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

  Evening

  Alex just phoned.

  His assistant is booking the cruise and needs to know how many suitcases I’ll be bringing.

  ‘One,’ I said. ‘Obviously.’

  ‘I don’t see why it should be obvious,’ said Alex. ‘My mother is bringing five suitcases.’

  The nearer we get to the cruise departure date, the more uneasy I feel about being stuck on a boat for a week with Catrina Dalton. But she did send me that nice scarf.

  Maybe it will be okay.

  Tuesday 27th February

  Wolfgang’s birthday party today at Althea’s house.

  The theme this year was ‘Revolution!’

  I didn’t have the energy to do proper fancy dress, so just put Daisy in a red Minnie Mouse party outfit. Hoped Althea would ignore the Disney iconography and focus on the revolutionary red colour.

  She didn’t.

  ‘Minnie Mouse is a symbol of the capitalist West,’ Althea bellowed. ‘Disney is everything this party is against.’

  It’s okay for Althea – she has a little boy. Trying to keep girls away from Walt Disney is like opening a packet of M&Ms and only having one – impossible.

  Wolfgang was dressed as Che Guevara and looked very fetching in his beret and army fatigues.

  Althea looked good too, in an imposing kind of way. She was dressed as Joan of Arc, boasting hand-welded plate armour and a six-foot pikestaff.

  The pikestaff caused a few arguments, because Wolfgang kept trying to grab it.

  While Althea was blowtorching the birthday candles, Wolfgang finally managed to get both hands on the pikestaff, causing a major scuffle.

  ‘NO, Wolfgang,’ Althea bellowed, trying to prize his muscular fingers free. ‘Mummy’s weapon. You’ve got a machine gun.’

  To try and distract him, I gave Wolfgang his birthday present: a wooden shape-matching set approved by the Early Years learning programme.

  Wolfgang let go of the pikestaff, grabbed the Early Years shape-matching set and snapped it in half.

  ‘He’s a bit aggro about that Early Years learning stuff right now,’ Althea explained. ‘They’re trying to pigeonhole him at nursery, with all their Early Years charts and tick boxes. They say Wolfgang is behind in his literacy, but if anything, he’s ahead of other children. What other kid his age knows all the words to Life on Mars?’

  A few of Althea’s London mum friends were at the party, and one of them was breastfeeding a new-born. I wanted to smile at her and tell her how lovely her little girl was. But instead, I snuck into the toilet for a bit of a cry while Daisy was confused by vegan Smarties.

  Felt better for the cry. It wasn’t like the crying before – the really sad crying.

  Starting to feel okay.

  Wednesday 28th February

  Stopped by the pub this morning to give Dad back his garden shears.

  Mum offered me a bag of prawn crackers to take home, left over from last night’s Chinese takeaway.

  I asked her why prawn crackers in particular, since there was half a beef chow mein in the fridge (which I quite fancied for lunch).

  ‘You’re always banging on about healthy eating,’ said Mum. ‘So I thought you’d want the fish.’

  ‘Prawn crackers aren’t fish,’ I said. ‘They’re fish-flavoured carbohydrates.’

  ‘I thought prawn crackers were healthy,’ said Mum.

  Told her they most certainly weren’t, but took the bag anyway, plus the chow mein.

  Am appalled that Mum, with her type two diabetes, doesn’t know that prawn crackers are not a type of fish.

  She’s supposed to be back on her diet now, so goodness knows why she’s ordering Chinese food. Probably she thinks that’s healthy too.

  Thursday 1st March – St David’s Day

  Raining today.

  Took Daisy to a local playgroup called Montessori Tiny Treasures.

  It was run by an imposing grey-haired lady called Dotty Clobber, who had very strict ideas about how children should play.

  The play session was run in Dotty’s Gothic-style house, in a dark sitting room with the curtains drawn, because Dotty is allergic to sunlight.

  There were stone gargoyles and a box of various, half-used sun cream bottles on the front porch.

  Children had to select toys for ‘independent play’ from a shelf of wicker baskets, then put them carefully back for the next child to play with.

  The other mums were wary of Dotty, eyeing her nervously before they touched anything.

