I climbed the hill home without the usual dread. The paper-light dress had an invisible glow of love and contrition.
I checked the time. A quarter to eight, much later than usual due to the quarterly budget meeting. Harriet, the nanny, would be telling the children to brush their teeth and get into bed ready for story-time with Mummy.
‘Helloooo-ooh!’ I called up the stairs.
Noah came rushing at me, full of chatter.
Rosie was at the top of the stairs with a toothbrush in her mouth and her hip cocked to the side. ‘Hi Mum,’ she mumbled.
‘Don’t drop toothpaste on the carpet, Rosie!’ I cried, immediately wanting to push the words back into my mouth and replace them with, ‘Hello, darling! How was your day?’
‘Hi,’ Harriet said, sauntering out of Noah’s room, folding one of his school jumpers. Her wide hips were swaying, and her full, permanently dry lips were humming. She was a rare combination of efficiency and calm. The children never ruffled her, or certainly never in front of me. Her voice remained at a level pitch, always. I envied her for it. Her bright red hair was a wonder to Noah, and he would twirl it in his fingers when she cuddled him. I hated watching it. He never did that to me. There were times when I wished she would get pregnant with her good-for-nothing boyfriend, and leave us to find someone they weren’t so attached to. But then, of course, I feared it more than wanted it.
‘How’ve they been?’
Before she answered, she followed me down the stairs and sat down next to a basket of clean clothes, folding as she spoke.
‘All good. We had a run around on the rec for an hour after school and we saw Charlotte there,’ Harriet said, wrinkling her nose.
‘Rosie’s going to her birthday party this weekend.’
‘She’s very rude.’
I looked at my watch, replying distractedly. ‘Hmmm, yes, her mum spoils her I think... You can pop off a little early if you like?’
Usually I would ask Harriet to detail everything both Rosie and Noah had said, done and eaten. But tonight, I was impatient with her to leave so that I could give Rosie her present.
Harriet dutifully disappeared after saying goodbye to Rosie and Noah.
And I carried the dress up the stairs.
First, I said goodnight to Noah. Then I peered around Rosie’s door. She was reading quietly in bed, just as she had been asked to do. I had the urge to drag Mira Entwistle from her horrible green kitchen and show her how contented Rosie could be. Maybe I should fling the window wide open so that Mira could eavesdrop on Rosie’s giggles when she sees her new party dress.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ I said, coming in. Her face lit up.
I sat on her bed and handed her the bag. ‘It’s for Charlotte’s party.’
‘Oh!’ she cried, squeezing her cheeks together in excitement, staring at the bag.
‘Go on, open it.’
Laying the tissue paper package on the bed, she knelt down to open it.
I watched every tiny twitch on her face as she unfolded the sundress. She looked at it and didn’t say a word. Was she simply speechless and overwhelmed?
‘It’s lovely,’ she said, and folded it back into the tissue paper.
‘Don’t you want to try it on?’
‘I’ll try it on tomorrow,’ she said.
My heart wanted to break.
‘Don’t you like it, sweetheart?’
‘It’s lovely, Mummy, I love it,’ she said, reaching her arms around me for a polite hug. ‘Thank you so much.’ She then moved her hand over my pregnant belly. ‘When is it going to kick, Mummy?’
‘Not for another couple of months probably.’
Sometimes, it was easier to think about the baby in the abstract, as an unformed embryo, but when I imagined its legs and arms kicking, a flutter of panic danced through my chest. This baby was going to be real. It was going to need much more than a few designer Babygros and a pretty cot. We would be a family of five. Peter and I would be outnumbered. Why, again, had we thought we could handle another one?
‘Did I kick a lot?’
‘You kicked so much I am still black and blue inside,’ I laughed.
She giggled. She loved hearing about being inside me, and about her birth. Her wonder reminded me of the miracle and privilege of being pregnant. We would handle the next one, just as we handled the other two. We would be okay. Third babies always slotted into the established family unit just fine. It was going to be fine.
‘There are some other bits and bobs in the bag,’ I said, hopefully.
She looked into the bag gingerly. When she brought out the silver slip-ons, bag and perfume, she seemed genuinely enthralled.
‘Look!’ she cried, hanging the bag over her pyjamas and slipping into her shoes. She paraded around in them pretending to be a fashion model. How I wished I had bought the blue dress. The yellow dress seemed babyish to me now that I saw Rosie in front of me, at ten years old, so tall, and only a few years away from puberty. I’d got it wrong. I had got her wrong.
I read the words of her bedtime book without engaging with them. I couldn’t shift the disappointment.
‘I’m sorry you don’t like the dress,’ I said when I kissed her goodnight.
‘I love it, Mummy, I really, really do!’ she said.
I wanted to believe her. ‘You’ll wear it to Charlotte’s party then?’
There was a pause as she snuggled down with her bear.
‘It’s a bowling party Mummy,’ she said, almost in a whisper.
The baby seemed to flip inside my belly, sending waves of sickness through me. A bowling party? Why the hell hadn’t I known?
‘Oh. No. Sorry,’ I said, unable to offer more. I was mortified.
‘It’s okay, Mummy,’ she said and she stroked my hand.
A ten-year-old, trying to reassure her mother. It was pitiful. And there, Mira seemed to be in the room with us again, watching me fail, and sneering at me for being utterly useless.
Chapter Eight
TOP SECRET
Dear Mummy,
I am so sad. I am the saddest girl in the whole wide world. I made you so sad and now I am so sad. I wish I liked the dress. It is very posh.
INVISIBLE INK ALERT: It was HORRIBLE, BABYISH, SILLY, STUPID, UGLY DRESS. I HATE IT. YUCK. If I wore that dress Charlotte would laugh at me, especially at a bowling party. How embarrassing. I would totally die.
The silver shoes and handbag are SICK (that means AWESOME). I don’t like them... I LOVE THEM. I’ll wear them with my skinny jeans and my black super sparkly bomber jacket that Auntie Jacks gave me for my birthday. You HATE, HATE, HATE that jacket. You have different taste to me. I think that’s okay, but you don’t. I hope you let me wear it. I will DIE if you don’t. Maybe I’ll scream so that Mrs E from next door comes over again. JUST JOKING.
INVISIBLE INK ALERT: Or am I joking?!!!!!!!!
I was listening to you and daddy talk about her after she left. You said she was a Nosey Parker. Two in the swear box mummy! She used to be very kind to send me those YUM SCRUM biscuits in the blue bucket. I loved the blue bucket. Maybe I’ll start it up again. But I don’t really want her to come over again. I’m a bit embarrassed that she heard me screaming. I wish I could stop myself. I wish I could delete the bad thoughts from my brain. Noah calls me pea-brain, but I have a massive brain filled with hundreds and thousands and a million-gazillion hundred worries. How do I make them stop?
Answers on a postcard! Daddy always says that. Silly daddy.
Night, night!
Five more sleeps until Charlotte’s party.
Love,
Rosie
P.S. Please don’t make me wear the dress to Charlotte’s party. I am worried you will because it probably cost a gazillion pounds.
Chapter Nine