The Only Boy For Me (18 page)

Miraculously, he falls asleep almost immediately, and I have a peaceful half-hour trying to tidy up the house and myself before Mack arrives.

Mack looks shattered. The children have been very lively, and Alfie managed to throw up all over the back of the car on the way home. Mack’s driven down the motorway with all the windows open, and says he’s now so cold he’s lost all feeling in his hands. I promise to do what I can to help him overcome this, and we end up on the sofa, after barricading the door shut with an armchair. We surface to make supper, and we’re just drinking coffee and congratulating ourselves on our child-free evening, when Charlie starts banging on the door demanding to be let in because his tummy hurts and he’s had a bad dream.

I let him in and he wants to know why the door was shut, and then starts describing his bad dream which involved Mr Smarty Pants turning up in the back garden and trying to steal Buzz and Woody. Mack seems to think Mr Smarty Pants might be Charlie’s new name for him, and says he would never steal anybody’s rabbits, and then I explain about the magician and he looks very relieved. I say Charlie should lie on the sofa while I go and make him some warm milk, but only for five minutes and then he must go straight back to bed. I come back to find Charlie snuggling in Mack’s lap. Mack is trying to impress upon Charlie that it’s vital he aims for the newspaper if he’s going to be sick. Newspaper is spread over the entire living-room floor, and Charlie announces that actually his tummy doesn’t hurt any more, but he still needs warm milk because he has had a fright.

He then proceeds to drink his milk as slowly as possible, and says he knows he’s going to have another horrible dream, and this time it may be about vampires eating him because he had that one last week and it may come back. I run out of patience and march him back upstairs. Plonk him back into bed and issue dire warnings about not getting up again, which make him cry, so then I have to backtrack somewhat and do a bit of patting. I finally get him settled, and go back downstairs to find Mack has fallen asleep on the sofa. He wakes up with a start.

‘What, oh God, he hasn’t been sick, has he?’

‘No, he’s fast asleep. Sorry I woke you.’

‘Oh it’s OK, can’t think why I’m so tired really. Must be all the motorway driving I seem to be doing recently.’

‘Well, if you will live such a complicated life, Mr Smarty Pants.’

‘I hoped you might have forgotten about that.’

‘No. I think it suits you. Shall I call your PA on Monday and she can let the office know? It’s a great nickname.’

‘Don’t you dare. Oh, and that reminds me, we’ve got a weekend work thing coming up at a posh hotel. Bit of corporate chat in the morning and then a dinner on Saturday, but the rest of the time is free. Would you like to come? The hotel’s meant to be terrific.’

‘Sounds great, but I’ll have to see if Mum and Dad fancy a weekend with Charlie. It’s not his birthday-party weekend, is it?’

‘No, it’s in August, and you can bring him if you want. I found out about it, and they do suites and have babysitters and everything.’

I’m very touched that he has checked out the childcare options. But I’m well aware that the entire weekend would
be much more fun for us all if Charlie can stay at home with Nana and Grandad.

‘What will I do while you’re being corporate?’

‘Oh, I think the wives and partners have some sort of bonding over beauty therapies or something. I’ll find out if you like.’

‘No thank you very much. I can’t think of anything worse than being stuck with a load of corporate wives having beauty treatments; I’m not really cut out for pretending to be a Stepford wife. I just can’t see me spending all weekend talking about private schools or the best places to go skiing while you sit in the bar and talk business.’

‘As if. And they are not Stepford wives. Well, a couple of them are, but the others are perfectly normal, or they looked like they were at the last do I went to.’

‘Hmm, well, we’ll see. Anyway I’ve got Charlie’s party to worry about first – have you decided what you want to do yet?’ I’m secretly hoping he will decide not to come, as that way I can concentrate totally on the birthday boy. It turns out he has to spend the weekend with Daisy and Alfie as he won’t see them for a fortnight after that, because Laura is taking them to see her mother. We start talking about the possibility of us booking a week away together in August, with all the children, but the potential for disaster and our attempts to find a suitable date defeat us entirely. We go to bed both half-asleep, but wake up in the middle of the night and discover we are feeling much more energetic.

