Me and My Sisters (7 page)

‘Don’t even joke about it.’ Julie shuddered. ‘Honestly, girls, if I got pregnant again I’d kill myself.’

‘What about you, Sophie? Would you like to have more?’ Louise asked me.

‘I’ve stopped taking the pill,’ I lied. ‘I know Jack would like a boy. So, if it happens, it happens. But I’m happy enough with just Jess. I don’t really mind if we don’t have any more children.’

The door opened and Gavin threw himself down on the bed beside Louise. ‘I knew you witches would be up here. What are you talking about?’

‘Underwear.’

‘I go commando,’ Gavin informed us.

‘Too much information,’ Louise said.

‘Does sexy underwear really matter to guys?’ Julie asked.

‘Hell, yes. There’s nothing worse than ripping a girl’s clothes off to find big granny pants or hairy legs. I really hate hairy legs.’

‘I haven’t shaved since August,’ Julie confessed.

‘No guy likes gorilla legs. Sort it out.’

‘Aren’t you eco-warrior types into that
au naturel
stuff?’ Louise said. ‘I thought hairy armpits and hairy legs would go down well with you.’

‘Hairy armpits are the biggest turn-off,’ Gavin assured us.

‘How can someone like Forest, who smells like a sewer, have a problem with hairy legs?’ I asked.

‘No guy wants his girlfriend to be hairier than him. Trust me.’ Gavin grinned.

‘Enough about hairs, it’s making me feel nauseous.’ Louise groaned.

‘I cannot believe Miss Kick Ass Career Woman is having a baby,’ Gavin said.

Louise punched his arm. ‘Have some respect for your elders.’

‘I can’t wait to see it.’

‘See what?’

‘You as a mother – it’ll be classic.’ Gavin whooped.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come on, Louise, you’re a control freak. Babies puke, shit and cry all the time. You’re going to flip.’

‘No, I won’t. I’ll just be organized and have good help.’

‘Whatever you say, sis.’ Gavin winked at Julie and me.

‘So when are you going to stop this save-the-golf-club-tree campaign?’ Julie asked him. ‘You’re driving Mum and Dad mad.’

‘I’m trying to save the planet from extinction.’

‘Seriously, Gavin, grow up,’ Louise said. ‘If you really want to save the planet, do something worthwhile, like join Greenpeace or the WMO.’

‘WM who?’ Gavin asked.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, don’t you know anything about climate change?’ Louise shook her head. ‘The WMO is the United Nations’ World Meteorological Organization. It was established in 1950 and currently has 189 member states.’

‘How do you know?’ Gavin asked.

‘I had a client who was involved.’

‘Is he the guy who got you pregnant?’

‘No, he is not.’

‘So who is this guy?’

‘I know Mum sent you up to spy on us and try to extract information, but it won’t work,’ Louise warned him. ‘What did she bribe you with?’

‘Fifty quid.’

‘I’ll give you a hundred if you tell her I’m really upset about the guy dumping me and I really don’t want to talk about it – ever.’

‘Hundred and fifty.’

‘A hundred, Gav, or I’ll tell your hairy friend Forest that you eat meat every time he turns his back,’ Louise said.

‘OK, deal.’

‘Speaking of Forest, where is he?’ I asked.

‘He’s showing the triplets his tattoos. They are seriously impressed.’

‘Fan-fucking-tastic. Where the hell is their father?’ Julie wanted to know.

‘Harry and Jack are racing the monster trucks in the hall, and it’s getting seriously competitive.’

‘And Mum thinks I need a man to complete me!’ Louise exclaimed.

7

Julie

Thank God Christmas is over. The triplets go back to school tomorrow. If they get kicked out of this Montessori, I’m booking a one-way flight to Brazil. They were asked to leave their previous school in May for trying to flush Laurel and Hardy – the school’s rabbits – down the toilet. Mrs Robinson said in all her years as a teacher she had never seen such complete disregard for animals. She had only just arrived in time to save them. She told me the rabbits were completely traumatized, as were the other children in the class and that the boys were not welcome in her Montessori any longer. I begged her to keep them. I said I’d buy two new bunnies, send Laurel and Hardy to counselling, whatever it took. But she showed us the door. I cried all the way home. It was the first school they’d gone to and they’d only lasted five months. They’d been in the new one for three months, and so far, so good – thankfully, Mrs Walsh had no pets.

