Tasha turned up at her Pilates class slightly breathless. She had forgotten that Max’s class were meant to be dressing up as Romans and so had run back home to rustle up a toga with a bed sheet and a belt before dropping it off at school in a flurry of apologies. Tasha found her spot, kindly reserved by Flo, and joined in the warm-up. She had started Pilates after Flora was born, knowing how often she had recommended it to patients as part of their post-partum recovery and keen to try it out for herself. A friend of hers had told her about a community class run by a volunteer and open to the public, with particular support for new mothers. Realising that her core could do with some serious strengthening, not to mention her pelvic floor, Tasha had dragged Flo along, grumbling and complaining to begin with, but to her credit she kept going with the classes each week. As a reward they treated themselves to a sandwich afterwards, or a salad if they were feeling virtuous, and more often than not a glass of wine. It had become a ritual that Tasha relied on to stay sane, and a perfect opportunity to catch up and have a good old chat with her friend. Tasha and Flo were both part of a big group of friends from school. They were all in touch regularly on their WhatsApp group, sharing pictures and videos of their kids’ more hilarious moments and generally keeping everyone up to date with the various goings-on in each other’s lives.
‘Is it just me or is the class getting harder?’ Flo asked as they rolled up their mats.
‘I think Jodie might well be upping the ante!’ Tasha laughed. Jodie’s micro hot pants had proved to be a source of endless fascination for Flo and Tasha.
‘Can she bloody not? It was difficult enough in the first place. I can’t hold a plank for three minutes – is she joking?’
‘Me neither! I face planted on the mat after about twenty seconds…’ Tasha chuckled at Flo’s outraged expression. ‘Now where shall we go today? Joe’s?’
‘Let’s try the new place. Has it been a wine kind of week?’ Flo asked.
‘Absolutely,’ Tasha replied. ‘You?’
‘Afraid so.’
*
As they sat down Flo summoned the waiter and ordered two large glasses of rosé. It was a beautiful day so they had chosen a small table on the pavement in front of the restaurant, both keen to catch the sun at any opportunity. This was the one moment in the week Tasha always made the effort to carve out for herself: Pilates and a quick bite of lunch. The rest of the week always seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye, lost in the frantic struggle to keep things ticking over, to ensure all members of the household were fed, clean and in the right place at the right time. Tasha never knew what happened to her time, all she knew was that there was never enough of it. It seemed as though the moment she got home from the school run she had to leave again, rushing around like a headless chicken in between.
‘Ah, I needed this.’ Flo sighed as she took a big gulp of wine. ‘Mark has been away with work all week – there’s nothing like full-time parental responsibility to drive me to drink. Hats off to all the single parents out there. I don’t know how they do it.’
‘Hear, hear. I forgot it was Roman day for Max and had to race home to rustle up a toga – hence my late arrival. Poor Max was in floods of tears. He was the only one who arrived in school uniform. I felt like such a bad mother…’
‘Not bad, just busy.’
‘I suppose… Do you ever imagine what life would be like without them?’ Tasha asked wistfully.
‘Do I ever? All the bloody time!’
‘I saw Rosie on Friday.’
Flo and Rosie had been bridesmaids at Charlie and Tasha’s wedding. ‘How is she?’
‘She’s really well. Her life is just so different from ours… It’s bizarre to think how life would be without children. Imagine being single even. You literally would have no one else to think about apart from yourself. It’s crazy!’
Flo laughed at the thought. ‘“Yourself” is the very last person we think about. There’s just no time!’
‘I read a brilliant article on Facebook last night about the “mental load” of a mother. It summed it up perfectly. It explained how even if your kids are at school, or you are at work, the inner monologue of thoughts your mind processes as a mother is incessant. Have the children grown out of their school shoes? Did you remember to let the school know about the playdate? When was the last time they went to the dentist? Have you ordered more washing powder in the weekly shop? Did you send a birthday card to your father-in-law? Try as you might to tune it out or even switch it off, it’s impossible to ignore. The mental state of a mother is constantly on alert. No wonder we are all so bloody knackered!’
‘I love that! It’s so true!’ Flo nodded in agreement as she warmed to the theme. ‘Men are totally different. Get up, eat breakfast, leave the house, work, get home, eat, go to bed. They only think about the task in hand.’
