Never Mind The Botox: Rachel (15 page)

Rachel waved through the front window as they got into the car and could see that before they’d even pulled out of the drive Laura was in floods of tears.

‘I hope they manage to enjoy themselves,’ she said to her mum.

‘Oh, I’m sure they will.’

‘Look, can we sit down and work out a plan for the weekend? I’ve got quite a lot of work to do and I just need to know when I’m on call, so to speak.’

‘Not very much at all. I’m going to be looking after Naomi most of the time. I just wanted you to go through everything with Laura as I know she thinks you’re a bit more organised than me.’

‘Oh Mum, she doesn’t think that at all,’ Rachel lied.

‘I just have a few hours’ work at the shop tomorrow morning. Do you think you could look after Naomi then? The rest of the time you can just help me out here and there when you’re not working.’

‘No problem at all,’ said Rachel, feeling very relieved that her whole weekend wasn’t going to be spent knee deep in baby stuff.

Not long after Rowan and Laura left, Rachel’s mum gave Naomi her last bottle of the day and put her to bed in the brand new cot.

‘She went out like a light, bless her,’ she said. ‘Ah, here’s your father back from golf.’

Her dad strode into the room with his light blue v-neck jumper slightly stretching to fit over his expanding middle.

‘Hello, darling, how was your trip? Was your train on time?’

‘Hi, Dad. Nope, twelve minutes late,’ said Rachel, smiling to herself.

Her dad shook his head.

‘I got a cab at the station fine, though; it was really quick,’ said Rachel in a vague attempt to placate his train line annoyance.

‘You made her get a cab?’ Her dad looked reproachfully at his wife.

‘You know I don’t like driving on a Friday evening. Far too crazy with everyone rushing to get home from work,’ said her mum. ‘And I had loads to do here, getting ready for Naomi to arrive.’

Hmm, not including putting the cot together, thought Rachel, rubbing her wrist that was still sore from putting in what seemed like a hundred screws with a cheap screwdriver.

‘So where is my lovely granddaughter?’ said her dad, looking around.

‘In bed.’

‘Already? Blast it!’

‘Dad, she’s only seven months old − what did you expect? She’s hardly going to be joining us for a sherry, is she?’ said Rachel.

‘Sherry, did someone say sherry? Super idea, Rachel,’ said her dad, heading over to the drinks cabinet.

Rachel didn’t have the energy to ask for a gin and tonic.

‘Gosh, it’s almost empty,’ said her dad, holding up the sherry bottle as if someone else had been drinking it. ‘Rachel, there’s a new one in the cupboard in the utility room; be a love and pop and get it, will you?’

Rachel went through to the utility room, marginally irritated by her dad sending her off on errands like she still lived there. There was a large larder cupboard in the utility room next to the washing machine, tumble dryer and spare fridge-freezer. Her parents kept the cupboard so well stocked that she reckoned they could probably survive for a year without shopping if they had to. ‘You never know’, as her dad would say. Never know what? She had no idea, but preparing for the worst was just in his blood.

As she turned on the light to the utility room, the light bulb blew with a sharp crack, making her jump. She clicked the other light switch to the under cupboard lights, which didn’t come on either. Damn, the fuse must have tripped! There was just enough evening light coming through the window for her to see what she was doing, so she opened the cupboard and hunted for the sherry. Her dad could deal with the bulb tomorrow; she’d had quite enough DIY for one day. Next to the sherry she spotted a bottle of vodka, so she grabbed that as well, ‘just in case’, and headed back to the sitting room.

The next morning, Rachel stayed in bed trying to ignore the baby noises coming from downstairs. She wasn’t in charge until after breakfast and she intended to make the most of it. She’d done a good couple of hours’ work after supper last night and deserved a lie in.

When she finally came down in her dressing gown her mum was humming to herself happily as Naomi lay in her bouncy chair on the floor gurgling. Babies do make some very odd noises, thought Rachel.