The last week of the Christmas holidays was proving to be an endurance test. Trying to keep four boys entertained while the rain pelted down every day was a nightmare. Harry practically sprinted out of the door to work after New Year leaving me alone with the children for five whole days.

I called in to my parents one afternoon, just to say hello and kill an hour. Their faces fell when they opened the door and realized it was me with the kids. After ten minutes – during which Liam had knocked his drink on to the floor and Luke had eaten Leo’s biscuit, which resulted in Leo wrestling him to the ground and kicking Dad in the shin – Mum stood up and said she and Dad had to go out.

‘Do we?’ Dad looked surprised.

Mum glared at him. ‘Do you not remember that appointment we have?’

‘Oh, yes, of course, the appointment.’ Dad rushed off to get his coat.

‘What appointment?’ I asked Mum.

‘Oh, em … we have to see the man about fixing the front gate,’ she said, whipping the cups off the table and into the dishwasher.

‘Shouldn’t he be coming here so he can see the gate?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, you can’t expect everyone to come to you all the time.’

‘But how can he tell you he can fix it if he can’t see it?’

‘Because I’m taking a picture of it.’

‘That’s ridiculous, Mum,’ I said, becoming suspicious.

‘Stop fussing, Julie.’ She left the room to get her coat.

When Dad came back in I asked him about the appointment. ‘Where do you have to go?’

Dad fiddled with the buttons on his coat, avoiding eye contact. ‘Oh, well, we just have to meet some people up in the golf club to, um, discuss, uh, fundraising and that.’

I jumped up, hustled the boys out of the door and into the car without saying goodbye. I was furious. I hardly ever called in. I’d been desperate to get out of my house for one measly hour. I never stayed long because I knew they found the boys full on, but now they were
lying
to get rid of me. These were my kids, their grandchildren, and sure they were lively, but they weren’t that bad. The boys were great, sweet and funny and, yes, OK, energetic, but it didn’t make them pariahs to be avoided at all costs.

I put the key into the ignition and tried not to get upset. Mum rushed out to the car. ‘Are you off, then?’ she asked, looking guilty.

‘You’re obviously very busy with your special
appointment
, so I’ll leave you alone.’

‘Why don’t you call in with Tom when the boys are back in school?’

I didn’t want to fight with her in front of them, and I knew she’d tell me I was being paranoid if I accused her of faking an appointment. ‘Yeah, maybe, I’ll see,’ I said, and drove off.

There was nowhere to go. My parents were lying to me to avoid having me in their house. None of my friends wanted me calling in with four boys. Sophie never invited me over – she said it was because Jess was afraid of the boys, but it was also because she was a control freak and hated her house being messed up. I drove around aimlessly. It was lashing rain so I couldn’t even take them to the park. Eventually, I gave up and went home.

Two days later I called over to my next-door neighbour, Marian. She was back from her Christmas holidays. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have gone insane. She had four children: Brian, five; Oscar, four; Molly, three; and Ben, six months. She was the only person who ever asked me over with my kids. The mothers at the Montessori always ran when they saw me. They were terrified I’d invite their kid over to play, then they’d have to invite my three back. Last year I’d had six different children over and not one of the mothers invited my triplets back, so I’d stopped. As Marian says, ‘Fuck it, they have each other to play with.’ Marian is slightly unhinged, curses like a drunken sailor and shoots from the hip on everything. I love her to bits.

She opened the door in her pyjamas, Ben on her hip and a cigarette hanging out of the side of her mouth. Marian, like me, had lost her waist. She only got dressed when absolutely necessary and often brought the kids to school in her pyjamas.

‘Can you believe this fecking weather?’ she asked. ‘Why do we live in this country? It’s a dump.’

‘Eckin, eckin,’ Tom said. I put him down and sent him in to play with Molly. She treated him like a live doll. The last time we’d called in, I’d found Tom dressed in one of Molly’s princess costumes – glittery high heels, tiara and all – having his makeup applied. This consisted of Marian’s red lipstick being smeared all over his lips, cheeks and eyes. He was delighted with all the attention.

