Bad Mother's Holiday - Hilarious Summer Holiday Reading! Read online

Was particularly incensed about the birthday candle. ‘Who on earth authorised that replacement?’ I raged. ‘What three-year-old would require a four-year-old candle? Why not just give me a box of normal cake candles so I can count out three?’

  The delivery man was unrepentant, telling me I should have ticked the right box.

  Althea was smug about the substitutions, saying, ‘My local vegan deli would never would have done that. They care about the planet and their customers.’ Then she accused the delivery man of working for a heartless, planet-ruining corporation.

  The deliveryman shrugged and said, ‘I get a good rate of pay and a nice, warm van. It’s the customers who are the problem.’

  Saturday 20th January

  Nick turned up at 8am to collect Daisy for his first court-ordered visitation weekend. He was his usual hipster twat self, wearing sunglasses, a distressed-leather jacket, black jeans and white Adidas. As a father of two, his dyed beard and teenage clothes look ridiculous.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be here until at least eleven,’ I said. ‘You’re usually hungover on Saturday mornings.’

  ‘I’m doing dry January,’ Nick explained, whipping off his sunglasses and attempting his signature blue-eyes and dark eyebrow flirt. ‘I wake up at 6am now with heart palpitations. And I’m experiencing restlessness, headaches, confusion and loss of appetite. But Mum will give me a thousand pounds if I do the whole of January,’

  ‘It sounds like you’re having withdrawal symptoms,’ I said. ‘How much were you drinking before you stopped?’

  Nick admitted he drank one or two bottles of wine every night throughout December – which averages out at a staggering 70 units of alcohol a week.

  ‘No wonder you’re having withdrawals,’ I said. ‘You need to give your body a break.’

  Nick looked at me fondly and said, ‘It’s nice you care. Sadie couldn’t give a shit. She screamed at me for using all the headache tablets.’

  I knew it would take ages to get Daisy ready, so offered Nick a cup of tea. He accepted, and we watched Daisy going up and down the stairs, ‘packing’ her little pink rucksack with random items like the TV remote and toilet roll.

  ‘You don’t need to pack our toilet roll,’ I told Daisy. ‘Daddy has toilet roll at his house.’

  ‘Actually, it would be good to bring a roll or two,’ said Nick. ‘Just in case.’

  ‘Just in case what?’ I asked.

  Nick explained that his mother usually brought over toilet roll and other household essentials. However, since Sadie made the facelift/Chanel No.5 comments, Helen has gone on strike. The Gables is now devoid of milk, toilet roll, mineral water, all-butter shortbread biscuits, cured meats, elderflower water, smoked salmon and cheese thins.

  ‘That’s appalling,’ I said, meaning the fact Nick’s mother did his shopping for him.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ said Nick. ‘I had to wipe my arse on a sock this morning.’

  When Daisy was all packed up and ready (which largely involved unpacking … NO Daisy, you can’t take the TV remove. Because I need it! And where did that ten-pound note come from?), I carried her to Nick’s car.

  ‘You’re going to have a little sleepover at Daddy’s,’ I told her. ‘I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.’

  Daisy cried and clung to me. ‘Want Mummy. Please. Want to stay with Mummy.’

  Was heart-breaking, but had to do the good Mum thing.

  ‘It’s okay Daisy,’ I said. ‘Daddy doesn’t live far away. Just a little trip. He’ll have lots of fun things at his house.’

  Daisy relented when I said she could bring the TV remote.

  With my lovely girl strapped into the car seat, I checked over Nick’s Volvo and interrogated him about weekend plans, sleeping arrangements, etc.

  Nick assured me he had an EU approved car seat, properly fitted by a man at Halfords. He also showed me his car service certificates, which were in the glove box.

  Waved a tearful goodbye to Daisy, then went inside to have a bit of a cry.

  It felt awful, watching my little girl being driven away. I was sick to my stomach.

  Kept reminding myself that Nick seems more responsible these days. I suppose, living with Sadie, someone has to be the grown-up.

  Spent the morning fretting and worrying. What if Daisy doesn’t like Nick’s house? Will he remember to change her nappy? What if she gets scared and tries to run home?