  The children were the same.

  At one point, a child touched the wrong thing and Dotty laid an imposing hand on his little shoulder.

  ‘We don’t do that here,’ said Dotty, in a low, menacing voice.

  The little boy dropped the toy and retreated to rock gently back and forth in the corner.

  I was so busy trying to understand what Daisy could and couldn’t touch that we forgot about having fun.

  Was a relief to get out in the rain again.

  Friday 2nd March

  Decided to have a spring clean today and get rid of more clutter.

  I was never brilliant at minimalist living, but now Daisy has come along I am getting buried under stuff.

  Got ruthless and threw out a load of broken/unsuitable toys, while John Boy distracted Daisy with his new flashing trainers.

  Was sort of hoping Alex might call today, but he hasn’t.

  The cruise is two weeks away, and I feel most couples would be on the phone every night, chattering excitedly about the countries they’re going to visit. But I suppose this is common-place to Alex. He’s always jetting off to different countries. And I’m not really sure you could call us a couple, anyway.

  Saturday 3rd March

  Nick just phoned.

  Sadie has left him. Apparently, she had a meltdown over a lack of sourdough bread at the Co-op, packed a bag and stormed off to London. She has since sent Nick a text message detailing everything she hates about living in Great Oakley – top of the list being Nick. She has also sent a picture of a sourdough bread bakery on Brick Lane.

  ‘Where was Horatio when all this happened?’ I asked.

  ‘At Mum’s house,’ said Nick. ‘Having a sleepover. Sadie and I needed a night off.’

  Nick does seem to be in genuine anguish, but I think most of it is ego-related. After all, he’s wanted to split up with Sadie for ages.

  Nick asked if I could chaperone Daisy for her visit today, because he had Horatio and couldn’t cope with two children.

  We agreed to meet at Tiny Tumbles, the out-of-town soft-play.

  Nick was actually early for a change, drinking Styrofoam coffee when we arrived. Horatio was with Nick, sleeping in one of those off-roader prams with a dummy in his mouth.

  After I’d settled Daisy in the ball pool, I accepted Nick’s ‘Do you want some crap coffee?’ offer.

  Nick gave me a long, angry speech about things being ‘over’ with Sadie and how he’d never let ‘that lying, two-faced cow’ back into his life. He begged me to get back with him (again), insisting we were happy together.

  Then Sadie appeared.

  It was a terrible shock, seeing her looming over the table.

  Sadie looked okay actually – she’s lost most of the baby weight and was dressed in leather jeans and a bright-red coat. Her hair was cut into a new, shorter style – a brown bob with blonde tips framing her jaw. It suited her, but her big, round moon face was decidedly more lined and careworn than in our friendship days.

  ‘So this is who you’re with?’ Sadie accused, her voice low. ‘Now are you going to tell me there’s nothing going on?’

  Nick stood up. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘Your mother told me,’ Sadie spat. ‘Why are you with her?’

  ‘I have a name, Sadie,’ I said. ‘Juliette. Remember? Your ex-best friend? Mother of Nick’s first child.’

  At this moment, a clown with a giant, fake head and spotted bowtie, ambled over to our tabl
e waving big, foam hands.

  ‘Hi! I’m Tiny Tumbles. Ready for the Tiny Tumbles show?’

  Sadie shouted, ‘I don’t want the fucking Tiny Tumbles show. I want to know if my fiancé has been screwing around.’

  Nick shuffled guiltily on his seat, his eyes imploring me not to tell Sadie what he’d just said about me making him happy.

  Sadie’s lips thinned. Then she turned on her heel and walked out.

  The clown said, ‘Tiny Tumbles likes happy families. Not sad families.’ And looked at me like I was some sort of floozy!

  ‘Don’t judge me,’ I said. ‘That girl slept with my fiancé.’

  Tiny Tumbles said, ‘It’s the children I feel sorry for,’ then ambled off to the Silly Pavilion.

  Shouted at Nick for bringing drama into my life, then waddled into the ball pool to get Daisy.

  ‘You’re leaving?’ said Nick. ‘But I paid an extra fifty pence for unlimited coffee.’

