Gucci Mamas

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

~ Prologue ~ Mascara Epiphany

~ 1 ~ Trouble in Paradise

~ 2 ~ Same Old, Same Old

~ 3 ~ Good Morning

~ 4 ~ Running the Gauntlet

~ 5 ~ Caffeine Hit

~ 6 ~ The Present Dilemma

~ 7 ~ A Troubled Teen

~ 8 ~ Party Princess Present Time

~ 9 ~ Mother’s Group

~ 10 ~ The Stress of Life

~ 11 ~ Day of Reckoning

~ 12 ~ Body Maintenance

~ 13 ~ It Must Be Fete

~ 14 ~ It’s All About the Shoes

~ 15 ~ On the Nose

~ 16 ~ Home Front

~ 17 ~ Distressed and Lippy-less

~ 18 ~ Little Emperors

~ 19 ~ Sushi, Anyone?

~ 20 ~ Mother Earth

~ 21 ~ School Daze

~ 22 ~ Stripper on Canvas

~ 23 ~ Ellie’s Reveal

~ 24 ~ On With the Show

~ 25 ~ Fun and Games

~ 26 ~ The Big Old House in the Country

~ 27 ~ Sanctuary

~ 28 ~ Tiffany’s Revenge

~ 29 ~ Power Talk

~ 30 ~ The Big Blue

~ 31 ~ The Search Begins

~ 32 ~ Home to Mother

~ 33 ~ Reality check

~ 34 ~ Cliff Gets It

~ 35 ~ Art-show Aftermath

~ 36 ~ R&R in Moorooduc

~ 37 ~ Nice Place to Visit

~ 38 ~ The Wait Ends

~ 39 ~ On the Move

~ 40 ~ You’re Going Where?

~ 41 ~ Back to Basics

Acknowledgements

About the Authors

For more great books

I could be happy, really happy, if I had an arse like that.

Mim sighed as she caught sight of a taut, toned butt in Calvin Kleins reflected in the chemist’s mirror. Lucky bitch, I’ll bet her bloody life is perfect, you can just tell, she thought ruefully, sneaking another glance at the tight cheeks and making a silent promise to fit in another yogalates class that week.

Funny, she had those jeans on today too …

Oh Jesus.

That was
her
reflection.

That was
her
arse.

But how could that be?

That was the arse of a truly happy woman, a woman who was ‘there’.

Mim wasn’t anywhere. She wasn’t happy. She was still striving and fighting to get somewhere even near ‘there’.

This presented a dilemma. How could she be seen out in public with an arse that boasted such confidence? One that sent such a message of taut smugness? When there was so little else to back it up?

It was disconcerting to have one’s buttocks move ahead in social status before one had all the other necessary accoutrements for a better life.

Perplexed, she paid for the mascara she had rushed in for before dropping the kids at school. Then, stealing one more backward glance in the mirror, she headed back into her life.

Present Day

Mim stared daggers at James. Then her fight-or-flight response kicked in. With Mim it was always flight. Get the hell away, escape, just hide. She grabbed her bag and keys and turned to storm out.

‘That’s right, as always, run away, Mim. You’ve been doing it your whole life.’

She spun angrily back towards her husband. He stood there in an aggressive male stance – hands on hips, legs astride. He glared at her, daring her to call his bluff.

‘What else do you expect me to do?’ she screamed at him. ‘I can’t stay here and put up with this shit another second, I just need to get the hell away!’

‘What you need, you spoilt little princess, is to stay here and resolve this. You need to stop hiding for once. Now put the fucking car keys down.’

‘How dare you, you utter shit,’ Mim responded, throwing the keys at James’s head. He ducked just in time, and the
keys clipped the corner of the wall behind, leaving a nasty rip in the plaster.

‘Oh, nice one,’ said James as he turned to survey the damage. ‘Domestic violence a new strategy with you, is it?’

‘How dare you turn this around!’ Mim was almost hysterical, her high-pitched tone revealing her frustration. ‘This isn’t about me, James, it’s about us, our family. You haven’t been home from work in time to see the kids in weeks! You’re out at dinner meetings every weekend. Charley was crying the other night because he misses you so much. And now you’re off to London for God knows how long.’

