Mother’s Day
A lie-in, breakfast in bed and a splodgy home-made card – could any mum expect more on this special Sunday?
“Mummy! Muuuumeeee!” Katy heard the cries in her dream before they registered in her waking brain.
She had just been getting to the good bit and now it was gone. She threw back the duvet with a sigh. She could hear Otis rattling the bars of his cot and Maisie working herself up into a tantrum.
“Ah-ah. No, you don’t! You go back to sleep.” Greg’s voice came from beside Katy. He flapped the duvet back over her. “I’ve got this.”
Katy was so surprised she was tempted to clamp a hand to her husband’s forehead to check for a fever. The kids were normally her terrain. Greg had to get his zeds in so he could run the universe; or at least the investment arm of Benson And Phelps.
Today was Sunday, though, and Katy murmured her gratitude, rolled over and snuggled back into her cosy cocoon. You could keep your five-star Mediterranean resorts, your Ayurvedic massages, your tantric sex workshops, this was what it was all about. Fifteen minutes’ extra kip. Now back to that dream…
She’d been on a travelator, carrying a lot of frisky rabbits, and a lovely guy – the young posh one from Downton Abbey – had been coming the other way. He’d been holding his hands out to take one of the bunnies and they’d been moving closer and closer and laughing and she’d known that if she handed over the rabbit, the consequences would be very good. They’d save the planet, go for dinner, or visit a tantric sex workshop. Maybe all three.
It was the sort of feeling you only ever got in a dream. She pulled the duvet over her face and tried to summon back the woozy, psychedelic atmosphere, but real life had intruded and turned it hard-edged and mundane.
She could hear the TV downstairs and Maisie saying, “Not that, not that, not that,” and Greg’s voice getting more and more strident until finally, he bellowed, “Hey Duggee’s your favourite, now do you want
Coco Pops or Alphabites?”
Katy opened her mouth to shout that the scoop for Otis’s formula was still in the steriliser, but stopped herself. She needed to let up a bit. Let Greg get on with it.
They’d agreed as much in her mums’ discussion group – part of the problem with dads not getting stuck in, was mums breathing down their necks. Although a bigger problem with Greg was his conviction that it wasn’t his job.
She reached for her phone and consulted the Fiercemomz Whatsapp group. “You coming, Katy?” Jen’s message had come in 40 minutes ago. “Where?” Katy typed back. “Bowling and cocktails. Where you been, girl?”
Must be someone’s birthday,
Katy concluded. She could hear a racket from downstairs so she typed back “send me the deets” as the door flew open and Greg staggered in carrying a tray in one hand and Otis in the other, with Maisie clinging to his thigh shouting, “I want to give it to her. I want to!”
“No, sweetheart. It’s hot,” Greg said, handing Otis gratefully into Katy’s outstretched arms, while he peeled Maisie off him and balanced the tray on the duvet.
Katy grabbed a plate of incinerated toast and steadied a cafetière with her other hand. “How lovely!” she said. “And what’s this?” She picked up a sheet of paper folded in half, and covered in splodges of red paint.
Her heart melted. He was one of the good guys after all
“Happy Muvver’s Day!” shouted Maisie, pirouetting with delight.
“Oh sweetheart, thank you,” Katy said.
Mother’s Day! Of course. No wonder Greg had come over all Hugh Grant. Last year Katy had been the only mum in the group not to get a card. She reckoned this year Greg must have got his PA to set up a prompt.
“Come on, kids. Let’s leave Mummy to enjoy her brekkie in peace,” Greg ushered them out, then popped his head back round the door. “Take it easy, darling, you deserve it!”
Katy’s heart melted. She’d misjudged him, she thought. He was one of the good guys.
She had another 10 minutes with bunny man, jumped in the shower and was dressed in her new dungarees and checking her make-up in the hall mirror when she heard Greg ferreting around in the cupboard under the stairs.
As she shrugged on her parka and put her hand on the door latch, he backed out and she saw that he was in full golf regalia.
“Oh!’ he said, “I figured once you’d had your lie-in, you might be up for…” he stole a guilty glance at his watch.
“Minding the kids?” Katy said sunnily. “Yeah,” Greg had the grace to look sheepish. The Wheels On The Bus blared out and Otis was working himself up to full hysteria.
“Happy Mother’s Day, Greg,” said Katy, and, grabbing her bag from the hall stand, she blew him a kiss and walked out.