The Undercover Mother_A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy about love, friendship and parenting Page 7

  Dan sighed and turned over, realising Jenny would now be on a roll that could last some time. ‘Okay, Baby Spice, I need to go to sleep now. Hey,’ he turned back again, ‘am I going to be in it, too?’

  Jenny closed her eyes. ‘Shush now, time to sleep.’

  Dan was soon snoring, but Jenny’s mind was racing. The Spice Girls angle could really work, especially as there were five of them. Perfect. Except for Ruth. She couldn’t write about Ruth. Could she?

  And then there was this advertisers’ event to think about. As well as putting some impressive posts on the blog, she would need to get herself back into some kind of physical shape before then. Sexist as it was, most of the attendees at these events were men, and she’d have much more chance of winning their marketing pounds if she looked good.

  If the look on Eva’s face was anything to go by, she also needed to sort out her clothes and hair. She was in real danger of veering into ‘She’s let herself go’ territory. She’d seen it happen to her sister. Within two months of giving birth, Claire had been living in jeans and sweatshirts, her hair in a permanent ponytail. Being a mum didn’t mean you had to dress like one.

  Last week, Antonia had texted Jenny for her opinion on two dresses she was thinking of buying for her first post-baby night out. Jenny would give her a call and ask where she’d found them. Job done.

  Chapter Ten

  My first mistake was eating for two during pregnancy. Or maybe for three.

  Fat has accumulated in new places. As well as an ample bottom, and the extra inches around my middle, I’ve got the upper thighs of an Olympic cyclist.

  Sporty, however, sprang back to slim within hours of giving birth, although I do wonder whether that’s because she’s a decade younger. She also swears by Buggy Bootcamp, which apparently involves exercising and pushing a buggy at the same time. The closest I get to that level of multitasking is eating a packet of biscuits whilst I push a trolley around the supermarket. Even Scary’s bought a running machine so that she can work out without leaving Baby Scary, and Posh has a personal trainer at her glamorous gym. I’ve seen her on the way there in her designer Lycra and it just makes me want to reach for another Hobnob…

  From ‘The Undercover Mother’

  * * *

  The shopping centre was empty apart from a few bored assistants. Irritating piped music followed Jenny as she looked at the window displays, trying not to be intimidated by the flat-stomached mannequins. Everything was so short and tight. She wanted generous and forgiving. Was that too much to ask?

  It had been a mistake telling Antonia she needed new clothes to accommodate her temporary shape. Because, of course, Antonia had offered to go with her. Antonia shopped in the kinds of places that made Jenny’s credit card tremble in fear; and, more importantly, Jenny didn’t want Antonia seeing her naked.

  It wasn’t vanity – Kate Moss had never been looking over her shoulder at Jenny in fear for her career – but pre-baby Jenny had known how to dress for her shape: fitted at the top, A-line at the bottom. Now, eight weeks after the birth, she had a lumpy, bumpy stomach to accommodate, too. Wearing anything remotely clingy made her middle resemble cake mixture. To be fair, cake mixture was what it had seen most of in the last few months.

  Hence she was here an hour early. She could finish the trying on and be safely perusing shoes and bags before Antonia got there. Now she just needed to go in and start.

  In the first store, the clothes were displayed so closely together she could barely make her way through. Henry’s pram caught every dress they passed, and the assistant watched her pityingly as she careered into one clothes carousel after another, like an oversized ball in a pinball machine. In the end, she gave up and left. She hadn’t liked their clothes, anyway.

  The second one had more aisle space and she found a few things that might work. The days were gone when she could tell by looking at something whether or not it would fit. Now she didn’t even know what size she was. To hell with it. She grabbed three different sizes in everything which looked roughly the right shape.

  Changing-room cubicles aren’t known for their spaciousness and this one would definitely not have room for a pram. ‘Why don’t you leave it outside the changing rooms?’ suggested the assistant.

  Jenny looked at her incredulously. Leave Henry outside, on the shop floor? Where did she think they were? The 1950s? ‘It’s okay,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll manage.’

