To say I’m nervous about my baby shopping trip with my mum and Scott’s mum is a gross understatement. For one thing, the two women don’t really like each other. This was made perfectly clear when they met for the first time and Scott’s mum accidentally criticised my mum’s roast dinner and house decor. For another, they’re both opinionated, bossy and like to get their own way.
As I get ready to go and meet them, a week after the threatened miscarriage drama, I feel a sense of impending dread wash over me. This definitely won’t be a fun sandwich to be stuck in the middle of. There’ll be handbags at dawn before we even sit down to lunch.
Luckily, I have a secret weapon: Emma, the fairy godmother. As soon as I told her I was going baby shopping with the two grandmas-to-be, she jumped at the chance to come with us.
‘So what’s Scott’s mum like?’ she asks as she sits on the couch waiting for me. ‘I always imagined her really sweet and cuddly, for some reason.’
I burst out laughing and end up knocking my bun out of place. ‘Marilyn’s … well, she’s unique; that’s probably the best way to describe her. Definitely not sweet and cuddly though! She’s always been lovely to me, but you know she’d bury you if you got on the wrong side of her.’
In the mirror, I see Emma shudder. ‘But Scott’s so laidback!’
I nod. ‘They’re polar opposites, but they’re really close. I think it’s because it was just the two of them for so long, before his stepdad came along.’
‘And she and your mum don’t get along? God, this is going to be some shopping trip!’
I gulp as I pull my boots on over my leggings. ‘You’re telling me. I’m hoping they just got off on the wrong foot, but Marilyn called my mum and dad’s house quaint and said she preferred lamb in a roast to chicken! Since then, they’ve had this sort of love-hate relationship. They could be good friends if they stopped making little digs at each other.’
*
Scott’s mum is organising the transport to Manchester for us. She’s having her chauffeur drive us in one of her three Rolls-Royces. As it pulls up to the lane beside my cottage, it looks vaguely like a celebrity has arrived in Silverdale.
‘Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said she was loaded!’ Emma says, her eyes wide with surprise.
Mum, who arrived a few minutes ago so we could all meet at the same place, rolls her eyes and scoffs.
‘It’s all a bit flash if you ask me,’ she retorts. ‘Who does she think she is, Lady Penelope?’
I stifle a giggle and pat her shoulder. ‘Her husband’s a millionaire Mum, of course she’s flash!’
There’s a knock at the door and when I answer it, an older man dressed in a charcoal suit and matching chauffeur’s hat is standing on my doorstep.
‘Mrs Marilyn Chambers,’ he says before stepping aside to reveal the lady herself.
Scott’s entire family is basically an homage to Australian soaps. Scott’s surname is Robinson, like Jason Donovan’s character in Neighbours, and when his mum remarried to Donald she became Marilyn Chambers like the iconic nineties character from Home and Away. Her maiden name is Monroe. Yes, really.
‘Hello darling!’ she says as she approaches. She’s dressed smartly for our day out, wearing a pretty floral dress and pastel cardigan. Her trademark fake leopard print coat is thrown over the top. Her attention falls on my bump. ‘Ooh look, there’s my little grandchild!’
‘And mine!’ Mum blurts out before she can stop herself. When everyone’s eyes turn to her, she smiles and give an awkward little wave. ‘Nice to see you again, Marilyn.’
Marilyn goes over to her and embraces her, indulging in some very forced air kissing while she’s at it.
‘Wonderful to see you again too, Nina,’ she says with a cat-like grin. ‘You know, looking at you, I can certainly see where Cleo gets her fascinating bone structure from.’
Oh, hell.
The air between them immediately sours and I clear my throat to provide a distraction. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work.
‘Um … shall we get going?’ I suggest. ‘The shops are closing in, ooh, seven hours!’
Emma and I exchange worried glances as the two women stare at each other, locked in a stalemate that neither of them will break.
‘Let’s go,’ Mum finally says, not taking her eyes off her new frenemy. ‘We’ve got a pram to buy.’
‘And a cot!’ Marilyn pipes up. ‘And a changing table.’
Oh God, I say to myself, this is going to be one hell of a day.
*
The trip to Manchester passes in relative silence. Mum and Marilyn do a lovely line in passive-aggressive insults to keep things interesting.
‘That’s such a lovely coat; usually I think leopard print looks cheap’, Mum says, gesturing to Marilyn’s fake fur jacket.
She takes a second to respond, concocting a remark that strikes the right balance between sweet and sour. ‘You know, you have the exact same colour of hair as this Afghan hound I had as a child. Her name was Fifi’.
Mum – 1 Marilyn – 1
We arrive in the city without any major incidents, luckily. Scott texts to ask how things are going so far and I purse my lips as I type my response.
Nobody’s killed anyone yet. My mum called your mum’s coat cheap and she retaliated by saying my mum reminded her of an Afghan hound.
