Mad About You Read online

  ‘What is it?’ Their eyes were wide with anticipation.

  Babs pulled a box of Smarties out of her bag. Great, I thought, just what we need: sweets to make them hyper when there’s a journalist on the way and we’d like him to see a nice, normal family.

  They shrieked with delight. Babs handed the box to them. ‘Run for your life, before the witch here gets her hands on them and lets you have just one each.’

  As they ripped open the box, I turned to my sister. ‘Thanks so much. They’ll be bouncing off the walls now.’

  ‘I know, and their teeth will fall out and I won’t be the one bringing them to the dentist and paying for fillings, blah blah blah. Come on, Emma, live a little. It’s a box of Smarties, not crack cocaine.’

  I decided to change the subject. ‘Did you ask your work people about Putney? Do any of them know this area? Any advice or tips for me?’ We’d been in Putney three days now, but I still had no real feel for the place.

  Babs reapplied her lip-gloss while the children gorged themselves on Smarties. ‘It’s where all the boring people with kids live so you’ll fit right in.’

  ‘Gee, thanks. I’m so glad to hear that,’ I said, giving her a fake smile.

  ‘Seriously,’ she said, looking around, ‘this place is depressing. All the houses on the road look exactly the same. I don’t know why you didn’t listen to me and get a cool loft in Soho.’

  I shook my head. ‘Because lofts are for people like you – young, selfish and single – not for someone like me who has two small kids. I need a garden so the children can run around in circles and tire themselves out instead of trashing the house.’

  ‘Fine, whatever.’ Babs polished off her coffee and ordered me upstairs for my make-over.

  The suitcase, it turned out, contained a whole bunch of outfits Babs had borrowed from the wardrobe department at the TV show she presents, How To Look Good With Your Clothes On. An hour later, having managed to squeeze myself into one of the fifteen dresses she’d brought, I was ready.

  ‘Give us a twirl,’ Babs said, and I obeyed. ‘If I say so myself, I did a damn good job. Green is definitely your colour. It tones down the red hair – and, with the super-suction Spanx, the dress actually looks like it fits you properly.’

  I heard the bell ring, and James opening the front door. He was greeting a man – it must be the journalist.

  I studied myself critically in the mirror. My makeup was good, at least I was able to do that myself, and the dress was very flattering. Babs had insisted that I wear six-inch heels, to make my legs look thinner, and I had to admit that, although the shoes were torturously uncomfortable, they made a big difference. I smiled at myself. I was pleased with the overall result. I really wanted to look good for this photo. I knew it was important to James. He was determined to make sure his new job went smoothly and a good first impression was vital. He was still haunted by what had happened with the Irish team, and I knew he was determined not to put a foot wrong this time.

  We went back downstairs. I still hadn’t dressed the children, who were running around like lunatics in the garden in their pyjamas, high on sugar. I was waiting until the very last second to put on their freshly pressed clothes. James’s interview was in progress. Babs and I watched them through the glass door that separated the kitchen from the living room.

  The journalist was dressed very casually in a crumpled shirt and chinos. He was younger than James. His Dictaphone lay on the coffee-table between them, but he was taking notes as well. James was sitting bolt upright on the couch, his hands clasped together in his lap. He seemed very tense.

  ‘Are you worried you’ll end up like your predecessor, out on your ear after nine months?’ the journalist asked him.

  Nine months! James hadn’t told me that. He’d said the previous rugby manager hadn’t worked out, but he hadn’t mentioned the very brief timeline. Would we have to move again in nine months? Would anyone hire him if this job didn’t work out, just like the last one? My stomach twisted.

  James smiled stiffly. ‘I’m planning to bring all the experience and success I had coaching Leinster to London Irish. I’m confident I can turn this team around and have a long and fruitful career with them.’

  ‘But your last position, as assistant coach for the Irish team, ended after only six months. What makes you think this will be different?’

  ‘Ouch,’ Babs muttered. ‘Look at James’s face.’

  Damn! Why the hell had the journalist brought that up? It was so unfair. It hadn’t been James’s fault.