  The assistant appraised the pile of clothes in various sizes that Jenny had thrown hopefully across the roof of the pram. ‘You can only take five items in.’

  Only five? This was going to take all day.

  She picked five hangers from the top of the pile, left the rest with the assistant and headed for the opposite end of the changing rooms. After a bit of manoeuvring, she managed to poke the pram half in and half out of the cubicle, leaving a gap in the curtain wide enough for her to see Henry, and anyone else in the changing room to see her cellulite.

  First attempt was a dark blue skirt in the largest size. Far better for her self-esteem to have to ask for a smaller size than a bigger one. It didn’t fit. She managed to get it on (the stretchy fabric lulling her into a false sense of security) by gradually wiggling it up past her hips. But then it wouldn’t zip up. She sucked in her stomach as tightly as she could, but the cruel mirror showed that depriving herself of oxygen was having no effect. Even unfastened, there were stretch marks across the front of the skirt which made it look as if her hips were fighting to escape out of the side pockets. Carefully, she peeled it off again.

  Maybe it was a tiny size on the wrong hanger? She checked the label. It wasn’t. No way was she going up another size from that one. Maybe a dress would be better.

  There was a dress, but only in the middle and smaller size. She called out to the assistant. ‘Excuse me, could you bring me the larger dress, please?’

  No response. Louder, she called again. Still nothing. The music was ramped up so high she probably couldn’t hear her. To get it herself, she would have to get dressed again. Or just try the medium one. It was a different shape from the skirt. Maybe it would be okay?

  This time, she managed to get it on and zipped up, at least. But that damn mirror made her look like a ‘before’ picture from a Weight Watchers advert. She couldn’t wear this to the advertisers’ lunch – it would put them off their sausage rolls. Just get it off and get out of here. This wasn’t fun.

  She wriggled the dress downwards but couldn’t get it over her hips without straining the zip dangerously. It would have to go over her head. But she hadn’t taken into account the increased size of her breasts.

  She struggled to emerge, Houdini-like, from the bottom of the now-hateful dress. Was this a private hell or had she managed to draw a crowd? The pounding pop music and her face covered in material meant she had no idea.

  Then Henry woke up and started to cry.

  Rocking the pram with one hip, kneading breast flesh under and out of the unforgiving waistband… it was like being the warm-up act at a cut-price lap dancing club. Resisting the urge to fall down next to Henry and join in with his screams, Jenny swore in the most soothing tones she could muster. ‘Sh, sh, it’ll be o—bugger!… Mummy won’t be long… bollocks!’

  Something gave. She was out. And alone, thank God. She pulled her leggings back on gratefully and bolted from the store.

  Maybe she did need Antonia’s help after all. Right now, she needed coffee. No cake.

  * * *

  The café was busy with shoppers starting their day. Jenny joined the queue and looked around to see if there was a table with room for the pram. Then she saw them, sitting in the corner. Antonia. And a handsome younger man.

  They were deep in conversation. He had leaned in conspiratorially and she was hanging on his every word. Although all of the chairs and tables were full, this didn’t seem like an idle chat between two strangers who had agreed to share. Smart and stylish as usual, Antonia had her hair swept back in a
glossy ponytail. In a well-cut suit, the young man made a fitting companion. Would they want her to join them? Maybe not.

  Jenny backed out of the queue and left the café. The man was probably just a friend Antonia had met by chance. There was no reason for suspicion. She would meet Antonia in half an hour, as agreed, and find out who he was then.

  * * *

  A large latte, (skinny) muffin and thirty minutes later, Jenny arrived at the department store to find Antonia browsing in the underwear department, holding a cerise-pink lacy bra.

  ‘Lucky Geoff – that looks sexy.’

  Antonia turned. ‘He doesn’t deserve it.’ She kissed Jenny on both cheeks. ‘Hello, darling. Shall we get started or do you want to get a coffee first?’

  Even Jenny couldn’t manage another one so soon. ‘I’ve just had one, but I’m happy to come with you. Haven’t you had a drink?’