I think about telling him I wish he were here, but stuff my phone back in my bag instead. Today’s focus is on buying things for the baby and keeping our mums from ripping each other’s hair out.
His response comes back a few seconds later: This is comedy gold, I’m so sorry I’m not there. If things get too bad, play the ‘I’m fifteen weeks pregnant with your grandchild’ card.
I have a little giggle to myself and stick my phone back in my bag. Getting texts from him gives me butterflies and reminds me of when we first got together. The old magic is back again. It’s been going so well between us lately, with the kissing and sleeping next to each other. Maybe, just maybe we could give it another go … I decide to talk to him about it as soon as I feel a little more certain of things.
We head to our first shop: The Baby Boutique. It’s a huge warehouse-like space packed to the brim with everything a newborn could need.
‘OK,’ Marilyn says, slipping into the role of pack leader a little too comfortably for my liking. ‘Our aim today is to buy as many things that the baby needs as possible. I took the liberty of compiling a checklist …’
She pauses for a second as she reaches into her huge designer handbag, pulling out a pile of pale lemon paper. Sure enough, when I turn it over, I see that it’s a checklist of baby items. There’s a box beside each one to tick when we’ve got it.
‘Wow,’ I say, ‘you’re certainly prepared!’
Marilyn’s chest puffs up with pride and she smiles. ‘When it comes to one’s grandchildren, one can never be too organised. This baby will have absolutely everything.’
As we head over to the clothing section, Emma nudges me.
‘Take a look at this,’ she says, brandishing the list. ‘She’s written down a rattle with Swarovski crystals!’
I scoff, but when I look at the list there it is in black and white. Well, black and lemon.
‘Fuck,’ I say under my breath. ‘How are we supposed to pay for all this? Scott and I don’t exactly earn a packet and I’m not letting Marilyn pay for everything. I’ll have to have a word with her.’
I sprint on up ahead until I catch up with Marilyn, who stops to look at a cot designed like a castle and painted in bright primary colours. There’s a plush deep burgundy mattress to go with it, along with little prince and princess outfits hanging on the front.
‘Um … can I talk to you for a second?’ I ask, reaching out to tap her on the shoulder.
‘Oh Cleo, you must let me buy you this! Isn’t it adorable?’ she coos, not taking her eyes off the cot.
‘It’s lovely,’ I agree. ‘Listen Marilyn, about this baby list—’
‘You know,’ she says, pulling me in close to her. ‘When Scott was born, I didn’t have a lot of money. I could barely afford to feed us, let alone pay for things like toys or holidays or the latest pair of trainers. But now I’m married to Donald, I can afford to be … well, more generous. I want this baby to have everything I didn’t get to give Scott when he was growing up.’
My shoulders slouch and I hug her. ‘That’s really kind of you; I just don’t want you going overboard, that’s all. The baby doesn’t really need seventeen pairs of shoes or lemon-scented nappy bags!’
She nods and looks back down at the cot. ‘So you think this might be a little over-the-top?’
I measure a tiny amount with my fingers. ‘Just a tiny bit!’
‘Point taken,’ she says, marching off towards Mum. I wonder if she’s really going to listen to me or carry on regardless.
Given that Marilyn isn’t really the listening type, I’d say the latter is more likely.
*
No less than three arguments break out while we’re in The Baby Boutique, and they’re all between Mum and Marilyn.
First, they clash over which pram is the nicest.
‘It’s got to be a Bugaboo,’ Scott’s mum insists. ‘Look, this one comes as a travel system with a car seat too!’
Mum rolls her eyes. ‘Cleo had a beautiful Silver Cross pram when she was a baby and there was nothing wrong with it. They’re a classic and they’ll never go out of style.’
‘Yes, but the Bugaboo has an air of quality about it, don’t you think?’
I come back from picking up some white baby-grows to find them staring at each other, both unwilling to break eye contact.
‘What are we up to over here?’ I ask with caution.
‘Cleo, which pram do you like best? The Bugaboo or a Silver Cross?’ Mum asks. ‘Do you want a flashy one without much substance or a timeless classic?’
I look between both options, my head spinning a little.
‘Um … do I have to choose today? Maybe we could come back another day to look at prams. I don’t think the Rolls-Royce has enough room for one anyway!’ I laugh, hoping to diffuse the tension.
‘It’s a simple choice, Cleo!’ Mum snaps. ‘Which one do you prefer?’
I throw my hands up, knowing there’s no right way for me to answer that question. Either way, I’ll offend someone.
‘Look, I’m not getting into this today,’ I say. ‘We’ve got loads of other stuff to look at, we’ll buy the pram another day when Scott’s here.’
Although neither of them is particularly happy about conceding defeat, they both agree to move on.