Her dad was reading the paper and as usual was talking out loud to no one in particular about the story he was reading. ‘Honestly, it’s a disgrace, these parents. They have no idea how to control their children. They should be the ones in court, not these kids.’

Rachel and her mum exchanged smiles.

‘Coffee?’

‘Ooh, yes please,’ said Rachel. ‘Morning, Dad, what are you up to today, apart from prosecuting parents, that is?’

‘Busy day, busy day,’ said her dad. ‘Mike and I are finishing those shelves in the church this morning and then I’ve got a committee meeting at the golf club. We’re looking at the plans to extend the ladies’ changing rooms. It’ll be a stormy one!’

Rachel had heard all about the plans to extend the ladies’ changing rooms at the golf club many times. There had been an uproar when the plans were first put forward, as the changing room extension meant that the practice putting green would have to be moved about thirty feet to the right.

‘I have no idea why they need any more room to change anyway,’ her dad had said over and over again. ‘They should just get rid of all those unnecessary mirrors and hairdryers, put in some more benches. Then there would be plenty of room.’

Rachel knew better than to engage in this debate. Her dad would never see that accommodating the increasing population of lady golfers at his club was more important than the position of the putting green.

‘And I’m off to the shop, back about two,’ said her mum. ‘Grace and I are redoing the window display this morning. We got such a lovely dress in this week, yards of green chiffon. We just have to show it off. It’s amazing what people will give away, you know. Must have cost a fortune new.’

‘Has Naomi had breakfast?’ Rachel asked.

‘Oh yes, dear, ages ago. She had fruit baby porridge that Laura put in the fridge to defrost last night when she put all the rest of the food in the freezer.’

Rachel finished her coffee, went for a shower and then eventually got rid of her parents.

‘Right then, tiny person, it’s just you and me now,’ she said to Naomi, crouching down by her chair. ‘So, shall we have a look at what’s on our fun-packed schedule for the morning?’

She examined the notes. They had wriggle time on a play mat (nappy off to get some air to important bits) followed by story time (books listed) followed by a walk in the pushchair and then lunch. That doesn’t sound too hard, she thought.

The notes also said ‘normally has a short nap in her bouncy chair at about nine a.m. for thirty to forty minutes’. Good, thought Rachel, off you go then. She looked at Naomi, who smiled back, not looking at all sleepy. Maybe she just needed some quiet. She carried the bouncy chair into the sitting room and put it between the sofa and a large armchair where it seemed a bit darker and calmer than in the bright kitchen. She put a blanket over Naomi and went back into the kitchen to make another cup of coffee.

After a few minutes she peeped into the sitting room and Naomi was asleep. How easy was that! Feeling very pleased with herself, Rachel looked at the notes again to see what was for lunch. Organic chicken casserole. That sounded quite good; she could do with something like that for lunch too. She headed to the utility room to get the chicken casserole out of the freezer. ‘No microwave hot spots on my watch,’ she whispered to the sleeping Naomi as she went past the sitting room.

She went into the utility room and opened the freezer door. As she did water ran out onto her shoes. ‘What on the earth?’ she said, stepping back from the freezer. She opened the first drawer of the freezer. Everything in it was defrosted. Melted ice cream was dripping onto packets of soft peas.

She looked around the room. No lights were illuminated on any of the appliances. Shit! The bulb blowing must have tripped the fuse for the utility room. The freezer had been off all night. She grabbed the drawer with Naomi’s food in it. The neatly labelled pots were all dripping with condensation. Every single one had defrosted.

Rachel put her hand over her mouth. Holy fuck! She’d forgotten to tell her dad about the bulb blowing. It was totally her fault and now all Naomi’s food was ruined.

She ran to the fuse board in the front hall, where the offending switch was flicked to off. She turned it back on and went back to the utility room. The under cupboard lights were on and the fridge-freezer was humming away.

