imagine.”
“I probably can,” I say with a laugh. “I helped out Suze when Ernie was newborn. So I know what it’s like —”
“No.” She gives me a patronizing smile. “Until you’ve actually been a mother you have no idea. None at all.”
“Right,” I say, feeling squashed.
How can Suze be friendly with this woman? How?
Suddenly there’s a rattling at the library door and Suze appears. She’s holding a baby in one arm and her mobile in the other and is a picture of consternation.
“Hi, Suze!” I say quickly. “I was just bringing you a glass of champagne!” I hold it out to her, but Suze doesn’t seem to notice.
“Lulu, Wilfie’s got a rash!” she says anxiously. “Have yours ever had this?”
“Let’s have a look,” says Lulu, expertly taking the baby out of Suze’s grasp. She examines him for a moment. “I think it’s heat rash.”
“Really?”
“It looks like nettle rash to me,” I say, trying to join in. “Has he been near any nettles recently?”
No one seems interested in what I think.
“You want Sudocrem,” says Lulu. “I’ll get some for you, if you like. I’m popping to the chemist’s later on.”
“Thanks, Lulu. You’re an angel!” Suze takes Wilfie back gratefully, just as her mobile rings.
“Hi!” she says into it. “At last! Where are you?” As she listens, her whole face crumples in dismay. “You’re joking!”
“What’s wrong?” Lulu and I say simultaneously.
“It’s Mr. Happy!” wails Suze, turning to Lulu. “He’s got a flat tire! He’s by Tiddlington Marsh.”
“Who’s Mr. Happy?” I say in bewilderment.
“The entertainer!” says Suze desperately. “There’s a whole roomful of children in there, just waiting for him!” She gestures to a pair of double doors, beyond which I can see lots of children in party dresses and smart little shirts, racing about and throwing cushions at each other.
“I’ll zip along and pick him up,” Lulu says, putting down her glass. “At least we know where he is. I’ll only be ten minutes. Tell him to stay put and look out for the Range Rover.”
“Lulu, you’re a total star,” says Suze, subsiding in relief. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Jealousy burns through me. I want to be the one who helps Suze.
“I don’t mind picking him up!” I say. “I’ll go!”
“You don’t know where it is,” Lulu says kindly. “Better if I go.”
“What about the children?” Suze glances nervously toward the room, where the sound of screaming kids is getting louder.
“They’ll just have to wait. If there isn’t an entertainer, there isn’t an entertainer.”
“But—”
“I’ll entertain them!” I say, before I can stop myself.
“You?” They both turn and gape at me.
“Yes, me,” I say confidently.
Ha. I’ll show them who’s the most supportive friend to Suze.
“Bex… are you sure about this?” Suze says, looking anxious.
“No problem!” I say.
“But—”
“Suze…” I put a hand on her arm. “Please. I think I can amuse a few children for ten minutes.”
Oh my God.
This is utter mayhem.
I can’t hear myself think. I can’t hear anything except the screaming of twenty excited children running round a room, bashing each other.
“Er… excuse me…” I begin.
The shrieks increase in volume. I’m sure someone’s being murdered in here, only I can’t see who because it’s all a blur.
“Sit down!” I bellow over the noise. “Sit down, everyone!”
They’re not even stopping for a beat. I climb up onto a chair and put my hands round my mouth.
“Anyone who sits down…” I roar. “Will get a sweetie!”
Abruptly the screaming stops and there’s a crash as twenty children bump down onto the floor.
“Hello, everybody!” I say brightly. “I’m… I’m Wacky Becky!” I waggle my head. “Everybody say… ‘Hello, Wacky Becky!’ ”
There’s silence.
“Where’s my sweetie?” pipes up a little girl.
“Er…”
I scrabble in my bag, but there’s nothing except some herbal sleeping tablets I bought for getting over jet lag. Orange flavored.
Could I—
No. No.
“Later!” I say. “You have to sit still… and then you get a sweetie.”
“This conjurer is rubbish,” says a boy in a Ralph Lauren shirt.
“I’m not rubbish!” I say indignantly. “Watch! Er…”
I quickly put my hands over my face, then pull them away. “Boo!”
“We’re not babies,” the boy says scornfully. “We want tricks!”
“Why don’t I sing you a nice song,” I say in soothing tones. “Row, row, row the boat… la la la… the moat…”
“Do a trick!” squeals a little girl.
“We want a trick!” yells a boy.
“Do-a-trick! Do-a-trick!”
Oh God. They’re chanting. And the boys are banging the floor with their fists. Any minute, they’re going to get up and start bashing each other again. A trick. A trick. My mind scurries about frantically. Do I know any tricks?
“OK!” I say in desperation. “I’ll do a trick! Watch this!”
I spread my arms with a flourish, then reach behind my back with swirly, elaborate movements, spinning it all out as long as I can.
Then I unhook my bra through my shirt, trying to remember what color it is.
Oh yes. It’s my bright pink gingham one with the bows. Perfect.
The entire room is agog.
“What are you doing?” says a little girl with wide eyes.
“Wait and see!”
Trying to keep the air of mystery, I loop one bra strap discreetly over my arm, then the other. The children are all staring at me avidly.
Now I’ve got my confidence back, I think I’m doing rather well at this. In fact, I’m a bit of a natural!
“Watch very carefully,” I say in a solemn, magician-like voice, “as I am now going to make something… appear!”
A couple of children gasp.
I really could do with a drumroll here.
“One… two… three…” In a flash of pink I pull my bra out from my sleeve and hold it aloft. “Ta-daah!”
The whole room erupts in ecstatic cheers.
“She did magic!” a red-haired boy shouts.