  While I was looking up GPS tracking devices and kiddie CCTV cameras, Brandi phoned.

  ‘Can Callum and I come over?’ Brandi asked. ‘I’ve got to get out of the pub. Aunty Trina is driving me mad. She’s boil washed my Lycra dresses and made them Barbie doll size.’

  Said yes, as long as Callum behaves himself.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ I said. ‘It’s not a good idea for me to be grabbing kids by the scruff of the neck in my condition.’

  Five minutes later, Brandi turned up in her new pink Mini Cooper (who gave her finance for ANOTHER new car?) with fake plastic eyelashes on the headlights.

  Callum was in the passenger seat, gripping a stick-on steering wheel and making Formula One noises. He’d drawn black, felt-tip on his eyebrows today, and looked like a badly made-up transsexual.

  Brandi sported her usual full head of blonde hair extensions.

  ‘Mum says we’re living with you now,’ Callum announced.

  ‘You’re just visiting,’ I corrected.

  ‘Oh.’ Callum thought about that. ‘A bit like a holiday from Aunty Trina?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said.

  As I was finding violent toys for Callum to play with, John Boy sloped downstairs and offered everyone biscuits and orange squash.

  ‘I love this place already,’ said Callum. ‘Which one is my bedroom?’

  Missed a call from Alex, but haven’t phoned him back.

  I suppose we should sort things out. After all, the baby is only eight months away. But I’m just too tired right now.

  Maybe we can work on our problems in the second trimester, when I get my energy back a bit.

  Sunday 21st January

  Woke up early this morning with mad cravings for Sprite and tangy cheese Doritos.

  The shops were shut, so decided to make my own Doritos with corn flour, baking potatoes and grated cheese.

  Ended up with a burnt mess of raw potato shreds and cheese.

  Then the fire alarm went off.

  John Boy woke in a panic. He rushed into the kitchen shouting, ‘Get down. GET DOWN!’, then attacked the pan with a can of squirty cream.

  Within a minute, the cooker looked like a giant dessert.

  Was very impressed by John Boy’s quick reactions. He explained he’d learned to move quickly in Afghanistan.

  ‘You had to be lightning fast out there,’ said John Boy. ‘Especially in the morning. If you weren’t, all the fried eggs would be gone and you’d be left with muesli. Also, people could get killed.’ He glanced down at his prosthetic leg and said, ‘I still have nightmares about putting the lads in danger. They risked their lives getting me back on that tank. I’d give anything to be out there again, standing beside them.’

  Realised that John Boy is a proper, brave war hero. And also a bit crazy. But probably the two go hand-in-hand.

  Monday 22nd January

  7am

  Althea just called. A free spot has opened up on some ‘Womb Wisdom’ pregnancy course she’s doing, and Althea wondered if I wanted to participate.

  The course is run by Althea’s friend, Serenity, and is located somewhere between Great Oakley and London. It starts at lunchtime today, and Althea will be participating.

  Asked Althea why she was doing a Womb Wisdom course, since she’s not pregnant.

  Althea said any woman, pregnant or otherwise, could connect with their child-bearing power through Serenity’s feminist teachings.

  ‘You’ll discover your strong female spirit,’ Althea enthused. ‘Meet other empowered females. Stop pinning your hopes of happiness
on a man.’

  ‘What exactly happens on the course?’ I asked.

  Althea admitted there was a lot of moaning about men.

  ‘But in an empowered way,’ she assured me.

  ‘It sounds alright,’ I said, ‘but what about Daisy? I can’t get anyone to look after her at such short notice.’

  Althea said I could bring Daisy along.

  ‘Serenity welcomes children,’ said Althea. ‘She says they bring peaceful earth energy. Even Wolfgang.’

  Have decided to go. The course sounds interesting and comes with a complimentary Syrian buffet lunch.

  Evening

  Have just spent the day sitting around on Thai floor cushions with sad-faced, grey-haired pregnant women moaning about how men let them down.

  None of the women seemed the least bit empowered.

  The Syrian buffet was mostly gone by the time Althea and I arrived, with only a few dregs of cumin-sprinkled baba ganoush remaining.

