Page 59 of The Fall-Out

‘Meredith and Toby, we need to be out of the house in five minutes.’ I heard my voice rising as I hurried downstairs, a tiny backpack in each hand. ‘Have you cleaned your teeth?’

There was silence from the children, both of whom were in front of the television, half empty bowls of porridge on their laps, glazed expressions on their faces.

‘I’m going to count to three,’ I said. ‘One, two…’

With glacial slowness, Meredith stood up, putting her bowl down on the sofa, where it tipped precariously over.

‘Don’t put that there!’ I snapped, snatching it just in time.

Calm down, Naomi. They’re four. Thinking about upholstery cleaning is exactly what they don’t do.

I forced myself to take a steadying breath, then remembered that they still – clearly – hadn’t cleaned their teeth and that the received wisdom was that children should only be permitted to do so unsupervised round about the time of their sixteenth birthday.

‘Come on. Upstairs – teeth. Now.’

I remembered – not for the first time – how, when I was pregnant, I’d imagined what kind of a mother I’d be. The idea that these two minute proto-people were growing inside me had felt so daunting it was almost terrifying – that, somehow, I’d be responsible for not only getting them to full gestation and out of my body in one piece (or, ideally, two), but that I’d then need to rear them to adulthood.

And, even though I’d only seen them in grainy grey images on ultrasound scans and didn’t even know their names, the love I felt for them had been overwhelming. I’d nurture, cherish and protect them always, I’d promised myself. I’d lavish all the love and attention I possibly could on them. I’d never, ever shout at them.

Ha. As if.

It had only been a few weeks before I’d lost my shit the first time, during one late-night feed when Toby had been fussing at my breast. My already shredded nipples were screaming with pain, my teeth were clenched and every cell in my body was crying out for sleep – even though I knew that when sleep came, I’d be snatched from it almost straight away and wake feeling even worse than I had before.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ I’d half sobbed, ‘please just latch on!’

Next to me, Patch sat up in horror. ‘You can’t speak to him like that.’

‘He doesn’t understand.’

But still, shame had flooded me. I’d sworn at my baby. I’d failed as a mother. I’d probably scarred my precious son irreparably, before he was even two months old.

When I confessed this to Rowan, she’d laughed. ‘Welcome on board the guilt train, Nome. Next stop, death.’

Since then, I’d learned to set aside some of my images of perfect parenthood and accept that I was doing my best – I could only do my best. But the mother I’d imagined myself being – the one who’d happily play with her kids for hours, never lose patience, always serve healthy, nourishing meals, dispense stickers and praise for good behaviour rather than chocolate buttons for bribes – her best would be better than this.

As I quick-marched the children to nursery, I found my feet beating out a rhythm on the pavement: this isn’t enough, this isn’t enough. Being my children’s mother and Patch’s wife wasn’t enough for me, even though it was the thing I’d thought I wanted most in all the world. Or maybe I wasn’t enough for them, or didn’t have enough: enough patience, enough love, enough self-sacrifice.

That’s selfish, Naomi, said the guilt-loving voice deep inside me. You wanted someone else’s man and you took him, and now you want something else. Maybe now you’ve made your bed, you should try lying in it a bit longer?

I was so distracted by my thoughts that, turning into the nursery gates, I almost collided with Princess Lulu. Actually, I did collide with her, but she did a strategic last-minute side-step that meant my shoulder only just caught the shoulder of her cashmere coat, and she narrowly avoided tripping over Meredith.

Hold on – cashmere coat? I stepped back and looked at her. Instead of her usual designer athleisure, she was wearing what looked like a navy trouser suit underneath the expensive outerwear. Her hair was up in a bun instead of in its usual beachy waves, and she didn’t have her daughter’s scooter in one hand as she usually did, but instead a rose gold leather laptop bag.

‘Oh my God,’ I said. ‘Sorry about that.’

She smiled. ‘One of those mornings? Me too.’

‘Aren’t they all those mornings?’ I pushed my hair back under my woollen beanie and squatted to kiss the twins. ‘Off you go now. Be good. Love you.’

‘I mean, yeah…’ Princess Lulu looked down at her pointy black boots as if she was surprised to find herself wearing them – or perhaps checking they were a matching pair. ‘But today’s worse for me. I’m starting back at work and I’m properly shitting it.’

I did a double take. It sounded almost as if this perfect woman was actually human. ‘Wow. Yes, that must feel like a lot.’

‘It’s terrifying. I’m worried I’ll get lost on the way to the office, I’ve forgotten how to send emails, and when my PA gets up to go to the toilet I’ll tell her not to forget to wipe her bottom.’

I burst out laughing. ‘I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it. I’m thinking of doing the same, later in the year, but…’

‘It’s a lot,’ she echoed. ‘I’m only doing three days a week at first. We should have a coffee sometime and compare notes.’

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