Zoe May - As Luck Would Have It

I know I sound really boring, but I don’t always do baby-friendly things with my friends. Every couple of weeks, I’ll leave Hera with my mum and head to London. I find a nice café somewhere and have lunch with my assistant Becky, where we discuss our latest campaigns. Becky’s awesome. We used to work together in the Camden office and I was worried she might lose interest in the business once I left London and stopped being as hands-on, but she’s stayed loyal. After Becky and I catch up, I’ll meet my friends for dinner and drinks, like we used to before I was a mum.

Okay, so my social life isn’t much. It’s certainly a lot less exciting than it used to be, but the weird thing is, I’ve stopped minding. I’ve got used to winding down at home with Netflix in the evenings and a bowl of popcorn. It’s cosy, almost like a home cinema. And anyway, even if I did have the time or inclination to go out, where would I go? There’s not much to do in Chiddingfold. There’s a village green which may have seemed like a fun place to hang out when I was a teenager, but it’s hardly appealing now, unless I’m taking Hera for a walk. There are a couple of cute, cosy pubs that are lovely for Sunday lunch, but they’re not exactly happening. And then there’s Chiddingfold Cinema, which is actually just a projector screen and a few chairs lined up in rows in the village hall. It’s kind of adorable, but they show one film a month and it’s usually a ‘new release’ that came out at least two or three years ago. Oh, and a state-of-the-art gym opened recently a few miles down the road, but the last thing I want to do is head there and find Chiddingfold’s answer to Leroy.

‘Come on, love. It’ll be a great night,’ my mum insists.

‘I don’t know …’ I squirm. The fundraiser did used to be a laugh and I do want to show my support for Mick, but I only just finished working and I was looking forward to snuggling up on the sofa and watching the next episode of the latest sitcom I’m addicted to.

‘Brian will be there,’ my mum adds with a wink.

‘Oh God!’ I groan. Brian is a bicycle repair man who’s tried it on with every woman with a pulse in the village, yet that hasn’t stopped my mum trying to set me up with him ever since I moved back home. He’s got weird googly eyes and an insanely annoying habit of saying ‘do you know what I mean?’ at the end of every sentence. You’ll run into him in town and comment on the weather and he’ll respond, ‘Yeah, it’s really cold. Do you know what I mean?’ or he’ll be talking about the latest bike he’s been fixing and comment, ‘It’s got a really good gear suspension, do you know what I mean?’ My brain just switches off every time I talk to him. I’ve told my mum a million times I don’t fancy him, but she acts like I’m overlooking Prince Charming. I shudder to think of what it would be like to be with Brian. Can you imagine – ‘I love you, do you know what I mean?’

‘Mum, I’m not going to date Brian!’ I remind her.

‘He’s a lovely lad,’ my mum huffs defensively.

‘Mum, seriously …’

‘Alright, alright.’ My mum throws her hands up in mock surrender. ‘I’ll stop trying to set you up with Brian, but I still think you should come. Mick knows you’re back. He’d love to see you there. Just a few hours, for Maggie.’ She eyes me imploringly.

How can I say no to the memory of Mick’s dead wife?

‘Okay, fine,’ I relent. ‘I wish you’d told me earlier though. What am I going to wear?’

I give Hera the last piece of cracker, before brushing the crumbs from my hands.

‘I’m sure you’ll find something!’

‘Hope so! Keep an eye on Hera while I look?’

My mum nods as she nibbles on another cracker and cheese.

I race upstairs. She’s right, I will find something. I have a ton of clothes. They wouldn’t fit in my old wardrobe, so I had to buy two rails to put them on. I try to pass my clothes addiction off as an occupational hazard of working in fashion and beauty PR. When I lived in London, I used to go to meetings, product launches and networking events all the time and I’d be expected to look the part. I needed to show our clients that I had my finger on the pulse and knew about the latest trends, which meant buying into the coolest looks every season. But it’s not like it was a chore, I do genuinely love fashion and I love getting stuff that isn’t on trend too, whether that’s a nice charity shop dress, a comfy pair of boyfriend jeans or a slouchy oversized T-shirt.

I rifle through my clothes racks a few times until I find a short-sleeved purple jumpsuit I bought six months ago and never got around to wearing. It’s tailored and smart, but its purple shade and gold drawstring waist give it a playful edge. It’s perfect. I pull off the leggings and T-shirt combo I’ve been living in recently, swap my sports bra for a regular one and slip into the jumpsuit. I check my reflection in my bedroom mirror. The jumpsuit looks good on, but it’s too dressy to wear without make-up. I don’t have time to do a full face of make-up, so I smooth a bit of BB cream onto my skin, add a touch of blusher, some tinted lip balm and a slick of mascara. That’ll do. I pull my hair out of its messy bun and run a comb through it. I take in its slightly frizzy appearance and wonder whether I have time to use my straighteners.

‘Natalie! Hurry up!’ my mum bellows up the stairs.

‘Okay! Okay!’ I call back, abandoning all thoughts of straightening my hair. I grab a hairclip from the dish on my dressing table and attempt to pin my hair to the side, but it looks weird, so I just let it down again. It looks a bit scruffy, but it will do. It’s only a fundraiser at the village hall, after all.

I grab my wallet and phone, shove them into a handbag and head downstairs.

‘I’m ready!’ I say as I walk back into the kitchen.

My mum’s put away the crackers and cheese and is now playing with Hera, who is back in her highchair. She looks over her shoulder.

‘Oh, lovely outfit you’ve got on,’ she says, clocking my jumpsuit.

‘Thanks Mum,’ I reply, walking over to her and Hera.

‘How’s my gorgeous girl doing?’ I ask.

‘I’m good,’ my mum replies, with a grin, as she waves Mr Bear around for Hera.

I roll my eyes. ‘I meant Hera, Mum!’

‘I know!’ She laughs as Hera reaches out and grabs Mr Bear, before clutching him close to her chest. She starts blinking sleepily and her head drops forward a little.

‘Oh no, she’s tired!’ I say. ‘Maybe she needs to go to bed.’

‘We’ll put her in her carrier, and she can have a little nap on the way. Relax love. An hour at the village hall isn’t going to kill her.’

Hera’s eyes droop closed, and I begin to have serious doubts over whether going to this fundraiser is a good idea. ‘Look at her!’

‘Well, let her have a nap in her carrier then. That baby sleeps like a log. She’ll be fine. We’ll only be out for a bit anyway,’ my mum says impatiently. ‘I just want to see if I win anything in the raffle. Mick’s worked really hard on this year’s draw. The top prize is a romantic getaway to Marrakech!’

‘A romantic getaway to Marrakech!? Seriously?’ I balk. ‘I could swear the last time I went to Mick’s fundraiser the top prize was a picnic hamper.’

‘Well, it’s come a long way since then! Mick’s been pulling some strings.’

I raise an eyebrow. Mick, pulling strings? He’s a retired office administrator whose social life revolves around the local bridge club, how many strings can he pull?

‘A trip to Marrakech could be just the thing for you!’ my mum says with a twinkle in her eye.

‘Didn’t you say it was a romantic getaway? Who am I going to take?’