The Darker Side of Mummy Misfit #2

The Darker Side of Mummy Misfit

AMANDA EGAN

Copyright © 2011 Amanda Egan

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the author or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

First published as an eBook December 2011

Published in paperback by Lulu December 2011

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My traditional thanks and acknowledgements appear in my first book

‘Diary of a Mummy Misfit’

This time I’d like to thank all the wonderful people I’ve met on Twitter on my journey as an Indie writer.  You guys have kept me sane, spurred me on and said such lovely things about the Diary - you gave me the incentive to carry on.

In no particular order - I don’t want to upset any of you:

Gillian Harrison - oh, Miss Moo, you make me laugh and are always so supportive.

Moira Kennard - one of the very first to read the Diary and my loyal unofficial publicist.

Michelle Betham - a fellow Indie and great for a rant and a moan.

Laurel Mayer - another Indie on the other side of the pond.

Rachel Dove - a blossoming writer and excellent reviewer.

Rebecca Scarberry - a huge promoter of Indie writers.

Mark Denton - a true gent who gave my book a go and liked it.

Rachel Gully - you can join Libby’s ‘gang’ anytime!

Elizabeth Hammond - remember, “fur coat, PJ’s and a hat” and you’ll be fine.

Carol Rivers - for your help and inspiring words of encouragement.

Kim Nash, Ananda at Books to Remember and Carol at Dizzy C’s little book blog.

All at Famous Five Plus - a great group of hard working writers.

Hope I haven’t left anyone out!

Lastly, once again, to the best mum, husband and son.

MY STORY SO FAR …

Earlier this year we were so broke we had no idea where Max’s school fees were coming from and were beginning to wonder if we’d made the right decision to embark on the private school route.

To top it all off, Ned lost his job in the middle of the credit crunch.

We were lucky enough to be offered help from the school’s charity, CCL (Changing Children’s Lives) to keep Max at Manor House, the school he’d grown to love.

While I was dealing with all this, I was desperately trying for another baby and also formed what I’m sure will be a long and lasting friendship with Fenella - one of the few decent mums at the school.  She kept me sane while dealing with the ‘Meemies’ (it’s all “Me, Me, Me!”).  Some of these mothers made my life a living hell, in particular my arch-nemesis, Araminta (AKA ‘Gestapo’).

Then two miracles occurred - my ‘fairy Godmother’, who I hadn’t seen for years, passed away and left me three quarters of a million pounds and a villa in Tuscany …
and
I fell pregnant.

Oh, and so did Fenella.

Add to the mix an Asian neighbour who was determined to match-make me with her son, a stray dog we thought was male giving birth to six puppies in our kitchen, heaps of bitching and Botox (the Meemies, not me!) and that was pretty much my life.

I wonder what
this
year holds for me …

NEW TERM

NEW MUMMY

Wednesday 10
^th
September

School starts

Ned wrote the cheque for the school fees this morning and didn’t flinch once.  No shaking hand, no fevered brow like this time last year.  Not even a gulp or a world-weary sigh.

Not that I took a great deal of notice, as I was too busy admiring my recently acquired golden tan and Italian dress and shoes.  But best of all, my
ever so slight
baby bump.

Max was happily putting on his Manor House uniform, excited to be returning to prep school, and Dog and Dot were having a play fight under the table, pleased to have us back home.

Yep, life’s good.  In fact, since inheriting our windfall and villa from Auntie Maisy, it’s never been better.  Whoever said “Money doesn’t buy you happiness” was a big fat liar.  Or maybe just a miserable bastard.  It’s definitely made
us
happy.  Not that we were a manically depressed pair before, but it’s certainly less scary not having to worry about how to pay for next week’s groceries or which credit card to put the gas bill on.

It’s also been rather nice to be able to book flights at the drop of a Philip Treacy and set off to sun ourselves at our Tuscan retreat.  It won’t always be holidays of just ‘park, cinema and duck feeding’ now.  Although we’ll still enjoy those simple pleasures and I’m not that daft as to expect we’ll be going away
every
school holiday - after all Ned starts his new high-powered job today and we’ll be raking in even more money.

Not that I’m gloating or anything … but what a contrast to earlier this year when everything hung so dangerously in the balance.  Not only do we not now need the assistance of the school charity, but we’ve also been able to contribute a year’s school fees to help another family
and
I’ve been appointed CCL Head of Fundraising - scary but true!

Yep, what a difference a dead relative and a few more noughts on your back balance can make.

Wonder if Fenella’s up for a quick trip to Knightsbridge once we’ve dropped the kids off and, oh so painlessly,
paid the school fees
.

Always wanted to say that.  “Fancy nipping up to Harvey Nicks for a mooch around?  We could do lunch too - my treat.”

Probably won’t actually buy anything because I’m still finding it hard to ditch my frugal ways.  Although I may drop into the Notting Hill Trust charity shop while I’m there - just for old time’s sake.  I’m sure the Knightsbridge pickings are much richer.

