Happy Families Page 15

  ‘Sunshine!’ Vanessa was sitting upright, every nerve in her body on fire. ‘What did you mean about Mummy? Has someone hurt her?’

  But the child’s face had clamped down now. She started to play the flute: a jolly, familiar tune about ten little ducks which Vanessa hadn’t heard her play before. A tune she had taught Brigid to sing when she’d been very small and one which her daughter must have taught her own child.

  ‘Please tell me,’ whispered Vanessa. But Sunshine carried on playing. What on earth should she do now?

  WHAT KIND OF PARENT ARE YOU?

  If your kids won’t do their homework, do you:

  Do it for them because it’s ‘quicker’ – even if you do get a D.

  Write a sick note for the computer.

  Explain that if they don’t pass their exams, they won’t get a job. Do they want to end up like you? Stressed, overworked and unable to control their children …

  Answer: (If this is the right way up, you haven’t had enough to drink.) You are a devious parent, regardless of whichever one you picked. Well done.

  Extracted from I Can’t Cope With My Kids magazine.

  Chapter 15

  ANDY

  ANDY LEANED BACK in his soft black leather chair by the window with one eye on the gardener pruning the rose bed and the other on the Team Leader’s Guide to Perfect Parenting for Teens. It was so hard to concentrate! How could he sit on his arse like this when that man was working so hard? It didn’t seem right.

  Twice he’d offered to help, but the youth had looked offended and quietly said that it was all right, thank you. He’d had his brief from Mrs Gooding, just as he’d had for the past two years, and he was sure that Mr Gooding must have enough on his plate anyway.

  That was the problem: Andy didn’t. Apart from looking after the girls and, of course, gemming up on the theory. Tonight was Session Three. Two weeks since Pamela had gone. Amazing that the girls weren’t missing her more.

  ‘Mum often goes out,’ Nattie had said airily. ‘We’re used to it.’

  Were they? What did she do when she went? And where did she go? Did it have anything to do with that ten thousand pounds? he wanted to ask Pamela. But every time he rang, her phone was off. Nor was she replying to any of his PLSE RING ME texts in capital letters to stress how urgent it was.

  ‘She’s out with friends,’ Camilla had told him coolly the last time he had called. ‘If you want my advice, Andy, you’ll give her some breathing space.’

  Breathing space? Why? Andy took a deep breath. ‘Is she … is she having an affair?’

  There was a nanosecond pause. Not much. But just long enough. ‘Of course not,’ scoffed Camilla.

  Was she telling the truth? Andy didn’t trust his mother-in-law and, until very recently, he had trusted his wife implicitly. The £10K loan plus the girls’ behaviour had dented that trust but, call him naive, he’d be happy to stake his last fiver on Pamela being faithful to him. Hadn’t that been one of the ground rules that he and Pamela had set? Amongst others, that was. And he was pretty sure that, just like him, she didn’t want to lose everything they had worked for.

  At least he didn’t think she did.

  Andy looked around the sitting room with its claw-legged sofas, deep white carpet, the original Andy Warhol over the marble fireplace (although he preferred the David Hockney in the loo) and the elegant rosewood table with the latest copy of Vogue on top: all of which bore his wife’s hand. ‘I don’t want to model any more,’ she had told him with a rare tear in her eye all those years ago. ‘I want to be a home-maker and a mother.’

  He so wanted to believe her! And in fact, nothing in the next eighteen years had given him cause to think otherwise. They had a great physical relationship on the nights when Pamela wasn’t too tired. In addition, he provided the financial stability while his wife ran an immaculate home; entertained crucial business guests; and brought up two beautiful daughters whose behaviour was, until recently, exemplary. Andy shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the recollection of Nattie’s drunken stupor and Mel’s suspension. Those were just blips, surely? A reaction to their mother being away for longer than she had ever been before. As for the £10K, well, Andy had never known his wife to get into debt before. Perhaps she was helping out her mother. There had to be a good reason for it. Surely?

