Read Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes Online

Authors: Sue Watson

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Humor, #Women's Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Contemporary Fiction, #Humor & Satire, #General Humor

Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes (9 page)

BOOK: Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes
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Grace looked up, alarmed at Mummy’s sudden swearing and raised voice. I smiled at her and hunched my shoulders as though this were all a bit of a game Mummy and Daddy were playing.

 “Stella, I just think that you should put your career on hold and consider Grace and I for a…”

That did it. “
Consider you
? Do you know how much I
consider you
? Have you any idea how bad I feel about spending all my time working and not being the perfect wife and mother?” I hissed at him as the waitress placed half a chicken with piri-piri sauce in front of me. And chips.

“I bet you’ve never considered giving up being a cameraman, the career
you
always wanted to do and trained hard for have you?” I said, ignoring the fragrant chicken. “Why don’t
you
get a fucking
ordinary
job!” I hissed.

“Mum just used a swear called f...”

“That’s enough Grace!” Tom shouted. Her little face started to pucker and she burst into floods of tears.

“Don’t speak to her like that,” I yelled, getting up and comforting Grace, who was sobbing into her napkin. “Now look what you’ve done with your temper!” I threw at him, as I mopped her eyes and started crying myself.

“We were being silly. Take no notice of Mummy and Daddy darling. If you eat all that you can have an ice cream,” I said.

Tom was silent. Crushed by my anger and Grace’s tears he picked up his knife and fork, defeated. I sat back in my chair, feeling full but stuffed my mouth with big, golden chips and thought
you stupid cow, you’ve ruined it – again
.

For the rest of the day, I desperately tried to keep a lid on my feelings which made me act like someone else and didn’t make for a great atmosphere. There was so much to say and not enough time to say it. Our day was supposed to be about being a family, laughing at stuff and bonding over in-jokes. It was about creating a memory for Grace about the time she and Daddy had an adventure and visited Mummy on location. Now all she had was the memory of Mummy swearing at Daddy and crying all the time.

When you don’t see the people you love every day, you can’t share the minutiae of each other’s lives. Whole episodes of our real-life soap operas are missing, so comments are misunderstood and feelings and motives become suspect. A huge chasm had formed in the middle of our relationship and, despite its unlimited salad cart and unbeatable prices, the Rochdale Harvester wasn’t the place to close it.

After lunch we’d walked through a small village and bought some black pudding and Eccles cakes which lifted my mood slightly. So much for Lighter Lift! While in the shop I bought Grace a strawberry milk lolly – her favourite. Tom and Grace were outside the shop when I greeted her with it.

“Thanks Mummy, I’m quite full, not sure I can eat it now,” she said, looking rather awkward.

“But it’s been ages since lunch and you love these, don’t you?” I said, beginning to feel uncertain.

“Actually Stella, she’s gone off them. She made herself sick at Megan’s party by eating about four and she’s not been able to face them since,” Tom offered apologetically, like I was a kind auntie they didn’t want to offend. I felt like an outsider; being away had excluded me from their lives. I suddenly felt like a stranger as I realised that during my absence, things had moved on and I didn’t even know what my daughter’s favourite ice lolly was anymore.

I wondered what else would change while I wasn’t there to see it. In another year, would I still know her best friends, her teachers, her favourite books? Grace’s birthday was in a few weeks and she’d carefully made a list of friends to invite to her party. There were names I didn’t even recognise. I didn’t even know what she wanted, but I was sure that Tom did.

They left at about 7pm. The summer evening light was soft and I would have given anything to just climb in the car and go with them. Tom wound down the car window and kissed me.

“Sorry Stella, I always seem to say the wrong thing to you these days.”

“I know,” I said, “I’m sorry for getting upset and angry.” I could feel tears forming and I didn’t want to cry in front of Grace again. “Don’t forget to feed the fish,” I said to her, smiling through my tears and blowing kisses. I stood and watched them leave, then turned and trudged back to my lonely little B&B.

8 - Lesbian Lust and Lemon Curd
 

For the next few weeks the show went from strength to strength. Denise and Co were hilarious and the garden bloomed under Gerard’s care. Facebook pages were set up by fans and it became the unexpected hit of the season. No-one watching knew what was going to happen next and quite frankly, neither did I. Every week produced a new and outrageous happening. If Gerard wasn’t singing Rihanna’s back catalogue he was tripping over compost heaps and demolishing a trellis in one hefty fall live on air. And as he tiptoed through the tulips, Denise made it her mission to reveal all the scandal parish life had to offer, not least of which was a colourful tale detailing lesbian lust and lemon curd in the WI.

One week she must have had too much altar wine and made a pass at the choirmaster, egged on by Gerard and the crew. Al had to step in, which of course he loved and was making all kinds of eye-rolling faces on camera and milking it for everything he’d got.