‘How was Christmas?’ I asked. Marian had gone to stay with her mother-in-law, who lived in a little village twenty miles outside Galway.

‘Nightmare. I don’t do country. Who the hell wants to live in the arsehole of Ireland with one shop that opens when the owner decides to drag herself out of bed? Considering she’s about three hundred and ninety years old, it’s closed most of the time. The stuff is ancient and covered in dust. I actually found a tin of powdered eggs. Powdered eggs, Julie! They ate them in the Second World War.’

‘That’s bad.’

‘I said to Greg, “If you expect me to come down here next year and listen to your mother moaning at me about my cursing and calling my kids ‘wild animals’, you can fuck right off.”’

‘What did he say?’ I couldn’t help laughing.

‘He said, “At least my mother cooks.” Now, you know my mother hasn’t cooked since 1979 when my dad left. We had pizza for Christmas dinner last year. But as I said to Greg, I’d rather eat pizza than overcooked, dry turkey and Brussels fucking sprouts. Which is exactly what his mother, Dawn, tried to shove down my kids’ throats. You can imagine how that turned out. They all started gagging and spitting the sprouts on the carpet. I thought Dawn was going to have a heart attack, but no such luck.’

‘What did you do with the kids all day?’

‘Wandered the streets. Anything to get out of the house. I’ve never had so much fresh air – who the hell wants fresh air when it smells of cow shit? The kids kept crying and begging me to go home, but Greg said we had to stay. He’s worried his mother’s getting old and she won’t be around much longer … That woman will be around for the next millennium. She’s like the bloody Duracell bunny.’

‘What about when it rained?’

Marian took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘We spent a lot of time in the pub next door with the kids eating crisps and drinking Coke, which made them hyper, but at least we weren’t under Dawn’s feet.’

The great thing about Marian was that she always made me feel better about my parenting skills. She let her children drink Coke and eat unhealthy food, she smoked in the house, she cursed, she shouted at them and would admit openly that they drove her mad at times. She was honest to a fault, which I found very endearing.

‘I’m just going to close the door.’ She got up and pushed the door to her small playroom shut.

We could hear all the children inside causing havoc. Marian didn’t care if they made a mess or kicked balls against the walls or jumped up and down on her couch. Brian and Oscar were pretty full on and she was happy to let them be as boisterous as they wanted. It was heaven for me to call over – I didn’t spend the whole time giving out to the triplets or trying to discipline them.

Marian went to put the kettle on. ‘Is it too early for wine?’ she asked.

I looked at my watch. It was eleven o’clock. ‘I think so.’

‘OK, I’ll put a drop of brandy into the coffee instead.’ She got the cups out. ‘Tell me, how was your Christmas?’

‘It was OK, but I’m wrecked. Tom’s waking up every night because he’s teething. And I can’t wait for the triplets to go back to Montessori. They have so much energy.’

‘Amen to that.’ She handed me a cup.

I took a sip. ‘Jesus, Marian. It’s rocket fuel.’

‘Sorry, wrong cup. That one’s for me.’ She handed me the other. ‘There’s only a tiny bit of brandy in that.’

I tasted it. It was fine.

‘How were your sisters? Did Sophie get a Ferrari for Christmas this year?’ Marian asked. She didn’t like Sophie. They had only met a few times, but they rubbed each other up the wrong way. Sophie had called in to see me last year after her holidays and Marian was there with her kids. Jack had taken her to the Burj Al Arab – the seven-star hotel in Dubai – for her birthday. She wanted to show me the brochure and tell me all about it. At the time, Marian was heavily pregnant and even less tolerant than usual.

While Sophie described the hotel, Marian flicked through the brochure.

‘It was incredible, Julie, I swear I’ve never seen luxury like it,’ Sophie gushed. ‘You have your own butler twenty-four hours a day. Every time you turn around someone’s there to offer you food, drink, magazines, a cool face-cloth … whatever you need.’

‘It sounds like heaven.’

Sophie yawned. ‘It was, but I’m exhausted. The flight was delayed two hours, so we didn’t get home until midnight and I had to bring Jess to school at nine.’