James glared at her and, as he drew a sharp intake of breath to thwart her tirade, she jumped in with more to stop him from speaking.

‘And take a look at yourself, for chrissakes, you look fucking awful. You haven’t exercised in months, you’re gaining weight, you’re drinking and eating out so much, you’ve got bags under your eyes, your skin’s playing up again. You’re under so much stress and it’s completely poisoning this family.’

‘Oh, so it’s my fault, is it?!’ James strode to the kitchen, yanked open the fridge and practically snapped the top off a beer. ‘I’ll drink and eat what and when I like, Mim. I am under so much fucking pressure at work and yes, at home! When do I ever get to have a social life?’

Mim scoffed as she threw her bag onto the leather sofa and followed him, listening to him rant.

‘Going out with Japanese business men and schmoozing them is not my idea of fun, Mim. It’s not something I choose to do. I have to work my arse off to keep up with the fancy fucking lifestyle that you insist we live.’

‘What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t chosen this … this …’ Mim threw her arm around vaguely, attempting to illustrate her home and lifestyle. ‘
We
made the
decision to live here; to renovate; to send the kids to Langholme Grammar, not me.’ She turned her back on him to hide her tears.

‘Mim!’ James flung the breadboard onto the granite bench with so much force it split savagely down the centre with a loud crack like a gunshot.

Mim spun around in shock.

‘When we made those decisions we knew that we were going to have to keep the belt tight. We agreed on a five-year plan to live frugally so we could have all the things we wanted.’

‘Oh yes, of course, the middle-class poor.’ Mim circled one hand in a regal wave.

‘That’s what we decided,’ he shouted in frustration. ‘But now all this doesn’t seem to be enough for you. We have the house, the cars, the holidays, the schools and every fucking designer-labelled toilet seat and toothbrush known to man – what more do you want from me?’

‘I just want you to be around, to be a part of this family. I don’t want to do it all alone any more.’

‘How in the hell am I meant to do that and provide all this? Maybe
you
could do more than that freelance shit that costs us more than you earn. Maybe
you
could get a real job?’ he shouted, wild with anger.

‘A job?! How dare you tell me what to do! I am not getting some hideous nine-to-five office job – how would I mother my children properly if I’m completely exhausted?’

‘Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t be any worse a job of mothering them than you’re doing now,’ James spat back, aware that he’d gone too far, said too much, but so hyped on adrenalin and stress that he was powerless to stop himself.

‘YOU ARSE!’ Mim was gobsmacked. He actually thought she was a shit mother?! Her hands went to her hips.
‘How the fucking hell would you know what kind of a mother I am when you’re never even here?’

‘Well when I am here you’re short-tempered, you’ve got half a bottle of wine under your belt, you’re snappy, you never want to do bedtime for them. You used to fight me for bedtime, but now you try and get out of it.’

‘Okay …’ (
you complete fuck-knuckle
, she added in her head) ‘… one,’ and she held out one finger in an accusatory manner, ‘of course I’m short-tempered and snappy – I am freaking exhausted.’

‘Oh, puulease!’ said James, cutting her off before she could continue, ‘midweek tennis wearing you out, is it? Or is it the Prada sale that’s causing you stress?’ His voice was mean with sarcasm.

‘Surely you don’t really believe that?’ Mim stared at him in bewilderment. ‘Have you any idea what it’s like raising three little children? How much pressure they put me under? The constant squabbling, the demands on my time, the need for attention. Making food all day that’s just thrown right back at me. Never any sense of being appreciated? Do you have any concept of that?’

‘Should I bring out the violins?’ James asked viciously as he crossed the room and threw himself down on the couch, angry with her, angry with himself, hating the sheer ugliness of his life at that moment.

‘You are really a fucking self-centred son-of-a-bitch and I have no idea what I saw in you in the first place.’ Mim picked up her bag and walked across the room. It was time to collect the children from Liz’s house.

As she was about to close the door to the garage she swore she heard James mutter under his breath, ‘Fuck you too, princess.’