Chapter One #2
It was one of those shrill, Sloaney voices that expands to fill every space.
It was the way, when her life was at its toughest, that Stella imagined her own voice sounded.
It haunted her. She quickly grabbed an assortment of pumpkin, linseed and chia seeds, and a selection of pulses, and lobbed them into the trolley around Rory, trying desperately to hide the multipacks of mini-chocolate bars and super-sized chocolate treats, and the value pack of Kettle Chips.
She knew there was fresh fruit and veggies somewhere under there.
Olivia Oysten-Taylor was wearing white. Of course. Not a normal white, but the kind of white that only exists in adland. She’d also gone for a sporty look.
‘Olivia. How wonderful to see you. You look superb. Like Billie Jean.’
They air-kissed.
‘I recognised you from behind immediately!’
From behind? thought Stella. What does that mean?
‘You remember Rory?’
Olivia leaned down close to him.
‘Why did I think he was called Tom? Lovely name, Tommy. So English.’
‘Tom is his brother. He’s in primary school.’
‘Aren’t you a handsome boy? Too adorable. Are you going to grow up to be a successful man like your lovely father, Jack?’
‘Jake.’
‘Of course. The lovely Jake.’
‘How is Rups?’ She loved to say his name. Rups, what kind of a name was Rups for anything other than a teddy bear. ‘Is Rups well?’
‘Fabulous. We’re just buying a little place in Vermont, a little autumn getaway. It’s just so hard to find somewhere fun to vacation in the fall, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, so true,’ said Stella, aware that Rory was getting himself into a state again. He was chewing on the foil casing from one of his disappearing coins, half of which was drying into the fringe that Stella now saw desperately needed cutting.
He reached out a friendly hand to try and touch Olivia’s precisely made-up face. She recoiled as if the smears of chocolate were toxic, not the harmless residue of a milk chocolate treat.
Stella wished she’d worn her sunglasses.
If people stopped recognising her, she’d stop having these awkward and disturbing encounters.
It was the one of the major issues with living in Wandsworth – you could never pop to the shops without the risk of bumping into someone you knew, which meant you were always supposed to make an effort when you left the house, even if that meant squeezing into the Sweaty Betty leggings she’d bought five years ago, just after Tom was born, and, until that week, never worn outside the house.
Rory was burbling, gleefully wiping his fingers on his jacket. This did not concern her. Long ago she’d learned to dress her sons in dark clothing to disguise their chocolate issues.
He screeched something that she understood as ‘coin’, but might have been anything. He could have been giving detailed feedback on her failings as a mother.
‘Shh, sweetheart,’ she whispered. She gave him a carrot, which he threw to the floor.
‘Strong-willed, isn’t he?’ said Olivia. She looked pristine. Perfectly applied lipstick. Eyebrows carefully etched in. Oh for goodness’ sake, she was even wearing an actual tennis skirt.
‘Hmm. Where are you off to looking so fabulous?’
‘I have found the most sublime tennis instructor. He’s a dream. He was on the tour back in the Nineties. French. Immensely talented.’ She mimed a feeble double-handed backhand. ‘Do you play?’
‘Tennis? Not any more. Not since I twisted my knee skiing in Klosters in ’97. I just can’t do all the sports any more. I have to prioritise.’
She reached towards an upper shelf for something beige and organic-looking. Quinoa. She smiled at Olivia as if she knew exactly what it was, and how best to prepare and serve it.
‘I really must keep moving, Olivia. Tom’s been asked to try out for chess club and I don’t want him to be late for Cantonese lessons.’
‘Ah ha, sáisáugāan hái bīndouh a.’
Stella looked blank.
‘Oh darling, it’s Cantonese. It means have an auspicious day. I always help Felix with his homework.’
‘Of course,’ Stella laughed. ‘Blye-blye.’
Olivia looked confused. Stella didn’t wait to explain that she was making a racist joke.
‘We must have you all round for Pimms and a play date. Just as soon as it gets a little warmer.’
‘We must, but I’m going back to work soon. It’s going to be so hard to fit everything in.’ It was the first lie that came to mind.
‘Oh, what were you? Were you in PR?’
‘I was a journalist. Fashion and celebrity.’
‘Really, a journalist, fashion and celebrity.’ Did her gaze flit disdainfully to Stella’s stained and smeared casual sportswear?
‘How wonderfully now. Were you vlogging? What is a vlogger? How exciting. Anyway, you must come over. We’ve got a new nanny and she makes the most divine sugar-free fairy cakes.