  James crossed his arms and frowned deeply. ‘The Irish position didn’t work out because of a clash of personalities between the head coach, Frank Gallagher, and the Irish Rugby Federation. Unfortunately, I was a casualty of that disagreement. The only reason I was let go was because the new coach they hired, Jackson Hadley, wanted to bring his own assistant coach with him.’

  ‘Good answer,’ I whispered.

  ‘Yes, but his body language is really defensive,’ Babs whispered back.

  James was sitting with his arms folded tightly across his chest. The Irish job fiasco had really knocked his confidence. I hated Frank Gallagher with a passion. If he had just been a bit less pig-headed and got on with managing the team, none of this would have happened and we’d be back home in Dublin, living our lovely life, and James would be his old self-assured and contented self.

  ‘He’s going to have to be tougher,’ Babs said. ‘He should tell that journalist to stick his stupid questions up his arse.’

  ‘Keep your voice down!’ I warned her. The last thing James needed was the journalist to hear insults being slung at him from the next room.

  ‘Seriously, Emma, James needs to grow bigger balls. He can’t go around being defensive and poor-me about his old job. It didn’t work out. He should put some kind of a spin on it and make it sound like he walked out on them, or he was keen to move back to his hometown London, or something.’

  She had a point. He’d need to be smoother and more polished for future interviews.

  The journalist tapped his notepad with his pen. ‘Is it not also true that you were let go because the captain of the Irish team, Barry O’Brian, didn’t respect you?’

  James dropped his arms to his side and sat forward. ‘No, that’s not true at all. I’ve no idea where you got that information, but it’s false.’

  ‘Really? I heard it from Barry O’Brian when I called him about you. He said, although you were highly valued at Leinster, the Munster players on the Irish team didn’t rate you. He felt a lot of your success was based on luck and the fact that Donal Brady was a brilliant captain and player. Brady also happens to be a good friend of yours, am I right?’

  James’s face went an alarming shade of red. Gripping his knees with his hands, he snapped, ‘Barry O’Brian never said any of this to me. When I coached him, we got along just fine. As for Barry and the Munster players thinking I wasn’t a good coach, frankly, that’s bullshit. In fact, Munster tried to poach me when I was training Leinster. They offered me more money to move down to Limerick and train Munster, but I refused because I was loyal to Leinster and to the team. As for the comment about Donal Brady, yes, he is a close friend of mine and I think he’s a tremendous leader and player, but he’s not a coach. I coached that team to victory and I will not have anyone saying or implying otherwise.’

  ‘Way to go, James.’ Babs was impressed and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Are you surprised by O’Brian’s comments, then?’ the journalist asked.

  James sat back. ‘Yes, I am. I thought he was more professional than that, but I’m certainly not going to get into a slagging match about it. O’Brian is a fine player and a good captain for Ireland. I wish him and his teammates well.’

  The journalist smiled. ‘That’s very magnanimous of you.’

  James grinned, his face finally losing its tension. ‘My wife’s Irish and my children are half Irish. I had a wonderful time living and coaching in Dubl
in. But I’m in London now and I want to look forward, not back. I intend to be the most successful coach London Irish has ever had.’

  ‘Fighting words.’ The journalist jotted down the quote.

  James nodded. ‘I am a fighter and I have the utmost confidence in my abilities.’ Standing up to stretch his legs, he asked if the interview was over. It was obvious he’d rather have been eating the guy’s toenail clippings than answering his questions.

  ‘More or less, but I wonder if I could ask your wife a few questions? I’d like to get a sense of how she feels about the move,’ the journalist said.

  What? I froze. That wasn’t part of the plan. I didn’t want to answer any questions. I was prepared to smile at the camera, but I certainly hadn’t agreed to an interview.

  ‘Emma!’ Babs nudged me roughly. ‘Get your arse in there.’

  ‘But – I don’t know what to say!’

  ‘Just smile and say very little. Keep your answers short and don’t ramble.’

  ‘I never ramble.’

  Babs rolled her eyes. ‘Hello! You spend your whole life rambling and ranting and going off on tangents, just like Mum.’