  Ignored him and dug around the plastic balls.

  Finally found Daisy buried in the deep end with a new friend called Maggie.

  Daisy gave an outraged scream when I told her it was home time.

  ‘Want MAGGIE! MAGGIE MY BEST FRIEND!’

  It took the whole car journey home to calm her down.

  Bloody hell. Nick and all his drama.

  I wish I’d thought more carefully about who to have kids with.

  Men should come with warning signs.

  Sunday 4th March

  John Boy’s Land Rover renovation project is really coming along. He’s put the old seats back in (a temporary measure, while he waits for red leather seats from China), glued metal studs around both bumpers and added a horn that plays seven notes from the A-Team theme.

  John Boy and Callum have been bombing around the fields today, hooting the horn and playing Sepultura at full volume.

  Callum is in an especially good mood, because his eyebrows have grown back, and he has, in his mind, reassumed his position as ‘school love machine’.

  Told John Boy he was setting Callum a very bad example – teaching dangerous driving when there is already a high chance Callum will become a dangerous driver.

  Monday 5th March

  Alex came over this evening, just as I was serving up tea.

  I was treating Daisy to wholemeal fish fingers, sweet potato chips and peas – a nice, healthy meal to offset all the rubbish I’ve been giving her lately.

  ‘You must have had a tiring day,’ said Alex, ‘to be feeding Daisy that oven-ready rubbish.’

  After a knee-jerk, ‘Fuck off!’ I said, ‘They’re wholemeal fish fingers. And sweet potato chips.’

  ‘They’re packaged nonsense,’ Alex countered.

  ‘Well what would you feed her then?’ I challenged.

  ‘Home-made spinach pasta with fresh pesto. Toasted kale chips with sea salt. Fresh organic seasonable vegetables.’

  I explained that as a single parent I have limited time and money.

  ‘Getting healthy food into children is hard,’ I said. ‘You try it.’

  Alex said he certainly would.

  ‘When?’ I asked.

  ‘For such an important endeavour, I will give Daisy two hours of my time tomorrow,’ said Alex. ‘Daisy, prepare yourself for some delicious, healthy food.’

  Didn’t mean to snort with derision and mutter, ‘She won’t eat it’.

  It just sort of came out.

  Daisy is delighted that Alex is coming to see us again. She loves him so much. I suppose it’s not surprising – he’s stable, sensible and really cares about her. These are all things I’m told children like.

  Tuesday 6th March

  Alex arrived at lunchtime today with a sheaf of child-friendly healthy recipes designed by his marketing team. He also brought five bags of shopping from the Harrods food hall.

  Alex had a simple but effective technique for healthy eating success. He called it ‘the numbers game’ and it involved cooking something, offering it to Daisy, then moving right on to preparing the next thing. He made detailed notes about what was palatable to Daisy, what wasn’t and what could be tried again in a reworked format.

  Daisy has now tried:

  Fresh egg pasta with homemade pesto

  Bone-marrow broth

  Courgette fritters with parmesan

  Homemade vegetable lasagne

  Homemade baba ganoush with vegetable crudités

  Seabass with parsley butter and asparagus spears

  Eggs Florentine

  Organic peanut butter on celery sticks

  Caviar, smoked salmon and cream cheese blinis

  Roasted vegetable chips with peri-peri dressing

  Homemade chicken dhansak with wild rice

  Homemade spelt breadsticks with olive oil and balsamic dipping sauce

  Of the twelve dishes, Daisy liked five and loved three.

  Daisy also enjoyed the snacks, including the very simple to prepare peanut butter on celery (which she called ‘peanutter on lelly’).

  After creating a final menu plan, Alex washed and dried up, rearranged my cupboards into a more efficient order and took out the recycling.

  I didn’t realise he was so domesticated, but apparently, they’re big on self-sufficiency at Windsor College.

  ‘But I can’t prepare time-consuming meals for her three times a day, seven days a week,’ I insisted.

  Alex called this ‘pessimistic’.

  ‘You only have to find three meals she likes,’ he said. ‘Breakfast, lunch and supper. Then cook large batches and freeze them.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that with children,’ I said. ‘Just because she likes something one day, doesn’t mean she’ll like it the next.’

