The Motherhood Walk of Fame. Shari Low
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of a major deal. If I pull out now I could lose the client and a shit load of commission–commission that we could really do with.’
‘Fuck it, there’ll be other deals, other commissions.’
‘Jesus, are you never going to grow up, Carly?’
I don’t think the first response that came into my head–‘Definitely not, and where did you put my pogo stick?’–was the answer he was looking for, so I didn’t say it out loud. Once upon a time that would have made him crease with laughter. Where had that guy gone?
‘Yes! I will, I promise. I mean, I have. Look at me: I iron, for Christ’s sake. I now know that Dyson isn’t the name of a rock group. I pay tax. I make the boys wash their hands after they pee. I say things like, “If you don’t behave then Santa won’t bring you any toys.” I’m a fully fledged bloody adult.’ I was tempted to add, na na na na boo boo, but thought it might blow my well-made point.
‘Then use some sense and don’t go.’
‘I’m going.’
‘I’m not.’
And he didn’t. Day Four (Capitulation and compromise) and here we were, charging up to the departure terminal at Heathrow, one woman, two pals, two children and six suitcases. And no Mark.
He had tried again to change my mind the night before, but it was futile, despite tugging my heartstrings so hard that they almost snapped.
‘Carly, you can’t do this. How can I be apart from the boys for a month?’
I knew it would devastate him, but on the other hand there was a simple solution–he could find a way to come. He’d been with his company for twenty years–twenty years of slog and success. I was positive that if he asked them for a month off they would agree. But I was also convinced that the problem wasn’t with bureaucracy, it was with Mark’s refusal to do anything that hadn’t been analysed, prepared and planned to the degree of a military operation.
For once I was awake that morning when he left. As I lay in the dark, I heard him go into the boys’ room, kiss them and murmur something. A few minutes later, thud (trip over briefcase), rip (banana off bunch), door open, door shut, car engine on, car engine fades as he drives off down the street.
I wrote him a letter, giving him the flight details, Sam’s address and telephone numbers, and got the boys to draw kisses across it before leaving it propped against the cornflakes. I still didn’t think that he’d let us go alone. Come on, we were a team. Soul mates. Best mates. Okay, so perhaps we’d let things slide lately and hadn’t been paying each other enough attention, but we were definitely in this for the long haul, weren’t we? Definitely. So he’d made his point. Let’s move on. Santa Monica Boulevard, here we come.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Carol. ‘Any minute now security will arrest you because you look like you’re casing the place.’
My eyes flicked manically from one door to another. We were standing in the middle of a packed terminal, at the entrance to the security area that leads to the departure lounge, and I was rooted to the spot.
‘I’m waiting for the snot bit,’ I replied, still searching the crowd.
‘What?’ said Kate.
‘You know, the snot bit. Officer and a Gentleman, he carries her out of the factory. Top Gun, he goes back to the café and puts their song on the jukebox. Dirty Dancing, he pulls Baby out of the corner. Friends, Rachel gets off the plane. Pretty Woman, he decides to overlook the fact that she’s a slapper and climbs up a ladder. The romantic ending. The bit where the hero comes rushing in and you go all warm and bubbly, despite dripping with snot.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, would all passengers on Flight BA0283 to Los Angeles please proceed directly to your departure gate, as this flight is preparing to board.’
‘That’s you, honey,’ prompted Kate, her eyes misty. Oh crap, we were having a snot moment without the big hunk charging to the rescue. Could we do nothing right?
That’s when I saw him. It wasn’t hard. At over six foot Mark was usually one of the tallest in the room. Over a sea of heads, I could see an inch of that familiar dark hair coming towards us. I swear it was like a slow-motion B-movie ending, only without the crap music that sounded like it was composed by someone’s auntie on her organ after a dozen gins. He was fifty feet away: my heart started to race. Forty feet: a huge grin crept across my face. Thirty feet: I went up on my tiptoes, wanting to see the expression on his face as he rushed towards me. Twenty feet: I started to wave. Ten feet: I stopped breathing. Nine, eight, seven, six…A shriek was starting in my stomach and working its way north. Five, four, three. Aaaaaaargh! There it was–one shriek, at a tone so high-pitched that every dog within a tenmile radius just had a heart attack. Two, one…That’s how long it took me to realise that the shriek wasn’t mine. It belonged to what looked like a Swedish au pair called Inga, and she was now sucking the tonsils out of a bloke who was the spitting image of my husband from the forehead up.
It wasn’t Mark. He hadn’t come. He really hadn’t come.
I swallowed.
‘That’s us, Mum, that’s us. Come on!’ yelled Mac excitedly. Shallower than a foot spa, that boy. He was leaving his father for a month, his mother was devastated, we were going to the unknown, facing an uncertain future, and don’t even get me started on the fact that I’d be in debt until I was sixty after this trip.
‘Come on, Mum, our plane’s ready. D’you think I can wear the pilot’s hat, Mum? Do you, do you, do you?’ He was going hyper again.
I raised my eyes to heaven. Dear God, if I promise never to ask you for anything else again, please hear me now. Please, please, please make this trip worthwhile. Please make Mark come charging in that door right now. And please do not let Mac pee his pants in the middle of a security check at Heathrow. They’ll think it’s fear and have us strip-searched before you can say ‘And what exactly is that white powder up your jacksy, madam?’
‘You have to go now, Carly If you’re going…’ Kate said tentatively.
I swallowed again, and then scoured the room one last time. Bastard.
I took a deep breath, threw my handbag over my shoulder, my carry-on bag over the other one, grabbed both my boys’ free hands (their other hands were pulling Postman Pat trolley bags) and leaned over to kiss Kate and Carol.
‘We’re going,’ I said with a rueful smile. ‘We’re definitely going.’
We were going to LA, we were going to have a ball, and, most importantly, I was going to show Mark stubborn-arsed Barwick that it wasn’t just some crazy flight of fancy. I was going to make a success of this trip. I was going to sell the film rights for one of my books to a movie studio and get a cheque with more zeros than Stephen Hawking’s IQ. I was going to make this pay off big-time and show Mark that all he needed in life was a little more faith in his wife.
That’s if I ever forgave him. And I wasn’t sure that I would.
Family Values Magazine
PUTTING THE YUMMY IN MUMMY THIS WEEK… TRAVELLING WITH THE FAMILY
Gstaad, Aspen, St Moritz, Monte Carlo, Bermuda, Antigua…It’s vital for the all-round development of children that they experience other countries and cultures. Of course, getting them there can be a minefield of pressure points and explosive incidents; however, a little planning can make the journey seamless, crisis-free and perhaps even add to the excitement of the adventure.
First of all, ladies, take your nanny. Yes, it may add to the expense, but it’s your holiday too and you deserve the rest, so look on it as an investment in the quality of your life.
Secondly, prepare, prepare, prepare. Take snacks for the children–organic rice cakes