Gucci Mamas (18 page)

Present Day

‘Darling, you know Mummy doesn’t do games,’ Monique sighed, waving Sienna and her Bratz dolls away. ‘Go on and ask Chloe, I’m sure she’ll play fashion models with you. It’s Mummy’s turn to talk to her friends.’

Sienna skipped away as Monique turned back to the Mothers’ Group with a sigh.

‘It’s just never enough, is it?’ she asked. ‘We bring them to these gorgeous play centres with … with … well, with all this stuff …’ she indicated in the general direction of the play area (which she had never actually set foot in), ‘and still they want more. What else do we have to do?’

The Mothers’ Group girls murmured sympathetically as they sipped their chai lattes, macchiatos and green tea. They were ensconced in a quiet corner of Monkey Business, the designer indoor-play centre where they met now and again.

Apart from serving great coffee and an interesting range of herbal tea, the best thing about this Malvern play-centre
was that the parents’ and children’s areas were conveniently separated by a thick wall of noise-proof glass. ‘We really should do this at home,’ Tiffany had remarked in the past more than once.

And with Monique’s nanny, Prudie, and Ellie’s Ursula on the noisy side of the glass to deal with any tiffs, tantrums or tears, the Mothers’ Group only had to wave and smile at their offspring occasionally.

‘Anyway, sorry about the interruption, girls,’ Monique sighed again. ‘Now, where were we? Oh yes, that’s right, after-school-care – well, of course they should serve an evening meal. Most definitely! They need to talk to Peter Rowland’s Catering, I’m sure he could sort something. It doesn’t need to be three courses, two would suffice.’

‘Well absolutely,’ Ellie drawled in agreement. ‘The last thing I want to do when I pick them up at 5.30 p.m. is have two tired, hungry children hassling me for attention and food. Of course, Ursula normally does pick-up … but you get my point.’

‘It would certainly help me out,’ Monique said. ‘In fact if they could board during the week that would be a real weight off …’ she stopped, suddenly embarrassed by her admission. ‘Oh, not that I would ever actually do it, of course, it’s just that with the long hours in the shop and all … anyway, I think the after-school program is so rich and valuable, don’t you think? Mitchell came home with the most delightful little craft thingy, which we would never have managed to make at home …’ She petered off, running out of justifications.

‘It’s all right, Monique,’ Ellie leaned forward to pat her friend’s hand. ‘We know that you’ll soon be working full-time so you’ll really need after-school care, you don’t have to justify it.’

‘It’s not that at all,’ Monique came back quickly, ‘I just
think it’s an excellent chance for the children’s further development!’

‘Of course it is, Monique,’ the other mothers assured their friend.

‘So is Tiff still in Portsea?’ enquired Ellie. ‘I haven’t seen her in simply ages.’

‘Mmmmm,’ replied Mim, ‘apparently having a detox month or something.’ Tiffany had sworn Mim to secrecy and, as much as Mim hated lying to her friends, she was determined to keep Tiff’s plan quiet.

‘Nice for some,’ said Ellie as her mobile trilled ‘Dancing Queen’, bringing a welcome interruption to the topic of child-care. Ellie listened for a moment then sang into the phone, ‘No worries, lovey, see you then.’

She flipped the Motorola shut and, fluffing up her hair where the phone had slightly flattened it, announced sarcastically, ‘You’ll never guess.’

‘Liz’s running late?’ Mim asked.

Ellie nodded with pursed lips as she dropped the phone back into her Gucci handbag. ‘She’s hopeless!’

‘You can’t talk!’ Mim said playfully as Ellie grinned.

‘She’s up to something,’ said Monique, ‘I’m sure of it. She’s always off to secret meetings and she’s so hard to get on to during the week.’

‘I know, it’s weird,’ agreed Monique. ‘Even I don’t know what’s going on.’

‘Now that is weird, I’ve never known you not to have your finger on the pulse!’ Mim laughed, but for once wasn’t envious of Monique’s traditional command of gossip.

The girls discussed the interesting topic of Liz and what on earth could keep someone so rich and well-staffed so busy. Surely they’d know if it was a lover, they speculated. And really, Liz was not the type at all for a tawdry love affair.

‘Maybe she gambles,’ Mim was suggesting as Chloe
came up and tugged at her mother’s pristine white sleeve. ‘Hmmm?’ Mim said distractedly, caught up in the deliciously naughty conversation. ‘Oh yes, darling?’ she asked, glancing briefly at her sleeve to ensure Chloe had not left grubby fingerprints.

‘Come and see the shop Paris and me made,’ Chloe said, beaming at her mum. ‘It’s a supermarket!’

‘Oh,’ Mim said, torn between the intriguing chat and being a good mummy.

‘Come on,’ Chloe tugged at her insistently and Mim gave in.