  Alex said he’d brainstorm with kitchen staff at the Mayfair Dalton and consider ways to bring greater variety into Daisy’s diet without losing efficiency.

  Asked Alex about the cruise (just a week away now – bon voyage!), but he was in too much of a hurry to ‘chit chat’.

  His assistant will email me over the final menu plan when it’s ready.

  Wednesday 7th March

  Alex’s menu plan arrived.

  Grudgingly, I admit it’s quite good.

  I mean, some of the things I can make without too much effort. The homemade carrot pasta is right out, of course, but three-cheese Welsh rarebit is worth a try.

  Have started thinking about clothes for the cruise next week. It’s all so exciting. A whole week on an adult’s cruise holiday! What on earth am I going to wear? And what will I do with myself, when I’m not running around after a child?

  Hope I don’t think about the miscarriage too much. I haven’t wallowed in self-pity for a while now, but every so often I have an unexpected cry.

  Assessing potential holiday attire is tricky right now, because Daisy has just discovered a new game – wearing lots of clothes (mine and hers) all at once.

  This morning, Daisy came downstairs in a motley assortment of fancy dress clothing, multiple pairs of socks, my floaty summer dress, my kaftan thing and my ‘Choose Love’ t-shirt.

  When I helped Daisy get changed, I found out she was also wearing four pairs of my pants and a Minnie Mouse swimming costume.

  Thursday 8th March

  Alex came over this evening for a ‘quick supper’.

  He brought two-dozen quails eggs and asked where I kept the celery salt.

  Asked what celery salt was.

  Alex was appalled.

  ‘It’s one of the cupboard staples no kitchen should be without,’ he said. Then he listed other staples I was lacking, such as chorizo sausage, Dijon mustard, pesto and paprika. He also remarked on my lack of kitchenware.

  ‘You don’t even have a cheese knife,’ said Alex. ‘Or an earthenware roasting brick. And no dicing mandarin.’

  ‘What would I use paprika for?’ I asked.

  Alex listed ten dishes that would benefit from a sprinkle of paprika, including chilli con carne, beans on toast and
popcorn.

  Felt annoyed that he’s expecting such gourmet standards of me.

  ‘You think beans on toast with paprika is gourmet?’ said Alex. ‘Maybe there’s no helping you.’

  Thought Alex might want to discuss the cruise (six days now!), but he didn’t even mention it until I brought it up.

  ‘Aren’t you excited?’ I asked. ‘The clear, sparkling waters of the Mediterranean. Ancient architecture and sensational food in the bustling city of Rome. Tapas and cava on the sun-drenched streets of Barcelona.’

  Alex gave me one of his half smiles and said, ‘Someone’s been reading the cruise brochure.’

  Admittedly, I’ve glanced at it recently.

  After all, it’s right there on my bedside table.

  Alex said he was keen to spend time with me, but the cruise itself was a busman’s holiday, since he works in the travel business.

  ‘Europe isn’t new for me,’ he said. ‘It’s coming home.’

  Friday 9th March

  John Boy was in a good mood today because he won the pub darts tournament last night. He’d never played darts before, but Yorkie was too drunk to see straight, so John Boy ended up taking his place to stop anyone else getting hurt.

  John Boy got two triple twenties in a row, then a bullseye to finish.

  ‘It’s all that rifle training,’ said John Boy. ‘It’s made me a crack shot. And I was good at the numbers too.’

  Apparently, John Boy could work out the darts calculations in his head, while other, sober players were scribbling numbers on beer mats.

  Asked John Boy why he didn’t pass his maths GCSE. He said he never sat it.

  ‘My teachers put me with all the thick kids, ‘cause I was the joker,’ said John Boy. ‘I drew one little cartoon about my teacher’s bad breath, and bang. They packed me off to the special needs class.’

  I’d forgotten they used to do that in the 1980s – label all the naughty kids as having learning difficulties.

  Suggested John Boy consider retaking his exams, but he doesn’t see the point.

  ‘I’m happy enough,’ he said. ‘I like working at the pub. I just wish Gwen would take me back.’