Chapter Four (part two) - When in Rome
Tasha had leant me her cats for the week while we flatshared with the rat pack: Colour-point Persians who didn’t DO outside. My chocolate brown fake-fur throw has already turned a lighter shade of pale from their long flyaway fur that gets in my eyes and up my nose.
I had managed to feed Josh, bath him and put him to bed, do some washing and dissolve the weeks dishes. I never eat before 8pm these days and invariably the pasta tortellini with cheese and pesto wins hands down in the war of convenience.
Bushed, I sit down to a welcome bowl of pasta and much needed glass of wine when the doorbell goes.
“Who the bloody hell is that?” I bitch to myself while making my way toward the door. Peeking through the side window I see a man outside carrying two massive bags of…...... white? And then I remember, Nancy’s delivery!
I unlock and open the door and am handed one of the bags stuffed full of polystyrene.
“Oh, thanks” I say, working the loaded bag around the corner and into my front room. The man follows me in with the second. “Oh, thanks” I say again, more nervously this time, as I inch the door closed behind him.
“No, there is more!” he says, in a thick Eastern European accent, ever so slightly angry.
“More?” I whimper back, beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable about letting a very strange man into my front room whilst wondering how I am going to fit any more of his bags into my tiny overcrowded live/work/feed space.
The delivery man disappears back up the steps and returns with what looks like a Roman arch, also made out of polystyrene. I signal toward my office space for him to place his load.
“’is more!” he barks once again.
Three more descents and my front room is filled with a polystyrene statue of The Thinker, an obelisk and a large throne. The delivery man hands me a delivery note to sign, then leaves without a word.
Thanking the Greek Gods that I am still intact I return to my, now cold, pasta whilst scoffing under my breath that Rome wasn't built in a day but in half an hour, just long enough to ruin my bloody dinner. Finishing up my bowl of pasta I reach for my gauntlet of Chianti and sup at the bludgeoned grape juice.... well, when in Rome....
The phone rings,
“Hello, Ceaser's Palace, how can I help you?” I giggle whilst surveying my room.
“Oh, sorry must have the wrong number”.
I freeze as a globule of wine rolls off a desert-dry tongue and squeezes down my throat before sinking into the pit of my stomach. A thin layer of sweat settles on my skin as I hear the line go dead. Perhaps this wine has gone to my head a bit, but I feel sure that it is an Australian twang that reverberates around my sorry skull.
In slow motion I rest the receiver back on its perch forgetting to breathe.
The phone squawks again and in shock I snatch it back up and hold it to me ear.
“Err, hello is Zoe there please?”
Gathering myself together I manage to muster a bit of a voice to respond. Like a dehydrated mouse I squeak back, in a rather formal manner,
“Erm yes this is Zoe Plummer”.
“Zo’ it’s Rodge – howareya little mate? Long time no speak!” His voice sounds so close, like he is just around the corner and yet he is almost certainly 20,000 miles away with a late winter sun breaking over the horizon in its early morning salutation.
“Erm, Roger, what a surprise! Yes, it’s...er.... been about ... erm... well... a year…....”
***
We need to talk about Roger. A long story – about a chapter to be honest (although it kills me to give him one all to himself). So, in Rome we must end this chapter and, roughly speaking about 15 months ago, start the next in a bedsit in South London.
Labels: Australian, Eastern European, Rome
Chapter Four - The Rise of the FBB
“….so anyway, I just said to my sister, ‘you just need to get used to it sweetheart ‘cos you’re a grown up now and I’m a busy Mother!”
Tasha and I had wiled away the long hot days lounging on blankets in the park, indulging our post-natal cravings for cream cheese and sushi,…and the odd bottle of wine or two. As our babies dozed, gurgled or fed, we recounted our last 30 years of family life, loves, loathes and longings. It had been a precious time to spend getting to know the new little man in my life and our life-long friends.
“So, anyway enough of her, she just needs to grow up. Have you heard Davina’s news?” Tasha asks grinning from ear to ear.
“No,” I say now animatedly intrigued.
“She is going to be a contestant on ‘I’m a celebrity get me out of her’!” Tasha can barely contain herself.
“What?” I shriek back making Josh jump, “that jungle programme in Australia?”
