The Undercover Mother_A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy about love, friendship and parenting Read online

  How would she survive without Dan? Nothing had fazed him. Whether it was getting up in the middle of the night, changing an explosive nappy or feeding Jenny chocolate digestives whilst she wept, he’d just taken it all in his stride.

  And now he had left them to go back to work. Jenny was suspicious. It wasn’t that he’d exactly skipped out of the door that morning, but he hadn’t looked devastated, either.

  ‘We can do this,’ she said to Henry, trying not to dribble snot and tears onto his babygro. ‘You just need to work with me.’ And work with her he did. If by ‘work with me’ she had meant, ‘wee all over the changing table’.

  It felt like they’d just dozed off again when the doorbell rang. It was a huge bouquet from Eva, with a card that read:

  ‘Congratulations on adding to the next generation! If you change your mind about the blog, we can find you something else when you return.’

  Well, if anything was going to get Jenny out of her pyjamas and in front of the laptop, it was the thought of the ‘something else’ Eva would otherwise fob her off with. Anyway, it was a good thing she was up as she needed to shower this morning. Gail was coming, even though she was now more than a week overdue. She was the only one of them still pregnant: Antonia had had to have an emergency C-section three weeks before her due date, and Naomi had gone into labour five days ago, pulling off the perfect birth twelve hours later. According to Naomi’s 400-word Facebook post, baby Daisy had been delivered in water, accompanied by some kind of whale music. Naomi and John were now in their post-birth bonding period. Meanwhile, Jenny was in her post-birth pyjama period. Why had she invited someone here on her first day flying solo?

  She’d invited Ruth too, but Ruth hadn’t even replied to her text. Two weeks ago, Jenny might have been irritated by that. Now she assumed that Ruth was lying prone somewhere under a heap of dirty babygros and would call when she escaped. She must have had the baby by now.

  Maybe it was good that it would be just herself and Gail: she could really get to know her and assess how useful she would be for blog fodder. Remembering the smart clothes Gail had worn to the antenatal class, Jenny decided that she would also need to change out of her pyjamas.

  * * *

  At about ten o’clock, Henry fell asleep, feeding. Jenny placed him in his baby chair as if he were an unexploded bomb and crept up to the bathroom, carrying him in it. She knew she wasn’t supposed to, but how else was she meant to shower? Gail was due at eleven, so if Henry stayed asleep, Jenny should be showered and dressed in plenty of time. Easy.

  Henry decided to wait until she was naked, wet and fully lathered before beginning to wail like an air-raid siren. Throwing open the shower cubicle door, she tried to make it across the tiled floor as quickly as her tender stomach and wet, sliding feet would allow. Carefully, she crouched down beside him, trying to see through the face wash that was stinging her eyes, and attempted to pacify him without having to pick him up and cover him in Radox. When no amount of shushing and chair rocking would do, she gave in and picked him up. With a deadly accuracy, he found her nipple and helped himself to a quick snack. This in turn made her yelp in surprise and pain, which started him crying all over again.

  This time, it was impossible to calm him down. Which is why, an hour later, she opened the door to a punctual Gail with wet but unwashed hair and wearing only a dressing gown.

  Gail, on the other hand, was wearing yet another combination of shirt and tailored trousers; she wasn’t dressing down on maternity leave. ‘Interesting look you’re going for there.’

  ‘I call it post-natal chic.’ Jenny ushered her in. ‘It’s surprisingly wearable.’ Normally, she would be mortified for anyone but her closest friends to see her like this. But Henry had finally gone back to sleep in the last few minutes and rather than use the time to get dressed, she had been hovering at the door, waiting to let Gail in before she rang the doorbell. She was terrified that any sudden noise might wake him. ‘Can you watch Henry for two minutes whilst I go upstairs and change into something less comfortable?’

  When she got back, Henry was still sleeping. Gail was sitting on the sofa, checking messages on her mobile. When Jenny walked in, she clicked it off and looked up. ‘So, an actual baby, then. How was the birth?’

  Despite her promise to smash the maternity code of silence and proclaim to all other women how awful childbirth really was, Jenny knew that she couldn’t do that to Gail. It would be cruel when she had no way of backing out. ‘Don’t ask me that question. Maybe ask Naomi – she seems to be better at it than me.’