  ‘I do not. I am not like Mum in any way. I never rant and, besides, you’re a fine one to talk about –’

  Babs held up a hand in front of my face. ‘Zip it, Emma. Now, get in there and help your husband out. He needs it.’

  James looked at the door, smiled when he saw us hovering there and walked over to usher me in.

  ‘You were amazing. I’m so proud of you,’ I whispered in his ear. He squeezed my hand.

  Introducing me to the journalist, he said, ‘Emma, this is Joe Kendal. He’d like to ask you a few questions. Is that all right?’

  I proffered my hand and plastered a smile on my face, but something caught my eye: it was Babs, waving at me from the doorway. ‘Psycho smile,’ she mouthed. ‘Tone it down.’ I tried to relax my facial muscles into a less alarming grimace.

  Joe Kendal smiled at me and I couldn’t help feeling like a mouse in a snakepit. ‘So, Emma, how do you feel about the move to London? You’ve got two small kids so it can’t have been easy.’

  I felt James’s body tensing again beside me. I knew what the hack was probing for, and there was no way I was going to give it to him. It was time for me to take control.

  ‘I’m delighted to be in London, Joe. I married an Englishman, so we’re a half-English family anyway. It’s such a wonderful city, so vibrant and with so much to do and see. We’re very much looking forward to settling into our new life here. And I think Irish London are very lucky to have James as their coach.’

  I heard a groan from the doorway. ‘London Irish, you dope,’ Babs hissed. James threw back his head and laughed. I was blushing wildly, but he didn’t seem bothered by my mistake. Wrapping an arm around me, he said, ‘Emma has been very supportive of my career. I’m very lucky to have a wife who puts up with all the upheaval that this job entails.’

  ‘You won’t print that Irish London mistake, will you?’ I asked Joe. ‘I mean, I don’t want people to think I’m stupid or slow or mentally challenged or something. Not that there’s anything wrong with being mentally challenged, of course. I mean, loads of people are and they’re great and they lead really full lives. I’m not being racist or bigoted, or whatever the word is. I know people who are mentally challenged – sure what difference does it make? We’re all God’s creatures, right? I mean, I have friends who –’

  James was looking at me aghast, as was Joe Kendal, but I couldn’t stop the torrent of nervous words that was pouring out of me.

  ‘Put a sock in it, Emma.’ Babs strutted into the room. ‘Hello, Joe, I’m Barbara Burke. You probably recognize me from my show, How To Look Good With Your Clothes On.’

  Joe stared at her blankly.

  Babs carried on: ‘You’ll have to excuse my sister. She’s not used to the media. But I can tell you one thing, James is a bloody brilliant coach. He transformed that Leinster team. London Irish are lucky to have him on board. Make sure you print that.’

  Joe took out his notebook. ‘What did you say your name was?’

  Babs frowned. ‘Barbara Burke, host of the very successful How To Look Good With Your Clothes On.’

  ‘Never heard of it. What channel is it on?’ Joe asked, as James and I tried not to laugh.

  ‘Lifestyle,’ Babs snapped. ‘It airs at two o’clock on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. It’s a very popular show.’

  Joe nodded and scribbled. ‘OK. Well, thanks very much, James and Emma – and Barbara. I’ll just pop out and ask Eddie to come in for the photos now.’

  James and I shook his hand, exchanged a relieved glance, and I ran out to wrestle the children into their clothes.

  While the photographer was setting up, I watched Lara and Yuri sitting beside James on the couch. Yuri looked adorable in his little blue shirt. With his fair hair and chocolate brown eyes, he would have melted anyone’s heart. And as for my little princess, she hadn’t inherited my red hair, as Babs had pointed out, so she wouldn’t have to go through school being called ‘Carrothead’ or ‘Fanta’. She had beautiful blonde hair. It was very fine, so I kept it shoulder-length. But Lara’s best assets were her navy blue eyes and her killer smile. When she smiled, two big dimples appeared, one on each cheek. It was adorable.