  Mind you, if there was one criticism he could make of his wife, it was that, even after all these years of marriage, she still had that detached air of superiority, even towards him. She wasn’t warm and easy to talk to, like Bobbie. On the few occasions when Andy had disagreed with Pamela (he still didn’t see the point of the sauna hut in the garden!), she had given him a look that reminded him how lucky he had been to marry her: Pamela, the face of lingerie, whom everyone still remembered all these years later.

  Was this, Andy asked himself now as he turned over a page of the perfect-parenting handbook, the reason why he hadn’t stormed down to Sussex to have it out with Pamela? The fear that she might leave him because he didn’t really deserve her?

  And was that why he thought it was probably better to wait until she got home and talk to her face to face about that ten thousand? Camilla was right. Pamela needed space. And he’d give it to her. Meanwhile, he had other problems on his mind. Tonight – if Kieran turned up – he was going to have to face the man who could ruin his life.

  Try as he had, Andy simply hadn’t been able to come up with a plan to stop him. Even though something inside warned him that time was running out.

  ‘I might be a bit late back from the class this evening,’ he told the girls.

  Neither bothered to reply. They were sitting with trays on their laps in front of the giant wall-mounted flat-screen TV. (They had one in almost every room.) Eating while watching would never be allowed if Pamela were at home. But tonight Natasha had insisted that she ‘had’ to see something on Sky for homework. It turned out that the ‘something’ was one of those American soaps where the kids knew much more than their ineffectual parents.

  ‘Homework?’ he had questioned.

  ‘Yes, Dad!’ Nattie had fixed him with a Pamela look. ‘My English coursework is about American humour in twenty-first-century scripts. I’ve told you that before.’

  Had she? ‘Perhaps your coursework should be something about the perils of under-age drinking,’ he retorted.

  His youngest daughter scowled. ‘Just because some of my friends came round …’ She stopped as though realising she’d said too much.

  ‘Some of your friends?’ he questioned. Was that why he’d found more bottles in the bin outside? If so, they’d cleared up pretty well, he had to say. If they could cover their tracks like that, what else were they hiding?

  ‘Come off it, Dad.’ Mel was talking as though she was the parent and he was the unreasonable child. ‘Didn’t you have fun as a kid?’

  Her words stopped him in his tracks. Brought back that whiff of urine and cabbage and Brussels sprouts mixed with an image of a bald man with a tattoo on his neck. ‘Of course I did,’ he retorted lightly. Then he noticed that Mel was texting furiously while talking. How did kids do that so fast? It took him ages to send a message.

  ‘Aren’t you going to be late?’

  His daughter barely raised her eyes. ‘Late for what?’

  ‘Babysitting Daisy and Jack.’

  ‘I’m just going, Dad. Stop nagging!’

  ‘Nag, nag, nag! That’s all you ever do!’

  Audrey was wagging her finger at Bohemian Mum, the one whose kids had rats in their bedrooms because of the takeaway leftovers under the bed. (‘I’m trying to show them that they need to clear up themselves.’)

  ‘But, darling! If you’d only let me tidy up a little bit—’

  ‘I need my privacy!’ Audrey was stamping her feet and waving her mane of red hair around. Blimey! She was really getting into this role play. Any minute now and she’d turn into a real kid.

  ‘I do understand but don’t you think things have gone a bit too
far?’ Bohemian Mum’s voice tailed off and she turned to Andy, her hands clasped as if in meditation. ‘I’m sorry. But I just can’t do this. I’m not very good at being strict. That’s half the trouble really.’

  You could say that again! ‘It takes practice. Besides, everyone has, er, different parenting styles. How about swapping over.’ Andy looked around. Thank God Kieran wasn’t here again this evening! With any luck, he might have dropped out.

  Then he nodded at Audrey, who was looking even horsier tonight with a bright orange lipstick that accentuated her wide mouth. ‘Can you play the adult who is trying to tidy up her teenager’s bedroom?’

  ‘Sure!’ She grinned in what she presumably thought was a winsome manner. ‘Ready and waiting!’ Within a flash, she rounded on Bohemian Mum. ‘If you don’t let me into your room, I’ll break the door down.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  There was a shocked silence. ‘I say,’ breathed one of the other mothers, taking off her thick glasses to wipe them on her suit jacket before putting them back on again. ‘That’s a bit uncalled for, isn’t it?’