  Gail smiled. ‘Yes. I’ve seen the birth report. Have you heard anything from Antonia about her birth?’

  ‘Only that she had a C-section, same as me, the day before yesterday, and that she had a baby girl. They’ve called her Jessica.’

  Gail tapped her short, glossy fingernails on her mobile case. ‘So, no more swanning around having lunch for a while, then? Still, I’m sure she’ll have an army of people waiting on her. Although I can’t imagine Geoff changing many nappies.’

  Jenny was impressed that Gail could remember Antonia’s husband’s name. ‘No, he didn’t seem to be particularly hands-on. Unless he was googling birth facts on his phone the whole time. I think she said her mum was going to stay for a few days. Do you want a drink?’

  ‘A cold drink would be good. I’ll come out with you.’

  Gail followed her to the kitchen, leaving Henry in the lounge on his own. Jenny had no idea what accident could possibly befall him sleeping in his baby chair, but she wasn’t about to find out. She sloshed orange juice into two glasses in record time and practically pushed Gail back into the lounge. Was he still sleeping? Breathing? Yes, he was.

  ‘Have you heard from Ruth?’ Gail sat back down on the sofa. ‘She’s the only one who didn’t comment on Naomi’s post.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. I was going to ask you that. I don’t even know whether she’s had her baby or not.’

  Gail shrugged. ‘Maybe they’re busy seeing relatives.’

  ‘Maybe. Dan hasn’t heard from David, either, so that could be the case. Speaking of the New Dads, have you banned your partner from working away until the birth? I met a woman at the hospital whose husband was working in the city and didn’t make it back in time. She was not impressed.’

  Gail put her glass down on the coffee table and adjusted the collar on her shirt. ‘Joe? No, I haven’t. It doesn’t matter if he’s not there.’

  ‘Really?’ There was no way Jenny could have got through her birth experience without Dan’s calm reassurance. At one point, he had actually needed to remind her to breathe. ‘Surely you don’t want to do it alone?’

  ‘No. My mum will be there.’

  Her mum? Jenny was close to her own mum, but she was glad she hadn’t been there for the labour. For a start, she might have been a little shocked to hear the full repertoire of her daughter’s bad language.

  ‘Doesn’t your partner – Joe – want to be there?’

  Gail sighed, irritably. ‘It’s more about whether he’d be any use. Not everyone is like you and Dan. Lots of people choose different birth partners now.’

  Jenny resented Gail’s tone. ‘Oh, I know that. Naomi talked about a doula and Antonia planned to have a private midwife. I don’t know if she did in the end.’

  ‘An extra midwife would have been rather redundant in the circumstances, though, wouldn’t she? I’m not surprised Antonia was “too posh to push” in the actual event.’

  Jenny bristled. ‘The baby was three weeks early, so I’m guessing it was probably an emergency operation, like mine. And she’s still in hospital.’ She waved a hand around her navel. ‘Plus, this is no walk in the park, believe me.’

  Gail held up her hands. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t suggesting it was.’

  ‘Have you asked Joe whether he wants to be there?’

  ‘Very briefly.’ Gail’s tone made it clear that this topic was over. ‘So, any top tips you want to share?’


  ‘Yes,’ said Jenny. ‘Go back in time and hire a surrogate.’

  * * *

  Gail had left and Jenny was making a salad for lunch when Henry woke up with a yell. She attempted to keep cutting tomatoes with one hand as she jiggled him in the other arm. It was impossible. What could she prepare one-handed? Maryland cookies.

  The card from Eva’s flowers mocked her from the sideboard, so she returned to the sitting room with Henry and the biscuits and turned on her laptop. Then Henry opened his mouth and deposited a pool of undigested milk into her lap. More washing. No, she was not going to be side-tracked. Just mop it up with a baby wipe and carry on.

  What should she begin with? Maybe just a sneaky look at Facebook. There were a couple of photos of a fresh-faced Naomi holding baby Daisy, and a post from Lucy raving about a new club she had reviewed for the magazine.

  Even though Jenny was viciously jealous that Lucy had her job, the last thing she felt like doing right then was shuffling around a packed dance floor.

  Obviously, that would change soon.

