Having It All (8 page)

Liz bit into a crisp savagely. ‘I did it for me. I just got fed up with pretending it was all effortless, that’s all. Having to make high-powered decisions all day after being up all
night coping with colic. Being expected to shut the door on your children and not give them a second thought.’ She turned accusingly on Mel. ‘Do you know what I read in your bloody
magazine? An article on going back to work that told you never to mention your kids, because men don’t, and to wear red nail varnish because it makes you look less like a mother!’

Mel looked uncomfortable. ‘Don’t you think you’re going a bit over the top on all this? Plenty of women with kids work. In fact, most of
Femina’s
readership are
working women.’

‘And do you tell them the
truth
? You haven’t even got kids, Mel, and Olivia prefers cats, for God’s sake. Yet you do nothing but push this image of women with the
Wall Street Journal
in one hand and a baby in the other, zapping the Board and still home for bath-time. Take it from me, Mel, it’s bullshit!’

Mel looked around embarrassed, and sipped her Margarita, for once not springing to the magazine’s defence. Olivia McEwan,
Femina’s
founder and now its publisher, had just
discovered The Family and suddenly no photograph appeared without happy toddlers crawling all over their power-suited mamas. Olivia had decided that children were what admen called
‘sexy’. In other words they sold magazines, like free cars or Princess Di.

In fact, a piece on Executive Mothers had hit Mel’s desk just before she left for The Groucho. None of the mothers in that were whingeing on like Liz.

‘I’d have thought the solution was obvious.’ Britt emptied the last of her champagne and drummed her fingers on the empty glass. ‘If you’ve got a career,
don’t have kids. It’s simple.’

‘Simple for you,’ flashed Liz. Britt’s studied disinterest was beginning to get up her nose. ‘You don’t want any.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Britt,’ snapped Mel. ‘That’s what the last generation of women did. We were supposed to be different! We believe in Having It All,
remember?’

‘Maybe we were wrong.’ Bored with the conversation Britt snapped her fingers at the waitress for another bottle of champagne.

‘Of course we weren’t wrong! Liz is the one who’s wrong!’ Mel turned to Liz furiously, forgetting where she was. ‘And I hope you realize the damage you’ve
done to other women’s prospects with that little outburst of yours!’

Ginny watched the anger flashing between her three friends in horror. She was shocked at the bitterness the subject seemed to be arousing. She’d stayed out of it till now. What did she
know after all about juggling children and a career?

She’d always been a stay-at-home wife. Wasting her talents, as her high-powered mother never missed an opportunity to point out. You could have been a painter was her mother’s
continual refrain. But children were small for so short a time. You turned around for a moment and they had grown up and left you. Anyway her mother could talk. She had been too busy being a
surgeon to bother with Ginny and her brother. Well, it wasn’t going to be like that for her children.

In spite of herself, Ginny couldn’t help being glad that Liz was finding it so hard to cope. It made her feel better about herself. Of course Liz would never do anything about it. She had
no conception of what being a full-time mother was like, the way people looked bored when you told them what you did, and turned away from you at parties to look for someone more interesting. It
drove her mad the way motherhood was held so cheap these days.

And even though you wanted to be a mother you found yourself devalued all the same. She loved making a home, adored looking after Amy and Ben, felt happy and fulfilled by being the centre of her
family, yet she still felt boring and limited in the company of career women – even these, her best friends.

‘So, what will you do?’ she asked Liz.

‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. See how things work out. Maybe I’ll find that under Conrad’s chauvinistic exterior there lurks a New Man who appreciates that
caring and sensitivity are just as important as toughness and aggression. Who knows, maybe he’ll even relent and let me see my kids once in a while.’

‘Or maybe not.’ Britt drained her glass and held it out for more.

‘Come on, girls.’ Liz picked up the bottle of champagne and refilled their glasses. ‘We came for a celebration not a wake, remember. What are we having to eat?’

‘Where to, Mrs Ward?’ Liz’s chauffeur opened the door of The Groucho Club and helped Liz and Britt into the back of the gleaming Jaguar XJ6.

‘Notting Hill please, Jim. My friend wants to pick up her car.’

