Diary of a Mummy Misfit #1 (43 page)

Ned’s cunningly worded email did the trick.  ‘Scammy Mummy’ could only just have finished reading it when she had a courier deliver the full amount owing.

Our email had read:

‘Thank you for our cheque of £40.00, received on Tuesday.  As originally agreed this was the amount payable for invites only.

Your dissatisfaction over the other aspects of the services we provided seems at odds with the comments we received from the mothers whose children attended the party, who all felt that the event was a huge success, aside from the food.  What a shame you hadn’t consulted us for a contact.

Although we are delighted that a number of these mothers have made enquiries about future bookings, it is obviously not viable for us to operate at a loss and we would deeply regret having to disappoint anyone by informing them that your withheld payment has forced us to reconsider.

We are certain that you would prefer not to share in any potential embarrassment and would be grateful if you could refer to your original invoice and pay the outstanding amount forthwith.’

My husband’s a genius and I can’t think why he’s not been snapped up by some global conglomerate and given a huge salary with mega bonuses.

Fenella said he deserved a blowie for doing such a good job - I take it she meant from me and not as a little extra when we next go for dinner.

PM

Max came home from his tea party very non-plussed by the whole thing - unlike Mrs S who had been bursting with stories of her tea with Mrs and Mrs Skunk.  We were eager to hear all about Max’s, but got the usual responses:

“Yeah, it was good”

“Food was OK”

“Me and Todd played on the climbing frame”

“When can I spend my voucher?”

Definitely a child who takes success and all the trappings in his stride.  Whereas I can’t wait for tomorrow’s parents’ dinner - the poorest but proudest mummy in the room.

Friday 6
^th
March

Project dinner tonight

Fenella and I spent most of the morning finalising plans for the cookery party next week.  She was very pleased with herself as she’d managed to find really cute aprons for all the girls - Pound Shop of course!  Think her addiction has taken a firm hold as just last week Josh commented that he couldn’t believe his last credit card bill showed seven transactions for the Pound Shop and only two for Harvey Nicks.

The Sushi party is also under control and we feel just about ready to take on our next job - who knows what it might entail but, knowing Manor House mummies, we can more or less guarantee it won’t be run of the mill.

Spoke briefly to Lou who was worried that Finn may have a compacted bowel - ‘no movement’ for two days!  Luckily the conversation ended abruptly when he called out to her in the background, “Mummyyyy, … come and wipe ma bum.  I’ve done a whopper!”

Relieved to find that little Finn’s life wasn’t at risk, I had a quick catch up with Jenny and invited her and Colin for a drink next week - the budget won’t run to fancy dinners at the mo but they understand.  She said she was frantically helping to organise the school dinner for tonight and that Hinge & Bracket were running around like headless chickens.  “Honestly Libby, they do make me laugh and you should see the monstrosities they’ve both brought in to wear tonight.  I’m sure one of them hasn’t seen the light of day since the Titanic and it reeks of moth balls but it’s probably a vintage ‘something or other’ that cost a bomb”.

Dashed to my own moth-ball-free (but sadly not moth-free) wardrobe and began the search for something suitable.  How lovely to be one of those mummies who has the perfect ensemble for every occasion and to know that no one has worn it before you.

Decided on very flattering charity shop dress - previous number of owners unknown but definite low mileage and, presumably, a lady driver!

Saturday 7
^th
March

Although we had a good time last night I can still feel a glow of embarrassment.

Met F&J outside the school and went in to be greeted by Hinge & Bracket (now AKA Ant & Dec, as we still can’t always tell them apart!) and several teachers including the rather gorgeous Mr Rooney.  Very funny to see his devoted fan club giggling and preening in his presence.  Even noticed Fenella pointedly thrusting out her 40DD’s a little more than necessary.

After about half an hour of wine and chatting we were ushered through to the main hall and were a little perplexed to be seated at beautifully laid tables - minus any cutlery.