  Gail hadn’t been a great source of ideas for The Undercover Mother. In her defence, she hadn’t had her baby yet, but Jenny had the impression she wasn’t really a sharer. It also seemed pretty pointless trying to cultivate a relationship with someone who was going back to work in a few weeks. For the next six months, Jenny needed someone to meet up with during the day who could regale her with the hilarious mishaps of life with a newborn. Perhaps she should try Ruth again – if she could ever get hold of her.

  Bored with Facebook, she checked her emails. Unlike her working days, there were only five waiting unread. Two were baby congratulations from former contacts, two were advertising special offers on shoes.

  But the last one was an email from Ruth and David. The subject read:

  ‘Our Sad News’

  Chapter Eight

  For the first few days, The Boy slept for hours on end and I congratulated myself on having given birth to such an easy baby. Within two weeks, that babymoon period was over and so was any hope of a complete sleep cycle.

  Even getting him to go to sleep is a Herculean feat. We take it in turns to walk up and down the hallway, rocking and shushing and praying for his eyes to close. Even when we’ve cracked it, the job isn’t over – we still have to lower him into his Moses basket. Seemingly, his bottom has a pre-installed parking sensor: if it gets within 15mm of the mattress, it causes his eyes to open and his mouth to follow.

  I can’t understand it. Right now, I would give anything for someone to feed me warm milk, tuck me up in a cot and sing me a lullaby. I’d even settle for a glass of water and a park bench if you could guarantee me an uninterrupted six hours…

  From ‘The Undercover Mother’

  * * *

  When fitting a child’s car seat, you must make sure the seatbelt passes through all the correct guides. It must go through the blue guides if it is a rearward-facing seat, and through the red guides if it is a forward-facing seat. It should not be yanked several times whilst you swear like a navvy. You should not need to cry about being a ‘prisoner in your own home’.

  Henry was six weeks old and, if life was going to get back to normal, Jenny needed to be able to take him out on her own. At last she was feeling up to driving and Dan had shown her again and again how to do this. So why was it so difficult? Damn thing.

  Fumbling with the stupid seatbelt, she tried not to think about the fact she hadn’t yet driven alone with Henry in the back. Already, it had taken about two hours to get ready to leave the house. Nappies, wipes, spare baby clothes for sick/poo/dribble emergencies; she used to pack less for a weekend away. Thank God for breastfeeding – how women managed to also coordinate sterilised bottles was beyond her – but she was also mildly terrified about getting her boobs out in public. They hadn’t seen sunlight since Ayia Napa, circa 2001.

  The seatbelt clicked into place and Jenny kissed Henry in triumph. They were on their way.

  When she got to the café, Antonia and Naomi were already there, both looking remarkably slim. Jenny felt ashamed of her maternity leggings and was glad they couldn’t see she was still wearing her post-birth knickers. Her mum had bought her the waist-hugger pants after the birth, as normal knickers were too uncomfortable on her scar. ‘I’m not wearing those bloody things,’ she’d scoffed. But then she’d tried them and crikey they were comfy.

  ‘Hello, ladies,’ she said, taking the obligatory look at their newborns and making the appropriate remarks about cuteness, whilst being secretly pleased that Henry was obviously far more attractive than Jessica and Daisy. ‘How are you both?’

  ‘Bloody knackered, darling.’ Antonia kissed Jenny on both cheeks, leaving an aroma of expensive face cream. Jenny smelled more like nappy cream. ‘That bloody woman at antenatal didn’t tell us that they never bloody sleep.’ But she didn’t look like she hadn’t slept; there were women on the front covers of magazines who looked less glamorous.

  But thank God Jenny wasn’t the only one struggling with a persistent insomniac. ‘You, too? I think I was up about forty times last night.’ Although ‘up’ seemed rather a strong euphemism for the state of half-conscious, semi-prone staggering from cot to bed that had been her nocturnal activity.

  ‘I think we’re all rather sleep-deprived. Wine?’ Antonia raised a perfectly proportioned eyebrow and a waiter appeared.

  If only. ‘I still don’t know if I’m allowed to or not while I’m breastfeeding.’ The NHS leaflet said no, but Jenny’s desperate Google research said yes. Last night she’d considered drinking four fingers of whisky in the hope it would filter through her boob to Henry and make him sleep. ‘Better stick to orange juice, please.’