  I marvelled at my two beautiful children and silently thanked God for giving me the gift of motherhood. Although my infertility, Yuri’s adoption and then Lara’s premature birth had been really difficult times, there was never a day went by when I didn’t feel grateful that it had ended like this. These two children were my miracles, and I appreciated them all the more for having struggled so hard to have them.

  As I watched my beautiful little ones snuggling into their dad’s arms, I willed myself to be positive. We were a family, a unit, a team, and together we would make it work. I shook my hair over my shoulder and shot the most convincing smile I could manage at the camera lens.

  3

  Once I saw my own linen on the beds and our clothes hanging in the wardrobes, the house felt less alien. The children’s rooms looked out onto the back garden and ours faced the main road. As I was putting away Lara’s clothes, I glanced out of the window. To the right I saw two very blond children in a paddling pool. To the left a woman in shorts and a T-shirt was digging a complicated vegetable patch, with rows and rows of plants and a small glasshouse in a corner.

  The sun was shining and I began to feel more positive. Putney seemed a nice area. I was glad we had chosen to live there. James’s new boss had recommended it as a pleasant suburban village not too far from the London Irish training ground, where James would be working. There was a gorgeous French coffee shop and patisserie five minutes from the house, a good selection of restaurants and one really cool boutique on the high street.

  Even though the area looked promising, I was still worried about filling my days while James and the kids were at work and school. James was already deeply involved in his job while Yuri and Lara would start nursery school soon. What would I do then? I didn’t know anyone and, besides, I was used to working. Back in Dublin, I’d loved my job as a makeup artist on the TV chat show Afternoon with Amanda. Amanda had been a great boss and I’d really miss her. I knew the competition in London for makeup artists would be fierce. I wasn’t sure how to break into the industry. I’d have to talk to Babs. She worked in TV, so she could put me in touch with whoever did her makeup. I could ask them how to go about getting work. For now, I’d just have to stay focused on getting the children settled and finding my bearings.

  I went downstairs to make some coffee and try to sweet-talk James into agreeing to do a big shop – we needed everything to fill the fridge and cupboards. He was standing at the kitchen counter, trying to persuade Yuri and Lara that dry toast was nice.

  ‘But I want butter on mine,’ Yuri said.

  ‘I know, but we don’t have any. Mummy will do a big shop later.’

  W
e’ll see about that, I thought, with a smile.

  ‘But I don’t like bread with no butter. It’s yucky.’

  ‘Yuckity-yuck,’ Lara added.

  James was relieved to see me. ‘Oh, look! Here’s Mummy now – she can sort this out. Daddy has to go to work.’

  ‘Work? I thought you were going to be around for a week, to help me settle in.’

  ‘We finished unpacking the last boxes yesterday,’ James reminded me. ‘We’re settled.’

  ‘But I don’t know where the nearest big supermarket is.’

  James shrugged. ‘Nor do I, darling. I’ve never lived in Putney before. Why don’t you ask one of the neighbours?’

  I tried not to get too annoyed in front of the children. If they hadn’t been there to act as a buffer, I’d have whacked him over the head with the nearest weapon I could find. ‘I don’t know them. I don’t want to go banging on doors yet. Come on, James, please. You can go in tomorrow.’

  James ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his eyes. He looked tired. He had tossed and turned all night. ‘Sorry, darling, but I have to show my face today. I want them to know how keen I am. I really need to make a good impression. You’ll be fine,’ he said, giving me a quick hug before picking up his kit bag. ‘Besides, Imogen said she was going to pop in to check on you today.’

  I stopped dead. ‘What did you say?’ Had he really just casually announced that my nightmare of a sister-in-law was coming over?

  James was walking towards the door, making a quick escape. I grabbed his shoulder. ‘Excuse me. Imogen?’

  He sighed. ‘She knows the area – she lived here as a student – so she can help you out.’

  I glared at him. ‘You know I can’t stand her.’

  ‘What does “can’t stand” mean?’ Lara asked. ‘Does it mean you has wobbly legs?’

  ‘Nothing,’ James and I answered in unison.

  ‘It means you hate something,’ Yuri informed his little sister.