Me and My Sisters (18 page)

I tried to imagine Louise with a toddler. I couldn’t see her sitting at play-groups singing ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’. I couldn’t picture her singing at all. I don’t think I’d ever heard Louise sing. I used to love singing to Jess. When she was tiny and I was burping her after her feeds, I’d sing to her. She always smiled. She was such a sweet baby, so easy. But even so I’d found it hard, very hard …

At first I was ecstatic: a healthy baby girl. Jack was thrilled – he had wanted a boy, but the minute he set eyes on Jess he fell in love with her. However, when I got home from hospital three days after the birth, I realized that Jack wanted everything to be the same. He’d presumed the baby would just sleep in its own room and that Mimi would look after her in the evenings when he was home from work and we were having dinner and also at night if she woke up crying.

He didn’t think Jess would be sleeping with us, or waking up five times a night screaming for milk. After a few nights of very little sleep he got annoyed. He said he needed his rest. He couldn’t go to work exhausted. He said he’d made a mistake that day, due to lack of sleep, and it had cost the firm money. I suggested that I move into a different room with Jess until she settled. He didn’t disagree.

I didn’t mind – in fact, it was much easier. I could breast-feed her in peace and we bonded well. But when Jack came in from work on my third week home and found me still in my pyjamas, not showered, bleary-eyed, with leaking breasts, he didn’t like it. He started to make comments, like ‘Where’s my beautiful wife?’, ‘Didn’t you have time to get dressed?’, ‘Give the baby to Mimi, for God’s sake. She’s here to help you.’

But I didn’t want to give Jess to Mimi. I was afraid that if I didn’t look after her myself, she’d stop breathing, or choke on a burp, or pull her blanket over her head, or get too hot or too cold … I was afraid all the time. I was obsessed with the idea that Jess was going to die if I didn’t watch her like a hawk. I couldn’t sleep at night. I’d wake up every ten minutes and check she was breathing. It was completely irrational, but I couldn’t control the fear and it got worse. I found myself crying a lot because I was so tired and worried. I didn’t tell anyone how I was feeling. I pretended everything was fine and put people off from visiting, saying I had an infection and was laid low. I didn’t want anyone to see me out of control … failing as a mother … falling apart.

When I tried to explain it to Jack, he didn’t understand. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, she’s not going to die. She’s a healthy baby. You need to leave her with Mimi, get dressed and get out of the house. You’ve been locked up here for more than a month – no wonder you’re getting paranoid. Call one of your girlfriends, go out for lunch, go for a run, buy some new clothes – do whatever you want but get on with your life. Try to get back to normal. You’re letting it all get on top of you.’

Normal? I no longer knew what normal was. My vagina still stung every time I peed. My breasts ached and leaked. I was sweating all the time and my hair was falling out in clumps.

Jack continued dispensing advice: ‘Come on, Sophie, perk up. We’ve got that ball for the children’s hospital next Friday. It’ll be good for you to get dressed up in that sexy red dress with the plunging back that I love, and have a few drinks. You need to relax, get yourself back. This neurotic person is not the Sophie I know and love.’

I tried on the red dress. It was too tight. I cried for three hours when I couldn’t fit into it, but I didn’t have the energy to go out and shop for a new one. So I just stopped eating. I survived on apples and pears for a week. I was even more exhausted and barely producing enough milk for Jess, which upset me even more. I had to start giving her formula so she wouldn’t starve.

Mimi tried to talk to me, but I didn’t want to talk. She made me lunches that I never ate and begged me to take naps that I never took. The only people who had visited were Mum and Julie. I’d tried to put them off, but they had insisted on coming to see me. They sensed I was struggling. But on the day they came, I forced myself into the shower, got dressed, put makeup on and pretended I was fine, just a bit tired. I was able to convince them because, for those few hours, I convinced myself that everything was fine. The minute they left I fell apart again.

After starving myself for a week I was able to fit into the red dress. I put on lots of makeup and added a small hairpiece to make my own hair look less limp. I stuck pads on my breasts to soak any leakage. When Jack got in from work that Friday, I was ready.

