to grow up to be.
I head into the kitchen and immediately spot Hera sitting in her highchair, playing with her favourite toy – a teddy that somewhere along the line was dubbed ‘Mr Bear’.
‘Hello angel!’ I coo, giving her a kiss on the head.
Hera immediately drops Mr Bear and reaches out for a hug. My heart melts. It never gets old. I pick her up and hold her close to my chest, rubbing her back and bouncing her up and down while she plays with my hair. It’s only then that I notice that my mum is leaning against the kitchen counter fully made up and wearing a party frock she bought last week from TK Maxx. It’s pink, embroidered with gold fuchsias, and she was incredibly happy to get it for 70 per cent off. She’s munching on a cracker with brie, carefully cupping one of her hands under it so the crumbs don’t fall on her dress.
‘How come you’re wearing that?’ I ask, gesturing at her dress and noticing her face of full make-up. She’s gone all out with blue eyeshadow, lashings of mascara, blusher and bright red lipstick.
‘It’s Mick’s fundraiser!’ my mum says through a mouthful of cracker. ‘Remember?’
‘What?’ I head over to the counter and take a cracker from the open packet on the side.
‘Mick’s fundraiser. At the village hall?’ My mum eyes me expectantly, as though waiting for the penny to drop but I have no idea what she’s talking about.
‘Remember? We’re going!’ My expression is blank. ‘Oh Natalie! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? Baby brain isn’t meant to hang round for a year after you give birth!’ She tuts, reaching for another cracker.
I roll my eyes indulgently. ‘Seriously Mum, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What fundraiser?’
‘Down the village hall. Mick’s annual fundraiser for Cancer Research. It’s been happening every year since you were 12. Held on the anniversary of his wife’s passing. Maggie, remember? The fifth of May. Ring a bell?’
‘Oh that,’ I reply, finally realising what she’s on about.
Mick has been our neighbour my whole life. He lives just a few doors down in a narrow terraced house just like ours. Our village is incredibly close-knit. Chiddingfold is a small place. There are only a few thousand residents and most of us know each other or know someone who knows someone we know. Sadly, Mick’s wife Maggie died from breast cancer around twenty years ago and Mick has been organising a charity fundraiser every year since in her memory. The whole community gets together in the village hall. There’s a buffet, drinks, an auction of donated items, a disco, and one year there was even a talent show for the kids. It’s a great event and it’s certainly been going on for a long time, but it’s hardly the highlight of my social calendar. It’s not exactly been at the forefront of my mind.
‘You used to love that fundraiser!’ my mum reminds me as I chew my cracker and feed a little bit to Hera.
She’s right. I used to love the fundraiser. I used to love the cake stand selling the prettiest cupcakes ever, the most chocolatey brownies and the fluffiest, most delicious Victoria sponge. The village hall would always be decked out with streamers and bunting and there’d be a massive bowl of non-alcoholic fruit punch for the kids and real punch for the adults. I used to love the disco, which was overseen by a Rick, a guy who worked at the Spar but doubled up as ‘DJ Bubble’ for the fundraiser. His rousing catchphrase was ‘DJ Bubble, you’re in trouble!’ which we all loved when we were kids even though, looking back, it was totally awful. He’d play what I used to think were the best sets ever but were probably just the top tracks from Now That’s What I Call Music 6. One year there was even a smoke machine. Oh, and there was a raffle that everyone used to get so excited about. I used to love the raffle, even though the best thing I ever won was a John Lewis spatula.
‘Yeah, I did love that fundraiser, Mum, but the last time I went I was a kid! How am I meant to remember the dates of events I haven’t been to for nearly two decades?’ I ask exasperatedly before shovelling another cracker into my mouth.
‘It was on the calendar,’ my mum comments, nodding towards the calendar on the wall, where in red marker pen in today’s box are the scrawled words ‘Mick’s fundraiser’.
‘Right, so I’m supposed to just check the calendar every day to see if there are events I’m meant to be going to?’
‘Umm, yes love, that is what calendars are for!’ My mum laughs.
I love my mum but she’s impossible sometimes.
‘You could have told me, Mum. You know, reminded me or something. Verbally?’ I suggest.
She simply shrugs. ‘Oh well, I forgot.’ She looks at her watch. It’s a gold and silver bracelet-style one she always wears for special occasions. ‘We’d better head off. It starts in half an hour.’
‘Mum, I can’t go! What about Hera?’ I remind her, stroking Hera’s head.
‘She’s coming with us, love! Mick’s included loads of prizes in the raffle this year for baby stuff. There’s a baby rocker up for grabs. Even a baby forklift truck. Hera might win!’
‘Hera has a rocker!’ I point out. ‘And she doesn’t need a forklift truck!’
My mum just shrugs. ‘It’ll still be a fun outing!’
‘I don’t know, Mum, Hera will get tired. You know what she’s like after late nights,’ I remind her. Hera can get pretty loud and cranky the following day if she doesn’t get a good night’s sleep.
‘We’ll put her in her buggy, she can relax, and then we’ll duck out early. We don’t have to stay for the disco! Oh come on, Natalie, Hera can handle a little outing. And it would do you good as well,’ she says, giving me a pointed look as I grab another cracker.
Ever since I moved back home, my mum’s been on at me to get out more, and it’s not that I’m anti-social, but I honestly don’t see how I can. I have a business to run and when I’m not working, I’m taking care of Hera. My mum offers to babysit but she already looks after Hera while I’m working, and I feel bad asking her to do any more. She only recently retired from her job as a nursery school teacher and I don’t think spending more time with small children was quite what she expected from retirement. And anyway, she has a life too. A few years ago, she started seeing the landlord of the pub down the road – a good-natured divorcé called Tim and they’re totally smitten with each other. My dad upped sticks when I was little and moved to the French alps to start a new life as a ski instructor and I know it’s taken my mum a very long time to trust a man again. I should probably have been a bit damaged too, but I was so young that I don’t really have many memories of my dad and you don’t miss someone you’ve never known. Plus, my mum’s always been exceptional, so I never really felt I was lacking. She deserves happiness and she adores Tim. The last thing I want is for them to miss out on quality time together just because I decided to pop out a baby.
Besides, it’s not like my social life is completely non-existent. My best friends Lauren, Danielle and Amber come down to visit when they can and we go out for lunch followed by shopping or a walk in the park. I was a bit worried that my friends might get bored hanging out with a baby, but they adore Hera. Amber – a lifestyle blogger I met at a press launch years ago – is six months pregnant so she’s obsessed with everything baby-related. My uni mate Danielle and my best friend from school, Lauren, have very opposing views on children. Danielle