  Got home feeling much worse about my life, and impulsively phoned Alex.

  Was so nice to hear a no-nonsense man’s voice after all those women talking about their feelings.

  Told Alex I missed him and hoped we could make things work.

  We’ve agreed to lunch tomorrow.

  I asked Alex to choose the restaurant, wanting a strong man making the decisions for me.

  Ironically, giving Alex control seemed to have a reverse psychology effect.

  Instead of suggesting some fancy Michelin star place with fragile glassware, Alex said, ‘Where would you like to go, Juliette? I’m guessing you have rather specific tastes right now.’

  I was a little bit too honest and said KFC.

  Alex retracted his offer and suggested a Michelin star place with fragile glassware.

  We compromised on Nando’s.

  Tuesday 23rd January

  Lunch with Alex.

  Arrived at Nando’s to find Alex waiting outside, looking displeased.

  ‘They wouldn’t let me reserve a table,’ Alex complained. ‘It’s first come, first served. Like some sort of communist canteen. Where’s Daisy?’

  Explained that Mum had taken Daisy to the new drive-in dessert parlour. ‘Dad will never go with Mum to places like that,’ I said. ‘She needs grandchildren as an excuse.’

  Nando’s was weirdly busy, so we ended up on a small table near the toilets. Things got worse when Alex realised it wasn’t table service.

  ‘No table service?’ said Alex. ‘Do we cook our own food too?’

  I explained that we ordered and paid at the counter.

  Alex didn’t seem happy about that, even though it meant he could get back to work quicker.

  After Alex had frowned at the menu for a while and decided on the ‘least offensive- option’, he asked, in curt tones, about my new living arrangement with John Boy.

  I said it was working out well.

  ‘I’m happy someone is sharing the bills,’ I said, ‘and John Boy is happy to be away from Aunty Trina. You’ve got nothing to feel threatened about. John Boy is family.’

  ‘I don’t mind your family,’ said Alex, adding with a little smile, ‘in small doses.’

  ‘You need to be okay with large doses,’ I said. ‘Especially when the baby comes along.’

  ‘And what about my family?’ said Alex.

  ‘What about them?’ I asked.

  ‘You need large doses of my family too, Juliette. We’re having a baby together.’

  ‘I think Zach and Jemima are fantastic,’ I offered. ‘I’ve missed seeing your little sister. How is she?’

  ‘She’s boarding full time now,’ said Alex. ‘So I’m not seeing much of her. It breaks my heart if I think too much about it. But don’t change the subject. What about my mother?’

  This was an unexpected turn in the conversation.

  I mean, okay – my family aren’t perfect. Mum’s new party trick is burping the theme tune to Game of Thrones. But Alex’s mother is absolutely nuts.

  ‘I’m not sure it’s possible to have a relationship with your mother,’ I said. ‘She never remembers who I am.’

  ‘So why should I have large doses of your family, if you won’t make the effort with mine?’ Alex asked.

  It was a fair point.

  The food arrived then.

  Alex had butterfly chicken, macho peas, spiced beans, olives and green salad. He asked the waitress for cracked pepper, then made himself ‘a light vinaigrette’ with olive oil and extra hot chilli sauce.

  I had half a chicken and chips.

  We talked about the baby, the dating scan, parenthood and how different we both are.

  ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked you to marry me so soon,’ Alex admitted. ‘But I felt it was the right thing to do.’

  ‘That feels very hurtful,’ I said.

  Alex pointed out that I hadn’t accepted his marriage proposal, which was equally hurtful.

  ‘But it was so soon,’ I said.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Alex.

  Realised that we were both sort of in agreement.

  We chatted about the future and the continued expansion of the Dalton leisure empire. Alex is overseeing some ‘exciting acquisitions’ this year – top of the list being a cruise ship business that would ‘go under, if you’ll excuse the pun’ without a cash injection. Alex is taking a week-long cruise in March to ‘test the waters, if you’ll excuse the pun.’

  ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come too,’ said Alex. ‘It would be a chance to spend some time together.’ He gave a little smile and added, ‘My mother has already invited herself along. She’s not one to miss out on a holiday.’