‘There’s my gorgeous wife. She’s back. I missed you.’ He kissed me.

Somehow I got through the night, and everyone kept saying how great I looked. All the women stared at my stomach to see if I’d lost the baby weight and then asked me how I’d done it. When we got home Jack wanted to have sex, but I said it was too soon. I told him we had to wait until after my six-week check-up. I told him I was still too sore. He sighed and rolled over. I went to the spare room and was up half the night with a hungry baby.

My days consisted of crying, feeding Jess, crying and then passing out whenever I couldn’t stay awake any longer. But every day at five o’clock I handed Jess to Mimi, showered, got dressed, put on my makeup and was ready to greet Jack when he came home. I played with my dinner while he ate his and then at eleven, when I couldn’t keep my eyes open, I went to bed with my baby daughter, not my husband.

At my six-week check-up, I couldn’t keep the façade in place any longer. I was hysterical with exhaustion and anxiety. I told my obstetrician everything and she was very understanding. She said lots of women struggled with newborn babies and I needed help to get me over the hump. She prescribed a mild dose of Prozac. I went to the chemist and got it, then sat in the car staring at the tablets. Prozac: anti-depressant, mood-enhancer, happy pill.

Was I weak? Was I pathetic? Why couldn’t I cope with my baby? Why was I falling apart? What the hell was wrong with me? Although my doctor had been very sympathetic to my struggles, she had three children and worked full-time. She wasn’t crying all day. She was able to get dressed and hold down a serious job. Even Julie, with triplets, was able to cope. I didn’t see her popping pills. She was tired and worn out, but she was managing. She had three times the work I had. Three times less sleep. Three times more worry. Why was I such a basket case?

I’d always been able to control my emotions in the past. As a model I had faced rejection daily. I’d learnt not to take it personally. I’d just moved on to the next job. I’d never looked back, only looked forward. No matter what happened, no matter how much I wanted a job, or how hurt I was when I broke up with someone, I never got depressed. I just blocked it out and moved on. I’d never felt out of control before. I’d always had a game plan, a goal, a solution. But now … now I found myself drowning and I needed help. I had to get back on track or I’d lose Jack. I had to get myself together. I had to …

I started taking the tablets and hoped for the best. Initially there was no difference and I panicked even more. But slowly they began to take effect and after a couple of weeks the dark cloud started to lift. I began to stop panicking about Jess dying. I began to want to get up. I began to care about how I looked. I began to exercise. I read Gina Ford’s
The Contented Little Baby Book
and got Jess into a nice routine. I began to get my life back. I began to sleep with Jack again, have sex again, be a couple again. He was delighted, and so was I. But most of all I was relieved – and very grateful to have come back from the brink.

I continued to take Prozac for a year; no one ever knew. But I swore then that I would never have another baby. I knew in my heart that, if I did, the depression would come back and I might not be able to control it or hide it from everyone. The next time it might pull me under.

16

Julie

I lay in my bubble bath and closed my eyes. It felt wonderful. Tom was plonked in front of the TV in the bedroom watching
Peppa Pig
. All potentially dangerous objects – hair-drier, Bible, pen, notepad, lamp, hotel information booklet, telephone and TV remote control – had been unplugged, put out of his reach or removed from his sight, and I was able to relax and enjoy a bath for the first time in years. As I only ever had ten-second showers, this was a real luxury. I looked around the bathroom. It was so soothing – white, clean and uncluttered. The bubble bath smelt gorgeous and the towels and bathrobe were soft and fluffy. It was such a treat to be away for two days, almost alone.

The hotel was very swanky – it must have been costing Louise a fortune to put us all up there. I should have studied harder in school and had a successful career or married a millionaire like Sophie did. Would I always be the pauper sister? I felt as if I was doomed to a life of penny-pinching. I’d love to hire a personal trainer to come to my house and make me thin, I thought. He could tape my mouth shut, padlock the fridge and tie me to him while we did laps of the park. It would be wonderful to go shopping for clothes and not have to check the cost of everything, putting back ninety per cent of the items I liked because they were too expensive. I’d love to be able to go to a good hairdresser for regular cuts and blow-dries. Having to let my hair dry naturally meant my curls were wild and unruly, not soft and bouncy like they were supposed to be. It would be great to live in a house with a playroom, where all the boys’ toys could be kept out of sight, instead of flung all over the kitchen, hall and TV room. I’d love to drive one of those fancy mummy cars, like an Audi or a BMW, instead of my battered people-carrier.