“Yes!” Tasha confirms excitedly, “where they have to eat cockroaches and swim with snakes to get food!” She is almost liquid with glee. I sit staring at Tasha who is clearly awaiting my very BIG reaction to such a bombshell…
“But……why?”
“I dunno, money, fame, humility?” Tasha laughs, “I can’t wait! We need to get everyone together with pizza, wine and beer to watch it every week. It will be like the World Cup, only much, much more fun!”
I feel less exalted by the concept; there were so many implications, would she become really famous and change? Would she be humiliated by it? Were they so broke that she HAD to do it? What if she lasted until the end – I’m sure it was weeks they were there for, what would happen to Scarlett?
“Come on Zo’ it’s a laugh – don’t you think so?”
I stutter out of my 40 mind questions, Well, does she really want to do it?” I ask timidly under my breath as if we were in a crowded room and I didn’t want anyone to overhear.
“God yeh!” Tasha booms, “Like , obviously! She’s over-the-moon. This is the girl who has her daughter’s birth filmed so she can get in with the Producer! She can’t believe her luck. Apparently, Fiona Bruce dropped out and they needed someone who was a bit uptight!” Tasha pauses and sniggers while I stare at her, eyes like saucers taking it all in.
“Blimey, so when does she go?”
“August the 13th I can’t wait!” Tasha prospects relishing the future entertainment possiblities.
The park is full of people despite it being a work day, people of all ages drink lattes and frappes and lounge about on blankets, kick footballs around and sunbathe wearing next-to-nothing in the glorious sunshine. It’s been a magnificent summer with the sun beating down daily and a shower in the evening to freshen everything up a bit ready for a baking the following day. Tasha and I have nailed the packing of picnic fodder so it lasts the long lazy day but doesn't overload the pram so much that you feel like you are pushing a wheelbarrow uphill. I rip off some more of the baguette we have been sharing and scoop up some pink homous (sun-dried tomatoes).
Without drama I offer my own piece of news. Casually I reach forward for some parma ham and say, “well, I have some news too,” My tone is laconic and oh so throw away. Tasha takes the bait.
“Oh yeh, what?”
“I’m moving” I say offering no more detail.
“What do you mean moving? When, where, why?” Tasha’s startled look amuses me so I decide to continue the ambiguity for a couple more minutes at least.
“Rats” I say
“What?”
“Rats!”
“Wahdya mean, Rats?” she says getting agitated.
“I have rats. There are rats in my flat!”
“What!!??!!” Tasha very nearly jumps out of her skin as Avril slides off her breast and begins to wail.
While she settles Avril back on I explain that I have seen rats in my flat at night and called the landlord to get them moved out.
“Christ, that’s bloody horrible. We are going straight back to mine and collecting my cats to take to yours,” Tasha asserts, “that’ll keep the little bastards away. So what happened, what did you see?”
I shudder with recall, “yeh well, the night before last I was lying in bed asleep - Josh was in his cot – when I woke up to something damp at my feet, and moving.”
“Oh my God you are joking” Tasha says with a hand up to her mouth like she is going to be sick.
“No. I flicked my foot and it jumped off the bed and scampered across the floor and out of the room! I lay there for about five minutes trying to work out what had happened and praying it was the cheeky squirrel.”
“The what?”
“The cheeky squirrel” I concur, “There’s a squirrel that lives in the garden and knocks at my window sometimes for nuts.”
“Jesus, who are you, Mr Magoo?” Tasha explodes incredulous.
Laughing I continue with my account, “Anyway, despite doing my best to convince myself otherwise, I knew it had to be a rat so I closed my window, locked my door and went back to sleep.”
“What?” Tasha sqwarks”You went to sleep? I would have been out of there man. No way would I have been able to sleep. Not until the thing had been bludgeoned then hung, drawn and quartered so I knew it was dead, along with it’s friends and relatives. Why didn’t you call – Will could have come round and got you!”
“It was 3 in the morning!”
“So, you had a rat in your bed!” she said rat like you might have said ‘horses head’, but then I guess a rat is bad enough…
“Anyway, hang on a minute, the night before last!” Tasha catches up with the details “and you’re still there! Mad, crazy fool.”