‘Even if a woman goes back to work full-time, she is usually still the one “in charge”. Basically, whoever shoulders the responsibility of running the household never escapes the mental workload. It’s exhausting!’
‘Thank God for wine,’ Flo said, chinking her glass against Tasha’s. ‘At least we have wine.’
‘I know!’ Tasha laughed. ‘It’s terrible how much I look forward to a glass of wine each evening. By about half five I start thinking about it, and by the time the children have gone to bed I am actually desperate for my first sip. I’m making myself have at least one night off every week just to make sure I don’t become too dependent.’
‘That’s not a bad idea. Perhaps I should do the same.’ As their Cobb salads arrived Flo announced, ‘So… Mrs Perfect has been at it again…’ Flo’s children were roughly the same age as Tasha’s. One of their favourite pastimes involved comparing stories about all the different mums they came across in their respective schools.
‘Oh, God!’ Tasha said. ‘What’s she done now?’
‘She hand decorated thirty cupcakes with portraits of each child in the class. Personalised portraits. She even got Megan’s freckles and glasses in, for Christ’s sake! Megan saved her cupcake to bring home so that she could show me. She thought it was so beautiful she couldn’t even bear to eat it. All iced by hand.’
‘No!’ Tasha gasped. ‘That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!’
‘Tell me about it!’
‘Who has the time?’
‘The worst thing is that she works full-time as well. I saw her in the playground yesterday – she picks them up one day a week. I asked her how she managed it…’
‘Go on?’
‘She told me she stayed up ‘till two a.m. to finish them.’
‘That’s dedication for you!’
‘I swear it’s a competitive thing. She just wants the rest of us to feel like shit, to feel like no matter how hard we try we are never going to be as perfect as she is. I mean, iced portraits, for Christ’s sake. How am I ever going to match that?’
‘You don’t need to!’ Tasha laughed. ‘There’s always one. We just need to use them to entertain ourselves, not allow them to make us feel bad.’
‘Megan’s already asked me if I can do the same for her birthday. I had to explain that even if I could bake there was absolutely no way I would be able to do that. Poor Megan and her shop-bought cupcakes from Waitrose.’
‘At least they are from Waitrose!’ Tasha laughed.
‘I might buy them from Iceland next time – can you imagine the look on the other mums’ faces? The number of Es on the back of the packet would make them hyperventilate!’
‘Oh, go on, I dare you!’
‘Don’t encourage me…’ Flo laughed.
*
When Tasha got home, having detoured via Sainsbury’s for some last-minute groceries, she unloaded the shopping before setting about stripping the beds. It had been at least three weeks since she had got around to changing the sheets. She hoovered as much of the house as she could, keeping an eye on the time. At five past three she grabbed her jacket and her bag, determined to make it in time for the pickup from school. She couldn’t help but laugh as she thought of Flo trying to compete with the portrait cupcakes. What was the world coming to? she wondered.
As she closed the front door behind her she noticed Javier on his doorstep across the road. He had clearly just got back from work. He was a senior registrar in an Accident and Emergency department and, unsurprisingly, he looked exhausted.
‘Hi!’ she called, giving him a cheery wave as she locked up.
‘Hi, Tasha,’ he said, pausing and turning to look at her. She loved the way he said her name – his Spanish accent added a lyrical touch. ‘How are you?’
‘Great, thanks!’ she replied. ‘You?’
‘Shattered!’
‘Busy shift?’
‘I should have been home hours ago…’
‘You poor thing. Staffing issues again?’
‘You bet. Overcrowded, not enough staff, ridiculous waiting times, a record number of drunk injuries, and a stabbing to top it all off.’
‘Oh my God. Horrific.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to retrain?’ Javier smiled. They often chatted about the possibility of Tasha re-entering the world of medicine. ‘I know… it’s tempting, right?’
‘Mmmm…’ Tasha laughed. ‘I hope you manage to get some rest,’ she called as she rushed off down the street.
Talking to Javier was often a good reminder of the distinctly unglamorous reality of working for the NHS. She might regret having given it up, but would she really want to re-enter that world? Perhaps there was something else she could do that would give her purpose, independence, her own income… She checked the time and sped up as she realised she was cutting it rather fine.