I looked at my toes. I’d love to have regular pedicures and manicures and facials and back massages, I thought. Deep massages to get all the knots out of my shoulders and back would be utter bliss. It would be fantastic to have a nanny who would come in and make the boys eat their vegetables, tidy up their toys, give them baths and put them in their pyjamas. I’d float through the door in my fabulous clothes and kiss their scrubbed faces goodnight, leaving the nanny to read them stories and persuade them to go to sleep without the Third World War erupting. It would be brilliant to go away for a weekend with Harry without having to plan and save for ten years.

I had the money Dad had given me, but that was sacred. I’d happily forgo holidays, nice clothes and a fancy car to make sure the boys went to a top-notch private school and got the best start possible. It was something I was absolutely adamant about. I reminded myself to check with Louise again about the investment – hopefully it was still making money. The last time I’d asked it was doing well, thank God.

Maybe we’d win the lotto. Maybe Harry was at this very moment choosing the winning numbers and tonight we’d be millionaires. Oh, that would be lovely … OK, Julie, stop fantasizing, I scolded myself. I was very lucky. I should count my blessings: four healthy children and a husband I loved. Harry and I had wanted babies, and I’d always said I wanted three children … but I hadn’t expected them to come all at once. I’d known having kids would change my life and that it wouldn’t be easy, but three at the same time was like being hit head-on by a steam train. And little Tom’s birth had pushed me over the edge. Just when I was getting some kind of life back, just when I was feeling like the old Julie again, I’d found myself back in the haze of breast-feeding and sleepless nights. Before Tom was born I’d actually wanted to have sex with Harry instead of doing it because I’d realized that two months had passed since the last time. After Tom had arrived, I’d taken a big step back.

I’d always thought I’d be a good mum. I’d imagined painting with my children, making towers out of Lego, reading them stories, baking cakes with them, going for nature walks … I’d planned to raise fully rounded, kind, generous, caring, smart, responsible kids who were a credit to me. But when the triplets had arrived I’d done none of those things. There wasn’t time to breathe, let alone spend hours baking cakes. It had turned out that I wasn’t a good mother. I was grumpy and impatient and shouted a lot. I wasn’t the Earth Mother I’d thought I’d be. The laid-back Julie had got lost somewhere along the way. I thought she was buried beneath mounting piles of laundry and bills.

Money wasn’t the solution to everything, I knew, but a little bit more would have made things easier, nicer, less fraught … If I had help, like Sophie, I’d be less grumpy and kinder to the boys. If I had more time to myself I’d shout less … And if we had more money we wouldn’t all be walking around our house in hats and scarves trying to keep warm while we saved on heating bills …

As I dried myself, I heard Tom shouting, ‘Mama, Mama, Mama.’

Damn!
Peppa Pig
was over. It was the only thing he’d watch on TV.

‘Yes, pet, come here.’ I held out my arms to him.

Tom stumbled over to me, putting his wet, dribbly face up to mine. ‘I dove you.’

I picked him up and hugged him. ‘I dove you too, sweetheart, and I’m sorry for thinking you were a mistake when you’re just a little angel.’

The hotel babysitter arrived at seven. I made sure she wasn’t a psychopath, put Tom down to sleep in his little travel cot and skipped out of the door to dinner. As I was walking to the lift, my phone rang. It was Harry.

‘Where’s the bloody remote control?’ he demanded.

I could hear pandemonium in the background. ‘It should be on top of the bookshelf.’

‘Well, it isn’t.’

‘I’M TELLING DADDY ON YOU. YOU’RE A MEANER. DAAAADDEEEE, LEO BITED MY ARM.’

‘Did you try the shelf above the cooker?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Down the side of the couch?’