Every Sunday afternoon phone call of congratulations from the Peter Willis and every write up in the press made me feel fantastic. Ok, so I was lonely at times and missing half my life, but this was what I’d always wanted: to be part of a successful show – wasn’t it?

Peter seemed to have dealt with the Gerard situation back at base – and despite a few newspaper headlines from kiss-and-tell girlfriends, ‘revealing’ he’d been to prison, we got away with it. In fact, I had a call from an agent who reckoned he could find him presenting work and was talking memoirs if he could sign him up. He said it was ‘very courageous’ of us to employ an ex-convict and we had sent out a good message to people who believed their lives are over after a prison sentence.

Bernard the vicar was delighted because the publicity meant his flock had expanded and the church was crammed every Sunday. Lots of mad old ladies in hats turned up to sing loudly and get their faces on camera. Al said it was like a geriatric
X Factor
. Denise was also enjoying her new-found celebrity. She even did an ‘at home’ with
Hello!
where she got to spread herself across the vicarage kitchen worktops like a Page-Three wannabe.

We had made religion and gardening the new sex, drugs
and
rock and roll so I was very excited when we finally left Rochdale and I got a call to come back to Media World for a meeting to discuss the show’s future – and mine. Surely now I will have the respect I’ve always wanted, I thought, and be able to negotiate child-friendly hours. Maybe even a promotion so I could take a more office based role and see my family much more. I had been furious with MJ when she moved me to Gardening, but it had worked for me and backfired on her. The great thing was that, as head of Documentaries, she had no jurisdiction in Gardening, so had no control over my career anymore.

However, the downside was that things between Tom and I had become even more strained. The success of the first show meant that I had been so busy I hadn’t been able to get home at all, but as I travelled home from Rochdale, I was sure I could fix everything if we could just get to spend more time together.

By the time I got back it was getting dark but I could just make out some kids doing all kinds of stunts on bikes in the middle of the road. As I climbed out of the car, I couldn’t believe it – one of the kids was Grace. She looked so different, so grown up. My eyes filled up as I remembered her first ever bike – it was bright pink and she was really wobbly, even with pink, Barbie stabilisers. Now she was riding a shiny black one covered in skulls. How things had changed.

I waved and called to her and as soon as she saw me she shrieked with delight (OK,
partly
because I usually bring her a present). She abandoned her bike in the middle of the road, yelping and rushing to me, shouting; “Dad, its Mum...she’s back, Mum’s home!”

 Tom was sitting on the doorstep with a cup of coffee in the fading light, laughing at her mad greeting. Gosh. He looks so handsome, I thought.

Tom helped me from the car with my bags and embraced me like he’d really missed me. Grace put her arms round my hips and all three of us walked and hugged at the same time up the path. As we climbed into the hall and dumped my bags, Grace disappeared into the kitchen, swiftly followed by Tom.

“Thanks everyone,” I teased. “I would have liked a bit more attention. Hello – anybody there?”

I walked slowly into the kitchen, to be greeted by Grace proudly holding a big, pink iced cake. “It’s for you, Mum,” she said walking towards me.

Tom was beaming; “She said it’s just what Mum would like when she gets home. She baked and iced it all herself.”

Grace smiled at him and added grudgingly, “Well, Dad helped a bit.”

 “It’s lovely,” I whispered, feeling a lump in my throat at the sight of the almost illegible, wobbly words saying ‘Welcome home Mummy!’

Grace and I sat round our big old wooden kitchen table while Tom put the kettle on. Grace cleared some space for the cake by moving the homework, magazines and camera pieces, and got some plates out. It felt so good to be home, amongst familiar things. I felt a rush of happiness as I looked around at the warm cream walls and lovely oak worktops. I smiled to myself as Grace and I cut three huge slices of sponge and began to devour ours.

 “Tell Mum your great news,” Tom said, bringing mugs of hot coffee to the table.

“Mum, Mum, I’ve been picked for the gymnastics team!” Grace squealed, jumping up and down in her chair.

“She did so well,” Tom added, “she was up around the bars and jumped right across the horse.”

Grace folded her arms and furrowed her brow, looking straight at him, “Dad, it’s called a vault, and I didn’t
jump across it
– I did a long fly. You’re just so uncool!”

Tom laughed and ruffled her hair, “Silly Dad, I don’t know what I’m talking about, do I?”

“Tom, you’re just so uncool,” I said, resting my tired head on his shoulder. It was good to be home. We just needed time together so I could catch up on everything that had been happening and discover exactly what a ‘long fly’ consisted of, in the name of cool!

That night after Grace’s bath I went upstairs to read her a story. As I got to her room I overheard Tom and her talking.

“Do you like having Mummy home?” I heard Tom say.

“Ooh yes, I love it. I don’t ever want her to go away again. I just wish she could collect me from school every day.”

I felt that familiar pang in my heart. I walked in and gave her a huge hug.