  ‘I can’t take a week off in March,’ I said. ‘It’s a busy month for the pub. And I have job applications and a daughter and a boiler that needs the occasional whack with a hammer. Anyway, your mother doesn’t like me.’

  ‘You mustn’t take it personally,’ said Alex. ‘She doesn’t like most people. And a Mediterranean cruise would be wonderful for Daisy. She can try real Italian fettuccini.’

  ‘I’m not sure you understand two-year-olds,’ I said. ‘Daisy is primarily interested in bright colours and sugary foods. She doesn’t care what day of the week it is, let alone whether her fettuccini is the real Italian version.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said Alex. ‘Real Italian fettuccini is an unforgettable experience. And I’d love Daisy to come along.’

  ‘Why don’t you come away with me and my family?’ I said. ‘Mum and Dad are going on a package holiday to Corfu in May, all local beer and spirits included. There’s even a waterslide.’

  Alex had a coughing fit then and asked a passing waitress for a ‘freshly laundered napkin’.

  The waitress stared at him blankly. ‘Oh. Like paper towels?’ she said eventually. ‘They’re by the frozen yoghurt station. You have to get them yourself.’

  Once Alex had got himself a handful of paper towels and refilled my diet coke, he said, ‘If you really think going to Corfu with your parents will help our relationship, then I’ll come.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘The package deal is already sold out. I can’t see you on a cheap and cheerful Greek holiday, anyway. You’d complain about the glassware and lack of laundered napkins.’

  ‘I can adapt to wherever I am,’ said Alex. Then he called the waitress over and asked for ‘any full-roasted Columbian coffee – I’m not fussy’.

  We held hands and it felt nice, knowing that we both want to be together.

  The difficult part will be working out how to do it.

  Wednesday 24th January

  Brandi has been kicked off her beauty course. She claims it’s not her fault, insisting: ‘Callum has been a right little shit this term. I’ve been putting parenting first.’

  Callum protested his innocence, saying that his teacher has it in for him.

  ‘Other kids ask questions and its fine,’ said Callum. ‘But if I ask, I get in trouble. These freaky blond eyebrows don’t help.
They make me look evil when I’m not.’

  Asked Callum what sort of questions he asks.

  ‘Like, what does “buttocks” mean,’ said Callum. ‘Stuff like that.’

  Apparently, this question had got him sent to the head’s office.

  ‘And the head wouldn’t tell what buttocks meant either,’ Callum added.

  ‘It means your bum,’ Mum announced, strolling into the kitchen to grab a handful of Cadbury’s mini rolls.

  Callum found this explanation hysterical. Now he keeps saying ‘buttocks’ and collapsing in peals of laughter.

  Even Daisy is joining in.

  ‘Buttocks! Buttocks!’

  Aunty Trina has finally gone home. Apparently, her local church group were ‘bereft’ without her. She left this morning, promising to come back at Christmas with some even stronger bleach solutions for the stained kitchen counter near the kettle.

  Thursday 25th January

  Lunch at Althea’s today. She served the usual watery ‘Bean Bonanza’ vegan curry, swimming with miscellaneous vegetables, but we didn’t mind. Daisy and I had ham sandwiches and crisps on the train before we arrived.

  After lunch, Althea told me she’s on the hunt for a man and has tried out a few online dating sites.

  ‘Wolfgang needs masculine influence now he’s getting older,’ said Althea. ‘Someone reliable. The sort of person who’ll notice if I’ve left the glue gun plugged in.’

  I suggested Althea also add ‘excellent upper-body strength’ to her criteria. Holding Wolfgang down when he gets into one of his rages is no feat for a weakling.

  Althea has put her profile on Tinder, but isn’t bothering with Match.com because she objects to their slogan: ‘Love your imperfections.’

  ‘I mean, what imperfections?’ said Althea, jamming camomile teabags into her rainbow-coloured teapot. ‘Every human being is perfect.’

  Admire Althea’s confidence. She has such a strong sense of self-love.

  I worry about my weight and single mum status, but Althea sees her giant boobs and aggressive baby as advantageous. In her eyes, her body fat is natural and sexy, and Wolfgang is assertive and healthily challenging of the status quo.