  Bohemian Mum shrugged. ‘I encourage my children to express their feelings.’

  They all looked to Andy as though seeking permission to continue. ‘Good! This is, er, good stuff because it’s realistic. So, everyone, what do you do when your kids swear at you?’

  ‘Make them spell it out,’ suggested Audrey.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ groaned the woman with glasses, who looked like one of the lawyers from his old company: the intellectual sharp sort. ‘Get real. Withdraw their privileges. Mind you, when I told Julius he couldn’t have his laptop for a week, he borrowed mine.’

  ‘Change the password,’ said someone else.

  ‘I did. Twice. In Latin and Greek. But Julius got it both times.’

  ‘How about the good old-fashioned swearing tin?’ said Audrey brightly.

  ‘Tried that. But then he “borrowed” the money.’

  ‘Talking of nicking, have you read the latest about Dr Know?’ said someone else. ‘He got that mother to shop her kid to the police and now the child’s gone into care.’

  ‘I think that man is great! It’s about time we started getting stricter.’

  ‘You’re kidding! He’s a monster!’

  Bobbie’s mum’s boyfriend always got a reaction. It was certainly raising his profile. Suddenly the door burst open to reveal a man with a very thick neck and tattoos. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said loudly. ‘Had to work late at the garage.’

  Kieran! Andy silently groaned. ‘We’re in the middle of doing some role plays about how to handle confrontation in the family, actually.’

  ‘Sounds good. I could do with some advice on that.’ He grinned. ‘Tell you what. We’re the only blokes here, aren’t we? So why don’t you and I have a go? We could pretend we’re brothers.’

  Audrey bounced up and down in her seat, letting out a delighted cry. ‘What a wonderful idea!’

  Andy felt his throat go dry. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Go on.’ Intellectual Mum frowned. ‘If we can do it, it’s only fair that you do too.’

  Kieran was already on his feet, fists up at the ready as though they were in a boxing ring. ‘I hate you,’ he scowled. ‘You really get on my wick!’

  Had his old enemy started the role play already? Or did he really mean it? For a minute, Andy began to quake as though he was twelve years old again. Then his adult side took over. ‘You’re a bully, Kieran. A pathetic miserable bully.’

  A purple vein sprang up on his opponent’s face. ‘You’re going to regret that!’ Kieran’s fists balled up before him. ‘Really regret it!’

  This was for real, Andy realised. Kieran meant every word.

  ‘Go for it, boys!’ Audrey was banging on the chair with excitement.

  ‘Come on then,’ roared Andy. ‘Bring it on!’

  ‘Everything all right here?’ Both men stopped as the door opened and a tall, well-built man with a deep voice strode in. It was Mr Balls, the primary head. Rumour had it that he used to be big in banking but had chucked it in for teaching. If so, Andy respected him for that. At the same time, he knew instinctively that he wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him.

  ‘We’re just doing some role play,’ said Andy quickly.

  Mr Balls raised his eyebrows. ‘Sounded very convincing but keep the sound down, can you? We’ve got a governors’ meeting in the next room.’ He made an amused, wry face. ‘By the way, we’re still auditioning for the parents’ Christmas panto if either of you are interested. You both look like pretty good actors to me!’

  Kieran let out a nasty laugh. At least, Andy knew it was nasty although it might not have seemed that way to someone else; someone who didn’t know him. ‘You could be right there, mate! You could be right.’

  It took a while for the class to disperse that evening. All the women wanted to stop and tell him that they had ‘really enjoyed’ the session.

  ‘Fantastic performance, Andy!’ Audrey was virtually shoving her chest up against Andy in her enthusiasm. ‘I love a man who is masterful. See you next week!’

  She slung an expensive-looking suede bag over her shoulder and turned back with a wink. God, she was terrifying!

  ‘So, Barry, that was good stuff.’

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Andy without thinking.

  ‘Aha!’ Kieran cackled. ‘Caught you there, didn’t I? It is Barry, isn’t it?’