I spend Sunday trying to build up my strength for the week ahead, and persuading Charlie that we don’t want to go for a walk in the rain because jumping in puddles and filling your wellies with water is not something grown-ups really count as fun. Mack leaves just after tea, amidst howls of protest from Charlie who wants him to stay and play
Junior Scrabble. I end up having to offer to play instead, and Mack drives off with a big grin on his face at his lucky escape.

The St Bernard shoot turns out to be far worse than I could possibly have imagined. The dog trainer does not attempt to sing this time, but merely tries to stop the owners arguing. The owners all look like their dogs, with extraordinary hair and grumpy faces. We have five huge dogs, and they all smell awful. Two of them hate each other on sight, and begin growling in a very ominous way. Their owners have to sit at different ends of the studio. And the dogs slobber an amazing amount. The make-up woman refuses to go anywhere near them.

‘I’m not here to wipe spit off dogs’ chins. I’ve got a diploma, you know, I’ve worked with some really famous people.’

I manage to restrain Barney from sacking her on the spot, because we still need make-up for the actress who will be the pet owner and pour food into a bowl before getting leapt on by her dog. She’s very game, and doesn’t seem to mind the dogs jumping all over her, which is a relief really because we couldn’t stop them even if we wanted to. The entire crew refuse to go anywhere near the dogs, so I end up wiping up dog dribble in between takes. The dogs get very hot under all the lights and have to be taken out for walks. One makes a break for it in the car park, nearly flattening the client who is just arriving. He’s not pleased and wants to know where the animal trainer is, and why there are dogs all over the car park.

We eventually get enough shots of the dogs rushing across the kitchen floor, and move on to the bit where they knock the kitchen door down. The dogs don’t want to
jump up at the door, and then they finally get the hang of it and won’t stop. Everyone gets very hot, and the dogs get niggly. And being stuck in a small airless studio with lights and wires all over the place, and five niggly St Bernards, is not much fun. In the end we get as much as we are going to get without killing the dogs and stuffing them, which we think the owners might spot, so we call it a day. Barney says in a very loud voice as he’s leaving, ‘Annie, write this down: if we ever get stuck in an avalanche and have to call for help, I don’t want to be rescued by a fucking St Bernard.’

The crew fall about laughing, and all the owners descend on me in a fury. Then the two dogs who have been threatening to kill each other all day finally spot a window of opportunity to shake off their owners and get down to business. There’s a tremendous sound of growling from the far end of the studio, and then the two dogs merge into a blur of flying fur. The owners rush to try to separate them, and a helpful carpenter throws a bucket of water on them, which stops them for a split second, just long enough for their owners to grab them and start dragging them apart. It turns out that soaking-wet St Bernards are even worse than dry ones, and it feels like we’ll never get home, but one by one the owners depart and we start to pack up. Suddenly there is another commotion, and one of the electricians yells, ‘Fucking dogs. One’s had a crap in my toolbox.’

We all agree that we will never, ever, work with animals again.

The day of our joint birthday party arrives, and Charlie is up at six am and insists on wearing his swimming trunks to eat breakfast. Kate rings and says James is doing exactly the same, so I invite them round for lunch because Mum and Dad and Lizzie and Matt are coming, and at least it will fill
in a bit of time before the party starts at three. Charlie thinks this is an excellent plan, and starts running up and down hopping. I persuade him to help me make salads for lunch, and he enthusiastically cuts up tomatoes until they are reduced to a pulp. I move him on to lettuce, but then spot him squirting vast amounts of Fairy Liquid into a bowl of water to make sure the leaves get really clean, so we have to start all over again. I’m roasting a chicken, and Kate has promised to bring round lots of cold ham to add to the meal. The oven makes the kitchen boiling hot, and then Charlie burns his hand on the oven door, and becomes hysterical.

The burn is tiny, but I hold his hand in cold water to make sure it doesn’t get any worse, and then go upstairs to the bathroom in search of antiseptic ointment. Charlie follows me, moaning, and manages to walk straight into the bathroom door and cut his lip. He begins to sob, blood dribbles down his chin and he sobs even louder.

‘I won’t be able to go to my party.’

‘Yes you will, darling, it’s only a tiny little cut. It’ll stop bleeding in no time.’