She mopped up the water, shut the freezer door and changed the bulb in the main light. Then she sat at the kitchen table in shock. Now what was she going to do? She had twenty minutes maximum until Naomi woke up and about three hours until lunch. There was no other option. She would just have to make all the food again.

Rachel went into panic-driven overdrive. She ran into the utility room and wrote down all the meals written neatly on the pots: sweet potato and broccoli baby rice, apple and pear puree, fruity porridge − the list seemed endless. She then booted up her parents’ computer and started searching for baby food recipes. As she found each one, she saved it as a favourite page so she could get it again quickly later and wrote down a shopping list. How could baby food have so many ingredients in it? Christ, organic chicken casserole needed homemade chicken stock!

She’d just about finished when Naomi woke up.

‘Hi there, baby girl! So, bit of a change of plan this morning. We’re having a walk in the pushchair now followed by cooking with Aunty Rachel. How does that sound?’

Naomi just smiled at her. You’re very cute, thought Rachel.

She put Naomi in the pushchair, congratulated herself on remembering the nappy change bag even in this moment of crisis and headed off to the supermarket. As she arrived, she was confronted with a new dilemma. What do you do with a pushchair and a supermarket trolley? She was just about to attempt to push both when she saw a mother with a baby seat attached to the front of her trolley walk past. Hah! That was it. She found the mother and baby trolley section and switched Naomi into the trolley baby chair, leaving the pushchair in the ‘designated pushchair parking area’. Good system, she thought; they do think of everything, these supermarkets.

Once inside, Rachel started at the fruit and vegetable section. She quickly collected the things on her list. There seemed so much. How could one tiny person need this much stuff? After a few minutes practically running up and down the aisles, she’d got most things − just baby rice to find. She went to the baby section and started looking for baby rice. As she did, she noticed a jar of baby food labelled ‘Organic chicken casserole’. Next to it was another labelled ‘Vegetables with rice’. Rachel stared at the jars in amazement. There was everything she needed, or if not exactly the same, very similar. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Could she really get them instead? God, it would be easier.

Rachel hesitated − she was sure that Laura would never give Naomi food from jars.

She looked at Naomi.

‘Can you eat food from jars?’

She looked furtively up and down the aisle, as if Laura might walk round the corner any second, and then picked up one of the jars.

‘Of course you can, what am I saying? They can hardly sell baby food that will poison you, can they? Look, it says here, made from one hundred per cent organic ingredients with no artificial colours or flavours. Sounds like just the ticket to me.’

She hurriedly emptied her trolley of all the recipe ingredients and replaced them with jars of baby food. All she needed to do was refill the pots with food from the jars and no one would be any the wiser. Genius!

She was back at home in less than an hour and while Naomi kicked about on her play mat she washed and refilled each of the pots. The consistency was a bit different but her mum wouldn’t know that and it would all be gone by the time Laura got back. She sent Laura a text:
Naomi had great night, now kicking about on play mat, about to have chicken casserole, all good, R.

She soon had a reply:
That sounds fab! Just off for a long walk, lovely hotel, say hi to everyone, big kiss for Naomi, love Laura xxx.

Rachel found a small pan and tipped the jar of organic chicken casserole into it and religiously stirred it as it heated up. She tasted it to check it wasn’t too hot so many times that she felt that she’d practically eaten half the jar. She battled for a few minutes with the highchair tray, eventually managing to work out how it came off, and strapped Naomi in.

‘Right,’ she said, sitting down in front of the highchair, feeling rather exhausted, ‘food time, missy. Hmm, yum yum, chicken casserole just like Mummy makes. Here comes the train, choo choo!’

Naomi looked slightly startled by the loud train noise and refused to open her mouth.

‘Oh God, please eat it, there’s a good girl. Look, it’s delicious!’

She pretended to eat some and then put the spoon more slowly towards Naomi, who this time decided to play ball. Rachel held her breath waiting for her to spit it out, but Naomi swallowed it and quickly opened her mouth for more.