  Antonia shook her head. ‘No, I just arrived. But I don’t need one, either. I had tea with my mother when I dropped off Jessica with her.’ She put the bra back on the clothes rail. ‘Let’s make a start on finding you something fabulous to wear!’

  Jenny trailed behind Antonia as she selected and rejected different outfits – she had a real knack for putting things together. Jenny made the right noises about the skirts, shirts and trousers, but she was more interested in finding out about Café Man. Why had Antonia lied?

  This time, they left the pram outside the changing room and Antonia followed her in, holding Henry.

  ‘I saw Gail last week.’

  Jenny was the other side of the curtain, fastening buttons. ‘Really? Where?’

  ‘At one of Geoff’s work functions. The company she works for looks after Geoff’s company’s investments.’

  Jenny stepped out of the cubicle, wearing a trousers and shirt combination. At least it fitted, but it wasn’t going to set the fashion world alight. ‘Really?’ she said again. ‘How come you’ve never seen her before? I thought she’d worked for that company for years.’

  Antonia looked her up and down. ‘Put that on the “maybe” pile. Try something more fitted. I’ve seen her once or twice.’

  Something didn’t add up. Gail had denied knowing Antonia at the first antenatal class. Jenny retreated into the cubicle. ‘Did you say hello?’

  ‘No. She was with a man. They were deep in conversation. I didn’t like to interrupt.’ Antonia sounded bored with the whole subject.

  Jenny stuck her head out from behind the curtain. ‘That could have been Joe! Did he look like he could be her boyfriend?’

  Antonia laughed derisively. ‘I doubt it, darling. He was about thirty years older than her. Anyway, it was a corporate event. He was more likely to be her boss.’

  Jenny returned to trying to squeeze herself into the bodycon dress Antonia had persuaded her to try. This was an exciting piece of news. ‘Yes, but you were there with Geoff. It could easily have been Joe!’ She came out wearing the dress and turned around to get Antonia's verdict. ‘Weren’t you interested in finding out who he was?’

  ‘Not really.’ Antonia gave the dress the thumbs down. ‘There is rarely anything to interest me at those things unless it comes in a glass bottle. Speaking of which, it’s lunchtime. Shall we get ourselves a glass of wine when you’re done? Jessica will be with my mother until this evening – I intend to make the most of it.’

  Jenny flicked through the other clothes she’d brought in with her. ‘Is this the first time you’ve left her?’

  ‘No, both sets of grandparents have looked after her. We’re also trying to find a reliable babysitter. Geoff says we should just use an agency but I’d rather find someone that’s been recommended. Do you know anyone?’

  Just the word ‘babysitter’ gave Jenny butterflies in her stomach. Before Henry had arrived, she’d waxed lyrical about how handy it was that her mum lived so close – she could drop him at her parents’ house any time she needed to go out. But that was then. Now, just leaving him in the next room made her feel like she’d lost a limb.

  ‘No, I don’t know any babysitters. My mum said she’d have him any time.’

  And that ‘any time’ needed to start soon. When she visited Ruth next week, it would be beyond insensitive to take Henry with her. She’d call her mum and do a trial run tomorrow. Or maybe Saturday, when Dan would be with her. Or Sunday.

  Chapter Eleven

  My mum has a black belt in worrying. Every time she calls my mobile, she checks I’m not driving before she starts the conversation. When she hears an ambulance, you can see her do a mental headcount of every member of the family and their whereabouts. Whenever my sister and I roll our eyes at being told to ‘give three rings when you get there’, she always says the same thing: ‘You wait until you’re a mother! You'll understand!’

  And she’s right.

  It began the minute we left the hospital and drove home as if we were balancing three dozen eggs on the car bonnet. When I put our new baby in the crib beside our bed for the first time, I made Mr Baby get out of bed twenty times to check that he was still breathing.

  The first time I left him with Mum, I spent the whole two hours convinced that some freakish accident was going to occur. (Quite what natural disaster was going to hit my mum’s three-bedroom semi on a Saturday afternoon, I couldn’t tell you…)

  From ‘The Undercover Mother’

  * * *

  ‘Jenny, love, I have looked after a baby before.’ Her mother’s tone was somewhere between comforting and irritated.