  ‘Actually, you are allowed a glass of wine, although I am completely abstaining.’ Naomi flicked a plait over her shoulder and fiddled with the leather thong around her neck. It appeared to have something hanging from it that was indented with a baby footprint. Obviously, she was going to be an expert on breastfeeding as well as birth. ‘Have you tried fennel tea? It helps with your milk.’

  Antonia adjusted the neckline of her wrap dress. ‘You’re doing better than me. I managed about five days before I couldn’t bear the pain any longer.’

  ‘It’s a lot more difficult than I thought,’ admitted Jenny. ‘My nipples feel like I’ve massaged them with broken glass.’

  ‘Really? But it’s easy.’ Naomi leaned forwards to fold back a crocheted pram blanket and stroke baby Daisy’s cheek. ‘Daisy latched on immediately after birth.’

  Antonia rolled her eyes at Jenny.

  A smart, trendy pram appeared next to them, followed by an equally smart, trendy Gail. ‘Hi, all. Where are we parking these things?’ She slid into the seat next to Jenny. ‘Have you ordered?’ She nodded at a waiter and mouthed, ‘House red.’ Then she turned back to the others. ‘Sorry I’m a little late. I had a call from the office.’

  Jenny felt like she’d stepped into the twilight zone. No one would guess that these women were brand new mothers. Antonia looked like she belonged in a Maybelline advert, Naomi was bossing the breastfeeding and Gail was already taking work calls. Meanwhile, Jenny wanted a round of applause for getting out of the house fully dressed. What was she doing wrong?

  ‘How are you managing to work already?’ she asked. ‘I can’t seem to get anything done and I’m trying to write a… uh… novel whilst I’m on maternity leave.’ She had decided not to tell them about the blog just yet. They might start acting differently if they knew she was using them for research. ‘Sometimes I’m still in my pyjamas at ten o’clock.’ Or twelve.

  Antonia shuddered. ‘Last week, a colleague of Geoff’s collected him for a breakfast meeting before I’d brushed my hair and done my make-up. I was mortified.’

  Jenny tried to imagine Antonia with messy hair and no make-up. Nope. Can’t do it.

  ‘My mum visits most days and I have some time then,’ said Gail. ‘She’s cooking all my meals and watching Jake if I wan
t a nap.’

  ‘I would kill for an afternoon nap.’ Jenny had often had a little ‘disco nap’ if she had a big night out planned. That had gone out of the window, along with hot cups of coffee. At least she knew now what Toilet Woman had meant about enjoying hot drinks whilst she could.

  ‘Has anyone heard anything more from Ruth?’ asked Gail.

  ‘I have,’ Jenny said.

  David’s original email had been brief.

  ‘We’re very sad to tell you that our little girl didn’t make it. We will be in touch soon.’

  It was a week later that he’d sent another email, explaining what had happened. The baby hadn’t moved for almost a day and Ruth had been concerned. The midwife had come to visit and hadn’t been able to find a heartbeat. Ruth and David had had to go into hospital to get the confirmation of what they already knew: the baby’s heart had stopped. The doctors thought that the umbilical cord had somehow been obstructed and the baby had been deprived of oxygen. In all other respects, she’d been a perfectly healthy baby.

  Jenny had sent Ruth and David an email saying how sorry she was and had then called her a couple of weeks later. ‘We only had a very brief conversation.’

  ‘How is the poor darling?’ asked Antonia.

  Jenny shrugged. ‘I’m not really sure. She sounded strained on the phone, said she was just taking things a day at a time. Actually, I’m going to see her soon.’

  ‘We mustn’t lose touch with her.’ Naomi was emphatic. ‘I’d hate her to think that we didn’t want to see her. Can I come with you?’

  ‘She may not want to see you,’ warned Gail. ‘She certainly doesn’t want to be seeing small babies right now.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on taking Henry,’ Jenny replied, quickly. Did Gail think she was stupid?

  For a few moments, they were quiet. Naomi glanced at Daisy, Gail rocked Jake’s pram and Antonia readjusted the blanket covering Jessica. Ruth should be here too. Jenny watched Henry’s lips twitching in his sleep and tried to imagine how it would feel to… She stopped herself. It was too painful. Don’t think about it.