Page 81 of The Bad Mother's Diary
I found myself in a world of black one-pieces with ruched bust lines and old lady flower patterns.
I still looked four months pregnant in all of them.
Then we went to John Lewis.
Althea suggested I try a bikini, but I don’t want my wrinkly stomach on display.
Althea said, ‘Posh Spice has a wrinkly stomach.’
I said, ‘That’s why she never wears a bikini.’
As we were walking through the make-up department, Althea shouted about make-up being ‘one big establishment con.’ She talked about the pressures of being female and how every woman is beautiful without ‘any of this crap’.
Then a make-up lady told Althea she had beautiful eyelashes. Althea went all giggly and agreed to try a new mascara, ‘just for a laugh’.
The make-up lady shone a bright light in my face and told me I should try a light diffusing powder for fine lines.
As she was dusting my face, I saw Nick walking through the perfume department. With Sadie.
My stomach dropped to my knees.
I tapped Althea on the arm and we both stared.
Nick was his usual swaggering self.
Sadie looked amazing. Glowing I suppose is the word. Showing a little bit, but not much. Slim too – especially around her face. Shiny light-brown hair like ironed silk.
She was wearing skinny jeans and brown knee-high boots, a loose blouse and an expensive-looking chiffon scarf wrapped around her neck.
She looked more like a mum than I did, as a matter of fact. All classy and mature.
She picked up some designer sunglasses, tried them on and looked at Nick with a ‘don’t I look great?’ expression.
Althea whispered, ‘Thatbitch.’
We watched as Nick’s hand slid down to Sadie’s toned backside.
Sadie threw her head back and laughed her horsey laugh.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so small. I started sobbing.
I’m fat …
I have a weird stretchy, wobbly stomach …
My baby still wakes up at night …
I have spotty upper-arms …
And I don’t wear scarves …
Althea crushed me into a big bosomy hug and said, ‘You’re a million times more beautiful than that big-faced cow. Come on. I’m buying you some chocolate cake.’
When I got home, I went straight to my room.
At about eight o’clock, I heard a soft knocking on the door.
It was Mum.