  ‘I know, I just…’ Jenny trailed off. She couldn’t explain why the thought of leaving Henry for a couple of hours while they popped to IKEA was filling her with such terror. She turned to Dan. ‘Maybe we should just take him with us?’

  Dan took her hand and led her purposefully towards the front door. ‘This was your idea. You said you needed to start getting used to leaving him. You can’t take him when you go and see Ruth, can you?’

  Blinking back tears, Jenny turned her head back towards Henry. Her mum smiled encouragingly and waved at her. ‘He’ll be absolutely fine. Don’t rush back,’ she called.

  * * *

  Halfway to IKEA, Jenny remembered that she hadn’t told her mum about the burping. ‘We have to go back.’

  Dan showed no signs of screeching into a U-turn. ‘Why?’

  ‘I haven’t shown her the leg thing I do when he has wind.’

  Dan smiled. ‘She’s had two children of her own, Jen. Plus, she’s looked after your sister’s kids. I'm sure she'll work it out.’

  ‘No, no.’ A rising, irrational terror bubbled in her throat. ‘She won’t. It's a new method. I only just learnt it this week. She’ll just put him over her shoulder and rub his back and… and…’

  ‘He’ll burp?’

  Jenny wasn’t going to be put off that easily. ‘But he might not and then he’ll be in pain and then he’ll cry and I won’t be there and…’

  ‘Jenny. Stop.’ Dan had the calm tone of a relaxation tape. ‘We are only going to be a couple of hours. Your mum has successfully raised two children without the modern burping method, and Henry will be absolutely fine.’

  Jenny took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ she agreed. But she was far from convinced.

  * * *

  Wandering around IKEA, she tried not to run through worst-case scenarios in her head: Henry writhing in wind-induced pain, desperate for someone to lay him on his back and rotate his legs; an unattended Henry rolling off the sofa onto a hard wooden floor; her mum tripping and falling whilst holding him, and throwing him up into the air.

  Jenny picked up kitchen utensils and put them down again without even looking at them. She felt on high alert, like a gazelle listening for dangerous predators, ears almost twitching. Why was this so terrifying? Mothers left their babies all the time. Surely they didn’t all feel like this?

  After the third time she’d checked her phone for an emergency message, Dan took the multicoloured chopping board set she was holding and put it
back on the shelf. ‘Shall we go and get some meatballs?’

  * * *

  Whilst Dan queued, Jenny looked for a table. In the far corner, she spotted a familiar face.

  ‘You’ve caught me.’ Gail closed her laptop. ‘I’m supposed to be looking for a cot mattress, but Jake fell asleep so I’m having a sneaky catch-up on some financial briefings. Funnily enough, I’ve just sent a text to Naomi. Jake’s had wind and she mentioned some massage techniques that might help. All alone?’

  ‘Dan’s in the queue, but we've left Henry with my mum.’ Jenny raised her fists in a cheer but her voice wobbled. Seeing Jake asleep in his pram made her feel worse.

  Gail was sympathetic. ‘First time? It gets easier, I promise. First day back at work I cried the whole way there.’ She zipped her laptop into its case and slid it onto the shelf under Jake’s pram.

  Gail’s thick, shoulder-length hair was twisted and pinned up with a large clip and her lack of make-up made her look less intimidating than usual. But crying? That was a surprise. Jenny perched herself on the chair opposite.

  ‘Well, that makes me feel a little less pathetic. Thanks. How are you finding it, being back at work now?’

  ‘It’s fine. I’m so busy I don’t have time to think.’ Gail re-adjusted Jake’s blanket. ‘When I leave, though, I’m desperate to get home and see him.’

  Now she was there, Jenny could ask Gail about the man at her work function. ‘I went shopping with Antonia last week. She mentioned she saw you and Joe together.’ Somehow, in the intervening days, Jenny had convinced herself that the man Antonia had described had to be Joe.

  Gail looked startled. ‘Did she? Where?’