Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes [60]
And luckily Dylan’s computer business was doing well enough that she didn’t have to.
‘Do you have time now for a job?’ Ashling asked.
‘I am very busy,’ Clodagh acknowledged. ‘Apart from a couple of hours when I go to the gym, I never have a moment to myself. Mind you, it’s all inconsequential stuff; changing clothes that’ve been puked on or having to watch Barney video after Barney video… Although,’ she said, with a glint in her eye, ‘I’ve put an end to Barney.’
‘How?’
‘I’ve told Molly that he’s dead.’
Ashling roared laughing.
‘Told her he’d been knocked down by a lorry,’ Clodagh continued grimly.
Ashling’s smile faded. ‘You didn’t… really?’
‘I did, really,’ Clodagh said smartly. ‘I’d had quite enough of that big purple fucker and all those awful irritating brats, delivering morals and telling me how to live my life.’
‘And was Molly upset?’
‘She’ll get over it. Shit happens. Am I right?’
‘But… but… she’s two and a half.’
‘I’m a person too,’ Clodagh said defensively. ‘I have rights too. And I was going mad from it, I swear I was.’
Ashling considered in confusion. But maybe Clodagh was right. Everyone just expects mothers to sublimate all of their own wants and needs for the good of their children. Perhaps that wasn’t very fair.
‘Sometimes,’ Clodagh sighed, heavily, ‘I just wonder, what’s the point? My day is filled with ferrying Craig to school, Molly to playgroup, Molly home from playgroup, Craig to his origami lessons… I’m a slave.’
‘But bringing up kids is the most important job anyone can do,’ Ashling protested.
‘But I never have any adult conversation. Except with other mothers, and then it’s all so competitive. You know the sort of thing – “My Andrew is much more violent than your Craig.” Craig never hits anyone, while Andrew bloody Higgins is a junior Rambo. It’s so humiliating!’ She fixed Ashling with a bleak look. ‘I see magazine articles about the competitiveness of the workplace, but it’s nothing compared to what takes place in the mother-and-toddler group.’
‘If it’s any consolation, I’ve been worried sick all this week because I’ve to write an article on a salsa class,’ Ashling provided. ‘It’s literally kept me awake at night. You don’t have to deal with that kind of worry.’ To finally bring her round, Ashling finished softly, ‘And above all, you have Dylan.’
‘Ah now, marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’
Ashling wasn’t convinced. ‘I know you have to say that. It’s the rule, I’ve seen it in action. Married women simply aren’t allowed to say that they’re mad about their husbands, unless they’re just married. Get a group of married women together and they compete to see who can diss their husband the most. “My one leaves his dirty socks on the floor,” “Well my one never noticed that I got my hair cut.” I think you’re all just embarrassed by your good fortune!’
Back out on the sunlit street, Ashling heard a familiar voice shout, ‘Salman Rushdie, Jeffrey Archer or James Joyce?’
It was Joy.
‘What are you doing up so early?’
‘Haven’t been to bed yet. Hiya.’ Joy nodded warily at Clodagh. Clodagh and Joy didn’t really like each other. Joy thought Clodagh was too spoilt and Clodagh resented Joy for her closeness with Ashling.
‘Go on, then,’ Joy urged. ‘Salman Rushdie, Jeffrey Archer or James Joyce?’
‘James Joyce alive or decomposing?’
‘Decomposing.’
Ashling considered her gruesome choice and Clodagh’s face was a picture of leftoutness. ‘James Joyce,’ Ashling finally decided. ‘Right, you cow. Gerry Adams, Tony Blair or Prince Charles?’
Joy winced. ‘Ooooh! Well obviously not Tony Blair. And not Prince Charles. It’s going to have to be number one.’
Ashling turned to Clodagh. ‘Your turn.’
‘What do I do?’
‘You pick three horrible men and we have to choose which one we sleep with.’
Clodagh hesitated. ‘Why?’
Ashling and Joy glanced at each other. Why indeed?