‘All right sweetie,’ she smiled, then bent towards the other mums. ‘Say nothing without me, girls,’ she warned.

Mim inspected the makeshift supermarket in the home corner and dutifully admired the ‘specials’ and the ‘checkout’, amused to note that her daughter was the shopkeeper and Paris was the ‘lady’.

‘Lovely, girls, well done,’ she said extricating herself as quickly as possible to head back to the table before the others started talking about her.

Ellie had left the table to take a call on her mobile and was standing at the far side of the patisserie counter. Monique wandered over to order a third macchiato (her biorhythms were a tad flat today), but as she got within earshot she could tell from Ellie’s tense body language and urgent tone that this was no ordinary chat.

Monique was startled to hear Ellie’s normally breezy voice edged with hysteria. ‘Look, I can’t calm down,’ Ellie was saying shrilly. ‘The place has been sold. It’s all still there, I just know it is. What am I going to do? Who can help me out of this? What if everyone finds out? … I really need to see you.’

Monique was torn between wanting to comfort her obviously upset friend and feeling embarrassed about eaves-
dropping. She decided to move discreetly away as she heard Ellie finish the call.

‘I can be there tonight, Sarah. Absolutely, I have nothing on tomorrow, Ursula can take the kids to school … Okay, I will leave here at seven and should be with you by nine … Mmmm, okay, thanks so much … see you then … love you.’

By the time Ellie slammed her phone shut and gathered herself together, Monique was back at the table fussing in her handbag at the table to cover her guilt. Monique tried to read her immaculate complexion for clues. Ellie caught her stare and smiled back.

‘Love that turtleneck, darling. Is it cashmere?’

‘Naturally,’ Monique scoffed. ‘You know I wouldn’t wear anything else.’

‘We love a natural fibre,’ Ellie said breezily and sat back on the café chair, crossing her ankles.

‘So what’s on tonight, darlings?’ Monique asked.

‘Homework, dinner, bath, bed, ho hum,’ offered Mim.

‘What about you, Ellie, what’s on at your place?’ Monique leaned forward enquiringly.

‘Oh, you know how it is, Bryce has a work do on, and I am quite looking forward to a lovely soak in the bath and an early night,’ Ellie said smiling over at a toddler in head-to-toe Baby Gap, oblivious to Monique’s blank stare.

My God, thought Monique, it must be serious for her best friend to have just told her such a bare-faced lie.

‘Oh God, look at that,’ Ellie suddenly said, inclining her head toward the monstrous brightly coloured adventure playground area.

‘What?’ asked Monique, staring blankly at the frenzied children swinging, running and sliding through the garishly coloured tubes and tunnels.

‘Oh good Lord, I see it,’ Mim sighed. ‘Look out, girls, first-time mother at three o’clock.’

Monique looked in the direction of Ellie’s subtly pointing pinkie (nicely varnished in Espresso, just the thing for a coffee morning).

A rare sight was being played out in the playground as an obviously enthusiastic and yet-to-be-jaded mother was climbing into the colourful slide with her toddler.

‘Only child!’ Ellie and Monique muttered in unison.

‘Oh, God,’ said Monique, shielding her eyes in mock horror, ‘she can barely squeeze into the tube; that is so not a good look. Do you think one of us should tell her?’

‘What? That she’s too fat to play?’ Mim asked, arching one finely plucked eyebrow, daring Monique to openly admit to her bitchy comment.

‘No, of course not,’ Monique nervously laughed. ‘No. I mean tell her that parents really don’t have to play here; I mean she’s making the rest of us look bad, isn’t she?’

‘The kid obviously loves it, though,’ said Mim, watching the mother-and-child moment. ‘He’s squealing with laughter.’ Mim was fed up with playing their usual criticism game, it just made her feel shallow and empty.

‘She’s just trying to show us all up,’ Monique moaned.

Some mothers at nearby tables had also noticed the ‘interactive’ mother and were nudging each other and whispering. A couple of them even, reluctantly, got up to pat their offsprings’ heads and whisper encouragement.

‘Oh, I can’t stand it a minute longer,’ said Monique, ‘I will not be shown up at a play centre, for God’s sake!’

The others stared. Jaws dropped. Monique was going to play? This was unprecedented.

Stalking briskly into the play area Monique found Prudie tying on Sienna’s tiny pink Nikes. ‘Prudie, darling, could you please take Sienna up for a slide on your lap?’

‘Muuuuuum,’ whined the affronted Sienna, ‘I’m six! I don’t need helping to get down the slide!’

‘Just do it for Mummy, darling, then you can have a skinny babycino and a choco-lo-fat muffin with me after!’

‘O-KAY!’ the child relented begrudgingly, and stomped off with her nanny in tow.

