She’d never had such open conversations with the people she worked with, apart from Vanessa. But these women were perfectly happy to talk about anything.
Nobody pretended her life was perfect, which was what many of the working mothers Mel knew did. She knew their lives were the same hectic rush as hers, and they knew it, but admitting it was some sort of defeat.
By contrast, the women in St Simeon’s laughed about their lives, flaws and al . The group ended at twelve, and Mel left with two happy children and lots of phone numbers programmed into her mobile. It had been refreshing talking about being a mother without feeling like a fraud. And just as refreshing to find that the women who stayed at home with their kids had issues too. So it wasn’t just me and Vanessa who worried, Mel thought. Al mothers did it, even the ones who appeared to have it al under control. It was a comforting thought.
After lunch, when Carrie was having her nap and Sarah was watching a video, Mel decided to tackle some of the household jobs that had been annoying her for months.
First, she scrubbed the kitchen floor, then she started on the utility room. There were corners where the tiled floor was filthy, so she got out her trusty bottle of Domestos bleach and scrubbed until the smel of ammonia was almost overpowering.
There was an enormous sense of satisfaction in cleaning, she decided.
‘How’s it going?’ asked Adrian when he phoned.
‘Wonderful,’ answered Mel. ‘Although I’ve spent so much time cleaning out the utility room with bleach that I’m definitely a Domestos goddess, not a domestic one.’
‘Is it better being home than being in Lorimar?’ Adrian said a bit anxiously.
‘Miles better,’ said Mel, surveying her kingdom with pride.
On Friday, Mel’s mum was taking care of the girls for the morning to give Mel a break. Determined not to lose touch with her old life, Mel organised meeting Vanessa for lunch.
‘I miss my girls,’ Karen admitted, when she arrived at Mel’s midmorning.
‘I know, Mum,’ Mel said, feeling guilt from yet another source. For so long, her mother had been such a big part of Carrie and Sarah’s weekly routine. It must be hard for her to be relegated to the second division now that Mel had given up
her job. ‘I’m sorry …’ she began, but her mother stopped her. ‘Don’t say a word, Mel,’ Karen said firmly. ‘I miss the girls but I have never been happier for you since you gave up Lorimar. It was kil ing you, keeping al the bal s in the air.
Your dad and I were worried about you, but I could never have said it in case you thought I was getting at you.’
‘I probably would have,’ admitted Mel. She’d never have been able to admit it before. Being at home was definitely good for her: she was more relaxed, more open.
‘Office jobs aren’t made for mothers and that’s the truth,’
Karen went on. ‘Until someone comes up with a plan to help women to work around their families, then women are going to be doing what you did: rushing, racing and feeling torn every day of their lives.’
‘I can always go back to work when Carrie’s final y at school,’ Mel added.
‘Exactly,’ her mother said. ‘I’m sure they’l be dying to have you back in Lorimar. The old witch Hilary is probably cursing for letting you go in the first place!’
Vanessa was five minutes late.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ she apologised as she rushed into the Oriental Palace in a flurry of perfume. ‘We’re working on more bloody focus groups for the nurse-cal service to see what people real y want, and they start tonight. Sorry,’ she stopped herself, ‘you don’t want to hear al this stuff.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Mel. ‘I haven’t had Lorimar surgical y removed yet. I’m stil family, God help me!’
‘Great. I was afraid you’d have been mummy-fied. You wouldn’t believe what’s been going on.’ Vanessa scanned the menu at high speed, raised an eyebrow at a waiter to summon him and he arrived, order pad at the ready. More than he’d done since Mel had been sitting there. She’d had to get the menus herself from the table next door, clearly having lost her invisible waiter-attention button.
‘Beef and oyster mushroom special with pak choi,’
Vanessa said, ‘with a half bottle of number twelve. OK with you, Mel?’ ‘Er, yes. I’l have the cashew nut chicken. And water, stil .’ ‘Yes, wel , there was war over a problem in subscriptions where people were being charged twelve per cent extra for paying with credit cards. Processing error, although not our fault, the computer bods say. But Hilary’s been putting fires out al week trying to keep it quiet. Oh, and you won’t believe who Shaznay, that tal girl in subscriptions, has been seen out with …’
It was strange hearing about it al from a distance. Mel had thought she’d wanted to know al the news but it was hard to feel as excited over Shaznay from subscriptions having a romance with Peter from claims as it would have been. In-house gossip used to be the lifeblood of Lorimar. From outside, it al seemed a bit banal.
