The Bad Mother's Handbook Read Online Free

waiting for him to ring
me. I should have known it was all looking too good.
    The next day at school I was telling Sylv, the secretary.
    ‘He wasn’t sex on a stick but he was all right. I’d see
him again.’
    ‘ What was his name?’ she asked with a funny look on
her face.
    I gave her the card.
    She studied it and pursed her lips. ‘You do know this is
Vicky’s ex, don’t you?’ She handed it back smugly. I don’t
like Sylv any more, I never really liked her. She draws her
eyebrows on and wears skirts that are too tight.
    ‘Vicky? Deputy Head Vicky? Vicky Roberts?’
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘The one she divorced just before I started here?’
    ‘The one who couldn’t get it up unless he wore special
rubber knickers .’ Sylv dropped her voice and mouthed exaggeratedly.
    ‘Jesus.’
    ‘Wanted her to wear some kind of mask , too. That’s when she asked him to leave.’ Sylv smacked her lips with satisfaction.
She’d be dining out on this for months, I could
tell. I am never going to tell her anything personal again.
I wanted to sink to my knees and beg her not to pass it on
but I knew it would be a waste of time; Rubber Man would
be all round the staff room by lunchtime. For once I was
glad I was on playground duty. So instead I said:
    ‘Well, he was too old, anyway.’
    ‘So you won’t be seeing him again, then?’ she called
after me as I swept out of the office.
    It’s just as well Sylv didn’t catch me photocopying my
practice run at ‘Love ’n’ Stuff’ in school. I reckon perhaps
I’m ready to do the questionnaire properly now.

    N EVER LET IT be said that when things are looking their
grimmest, they can’t get worse.
    I was sound asleep when I heard the crash. I struggled
with the bedsheets, tangled from some overheated dream,
threw on a dressing gown in case it was an intruder,
although I knew it wasn’t, and hurried downstairs.
    It was completely dark in the lounge but there were
muffled sounds coming from the kitchen. I opened the
door and blinked in the light.
    ‘What are you doing, Nan?’
    Actually I could see what she was doing. She was
pulling out drawers and emptying Tupperware boxes onto
the floor. Six tins of salmon were stacked at her feet.
    ‘Are you looking for something to eat?’
    ‘I’ve lost my key.’
    ‘Which key?’
    ‘To t’ back door. Bloody hell fire.’ She wrestled with a plastic lid and flung it across the tiles. Then she sat down
wearily.
    ‘You don’t need a back door key. What would you want
to go outside for? It’s the middle of the night. And it’s
freezing.’
    ‘I need to check the bins.’
    ‘No, no you don’t. You did them this morning. Don’t
you remember? Charlotte helped you.’
    What it is, she worries if we put envelopes with our
name and address into the wheeliebin, in case someone
roots through and takes them. ‘Then what, Nan? What
would they do with the envelopes?’ ‘Ooh, all sorts,’ says
Nan mysteriously. ‘There’s some wicked people about.’
It clearly worries her, so we let her rip them up into tiny
pieces. It’s one of our routines which has become normal.
This nocturnal activity was something new, though.
    ‘Come on, Nan, come to bed, you’ll catch your death.
I’ll clear up in the morning.’
    ‘The bins!’
    ‘We did them. Tiny pieces. And the bin men come
tomorrow.’ And I’m bloody cold and Christ it’s twenty past three in the morning and I’ve got to go to work in five hours
and nobody cares that my life is a complete fuck-up.
    ‘I’ll just put this salmon back.’
    ‘LEAVE IT! Just COME to BED and LEAVE this mess.
Please.’ I used to cry before the divorce but I don’t seem
able to any more. I get angry instead. She didn’t move, so
I lunged over and pulled her up roughly. She’s only small
and pretty light. We staggered together and I fell into the
edge of the unit and banged my arm.
    ‘Hell.’
    Nan looked up with watery eyes.
    ‘You’ll want some knit-bone