Felix and Quentin and Sebastian and Honor just can’t get enough.
We could see if she has a recipe for chocolate cake for little Ror-Ror.
We’ve redone the whole garden with a gazebo and a water—’
‘Yes. Yes. We must—’ Stella waved as she left, ducking down to improvise a finish to Olivia’s invitation in a whisper to Rory: ‘... water buffalos and long-tailed egrets, a flock of flamingos, and a gigantic sign saying, Motherhood is not a competitive sport. You’re right, Olivia’s a bitch. We never have to see her again.’
Heaped around the chocolatey boy were layers of food products: wholemeal, wholegrain, certified organic through to seeds and pulses, then layers of confectionery and snack food, and at the very bottom, out of anyone’s reach and now compressed and distorted by the weight of junk, a medley of fruit and veg, mostly bruised by Rory and soon to be inedible.
She really had to do something about her diet.
She reached down for a jar of Nutella and felt something weaken in her back.
A disc. God no, not a disc, not now. With a groan, tentatively, she pulled herself upright, and couldn’t help recalling the effortless fluidity of Coco’s bottom-shelf manoeuvre: Tuladandasana-Nutella, balancing stick with Nutella.
Now there was a smart and specific goal she could set for herself.
One day she would retrieve a jar of Nutella from a bottom shelf without the threat of total spinal failure.
More yoga, she promised herself. Or maybe Pilates.
She would do some research she decided; no point in making rash decisions.
Perhaps she should be buying more seeds and legumes?
(She must look up ‘legumes’; they sounded so Whole Foods.) She searched the shelves for more seed-like products and immediately felt better.
If she just bought a selection of ‘good’ foods – natural foods, lentils, wild rice, pine nuts, sunflower seeds – she could figure out what to do with them later.
They would look good in her cupboard, and just the thought of buying them made her feel thinner.
As far as she knew, there wasn’t a diet plan in the world that didn’t advocate seeds – perhaps she could roast her own in the oven and then put them in an old jam jar to snack on?
This was definitely a possibility. She was sure she’d seen Victoria Beckham wandering around with some seeds and it seemed to work for her, even after four designer kids and two successful careers.
Rushing through the aisles, she kept an eye out for Coco, and another for Olivia.
What a shame, she thought, that nowadays her friends were more like Olivia, not interesting like Coco?
Coco might frankly be a bit weird, but Olivia…
Olivia was everything she didn’t want to be, but was terrified she was becoming, but she also envied her.
Thank god she still had friends like Ana and Dixie to keep her sane; sharing the chaos of their lives helped her convince herself that she wasn’t losing her mind, or wasn’t losing it alone at any rate.
She didn’t see Coco again, but Olivia, her back to Stella, fortunately, was paying for some bottled water at the six items or less counter when she saw to her delight that Rory had at some point managed to wipe four of his chocolate-covered fingers down the back of Olivia’s tennis skirt.
The chocolatey stripes looked like shit in the bright lights of the supermarket.
As if she’d run out of paper and used her hand before wiping it clean on her blue-white tennis kit.
Her moment of joy was interrupted by the cashier.
‘Sorry, love, can you try it again?’
‘What?’
‘It’s not working.’
‘Oh, it must, surely.’ She felt the heat rising to her face and sweat begin to press through the pores across her top lip. She remembered with shame the unreturned voicemails from Barclaycard.
‘Wait, sorry. I’ve another,’ she tried to laugh. ‘Too many holidays, isn’t that the way?’
She found her personal bank card, and prayed to all the gods of organised family finance that she’d left some money in there.
‘That’s fine.’
The beads of sweat began to dry and Stella found consolation and distraction in the memory of Olivia’s stained whites.
‘Good lad, Rory. You’ll go far.’
Stella was still giggling at Rory when she emerged from the supermarket into a downpour.
The oppressive darkness of the low clouds, the ubiquity of water all around them, filled her with blood-chilling dread and she promised herself that she’d return the calls to Barclaycard.
For once, she knew that this cash-flow issue was probably not her failure.
The Barclaycard was paid from Jake’s account.
A wave of anxiety connecting the Barclaycard issue to Jake’s recent moodiness stopped her in her tracks but she shook it off and began to load the SUV while Rory grinned and proudly showed her his two newly minted chocolatey panda eyes.
‘Joker,’ she laughed as he screamed on being separated from his trolley.
No Regrets is available now!