Mel realised that she wanted to hear that the place was fal ing apart without her and that Hilary had been seen wringing her hands in misery in the women’s loos twice a day, saying, ‘We didn’t appreciate Mel Redmond until now.
Get her back - I don’t care what it costs.’ That would make her day. Except that nobody appeared to be wringing their hands over Mel’s absence at al . Her replacement, a twenty-five-year-old graduate from China, cal ed Kami, had charmed everyone in the place and she and Vanessa were going out at lunchtimes. ‘She knows how to handle Hilary, that’s for sure,’ Vanessa said approvingly as she wolfed down her meal. ‘When Hilary’s about to go postal, Kami’s face loses al expression and she stares her down. Hilary can’t handle it at al . You can’t lose your cool with someone who never loses theirs.’ ‘Suppose not,’ agreed Mel, who found that she was ravenous, despite having finished off Carrie’s Shreddies in addition to her own breakfast that morning. It was hard not to eat when you were home al day: the kids needed endless healthy snacks, but when she opened the fridge to get them juice or fromage frais, she found herself nibbling bits of cheese or popping another garlic-and-oil-drenched olive into her mouth.
‘How’s it going, anyway? Gone to any coffee mornings yet?’ ‘Er … wel , there is one tomorrow,’ Mel admitted, feeling instantly like every cliche of the pampered stay-at-home wife, even though the reality was very different. ‘But we al have kids in the mother and toddler group: it’l be like having the group in someone’s house real y.’
‘You’re getting to know people then?’
In the midst of a mouthful of chicken - that sauce was delicious - Mel nodded. ‘We’ve been invited to dinner next Saturday night. Astrid. They live near us but in these big posh houses.’ ‘See? You’re in with the Carrickwel Mummy Mafia already,’ joked Vanessa. ‘What about your spa vouchers - have you used those yet?’ Mel’s farewel present from Lorimar had been a pair of vouchers for the new Cloud’s Hil Spa.
‘Not yet, I’m saving them for a special occasion,’ said Mel.
‘Wish I had the time to come, but it’s just crazy at the moment,’ said Vanessa, polishing off her wine. It was only ten to two. ‘Better fly, Mel. I’ve got to rush into the supermarket and grab something for Conal’s dinner.’
Mel stil felt hungry so when she’d waved Vanessa goodbye, she meandered along and took a trip into the shopping centre where she had an after-lunch latte and a cream bun. There was some lovely stuff in the shops. She fel in love with a pair of cinnamon-coloured suede sandals that would real y suit her. But they were expensive and with her not working, they didn’t have the money for such luxuries.
The fol owing Saturday, Mel wished she’d bought some of the fabulous clothes she’d seen after her lunch with Vanessa. Astrid’s dinner party was taking place that night and Mel realised that her evening wear consisted of corporate wear (sedate black and navy dresses), two sparkly tops that were donkey’s years old and hadn’t been fashionable since Abba were hot, a see-through black shirt that needed careful choice of underwear and a couple of dresses from her younger clubbing years. With the inevitable black trousers, they made up her evening out ensembles. Her weekend clothes were al very casual and none of it was suitable for any dinner other than in Ronald McDonald’s restaurant. The only other options were her dressed-for-success suits. Mel wasn’t into clothes much but she began to see that she was badly equipped sartorial y for her new life.
Then, at the back of the wardrobe, she found the old violet halterneck dress she’d bought on holiday in Italy when she and Adrian were first dating. It was vaguely ‘thirties but timeless, and amazingly it stil fitted. Tonight, when she didn’t have to be Ms Redmond from publicity, it would be perfect.
Astrid’s home was on one of Carrickwel ’s leafier, more expensive roads and turned out to be a detached redbrick pile beside a row of other, al slightly different, redbrick piles. It was five minutes’ walk from Goldsmith Lawn but worlds apart in terms of price.
‘We are moving in posh circles,’ Adrian said as they walked up the curving, conifer-lined drive.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Mel. ‘Do you think they’l be on for spag bol in the playroom-cum-dining room in our house? I’d even move some of the kids’ toys so people’s legs could actual y fit under the table.’