Monique returned triumphantly to her seat, mission accomplished. A few minutes later Sienna came to claim her promised reward and sat spooning babycino froth into her mouth and giggling with Paris and Chloe.

‘They all play so well,’ Mim smiled at the trio. ‘We really need to organise a girls’ night for them to sleep over together.’

‘That would be gorgeous,’ Monique agreed, ‘We could get that company, what’s it called – Fairy Facials I think – to come and do mini makeovers on them, how fun!’

‘Yeeess,’ agreed Mim, and continued sarcastically, ‘then we could throw them on the modelling circuit and have them pouting and strutting before they hit puberty.’ Mim was immediately hot-faced and shocked with herself for being so nasty.

Normally the idea of a home beauty salon for the little girls would have struck her as charming and fun too, but lately she’d been worrying that maybe all the attention to appearance might not be such a good thing and she hated to think of Chloe under constant pressure to look ‘right’ as she grew up. It had struck her recently that maybe she wasn’t providing a very good role model for her daughter. Monique shot Mim a shocked look, but decided she was probably just premenstrual and let the matter drop.

As the mothers around them began packing up children and paraphernalia, the Mothers’ Group girls also started making noises about leaving. Paris slurped up the last of her drink and Ursula started packing up her dolls and crayons.

‘Oh dear, it must be time to go.’ Ellie looked enquiringly
at her nanny, who was bundling Paris into her Madeline-style coat. ‘Do we have to go?’ she gave a mock whine, ‘can’t I have one more latte?’

‘Sorry, Mrs Ashcombe, it’s Paris’s quiet time,’ Ursula answered smoothly.

‘God, it’s all about the kids nowadays, isn’t it?’ Ellie moaned. ‘Sometimes I could really do with a break from motherhood you know.’ She stood and flung her wrap stylishly over her shoulders. ‘Anyhoo, ciao bellas – gorgeous to have some quality play-time with the kiddies. Speak soon.’ She blew them a group kiss and led her mini-entourage out to the car park.

Monique was getting herself organised to leave as Liz rushed in with Hubert.

‘So sorry to be late, girls – you’re not all going?’

‘Sorry, I have to, I’ve got to get these disgusting nails sorted,’ Monique moaned tapping her gleaming manicured fingers on the table.

‘I’m good,’ offered Mim. ‘Work is madness, I have thirty-two flyer options to pdf and email this evening, but I can’t do a thing till the cherubs are in bed so I can stay for another hour. We could have lunch.’

‘Fab!’ exclaimed Liz. She plopped onto a chair, sent Hubert off to play with Chloe and eagerly scooped up the menu with the standard ‘I shouldn’t but …’ as she scanned the menu choices. ‘You sound under the gun at the moment, darling,’ Liz said with concern. ‘Heaps on?’

‘Yes,’ groaned Mim, ‘I’m so busy!!! Working from home sounds great – you know work and mother at the same time and all that – but it’s really just a nightmare and I’m over the whole thing right now.’

‘Really?’ murmured Liz. ‘That’s no good, sweetheart.’

‘The concept of working for yourself is great: work your own hours, be available for coffee with the girls, school
emergencies or sick children,’ Mim began, aware that Liz, with her indulgent lifestyle, would have no concept of the effort of juggling work and home.

‘It sounds ideal,’ agreed Liz.

‘But it’s hell, Liz, it really is!’ Mim said, panic creeping into her voice. ‘I already had two client calls before the others got here today. I had to rush out to the courtyard so the unprofessional background noise of screaming children couldn’t be overheard.’

‘Surely the client would understand?’ asked Mim.

‘Oh God no, not Taylor’s Tarts! And they are tarts, both of them: two sisters, no children, in their late twenties with high expectations and no clue of what I’m trying to juggle to keep up with their unrealistic demands.’ She paused. ‘Oh, Lord,’ she said with both hands over her eyes, ‘I sound like such a complainer. I should just give it up, right? It’s not like we need the money …’ Mim halted at this point and dropped her hands and her voice to a whisper as she looked at Liz. ‘It’s just that we do need the money, Liz, it’s all getting so tight at the moment.’ She paused.

‘Oh, Mim,’ said Liz with surprise, ‘I had no idea!’

‘It’s just so difficult to keep up, you know,’ Mim continued. ‘There’s Langholme’s winter soiree coming up; that’s a new outfit. I had to promise to cater a luncheon for the fund-raising committee – otherwise they’d be gossiping about me all year; then we’ve got the golf-club membership and racing club memberships due, and there’s a Gucci handbag on sale like Tiffany’s and you know the sort of pressure there is to be up-to-the-minute with everything. You’d think I’d be past peer-group pressure by now,’ she laughed uncertainly. ‘But somehow it’s an even bigger issue now, there just seems to be so much to prove …’ she trailed off.