Britt leaned back and stroked the soft cream leather of the seat. She breathed it in deeply. The smell of the leather in Jaguars always seemed more genuine than it did in other cars. She
couldn’t understand why Liz wasn’t happy when she had all this. For Christ’s sake, how many women got a chauffeur-driven Jag with their job?

‘This car’s divine. Did you have to fight hard to get it?’

Liz laughed. ‘Actually I asked for a Space Wagon, not an XJ6. You should have seen Conrad’s face! “But that’s a kiddie carrier! I’m giving you a black XJ6 with
cream leather seats. That’s what LWT’s Controller has. We can’t have you driving round looking like a mum from Surbiton!”’

Typical, Britt thought bitterly. She couldn’t help feeling that Liz’s contempt for the rewards of success was somehow directed at her. What was wrong with wanting an XJ6? Or a
Porsche? Or a penthouse in Docklands? Britt wanted them all right. And so, if she wasn’t much mistaken, did Liz’s husband.

Britt looked at her curiously. ‘So what does the divine David think of all these True Confessions – and in his rival paper too? I would have thought with all these rumours about
Logan Greene bringing in some kid from the
World
to get the
News
off the skids, he might be a teeny-weeny bit pissed off.’

So that was it! That was why David had been so preoccupied. For God’s sake, why hadn’t he told her? And she’d talked to the
Daily World
, of all papers, and tomorrow
there would be more of it. He’d never forgive her! Liz was glad it was dark in the car and Britt couldn’t see the apprehension in her face.

‘To be honest, Britt, I don’t know. We’ve never really talked about it.’

Britt raised an elegantly pencilled eyebrow. So, the perfect marriage had its problems, did it?

‘Mum, where’s Dad?’ A little hand was tugging at the duvet, trying to uncover Liz who had buried herself mole-like right underneath.

She sat up quickly and looked at the clock-radio. Eight a.m. David must have gone for a run. Now they’d never have a chance to talk sensibly. She should have told him last night but when
Jim had dropped her off the house had been in darkness and he was already asleep. He’d looked almost boyish, with all worries of editing a paper wiped from his face.

She’d wondered whether to disturb him but he was hopeless when he was woken up. When the children were tiny he’d even managed to sleep through the colic and teething and wake up the
next day bright and breezy insisting she should have woken him. On the one occasion she did, he was so irritable she decided it wasn’t worth it. And she’d decided it probably
wouldn’t be worth it last night. Her head was pounding with too much talk and champagne. So she’d decided to wait till the morning. Now she realized what a stupid mistake that had
been.

She leaped out of bed and looked out of the window. It was a beautiful day. Another glorious summer. Not that she’d be seeing much of it. She looked in Daisy’s room but Susie must
already have got her up and taken her down to breakfast.

‘Come on, Jamie, get those pyjamas off and put on your shorts. It’s lovely outside.’ She tried to grab him but he ducked out of her arm, slippery as an eel.

She chased him, but he’d already hidden behind the dressing table just out of reach and was yelling, ‘Won’t! Don’t want to!’ She felt the irritation rising. It was
the same every morning. Sometimes she couldn’t believe a child of five had so much strength. Yomping across the Falklands had nothing on trying to get Jamie dressed.

‘Jamie! Come out!’ She leaned across and picked him up bodily, kicking and screaming, almost ricking her back as she did so. In an effort to get his pyjamas off and his shorts on she
tried every trick she knew: cajoling, distracting, promising forbidden treats. In the end it took brute force as usual.

Keep calm, she told herself, don’t lose your temper. It’s your fault, not his. He never sees you. She was worn out, her nerves frayed, and it was only eight-fifteen. So much for
quality time.

In the end she carried Jamie downstairs to save time, noticing with annoyance that a large brown envelope was lying in wait for her on the mat. It must be the script for the controversial
documentary they were due to show tomorrow. The lawyers were having kittens about it and she would have to read it on her way to work and decide whether they were right.

The first thing she saw when they went into the kitchen was David in his tracksuit reading the
Daily World
.

Shit, thought Liz,
shit, shit, shit.

He looked up. ‘You seem to have caused quite a stir.’

She could hear the bitter edge to his voice.

‘Mummy!’ Jamie pulled at the folds of her suit. ‘Mum, can I blow up the paddling pool?’