‘There’s no need to go that far. Standing on a squeaky toy can be a great way to break the ice.’
Despite the grand facade, Astrid and Mike’s home wasn’t grand on the inside and had a lived-in, kid-friendly look.
Astrid didn’t go in for formal dinner parties either, Mel saw with relief, because there was no sign of expensive silver and cut-glass goblets at the big wooden table. It al looked casual. Mike stood at the top and directed people to seats so couples wouldn’t be together. Mel found herself between a youngish guy in chinos and a denim-blue sweater, and an older man in a
snow-white shirt with monogrammed cuffs. His name was Colin and he lived next door to Astrid.
‘What do you do?’ he asked when they were al settled with wine and bread.
‘I’m in publicity …’ Mel began, then laughed at herself. ‘I used to be in publicity. For Lorimar?’ Colin’s eyes were keen with interest and Mel decided that he was cute for an older guy. Sexy in a charismatic way. ‘Sounds interesting.’
He moved his elbow a teeny bit closer to her on the table.
‘I was part of a team that handled the website. The web is such an important part of our business now. Wel , it was when I was there.’
‘What do you do now?’
‘I’ve just given up work to stay at home with the children.’
Like a lightbulb switching off, the gleam of interest went out of Colin’s eyes.
Mel knew she hadn’t imagined it. ‘I’ve got two little girls.
One’s two and a half and the other is nearly five,’ she went on. He sat back in his seat, breaking the cosy intimacy between
them.
‘Have you got children?’ she asked, because she had to be utterly sure that her lack of a job was what had made him switch off and not the reference to children.
‘Yeah, they’re nearly grown up now. Costing me a fortune.
I’ve got to work al hours to keep them in pocket money.’
And the subject was closed. Colin took a sip from his wine and looked around the table as if he was suddenly ravenous and wondered where the food was.
Children were not the taboo, Mel realised. Being a stay-at home mother was. Lizanna had been on the money. Colin’s eyes had glazed over.
Astrid and Mike were good hosts. They kept the table lively, making sure that nobody was left out. Watching Adrian deep in conversation with his neighbour, while Colin studiously avoided her, Mel was grateful for Astrid occasional y dragging her into the discussion.
Footbal , house prices, local schools, the roadworks on the bridge in Carrickwel , the wisdom of giving children mobile phones and the new Bond film: al were discussed and laughed over.
Her other neighbour, Mr Denim-Blue Sweater, wasn’t paying her any attention, but Mel didn’t mind because it was clear that he’d been invited for one of the female guests, who was sitting on his other side. Astrid had got her matchmaking right, that was for sure. The pair talked incessantly, which meant Mel saw a lot of both her neighbours’ shoulders.
But final y, with the aid of several glasses of wine and some brandy, Colin found Mel interesting to talk to again. She listened for a while to him talking about his job (telemarketing company), his sport of choice (he had a power boat), and what he felt about the Formula One season (wouldn’t it be great to see some new blood come into the pit?).
Mel didn’t want to be rude at someone else’s party, so she kept on smiling and watched her hands on her watch creep round to eleven. That was a suitable time to leave, surely?
Al the while, Colin’s eyes - which were no longer even vaguely attractive - kept dipping below Mel’s face to linger on the mounds of her breasts under the violet dress. She hadn’t been able to find her halterneck bra that evening, so had gone braless. Vanessa would have laughed, Mel thought with an inner grin, to see a slightly drunken man admiring the boobs that Mel insisted were beyond saving.
But eventual y, it began to get to her. Colin didn’t know or care that she had been an ambitious career woman for al her adult life. Al he saw was a woman with kids, a tight dress, no job and no bra.
Sexism wasn’t new to Mel, but she’d always been able to deal with it because she knew she was so much more than the sum of her physical parts. If a guy whistled at her legs, Mel
didn’t care. She was far brighter than he was, and confident in her abilities. Let him whistle. So what? If a co-worker made a smart remark about women, Mel was perfectly capable of cutting him down to size. She knew she was more than any man’s equal in the workplace.
Except her workplace had changed. The confidence of her career had been whipped out from under her, like a magician whisking a tablecloth out from under the teacups.
And Colin’s rheumy drunken eyes annoyed her.
She folded her arms across her chest where his eyes had been resting for several seconds. ‘Why don’t you take a photo? It’l last longer,’ she said.