mention membership is select – not everyone who is invited to meet with us ends up making the cut.’
‘And I’m always excited to make new friends,’ I lied, so pleased to know they might still reject me even though I hadn’t asked to join in the first place. ‘So what’s the deal? Coffee mornings, jumble sales, playdates, that kind of thing?’
‘I don’t know what a jumble sale is but I am quite sure the answer is no,’ she replied, brushing her silky brown hair over her shoulder. ‘We’re an exclusive network of elite women, come together to lift each other higher. I will admit we are somewhat selective about the women who join our collective but that’s to preserve the quality of our experience. We strive to stimulate our intellect and grow our spirit in all that we do.’
Oh god, it was a cult.
‘Right, one question,’ I said, slapping my thighs and making everyone jump. ‘Where do the kids come in?’
‘Kids?’ Perry looked confused.
‘Yes, your kids,’ I said. ‘Where are they while you’re, you know, stimulating your intellect?’
‘This isn’t a mommy and me class,’ she replied as the other four women laughed. ‘The B.O.B.s aren’t always here.’
‘B.O.B.s,’ I repeated slowly.
‘Babies of Brooklyn,’ Perry clarified.
‘That’s what I thought,’ I said, leaning back against the sofa. ‘Just wanted to make sure.’
‘The goal is to create an empowering network for our children from an early age,’ she said, flicking an invisible speck of dust from her trouser leg. ‘I’ve worked with a social psychologist and several corporate counselling experts who agree it’s essential for children to begin forging the right kinds of bonds right from birth. They are the next generation of leaders, after all.’
‘Do you not worry that’s a lot of pressure to put on a baby?’ I asked gently, a vision of Alice being sworn into the White House passing through my mind.
Perry stared right back at me.
‘No,’ she said.
I waited for the rest of the sentence for a moment before realizing that was it.
‘Oh, OK.’ I looked down at my flip-flops and wondered how fast I could run in them. This was clearly not the group for me.
‘The networking isn’t just for Alice,’ Perry said, leaning forward and gripping my knee with her coffee-coloured nails. ‘We want to raise these children in an environment of powerful women. A tribe is only as strong as its weakest member.’
‘Christ almighty,’ I whispered.
‘I’m sure we all have a busy day ahead of us so let’s get things moving,’ Perry said, sitting back and clapping her hands. ‘I’m going to ask you a few questions and then we’ll play a little game.’
Please let it be Hungry Hungry Hippos.
‘In how many classes is Alice currently enrolled?’ Danielle, a striking woman with tightly curled black hair, asked from the sofa beside Perry.
‘Classes?’ I stared back blankly.
‘Music class, baby yoga, dance, swim, is she learning any languages?’ Nia replied. Nia was a tall willowy blonde who looked as though she should be playing Reese Witherspoon’s best friend in at least seventeen movies.
‘Maybe art class?’ suggested Joan, the gorgeous black woman sitting on my left with poker-straight hair that fell all the way to her waist. My hair was in a bun, secured by a scrunchie. I was a monster.
‘Or sign language? Or ballet? Mind and body sensory stimulation?’
‘She’s not even one yet,’ I replied, making a mental note to find out what the hell mind and body sensory stimulation was and avoid it at all costs. ‘She isn’t in any classes.’
Joan sucked the air in through her teeth as though about to give me a quote for a new carburettor.
‘What’s her hashtag?’ Perry asked, tapping away on an iPad that had appeared from nowhere.
‘Hashtag?’
‘For social media,’ she clarified. ‘My boys are “hashtag MorTitus”, for example.’
Oh dear god, those poor children. As if their real names weren’t already going to get them beaten up when they got to school.
‘My husband isn’t a massive fan of social media so we don’t really put pictures of Alice online all that much,’ I said slowly.
All the women looked at each other.
‘If that’s the choice you’ve made, that’s the choice you’ve made,’ Perry declared. I had a feeling it wasn’t the only choice that had been made. ‘Perhaps we should skip along to the game and get this over with.’
‘You know, I have to get to work,’ I said, fiddling with the buttons on my denim jacket. A universal ‘I’m going to leave now’ gesture. ‘This has been so lovely but—’
Before I could stop her, Avery, a delicate redhead with reflexes like a cat, had snatched my handbag from the floor and upended it on the coffee table. My phone clattered onto the marble tabletop first before it was buried in piles of my secret shame. A bag of M&Ms, three tampons, one out of its wrapper, a dried-up pen with a missing cap, lip balm, lip gloss, eyeliner, a manky old mascara, two more lip balms, my MetroCard and, even though this wasn’t my baby bag, two open packs of baby wipes.
I opened my mouth to protest as the women began pawing through my belongings but nothing came out. It was worse than the time Karen Woods nicked my diary in Year Nine and read it out loud in registration so the entire year group heard how I was worried about my left boob coming in bigger than my right one. Nia screwed up her delicate face as she held a loose Percy Pig up for inspection.
‘I wasn’t going to eat that,’ I said quickly.
I was absolutely going to eat it.
‘What we carry with us is who we are,’ Perry said sadly as she inspected a half-eaten Special K bar. ‘What do you think the content of your purse says about you, Angela?’
‘I think it says I have a baby and a full-time job and no time to sit cleaning out my handbag,’ I replied. My cheeks burned as the five women picked over my belongings, tutting and sighing and occasionally throwing in an ‘Ew’ for good measure.
‘How cute!’ Avery held up a key ring in the shape of the Empire State Building. ‘You know, I’ve never actually been.’
‘My husband took me when we first started dating,’ I said, compelled to explain in spite of myself. ‘He gave me that before he went away on tour a few years ago.’
‘Tour?’ There was a very definite sneer on Avery’s face as she raked through my makeup, tossing eyeliners and lipsticks all over the coffee table. ‘What is it that your husband does?’
‘He’s