‘Yes.’

‘DAAAADDEEEE, LIAM TRIED TO CHOKE ME.’

‘Under the couch?’

‘Yes.’

‘DAAAADDEEEE, LEO IS A POOHEAD STINKY BUM. HE PULLED MY HAIR REALLY HARD.’

‘In the fridge?’

‘What?’

‘I found it in the fridge one time. I must have been holding it and then gone to get something and left it on the shelf beside the yoghurts.’

‘DAAAADDEEEE, WE WANT TV NOOOOOW,’ they all screeched.

‘Get off me! I’m trying to find the bloody remote control,’ Harry snapped.

I could hear the fridge door opening.

‘It’s not here.’

‘Well, the boys must have hidden it. Ask them.’

‘I have already. They say they don’t know where it is.’

‘You have to sit them down and tell them to focus on where they put it.’

‘They don’t know!’ he hissed.

‘Put me on loudspeaker,’ I ordered.

‘Fine. Boys, Mummy wants to say something.’

‘HI, MUMMY, WHERE ARE YOU?’ Luke bellowed down the phone.

‘I’m in London with Auntie Louise. She’s having a baby – remember I told you I was going on an aeroplane?’

‘Yeah, and they’re going to cut it out of her tummy.’ Leo loved that part.

‘Charming,’ Harry commented.

‘Did the plane crash?’ Luke asked. ‘Did everyone die?’

‘Yeah, was there blood everywhere?’ Liam oohed.

‘No, boys, the plane didn’t crash. If it had, I’d be dead and that would be sad, wouldn’t it?’

‘No, it wouldn’t because Daddy’s super-nice and he let us eat pizza and jellies today,’ Luke gushed.

I tried not to feel hurt. ‘Now, boys, listen to me. Are you listening? I want you to close your eyes and think really hard about the TV remote control. Focus on it. Where did you last see it? Think about what it looks like. Think about what you did today and remember where you put it. Are you closing your eyes?’

‘Yes, they are,’ Harry said.

‘Concentrate, boys, I know you can do it,’ I encouraged them, even though they had just wished me dead.

‘I REMEMBER!’ Liam shouted. ‘It’s in the dishwasher. I put it in because it was dirty.’

‘Well done, you clever cat,’ I praised him.

I could hear Harry fishing it out. ‘Thank God it hasn’t been washed,’ he said. He put on the TV and the boys simmered down.

‘That was very impressive persuasion,’ my husband said.

‘Thank you. So, how’s it going?’

‘Oh, you know, the usual. Luke kicked me in the nuts during a
kung-fu
exhibition we had earlier this afternoon. I almost cried with the pain – I was bent double for twenty minutes.’

‘No permanent damage, I hope?’

‘I think they’ll recover. Liam painted his name in your red nail varnish on our bedroom door.’

‘Harry! You know you have to lock our bathroom door at all times. They always get my makeup and nail varnish out.’

‘I was busy trying to get Leo out of the bloody bath, which he’d filled and climbed into fully clothed. It’s a fucking circus here!’

‘Tut tut! Mind your language, Harry.’

‘MUMMY,’ Luke shouted into the phone, ‘Daddy said “fuck”.’

‘He’s very bold. He won’t do it again,’ I assured my son.

‘It’s five past seven and I’m absolutely knackered,’ Harry muttered. ‘They never stop.’

‘Welcome to my daily world,’ I said, ‘and you don’t even have Tom to look after as well.’

‘Any chance you fancy coming back from London early?’

‘Hell will freeze over. This is the first time I’ve left the triplets in almost five years, and there is no way I’m coming home early. I’m going to cherish every moment of this trip because it’ll be my last for probably another five years. Take them to the park tomorrow, and if it’s raining, take them to the jungle gym. You need to tire them out more.’

‘OK. How are you getting on? How’s Louise?’

‘I’m on my way to meet her now. We’re all going for dinner.’

‘Enjoy your nice relaxing dinner without children. I’ll just stay here with the lunatics.’

‘Can you hear the sympathy I feel for you over the phone?’