‘Of course you can. Ask Susie to help you. Go on, she’s feeding Daisy on the patio.’ Jamie rushed off through the French windows in search of Susie.

David looked up from the paper. ‘How long has all this been brewing?’

Liz sat down next to him. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t even know I felt like that till I did the interview. That cow had been nosing around trying to find anything she could on what
a terrible mother I am. She’d hung around Jamie’s school, for God’s sake, and talked to some pushy mother who thinks I should be reported for child neglect. She was going to
crucify me. So I decided telling the truth was my only option.’

For some reason she didn’t mention Susie’s part in all this. She hadn’t decided what to do about her yet and she knew David would fire her on the spot.

‘So you had a little sob on Steffi Wilson’s shoulder instead?’ The resentment in his voice felt like a razor blade slicing at her raw nerves. It was partly her fault that he
didn’t understand. She’d never tried to explain how she felt torn in two even to herself, let alone to him. Could she blame him for being angry when he’d had to find out from a
newspaper, and a rival one at that?

‘I suppose you realize how ridiculous you’ve made me look?’

She could tell he was struggling with his temper in front of Susie and the children. ‘My wife’s having a mid-life crisis and I’m the last to know.’ He threw the paper
down on the kitchen table. ‘You could at least have given
us
the story instead of the bloody
World
!’

Liz looked at her husband, hurt that he seemed to be seeing it simply in terms of who got the scoop of Liz Ward baring her soul. All he seemed to think about these days was the paper.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t give it to the
News
.’ She heard the answering bitterness in her own voice. ‘Maybe when I announce my resignation I’ll come to you
first.’ But the irony was lost on David.

‘Everyone in London knows that the
World
is decimating us. Logan’s brought Mick Norman in as “Special Adviser” waiting in the wings to pounce if this slide goes
on, and you hand them the moving story of your secret sadness on a plate.’

‘Everyone in London may have known that, but not me. Because you didn’t tell me, David. I’m your wife and I’m the last person to know. Maybe if you had told me all this
wouldn’t have happened!’ She knew it was cruel, but she felt suddenly, blazingly angry. ‘And you’ve been so caught up with your stupid circulation war that you
wouldn’t have noticed even if I
had
been having a mid-life crisis!’

David took his feet off the table and came over to her. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being a selfish shit.’

‘Anyway, it isn’t a bloody mid-life crisis. I just miss the children, that’s all.’

As if on cue, Jamie rushed into the kitchen to find his parents in each other’s arms.

‘Mum . . . Mum! Come and see the paddling pool!’

‘Jamie, I’m trying to talk to Daddy, darling. I’ll be out in a minute.’ Poor Jamie, he was always competing for her attention these days. She stroked his hair
lovingly.

Seeing her ruffle Jamie’s hair, David felt the stirrings of guilt. They looked so lovely together. Jamie was so like her, dark hair, bright blue eyes, long limbs, extrovert one minute, shy
the next. Daisy was the one who took after him. Blonde-haired strutting little Daisy who knew what she wanted and went for it. He wasn’t sure he understood Liz. She seemed to keep changing
her mind about what she wanted.

‘I’m sorry, darling, but I’ve got to rush.’ David put his arms round them both, sorry he’d been angry with her, loving her, mystified by her. ‘We’d
better talk about this later.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, kissing him, but coming to the painful realization that he didn’t understand, not really. And when would they talk? When did they ever get any time to talk
about anything these days? One or other of them was always working late or unreachable under a mountain of meetings, business deals and endless decisions to make.

She took Jamie’s hand and went outside to the garden. Only nine a.m. and it was already hot, the sky clear and blue. England was like a foreign country again. The Greenhouse effect. Global
warming. It might be melting the polar ice caps and bringing hurricanes to the Caribbean, but it was very nice indeed in Holland Park.

Susie had filled up the paddling pool and put it in the shade of the apple tree. Daisy stood next to it wearing only a sun-hat. She cocked a tiny leg, trying to get in unaided. Liz laughed and
scooped her up and kissed her small bare shoulders at the tender top of the back. She caught herself kissing Daisy all the time now. Daisy wouldn’t be a baby much longer. Those little
bracelets of fat at the wrists, the dimpled bottom, would soon disappear. A growing spurt would turn her from a plump baby into a slender toddler any day now.