 “You’re not going far away again, are you Mum?” she said, her brow crinkling into a frown.

“I don’t think so, sweetie. I think my last programme’s done so well that my boss will let me come home every evening to be with you.”

“Mmm, just don’t be naughty again, Mum, or that mean lady might make you stay behind.”

 “Oh no, I don’t have to work with that mean lady anymore,” I smiled, thinking, there
is
a God after all.

“I bet if we ask Mum, she’ll play cricket with us at the weekend,” Tom said. He was rubbing his hands together and giving me a wink. Grace jumped up and down clapping. I smiled in agreement. I wasn’t sure about the cricket, but I wished we could be happy and sensitive to each other like this all the time.

“OK, sleep time madam,” I said, ruffling her hair. Tom kissed her goodnight.

“See you in the morning darling,” he shouted from the landing, off to attend a cricket or football match from the sofa.

“Mum please, please, pleeease will you read me a story?” Grace asked, her hands together in prayer. It was ages since I’d read to her so we rifled through her library of Jacqueline Wilsons and settled down with
Sleepovers
. We’d read it so many times before we both knew exactly what happened next and as I read aloud, Grace’s ‘I love this next bit’ punctuations became fewer and fewer and sleepier and sleepier. She was fast asleep long before the final climactic sleepover but I kept on reading and watching her sleep, just bathing in the sheer pleasure of the moment.

After a while, I tiptoed downstairs and Tom and I shared a bottle of wine and laughed at
Father Ted
and fought over the toffee Revels just like we always had. “Thank you for keeping Grace safe and happy,” I said, as the credits rolled and the Revels came to an end.

“That’s my job,” he smiled.

“Well, it’s my job too but I haven’t been around to do it.”

As we went upstairs and lay together in our own big bed I felt us start to reconnect. I felt Tom’s hands on my body, a little awkward and hesitant at first but moving with growing passion. After we made love we lay there, breathless, next to each other.

“If someone had told you fifteen years ago that this is how your life would be, would you be happy Tom?” I asked, sitting up onto one elbow and looking into his eyes. This was really just a formality for me, an affirmation that what we’d just shared was the truth. He put his head down and ran his fingers through his hair. He appeared to be thinking. I wondered if he was joking, but when he lifted his head and looked directly at me I felt a sudden chill go right through me.

“I honestly don’t know, Stella.”

I moved slightly apart from him and sat up. The ‘Stella’ bit sounded serious. This wasn’t good. I needed him to say ‘I love you, it’s all fine. Night, night.’ But he didn’t.

“I’ve been feeling unsettled for some time. I don’t know what it is, but I just keep thinking that something’s missing – it’s not enough. You
know
?”

I was stung, completely taken aback by his answer. No, I didn’t
know
! For Tom to talk like this about how he’d been feeling was new to me. I didn’t like it and I wanted him to piss off back to Mars while I stayed safely on Venus.

“You mean you need more...at work?” I asked, hopefully.

“Yes, work. Well...
everything
really. I don’t know. I hate how life’s become so complicated. Sometimes I’d like to just go and live on a remote Scottish island.”

“Do you think things would be any easier in the wilds of Scotland?” I asked, a little too sharply, still smarting and noting painfully that he’d said ‘I’ and not ‘we’ on the island. I was now kicking myself for spoiling things by asking for confirmation of his feelings.
We were still married weren’t we? Wasn’t that enough? Why did I have to open up a new vent of hell?
After all, ignorance is bliss.

“I don’t know,” he continued, in his own thoughts, “but I always said I’d never live
this
life. I never wanted an overdraft, a mortgage and two cars.”

 “Nobody
wants
a mortgage,” I answered tritely. I was hurt, but trying to keep things friendly and honest and open. After all, I started it.

“I suppose I feel a bit tied down,” he went on, the floodgates opening and gushing all over the duvet. “We’ve stretched ourselves with this house and, despite us both working, we’re not exactly rolling in it. And you talk about what you want all the time but you know I always wanted to film wildlife and work in Natural History. My plan was to shoot polar bears in the snow and whales in the sea. As it is, I’m shooting people painting walls, losing weight and planting bulbs.”

“Welcome to my world,” I answered sulkily and rather unsympathetically. Sometimes I became so obsessed with my own feelings I forgot that Tom had dreams too.

I turned over and tried to sleep, telling myself it would all be OK. On Monday I’d go into work and get a big promotion. It would mean more money and I could work in the office and spend more time at home. Then I would be happy and so would Tom. I was the producer of a ratings winner and should be able to name my price and my hours. I could look after Grace more and perhaps Tom would get his turn to take filming jobs further afield. There wasn’t much call for wildlife cameramen in the Midlands, let’s face it; there aren’t many rainforests or polar ice caps in West Bromwich and Tom needed his dreams too.

BOOK: Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes
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