Give him a cuddle, but the tears are still falling and he’s feeling very sorry for himself.

‘I think I might need a tournament, Mummy.’

Can quite understand how a couple of medieval knights jousting on the front lawn might take his mind off things.

‘What do you mean, darling?’

‘You know, one of them bandage things you put on, like on 999
Ready for Action.’

Didn’t realise he had watched 999, or any other first-aid programmes, come to that. But I know Edna adores them, which might explain it.

‘I think you might mean a tourniquet, Charlie. That’s a
kind of bandage you put on very big cuts, but not on tiny cuts on lips.’

Although if he carries on moaning I might give it a try.

‘Yes, but have you got one, Mummy? I might lose all my blood out my lip and then I won’t be able to swim at my party.’

He begins to sob again. I dab ointment on his hand, and then we hear Kate arriving with Phoebe and James, and he rushes downstairs with his injuries miraculously healed.

Mum and Dad turn up with an enormous Lego set for Charlie, who is thrilled and thanks them very nicely before charging upstairs with James to begin building. Lizzie and Matt bring another huge box of Lego which goes with the fort Mum and Dad have brought, and also a hideous gun that makes an appalling squealing noise. Lizzie apologises but said Matt was sure Charlie would adore it. He does. I have to take the batteries out so we can eat lunch in peace. Mum and Lizzie have made an enormous cake: it takes two of them to carry it out of the car. It has ‘Happy Birthday, Charlie and James’ on it in blue icing, and weighs a ton. Which is a good job because at the last count there are forty children coming to the party, with assorted parents and grandparents.

Thankfully we don’t have to worry about party bags because no one does them round here: a slice of cake and a bag of sweets is the usual drill. Lizzie is most impressed and says her friends in London spend a fortune on party bags for children’s parties, and get quite competitive about the contents. Everything is looking good and we set off in three cars, but for some reason Dad turns out to be driving the car at the front of our little convoy and he’s the only one who doesn’t know the way to the pool. Very complicated manoeuvres in narrow country lanes follow, but finally Kate gets in front in her car and leads the way.

We arrive and round up the party guests and receive their presents, which we have to grab off the boys to stop them opening them in the car park. The party helper turns out to be a small teenage girl who looks about twelve, which does not bode well. But she does a very impressive line in yelling, and soon has them standing in two straight lines, telling her what they want to eat for tea. She marches them off to the changing rooms, and before we know it we’re all in the pool jumping off the slide on the special inflatable island. Mum and Dad sit in the visitors’ gallery and take loads of pictures. There are four lifeguards, and they stand at each corner of the pool watching very closely to make sure that the children who shoot down the slide at the end of the island come back up again. They all have long poles to poke at anyone who appears to be drowning, and I’m generally very impressed by how attentive they are. Kate is too, and we are just congratulating ourselves on how well everything is going, when we see a small red-faced boy being pulled out of the pool clinging on to a pole and coughing and spluttering, looking like he’s swallowed ten gallons of water.

We rush over to see if he’s alright, but he seems perfectly happy once he’s got his breath back. The lifeguard looks very pale, though, and says that there’s always one at every party, and at least this one wasn’t sick. Quite. The pool staff have obviously had lots of experience of getting overexcited children out of the water, because they simply deflate the inflatables and shout, ‘Time to get out.’ The children all groan but do as they’re told, and then the helper reappears and marches them off to get changed. This proves as tricky as we thought it would be, but finally all the children are reunited with their clothes and are sitting
upstairs eating chips and wearing party hats. The cake is a big success, and both Charlie and James go very pink while ‘Happy Birthday’ is sung.

Phil appears halfway through tea, carrying baby Saffron. He’s late and Kate is furious. Saffron starts to cry and Phil tries to hand her to somebody else to hold, but no one is daft enough to fall for this so in the end he says he’d better go, but will come round later tonight to see James properly. James seems fine about this but Kate’s upset and says she doesn’t know why he bothered to turn up at all, but then she calms down and says well at least he did turn up, which is what really matters as far as James is concerned. I suppose it is really, but it does seem just a tiny bit thoughtless. Especially as Kate has organised the whole thing and all he needed to do was get here on time.