  Bloody hell. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have dropped his guard after all those years? But the role play had unsettled him; taken him back to the child he used to be. ‘The name’s Andy now,’ he hissed. ‘How did you find me?’

  There was another nasty laugh. ‘I didn’t find you. It’s one of those coincidences. You and me, we just decided to bring up our kids in a nice area near a good state school.’ He slapped Andy on the shoulder. ‘Come a long way, both of us, haven’t we?’

  Andy stepped back. ‘Don’t touch me. You’re vile.’ He shuddered. ‘Truly vile.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Kieran raised his head: for a minute he looked as though he was going to snarl like the animal he was. ‘Think you’ve forgotten something, Barry. You were there. You saw what happened. We might only have been kids but that kind of stuff stays with you for the rest of your life.’

  How horribly true! Every bone in his body wanted to get back to the safety of his home and his family. But something had to be done. ‘Let’s go and chat about this somewhere, shall we?’

  Kieran grinned. ‘Planning on getting rid of me, are you?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I just think we need to talk.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right. Next week then, after the session. I’ve got to get back to my kid now. Have to hand it to you, Barry. You’re looking pretty neat. And I hear you’ve done well for yourself too. Very well.’

  Then those eyes hardened. Grew cold. ‘Still, you’ve got a bloody gall, running a parenting course when you were such a difficult brat yourself. But maybe that’s the point.’ He grinned again. ‘We know how to push the buttons, don’t we? And we know how to hurt people too. Really hurt them. Don’t you agree?’

  Andy’s hands shook on the steering wheel all the way home. His mobile rang just as he turned on to the drive and in his flustered state, he stalled the car.

  ‘Andy! Have you got home yet?’ Bobbie sounded breathy. Upset.

  ‘Almost. Why?’

  ‘I’m so glad I’ve caught you. Look – I don’t know how to say this. Rob got home early tonight.’ Bobbie’s lovely voice hesitated. ‘Before me. He smelt something funny.’ Then she stopped. ‘Oh dear. This is so difficult.’

  ‘Please.’ He could hardly get the words out. ‘You must!’

  ‘All right.’ There was the sound of a deep breath. ‘Mel was smoking in the garden. But it wasn’t just an ordinary cigarette. It was something else.’

  ‘Cannabis?’ He heard a voice coming from his mouth that didn’t seem his.

 
‘Yes.’

  Her voice was so quiet that he wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Rob seemed to be. And apparently Mel admitted it. I just wanted you to know before you saw her tonight. I’m so sorry, Andy. So very sorry.’

  WHAT KIND OF PARENT ARE YOU?

  If you can’t get your kid up in the morning, do you:

  Apply cold flannel to face while asleep.

  Tickle toes.

  Install three alarm clocks out of arm’s reach.

  Remove duvet.

  Unplug laptop, which will be under the duvet.

  Answer: Haven’t you got it yet? Nothing works.

  Extracted from I Can’t Cope With My Kids magazine.

  Chapter 16

  BOBBIE

  ‘WHEN I’M OLDER, I’m going to smoke like Mel!’

  Bobbie nearly stalled the car as Daisy’s assured voice piped up from the back seat on the way to school.

  ‘That’s very silly.’

  ‘I’m going to do it too,’ announced Jack, who had recently taken to copying his sister. This was not a good thing. The two were far more dangerous on the same side than when they were trying to kill each other.

  This was all Mel’s fault. How could she have smoked in front of the children – well, as good as? The garden was just as bad. The children could have got high through passive contact or whatever it was called. (Bobbie had to confess she didn’t know much about drugs and didn’t want to either.) It was utterly outrageous!

  Yet a small part of her had been silently pleased that Princess Pamela’s eldest wasn’t quite so perfect after all. Was that why she had told Andy about the cannabis? Rob had been furious. ‘You had no right to interfere! It was up to me to tell my sister when the time was right. This is family business.’

  It had led to a huge argument: one that had woken the children so that they’d had to stop and reassure a stricken Daisy and Jack (who seemed so vulnerable and biddable when they were half asleep) that it was nothing really. Mummy and Daddy weren’t rowing! Of course they weren’t. Just talking.