“Yehh, well I had to make sure it was a rat – which didn’t take long… last night after I had put Josh to bed, and sealed the door, I sat down to watch Cutting It. After it had finished I got up to make a coffee…”
“…and the bastard was in your sugar!” Tasha guesses.
“haha, no, I thought I would nip to the loo for a wee, and when I opened the door…”
“It leapt up at your throat like Michael Jackson’s Ben!”
“What?...ttut, no! broad as day the big brown rat saunters across the floor, shimmies along the back of the bath and then disappears out of sight. God knows what he was doing in there before I caught him out but he’s not shy about it anyway.”
“Taking a piss, that’s what he was doing most likely, and you my friend are his stoog!”
“Great, thanks! I tell you I’ve got rats and then find out it’s Roland rat’s unsavoury brother!”
Tasha laughs but shudders off the heebies at the same time.
“So, this morning I called my landlord and told him all about it. He came round to have a look for himself and while he was there I mentioned to him my idea of how to convert the flat from one bedroom to two bedrooms. Remember I told you, by moving the bathroom to the centre of the flat between the front room and my bedroom and then making the bathroom a second bedroom..?”
“yeh, vaguely” Tasha recalls
“Well, he thought it was a great idea and has offered me one of his big 5 bedroom houses to stay in, that are currently up for sale, while he renovates my flat. That way he can do all the work and sort the rat problem and add £25k to the value of the flat while he does so.”
“Wow, that’s amazing, so you will have a two bedroom flat at the end of it! I’m really surprised he’s sorting it out so quickly ‘cos from what you’ve said about him before he sounded like a right git.”
“Yeh he has been, threatening to kick me out if I didn’t sign a contract for another 6 month period the day I was due to give birth, but I guess this is mutually beneficial. He has been really nice about it all and is sending two of his workmen around in a van next week to help me move my stuff. The five bedroom house is still being decorated but he said it will be finished in a week.”
“Where is this house?” Tasha demands, “you’re not moving away from Stokey are you?”
“God no! You and the others are my lifeline. No it’s only around the corner, two streets away.” My phone rings.
Looking at my mobile phone screen I mouth to Tasha ‘ it’s Nancy, better take it” Tasha shrugs and starts her compulsive rooting around her bag which she feels she must do when she is not directly in conversation with anyone. She never seems to find what she is looking for – only something she forgot she was looking for earlier.
“Nancy! How are you.” I say older sister tone.
“I can’t talk for long I’m so busy, tomorrow I fly to Milan for two days, then to Vienna, and then I am off to Frankfurt. I can hardly breathe I’m so busy. I was out last night and got absolutely trollied too so I’m trying to do EVERYTHING, and nurse a major hang-over. God, I mean I don’t know what this company did before they got me on board! Anyway, Drew has got this party launch happening tonight and I need to have some things dropped off to an address at 8 this evening and I thought you’re always in so wouldn’t mind if I got them delivered to yours!” She finshed like she had made a statement cleverly disguising the question and therefore option!
“Ohh, I’m not sure. Will they definitely come at 8? ‘cos I need to bath Josh and get him to bed, and make dinner and do some book-keeping too…”
“…oh come on Zo” Nancy cut in from the other end of the phone line “…It’s not like you’re going to be too busy to open the door and I’m having them collected tomorrow. I need you to do me a favour this time. I’d really appreciate it.” Her spoonful of sugar right at the end wasn’t enough to disguise her tally of favours now due for being birth partner, so I say:
“Er, okay, well, er of course I will, but you’ll have to send a courier tomorrow before 10 am as I’m out at 10.30 for the whole day.”
“Yeh, yeh fine of course.” She assures – not very reassuringly. “Thanks Babe, oh and how are you and Josh, having loads of fun in the park I expect… Oh shit have to go, they need me again. Bye.”
Nancy disconnects and I file my phone away in my bag.
“What was that about?” Nancy pipes up, noticing the weary expression on my face.
“Oh it was just Nancy wanting a favour again. I dunno, she always makes me feel like I am being ridiculous if I infer that I might be busy too and thus don’t fancy stopping whatever it is I am doing to help her out.”
“Whaddya mean? You are a single mother trying to hold a company together, single-handed on very little cash, having had hardly any sleep for three months and facing the prospect of packing up everything you own to move house because your current flat is rat-infested! I think you deserve a night off instead of pandering to an FBB whim!”
