machine being fine, but if I paid for it to be fixed, it would become this big thing – and Sophie wanted the quarrel to be over. She wanted the whole day to be in the past.
I wrote back: I’m sry too. Feel awful for shouting.
She texted back immediately: Lets 4get whole thing.
And I knew that would be the last I heard of it. Sophie’s slate was wiped clean. It was good because, of course, I didn’t want to continue arguing with her, but some of the things she had said had really hurt. I know I’d said awful things too, but I was feeling pretty crap about myself and her comments had stung. Mind you, she was right: it was up to me to take control of my life and my weight. It was up to me to find myself again.
I made some tea and logged on to the computer. I went to
www.mumskeepingsane.com
. It was my guilty pleasure. I loved the chat rooms and reading the things other mothers said. I always felt less lonely, less of a bad mother and less of a bad person when I read how much other people were struggling. I’d never posted any comments, but tonight I felt the need to write, so I began to type.
Threescompany
was the name I chose for myself.
Hi, Mums,
This is my first time posting anything. I just wanted to know if any of you were feeling the same way. Despite having four children (four-year-old triplets and an eighteen-month-old – all boys) and never having a minute to myself, I feel lonely all the time.
I have a lovely husband and my children are healthy. I have nothing to complain about, but I find myself crying almost every day. Sometimes everything just gets on top of me. I didn’t sign up for this. I didn’t get married to end up drowning under a pile of laundry. Who the hell would apply for the job of wife and mother? Can you imagine the ad?
WANTED: female slave. No salary, no bonuses (fyi, husbands, sex is not a bonus when you’re exhausted). No promotions, no sick days, no holidays, no medical care, no life insurance, no pension. Job involves cooking, cleaning, tidying up twenty times a day, washing, changing sheets, ironing, bathing and wiping arses – not just your own kids’ but their friends’ arses too. It will also require you to be a nurse, counsellor, maid, chef and peacemaker. You will also need the persuasive powers of a UN mediator to convince your kids that broccoli is not a tasteless, fuzzy, dry, grass-like food: it is delicious not to mention nutritious. You will not get any breaks – cigarette, coffee or even toilet. You will never be alone – even if you do eventually make it to the toilet, you will always have company. There is no personal space in this job. All of your belongings are now open to being dribbled on, sucked, chewed, bent, pulled, broken and, on many occasions, flushed down the toilet. Your clothes will be covered with food – carrot stains never wash out – and snot. Your sleep will be interrupted every night – a type of torture favoured in Guantánamo Bay. You will learn to sing songs over and over again until your head splits … And NEVER expect to be thanked, patted on the back, encouraged, cheered on or praised. You will, however, be criticized, moaned at, shouted at, told you are the worst person in the world, screamed at, screeched at, and have toys thrown at you. Sometimes you may be kicked, thumped and, on a very bad day, even spat at.