‘So, after a week’s holiday, you only got eight hours’ sleep last night, poor you.’ Marian snorted. ‘You do realize that Julie has had no sleep for the last week? All her kids have had the vomiting bug.’

‘Oh, Julie, that’s awful,’ Sophie said. ‘Poor you.’

‘And she’s still got the chest infection she’s had on and off for the last six months,’ Marian continued.

Sophie looked at me. ‘You never told me that.’

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘I’m fine. It’s just been a crappy week. Now, tea or coffee?’

‘Just water, thanks. I’ve got a session with my new personal trainer.’

‘Is he good?’ I asked.

‘Brilliant. Total slave-driver, but very effective. You should think about hiring him – he’s not too expensive. The fitter you are, the more energy you’ll have and then you won’t get run down. I haven’t been sick all year.’ She flicked her long honey blonde hair off her face. Then, looking at the chocolate biscuits on the table, she added, ‘You know, Julie, sugar is a disaster. Maybe you should try to cut out biscuits and chocolate from your diet. They’re false friends. After the initial sugar rush, they completely drain you. The best things to eat for energy are slow-releasing carbohydrates, like porridge and oatcakes.’

‘It doesn’t seem to be working so well for you. You’re exhausted after eight hours’ uninterrupted sleep,’ Marian said sharply.

Sophie glared at her. ‘Why are you so hostile? What’s your problem?’

Marian leant across the table. ‘My problem is women like you, with your staff and your ten holidays a year and your stupid-looking jeeps to ferry one kid around in, telling women like me and Julie, who have no help, husbands who have taken serious pay cuts in the last year, and a shedload of kids, to hire personal trainers and cut down on sugary foods. Chocolate is the only thing that gets me through the bloody day. If I wasn’t eating Dairy Milk at seven a.m. to get an energy rush, however temporary it may be, I’d probably stick my head in the fucking oven.’

Sophie stood up, manicured hands on hips. ‘And tell me, Marian, who forced you to get pregnant four times? Who made you have more children than you can cope with or afford? No one.
You
decided to have a big family.
You
decided to keep having children when you probably shouldn’t. So why don’t you stop trying to blame other people for the situation
you
created? And if I want to encourage my sister to be healthier and fitter so that she can cope better with her boys, I’d appreciate it if you kept your nose out of it.’ She grabbed the keys to her Range Rover, got up and stormed out. That was the last time they’d seen each other. I figured it was best not to try to nurture that particular ‘friendship’.

I put my brandy-coffee down. ‘No, Marian. Sophie didn’t get a Ferrari for Christmas. She did get the most incredible diamond watch. But the big news is that Louise is pregnant.’

‘Louise the lawyer?’ Marian had never met Louise, because Louise hardly ever came home from London, but she’d heard me talk about her.

‘Yes. She’s going to bring the baby up on her own, no dad involved.’

‘Probably better off. Greg’s no bloody use at all. The only thing he does when he comes home is cause chaos. Last night I had them fed, bathed and in their pyjamas, calmly watching TV, by seven thirty. I sat down for the first time all day. Then he came in from work and started wrestling them, throwing them up in the air, totally winding them up and making them hyper again. But after five minutes he’d had enough and wanted his dinner. Obviously the kids wanted to carry on playing and climbed all over him until Greg got pissed off and shouted at them to calm down!’ Marian leant back in her chair and took a long drink of her strong brandy-coffee. ‘I give up.’

‘Do you think we’ll ever get our lives back?’ I asked.

‘Not really, no.’

I groaned and rested my forehead on my hands. ‘I miss my old life. I miss having a waist and remembering what day it is. I miss having clean clothes and furniture. I miss having conversations that don’t get interrupted every thirty seconds. I miss my name – I’m Luke’s, Liam’s, Leo’s or Tom’s mum now. I miss sleep. I miss talking to Harry about things that don’t involve arrangements, the children or where our money goes every month. I miss the freedom to walk out of the door and not have to think about what calamity is going to happen while I’m gone. I miss going to the cinema and not having to check my phone every ten minutes to make sure the babysitter hasn’t called. I miss high heels. I miss earning my own money. I miss people thinking I’m fun to talk to, instead of coma-inducing. I miss reading the newspapers in bed on Sunday mornings and going for breakfast at three in the afternoon …’