The second argument is a low-level spat over who’s buying me a maternity bra. Emma resolves that one by stepping in and offering to buy me it herself. The third one, however, is the one that gets us thrown out of The Baby Boutique.
It starts off innocently enough. Marilyn is looking at a very elaborate breast pump, while Mum is looking at a pack of baby bottles.
‘You know Nina,’ Marilyn says, walking across to her. ‘We won’t really need those bottles since Cleo’s going to be breastfeeding.’
Mum lets out an empty chuckle. ‘She might want the option to bottle-feed the baby though, so it’s always good to be prepared. As you said, one can never be too organised when it comes to one’s grandchild.’
She doesn’t look too amused at having her own line used against her. ‘Well you know what they say, breast is best.’
I let out a groan of frustration as I head over to break things up. ‘Guys, I haven’t decided if I’m going to breastfeed yet. I’m considering it, but some women find they can’t do it or it’s too painful. So it’d be good to pick up some bottles as well.’
Mum looks triumphant as she sticks some in her basket. Marilyn isn’t about to take that defeat lying down though.
‘Darling, you really must breastfeed. It creates a wonderful bond between you and the baby, plus it helps your body ping back into shape after the birth.’
She gives me a knowing nudge and I look down at my bump. It’s a little bigger and rounder this week, but after the threatened miscarriage, I’m seeing it in a new light. Getting back into shape after the birth certainly isn’t on my list of priorities.
‘Like I said, I’m considering it,’ I reply, trying to keep my tone nice and even. ‘There are other options though.’
‘Scott was a breast baby,’ she announces proudly to the whole shop. ‘And he’s big and strong. You might want to think about that.’
Mum picks entirely the wrong time to join in the conversation. ‘Cleo was a bottle baby and she turned out just fine.’
Marilyn flashes her a tight smile. ‘Of course she has. But babies who are breastfed are more likely to avoid weight problems aren’t they?’
With that, hell is unleashed. Mum launches into a furious tirade at Scott’s mum, telling her that my weight issues are none of her business and have nothing to do with what milk I had as a baby. Marilyn makes some choice remarks about good childhood nutrition being key to a healthy adulthood.
Insults are hurled and feelings are hurt.
The screaming match attracts the manager’s attention, and we’re asked to leave. Probably just as well, since Mum’s fingers had curled round a plastic My First Dinner Plate.
And to round off a truly awful shopping trip, Amanda walks into the shop just as we’re being shown out.
*
We decamp to a nearby café for lunch, since practically everyone has fallen out with each other apart from me and Emma.
‘Well this has been lovely,’ I say as I stab my jacket potato with my fork. ‘Thank you both for a wonderful shopping trip! We’ve managed to get a grand total of four white baby-grows and a two-month ban from The Baby Boutique.’
Marilyn reaches over and puts her hand on top of mine. ‘Don’t worry Cleo, I know this amazing baby emporium where you can—’
I lift up my free hand to stop her. ‘Not today eh? I think we’ve done enough shopping for one day.’
I look across at Emma, whose lips are pursed as she drums her fingers on the table. I can tell she’s as annoyed with the way things have turned out as I am.
‘We can come back another day,’ she suggests. ‘When things are a bit calmer!’
‘You know,’ I say, letting my fork clatter to the table. ‘I thought today was going to be a great day. But the way you two have behaved, you should be bloody ashamed of yourselves!’
I’m aware I’ve attracted the attention of people at the surrounding tables, but I couldn’t care less. Both of them at least have the decency to hang their heads in shame as I glare at them.
‘Sorry,’ Marilyn murmurs as she sips her lemonade.
‘We’ve let you down love, and we’re sorry,’ Mum says, coming round to give me a hug. ‘We’ve still got most of the day left if you want to go to any other shops?’
I shake my head; the thought of dragging the two of them round any more stores is unbearable.
‘Is there any way we can make it up to you?’ Marilyn asks. I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts across me in an instant. ‘I know! How about a big family dinner at my house? It’ll be a great chance for us all to spend some time together before the baby arrives. What do you think?’
She looks at me with huge, hopeful eyes. I can feel my mum glaring daggers at me, willing me to say thanks but no thanks, while Emma pretends to be interested in the tablecloth.
‘Um … that sounds lovely, Marilyn. Thank you, that’s really kind of you.’
I know Mum will probably want to strangle me later, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
‘Excellent. I’ll have a word with Scott and we’ll see what date suits. Talking of you and my son …’ She pauses for a moment to make sure she has my full attention. ‘What exactly is the nature of your relationship?’
I gulp. How the hell am I supposed to answer that question? I can’t exactly say ‘well, we broke up because one of us wanted to go to Australia and one of us didn’t. I still love him, we’ve kissed twice and I’m thinking of asking him to get back together.’
Instead, I opt for, ‘why don’t we talk about it at the family dinner eh?’
I am the queen of stalling for time.