I guess I’ll have to leave Fenella outside though as her poor over-sensitive pregnant nostrils are unable to take the “revolting body odours left on other people’s cast-offs.”  It took her a long while to accept that I had a guilty charity shop secret and she makes me swear to boil wash everything before I wear it - tricky with silk and linen.

Aah, dear Fenella.  I’ve missed her this summer.  The one Manor House mummy with her Jimmy Choos still firmly on the ground.  Can’t wait for a catch up and to compare our growing bumps.

Here’s to a new school year and the ‘new me’ dealing with the bitching and the back-stabbing with renewed vigour.

I’m as good as any of them now and this is my time to prove it.

Thursday 11
^th
September

God I’d forgotten how totally obnoxious and small-minded those mothers are.

The Meemies (who think the world is unable to revolve without them) were out in full force yesterday - Gestapo, the Gnome, Dress-up Mummy et al.

It’s always the same at the beginning of a new term.  They’re there for the first few days to ‘mwah, mwah’ one another, admire tans, surgery or weight loss and then, kerblam, it’s over to the hired help or the car share.  It would be too much to expect them to see their kids to school
every
day.  That would interfere with the Pilates, colonic irrigation or aura cleansing - although it would take a few gallons of industrial strength Cillit Bang to cleanse some of
those
auras.

The hateful Gestapo was there this morning, talking at the top of her voice and letting all and sundry know that she’s dumped her dodgy dealer City husband ‘Rudeman’, who’s currently doing time at Her Majesty’s pleasure, and she’s now having a fling with my next door neighbour’s son, Pritesh.

This news could be the death of Mrs Sengupta!  For so long she’s dreamed of Pritesh and me becoming a couple (much to Ned’s amusement) and now, not only have her hopes been dashed, she has to put up with one of the most intolerable mothers in the school.  Just hope she’s able to cope after so recently being discharged from hospital after her fall.  Must go round to see her later.  I’ve got a new Barry Manilow CD I know she’s been waiting for and some velour trackies with ‘Hot Mama’ sequined on the bottom - her choice of garment to keep her ‘booty’ warm under her sari.

Gestapo actually came over and air kissed me in a cloud of something putrid.  “Oh, Libby.  Thank you
so
much for introducing me to the divine Pritesh.  He’s changed my life you know - such cultural differences, so interesting and enlightening.  And, of course, he’s hung like a donkey.”

Poor Pritesh!  She’ll eat him alive and spit out the pips.  And he’ll never be able to sustain her expensive way of life.  Still, at least CCL pay Gestapo’s school fees now - much to her shame of course.  But then she
was
pretty vile about supporting the school charity until she actually needed help herself.

Fenella and I had a long chat with Olga, ‘Lydia-Boss-Lady’s’ au pair.  It’s official.  Olga is now
definitely
a lesbian (this month!) and has moved her lover in.  “Vot funny!  Boss-Lady not ‘appy but I know who is de
real
boss.  She cannot function vizout me around, so I just tell her de vay it is.  Zsa-Zsa move in or
I
move out, I say.  Ve had proper lesbo love-nest before you could say “Tipping de velvet!”  Next veek I push for de pay rise.”

Which reminds me of
some
of the things I love about Manor House.

Friday 12
^th
September

Mrs Sengupta doesn’t seem to have brought a complete set of marbles home from the hospital.

Ned was up at midnight last night preparing a presentation and heard her in the garden calling for Lassie to come home.  Then this morning she told me how much she missed Princess Diana and how she never visits anymore.  “Oh, Libbybeta
(her cultural term of endearment for me)
.  She was such a good friend to me and now she is never writing, never phoning.  Do you think I have done something to be offending her?”

I assured her that, no, I didn’t think that at all and then rushed home to email Pritesh.  Is she safe to be left on her own, I ask myself?

Saturday 13
^th
September

Methinks the love bug has struck Pritesh and turned him into just another mindless, insensitive son - something I never had him down as.  Gestapo must have him well and truly under her seductive spell.

He reckons Mrs S is only saying and doing all the daft stuff for attention because she’s bored and lonely and that we shouldn’t take any notice of her.

That’s all very well but, as Skunk (Mrs S’s punk friend from computer class and business associate) pointed out, “What if she’s a bloody danger to ‘erself?  I’d be well gutted if summink happened to ‘er.  She ‘elped me turn me life around, Lib.  Without ‘er I’d never ‘ave got involved in the pickle business and it’s goin’ great guns now.”

In fact, ‘Ba’s Kitchen’ is doing so well Skunk still insists on paying Mrs S a hefty percentage of his profits even though she’s become a sleeping partner since her fall in the summer.

Seems that Skunk has taken on the role of proxy carer in Pritesh’s coital absence.  No doubt the prodigal son will return when Gestapo has totally shagged him out.  In the meantime, I guess we’ll just have to cope.  How hard can it be?

Mrs S phoned earlier to say not to open the door because the Nazis were coming and she was going to hide in her air raid shelter if I wanted to join her.