I look at her, half in awe at her succinct summary of my life whilst wondering what on earth an FBB was.
“FBB?” I ask.
“Mmm, Friend Before Baby. It’s what Will calls any friends I had before having Avril who can’t understand why I’m no longer up for – or able to – spend all night on the drink and the razz. You know the ones their priorities are social life, career, shoes, and they are always desperate, but oh too busy, to see you.” Tasha ends her description with a supersized bite of her banana muffin and a slurp of organic juice.
She was right of course, my friendships had forked into befores and afters. As delicious as my new friendships were, I couldn’t help mourning the spontaneity and independence enjoyed by those of old.
Chapter Three (part four) - At sea with Gina Ford
Tasha returns from her changing session with another woman carrying a babe-in-arms. I recognise her as one of the women from the yoga class. The one who lived ‘opposite the park’ along with Ms Perfect. I wonder what has become of Ms Perfect and her twin babies....
I imagine her with rollers in her hair, smothered under a headscarf a thousand-mile stare looks out upon a metropolis of concrete as dishes lie scraped but caked in gravy on the draining board next to her awaiting the terminal chore of washing, drying and putting away, only to be smeared with food that evening when the process must be repeated over again and again and....two babies screech in tandem. Their strangled wails stoccatto the bass of the pneumatic drill outside the window as more workmen dig up the path to replace water pipes or gas pipes, who knows...Like white noise, the woman is numb to the incessant cry of her newborn twins, only the clang of the dishes and the tick, tick of the kitchen clock permeate her eardrum in maddening repetition. With an Embassy blue hanging precariously from the corner of her mouth yesterdays make-up smears down her cheek from todays tears. Her fake Coco Chanel T-shirt – a gift from a much travelled brother – clings around her ample buttock and emphasises the loose belly that once served to stifle the cries of her beloveds. Leggings betray her thick thighs and orange peel hind-quarters. Dragging her eyes away from the world outside she idly hangs her tea towel on the plastic handle of the cupboard at her knee and moves, in slow motion, toward the sound of the hungry cries that mingle with the sound of daytime TV. The studio audience gasp as Trisha Goddard announces the love rat who slept with his wife’s mother and sister...
“Zoe, you remember Monica from yoga don’t you!” Tasha’s voice slaps me back to reality. Feeling a little guilty about my Ms Perfect fantasy I look up to see Monica’s hand outstretched awaiting a shake.
“Oh,” I say as I find a place on the table for my coffee cup and offer my hand in return, “Yes, I do remember you, nice to meet you again!” I try not to grimace as she squeezes my hand like a vice.
“I didn’t manage to catch up with you to put you on the list I compiled. I understand Felicity gave it to you though” Monica says with authority.
“Oh yes I say dreamily recalling the security provided me by that list. Full of gratitude to her I say, “It was such a great idea, thank you for doing it for everybody.” Monica blushes slightly and I suspect she values the praise although receives compliments awkwardly.
“Yes, well, here is my card....” she hands me a small business card announcing her name in gold: Monica Florio. Her address and telephone number appear in a victorian style font along the bottom in black reading: ‘The Cottage, 143 Park Road, Stoke Newington, London, N16 9MT.
“....And I need all your details too. Do you have a card?” she enquires of me in a headmistress-like tone. Feeling a bit like I had been ‘pulled-up’ for loitering around the bike sheds, I excuse myself for only having a business card and hand it to her.
“I can write my home address and telephone number on the back” I offer by way of compromise.
Monica handles my card like a dirty tissue, “Yes that will do I suppose” a hint of irritability in her voice as she hands it back to me.
By now Tasha has returned to her seat and is rummaging in the bottom of her pram for a pink muslin whilst chattering away to Davina about her husband Will and how he has been working late and then getting up with her for the night feeds.
“Your husband sounds like a mythical godlike creature” Davina says flatly deadpan. “Are you sure he’s not a figment of your imagination?”
Tasha laughs.
“No, I can assure you he has his downfalls too! It’s taken him 8 weeks to finish the bathroom and my Dad did all the plastering! He’s promised to leave work a bit earlier next week so he can get on with it when he gets in before he cooks us tea. I’d expected him to have the bathroom and the spare room done by now so that’s his next job and I want it all done before he starts his new job in three weeks ‘cos you know what it’s like in a new job they expect you to stay late for the first couple of months to show willing, so he needs to get his arse in gear!”
