By the middle of the week, I’d replaced the impossible List of a Billion Things to Do with something far better. Half a dozen small yet significant changes I wanted to make. This included finding a handful of friends beyond my dad and sister, deciding what to do if my mum made proper contact. I’d find time every week to spend on sorting out my house, and, once I’d proven I could keep it clean, I’d move on to proper renovations. Starting with an oven that worked, and a shower curtain that wasn’t held up with duct tape.
I’d go for an actual run. Overall, the plan was to make changes that resulted in me having some energy instead of dragging myself through life like a crab with four broken legs.
For three days I didn’t add anything about romance or dating to my list. Then I wrote, in tiny letters:
Maybe one day think about something to do withromance or dating.
There. Let the future begin.
By the end of the week, the actual changes I’d made were… putting three loads of washing away, rather than leaving them to pile up on the landing.
Oh, and I’d booked a hair appointment with Shanice for Saturday afternoon, when Brayden and Silva were taking the kidsto their housein Newark, twelve miles away, so Silva could provide them with, as she’d assured me after Tuesday’s antenatal class, ‘a nutritional meal for once’.
‘For once, as in it’s the one time Brayden has cooked his children a meal?’ I asked, congratulating myself for graduating to passive-aggressive rather than plain old aggressive. Brayden had been angling for more time with the kids. I couldn’t agree to a whole weekend, so we’d settled on every Saturday for now.
‘I mean, compared to that chicken place!’ She grimaced. ‘You’re a parenting expert, Liz, you know children can’t reach their potential on cheap, hormone-riddled meat, fried in carcinogens.’
I thought my snipe had gone over her head, but then she went on. ‘And he’d have cooked them plenty of meals if you’d trusted him to take them home before now.’
I made a non-committal, indecipherable noise then turned away to prevent myself from launching the imitation pelvis I was holding at her head. Maybe the crap food I made them thanks to a broken oven and broken life explained Isla’s issues. After Brayden moved out, feeding my kids a baking tray of cheap, carcinogen-soaked meat was about all I could manage most days. Somehow, five years later, I was still resorting to the same rubbish.
I added ‘start cooking nutritional meals’ to my new list, then went to find the leftover fishfingers I’d not had time to eat earlier.
I did have another reason for finally getting my hair cut. At the postnatal Bloomers session on Wednesday, Courtney had blanked Toby for most of the day. While the mums decorated cupcakes, the dads had a refreshingly banter-free discussion about mental health. When they joined their partners to taste-test the cupcakes, Toby mentioned the topic to his girlfriend.
‘I can’t believe you’re going on about that again. Are you deliberately getting on my nerves now?’ she asked, turning her back.
‘I’m worried about you, that’s all. You’re sad and angry most of the time, and a doctor might be able to help.’
Courtney spun back around, eyes flashing. ‘Do you want to blurt it out a bit louder? Because I’m not sure everyone heard you say I’m a nutcase.’
Hardly anyone had heard Toby, as he’d been speaking discreetly. But Courtney had caught the attention of the whole cabin, and everyone immediately fell silent so they could listen to what came next.
‘Happy?’ she shouted, gesturing at the onlookers. ‘Now everyone knows you think I’m the problem, not my selfish, nagging boyfriend, his bitch of a mother or being stuck all bloody day and night with a baby who won’t stop screaming.’
‘I wonder who the baby takes after?’ someone muttered, causing a faint ripple of awkward laughter.
Courtney barged past Toby, ignoring Hazel in her car seat, and went to stand on the drive, despite there being another fifteen minutes until the end of the session.
Nicky followed straight out, so I stayed to talk to Toby.
‘Hazel’s teething,’ he mumbled, face red as he frantically rubbed a hand through his curls. ‘I try to get home as early as I can, but sometimes we need to stay and finish off a project, or the bus is late.’
‘Is Courtney still going out a lot?’ I asked, handing him a mug of tea.
Toby nodded. ‘We had a big fight on Sunday, after she got drunk Saturday night and Mum went mad. One of her friends picked her up and she didn’t come home until yesterday morning. Blocked me on everything, so I only found out where she was when some girl put a photo of her on Insta.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. That’s really tough.’
‘It was actually the most peaceful few days I’ve had since Hazel was born, just the two of us. Except I had to skip two days of college, so now I’ll need to stay late to catch up for the rest of the week. And Mum was fuming, of course. She was mouthing off about not letting Courtney back in the house. At first I thought she didn’t mean it, but…’ He shrugged, shoving in a cupcake in one huge bite and swallowing it. ‘I didn’t want to say anything in the session, but I’m dead stressed, to be honest with you, Libby.’ He looked down at me. ‘It can’t be good for Hazel, can it? Being around all that fighting.’
‘What will you do, if things reach breaking point and your mum does ask you to find somewhere else to live? Will you stay at home, or go with Courtney and Hazel?’
‘Mum’s as mad at me as she is with Courtney. If they go, I go.’ He clenched his jaw. ‘I’ll figure something out. That’s my job now, isn’t it? Providing for my girls.’
‘Well, you know where I am if you need any help.’
I made a mental note to contact Courtney’s social worker, and then called Shanice.