‘Yes, it’s deafening.’

‘Right. Well, I’d better go. I don’t want to be late for my pre-dinner drinks in the beautiful hotel bar.’

‘You may come home to find the boys shackled to their beds.’

‘Frankly, Harry, I really don’t care what you do. For the next blissful forty-eight hours, it’s not my problem.
Ciao
.’ I hung up and smiled.

I was glad Harry was getting the full brunt of what it was like to look after the boys all day long. There was no harm in him being reminded of how hard it was. He’d appreciate my daily grind more now. I reapplied my lipstick and pressed the button for the lift.

I met my family in the hotel bar, which was very plush. I threw back a glass of white wine and ate almost a full bowl of peanuts before Mum pulled it away from me. Sophie drank a sparkling water and ate no peanuts. Mum drank a vodka and soda and kept saying it was a disgrace that her own daughter was refusing to let her see her grandchild being born, and Dad kept looking at his watch and saying we really should get a move on.

None of us wanted to be late for Louise, especially not on the day before she gave birth. At exactly seven thirty we walked into the French restaurant she had booked – it was called, aptly enough, Les Trois Soeurs. She was sitting at the table waiting for us.

‘Mother of God, you’re enormous,’ Dad said.

‘Thanks a lot. That’s just what I needed to hear,’ Louise snapped.

‘You’ll feel so much better when the baby’s out,’ Sophie reassured her.

‘Bring it on. I couldn’t feel more gross. I can’t look at myself in the mirror.’ Louise shuddered.

I felt like that most days. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d thought I looked good.

‘Louise Devlin!’ Mum scolded. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say. A baby is a blessing. You’re not gross, you look radiant. Pregnancy suits you.’

She actually didn’t look radiant: she looked tired and very fed-up.

‘Where’s Gavin?’ Louise flipped open her menu impatiently.

‘He went to meet Acorn,’ Sophie said.

‘Well, I’m not waiting. I want to order and get back early to finish off some emails.’

‘But you’ve been working all day,’ Mum said. ‘You need to rest, Louise – you’re going to have a baby tomorrow.’

‘I’m aware of that, Mum, but I have some last bits to finish off. I can rest while I’m typing.’

‘You need mental as well as physical rest,’ Mum remonstrated.

Dad took out his reading glasses. ‘These prices are extortionate. Forty-two quid for a steak? Bloody ridiculous.’

‘It’s on me,’ Louise announced.

‘Don’t be silly. I’m buying dinner,’ Dad said.

‘No, Dad, you’ve all come over to see me, so I’m paying.’ Louise was firm.

‘You’re putting us up in a fancy hotel. I’ll be getting the dinner,’ Dad retorted.

‘I’ve given them my credit card. It’s fine.’

‘
I
am paying for this meal, Louise.’

‘No,
I
am.’

‘This is non-negotiable.’

‘Why don’t you split the bill?’ Sophie suggested.

They looked at each other and nodded. It was a compromise they were willing to accept. I could hear Dad muttering behind his menu: ‘Twenty-seven quid for a crab salad is ludicrous.’

While they bickered, I tried to decide which delicious starter and main course to have. Everything sounded wonderful. The waiter came over and Dad obstinately ordered the cheapest starter, soup, and the cheapest main course, pumpkin risotto.

‘But you don’t like risotto,’ Mum pointed out. ‘Have the steak.’

‘I refuse to pay that amount of money for a lump of meat,’ he hissed.

‘Suit yourself.’ Mum turned her back on him and ordered the steak.

Louise ordered the walnut salad and the sea bass. Sophie opted for a side salad to start and the cod for her main course, but she made a big hullabaloo about wanting it steamed, not pan-fried, without any sauce – ‘Also, can you steam some broccoli florets for me? No oil or butter, please.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Sophie,’ Louise snarled, ‘what’s the point of going out for dinner if you’re going to ask for steamed fish and vegetables all the time? Just eat the sauce and go to the gym tomorrow.’

‘I can’t. I’m allergic to a lot of sauces.’

‘Allergic to what, precisely?’ Louise quizzed her.