We were soon told by Hinge (Ant?) that it was a little ploy to raise funds for CCL and that we’d all be asked for ten pounds (“or more if you’re feeling generous”) to ‘buy’ our cutlery. She got very giggly at this point, clearly thinking what “jolly hockey sticks fun” it all was.

Looked frantically at Ned as I knew I only had a handful of coins in the bottom of my bag and was praying he’d been to the bank.  His wallet revealed a manky old fiver and I had visions of us being the only parents in the room eating our meal with our fingers - and we were having soup to start.

Thankfully, Fenella came to the rescue with her ‘emergency parking coins’ - does she keep separate dosh for
every
eventuality?

When Imogen, head of CCL, came round to collect the money she looked at mine and Ned’s and quipped, “My, who raided the piggy bank tonight then?”

Sure she didn’t mean anything by it but just wished the floor would open up and swallow me - with or without its bloody cutlery.

Determined not to let it ruin my evening, I threw myself back into the spirit and had the usual bitching session with Fenella about fashion faux pas and overheard conversations.

Fenella had heard a mother telling a friend they were driving through Chelsea one day last week and her seven year old daughter piped up, “Mummy, why does that lady have brown hair?  Is she terribly poor?”

A quick glimpse around the room confirmed my original observations and revealed very much the same shade of blonde and honey highlights, so I can understand why the child thought it was some kind of upper middle class uniform.  Noticed Fenella having a sneaky look too and she then added, “That’s it.  I’m getting rid of the Manor House look next week.  Just realised I look like all the other buggery mothers!”  Josh rolled his eyes at this and lamented, “Oh fantastic!  More bloody expense.  Why don’t you just let it grow out and go natural?”

Fenella turned to him as if he’d just spoken in Swahili and the disdainfully withering look she gave him was enough to stop him in his tracks and strike up a conversation with Ned.

It was great to see the children’s projects and I could see the fantastic quality of the teaching but, amongst the overly confident, loud babble of the other parents, I still found myself feeling like an impostor.

Went to bed realising that Colin was most definitely right and they are a breed of their own.  Max has settled in perfectly but how long can we go on pretending we belong?

And how long until our cover’s blown?

Sunday 8
^th
March  AM

Nic’s birthday and Mother’s day

Had lovely home-made card and chocolates from my boys.  Max’s message read:  “To my Mummy.  You make yummy cakes so you must be a yummy mummy xxx”

My own mother was too busy to spend the day with her daughters - very important business at the church.  Ned reckons she’s after one of the widower’s at her lunch club and I have to admit the name ‘Bert’ does tend to come up a lot in her conversations at the moment.

Pritesh knocked on the door at about eleven with a posy of flowers.  “Hindu tradition to give to beautiful mothers on Mothering Sunday.”

Can’t say I’m convinced.  And he’s lucky Ned’s so easy going or it might become English tradition to deck good looking suitors turning up on your doorstep before midday on the Sabbath.

Been invited to Nic and Rick’s for a birthday lunch but can’t guarantee I’m going to be much fun.  Ned’s really down about our finances and I keep wondering myself whether the nightmare of over-commitment is becoming a reality.

Time to paint on a happy face and tart myself up in second hand couture.  A quick spritz of perfume and a couple of bandanas on the dogs and we’ll be away.

Struck by the fact that, despite our lack of funds, we look every inch the up and coming London family.  Ned in his linen shirt and Chino’s.  Max in his ‘hand me down’ Osh Gosh and even me in Elle’s pre-pregnancy designer gear.

OK, so our dogs aren’t exactly the usual affluent suburbia breed but sporting their faux Burberry scarves (Fenella thought they’d look cute as Chavs) they’ve got more personality than any little Shitzu you care to name.

Guess we’re just bloody good at faking it!

PM

Felt great while we were with Nic & Rick.  Could almost pretend our lives were trouble free and we hadn’t a care in the world.

They taught Max how to play Blackjack and were astonished by his numeracy skills - all credit to Manor House.  He also had uncanny luck and managed to beat the banker more times than any of us.

Nic joked that if things got tougher we could always get him gambling for his school fees.

Don’t think he realised how close to the bone he really was.