“Well, at least Walter cooks I suppose” Davina grudgingly concedes, “He’s French so it’s all tiny portions with cream and garlic. Some days I just dream of tinned spaghetti and sausages on toast.”
I laugh to myself – Davina just doesn’t look like she eats tinned spaghetti!
“Yeh well I’m really lucky I suppose, Will is a really good cook which is just as well ‘cos I am rubbish. I can burn boiled eggs!”
Meanwhile, Monica has enlisted a member of staff to fetch her a chair which she has placed next to Tasha and myself. I catch a glimpse of her baby whom I assume is a boy, given the sailor suit he is wearing, complete with sailor hat! As she sits him upright in his pram the hat falls off, tumbling to the floor. With a tutt, Monica snatches the hat from the floor, bats off the imaginary dust and places it square on the baby’s head. Her baby seems very serene and stares straight ahead, expressionless. As Tasha and Davina continue their husband comparison Monica butts in and abruptly cuts their conversation dead.
“I wont be able to stay very long as Noah’s sleep is due in 27 minutes and I’ve got to get him back and feed him first.”
Davina looks back at her sideways and a bit cross, I feel. Tasha’s attention though has been redirected and she enthusiastically asks if Monica is following the Gina Ford method.
“Yes I am” says Monica smugly.
“Umm, what’s Gina Ford?” I ask feeling a bit out of the loop.
“She wrote The Contented Baby Book” Tasha explains, “It’s about gettting your baby into a routine. That’s right isn’t it Monica?” Monica gives a stern nod. “It seems to really work for some people” Tasha asserts “I might start trying it this week, I was just waiting for the black-out curtains to arrive.”
I sit looking from one woman to another completely perplexed, “I don’t understand, black-out curtains?”
Davina pitches in with a bored monotone explanation, “The vile woman insists you keep your baby in a pitch black room for exactly 27 minutes whether it wants to sleep or not, and then on the dot of 27 minutes you must fling the curtains open, blind your baby with daylight to ensure it is fully awake before wiping, creaming and wrapping the baby up like a sandwich ready for its 4.5 minutes of ‘play stimulus’” Davina places a full stop at the end of her monolgue with a sip of coffee while I snort mine out of my nose in complete astonishment. I try to suppress my laugh and Monica moves to defend,
“Well it’s not everyone’s preferred method I’m sure, but it suits Noah.”
Davina looks at me expressionless except for one eyebrow that she raises out of Monica’s eyeshot. Acknowledging Davina’s secret look in a nano-second I flick my eyes back to Monica and smile at her warmly with reassurance as she looks a bit crest-fallen, busying herself with her baby and replacing his hat for the fourth time.
“So, do you not have a pram Flea?” Tasha asks.
No not yet.” Flea replies in smile-sigh speak. “I’m following something called the XXXXXXXX technique. It means the baby must be in constant contact with a human body for the first six months of it’s life. It’s very similar to ancient times when a baby was strapped to the woman’s body all day through necessity and everyone slept together anyway”.
“So, Margery sleeps with you does she?” Tasha clarifies.
“Yes, and when I am having a shower or doing my yoga then Tom or my mother will hold her.” Flea smiles as she ends her explanantion.
“Wow!” Tasha exclaims as I try and process the information and decide if there is method in such madness.
“Oh gosh, that reminds me, I have to get back for my mother. She’s been to a jumble sale today and I need to sort through all the clothes she has got for Margery before she heads back home again. It’s been so nice to sit with you all today though and listen to all your stories! I hope we bump into each other again soon.” Flea looks around and at us in earnest.
“Well, I plan to live here now I know they have baby-changing facilities and a decent café” Tasha spouts. Flea smiles at her in agreement and gets up to go.
“Bye Flea,” I say, “See you soon hopefully.”
“Yes, bye.” She repeats to us all then disappears out of the door.
“I’m not being funny,” Monica pipes up, “But I do think my baby is much more attractive than Margery, don’t you think Tasha?”
For the first time since we all sat down there is a complete silence as we all stare at Monica, dumbfounded.
