they think of their mothers, and that’s despite her Chloe trousers and ever-so-pointed Jimmy Choo boots.
‘I was there when Manumission first started,’ she wants to shout. ‘I used to go to Bar Italia for cappuccinos at five in the morning when you were still in nappies.’ But now she doesn’t. Now she realizes that the slightly embarrassed silences she gets when she tries to join in, tries to prove she is just like them, are just that: slightly embarrassing, and mostly for her.
Vicky has never had a problem fitting in. But now she finds that she does not have a place in the world. Or at least not the place she wants.
Chapter Five
The Highfield League of Young Ladies was established in the 1940s, at a time when all the women in Highfield were housewives and stay-at-home mums. The League gave them an excuse to dress up, get together, and all in the name of charity, for the money they raised from their various events went to local good causes.
During the eighties the League suffered somewhat. It was a time when the young wives and mothers of Highfield were too busy commuting into the city and concentrating on their careers to focus fully on charitable concerns; but the powers that be are grateful that now, in 2005, life has come full circle, as it always does, and it is once again fashionable for women to stay at home and join the League.
And join the League they do. Ask most of the committee members the reason why they are involved, and they will tell you it feels wonderful to give something back. They will say that once upon a time they had busy, important careers, and they gave them up to raise their children, but now that their children are in school, raising money for the homeless and impoverished is quite as fulfilling as their careers once were.
Where are the homeless in Highfield, Amber had wondered, at an introductory meeting when they firstmoved to Highfield, because Highfield seemed to have changed enormously from the small artists’ community it had been famous for in the twenties and thirties.
Thanks to the arrival of a couple of celebrities – who live discreetly and quietly and don’t seem to involve themselves much in what there is of a Highfield scene – Highfield has become a place to live, particularly for the aspirational widow of Wall Street, the woman whose husband is constantly working, who knows that all she needs in order to be happy is a mansion, a nanny, and a Hermès bag.
Young, successful, she is this millennium’s soccer mom, except she doesn’t sit around at soccer matches waiting for her children – she’s far too busy for that and what, after all, does she pay the nanny for? (Not to mention the nanny has her own Land Rover, cell phone, ensuite bedroom, and various perks including inheriting gorgeous, barely worn designer clothes from her walk-in luxury closet wardrobe that she never gets around to wearing.)
And nor is she, like the eponymous popular television series, a desperate housewife. There’s nothing desperate about this girl, and if she relates to anyone on Desperate Housewives it’s less the frazzled mother of four (Good Lord, why didn’t she hang on to that nanny all those episodes ago?), and more the sexy single Teri Hatcher mom, and only because she’d kill to look as good in her Seven bootleg jeans.
If she’s anything at all she’s a Charity Chick, or a Manolo Mom. A woman who refuses to be defined byher children alone, who keeps herself busy with various philanthropic and charitable concerns, who ensures she always looks her best at all times. Her mornings are filled working on herself: hairdresser, nail salon and, most importantly, gym, because although she has a fully stocked mirror-clad gym in the finished walk-out basement of her giant and brand new house, exercise just isn’t the same when it doesn’t involve chatting with your friend on the Elliptical next to you, and it’s definitely not the same when you don’t meet the girls afterwards
‘I was there when Manumission first started,’ she wants to shout. ‘I used to go to Bar Italia for cappuccinos at five in the morning when you were still in nappies.’ But now she doesn’t. Now she realizes that the slightly embarrassed silences she gets when she tries to join in, tries to prove she is just like them, are just that: slightly embarrassing, and mostly for her.
Vicky has never had a problem fitting in. But now she finds that she does not have a place in the world. Or at least not the place she wants.
Chapter Five
The Highfield League of Young Ladies was established in the 1940s, at a time when all the women in Highfield were housewives and stay-at-home mums. The League gave them an excuse to dress up, get together, and all in the name of charity, for the money they raised from their various events went to local good causes.
During the eighties the League suffered somewhat. It was a time when the young wives and mothers of Highfield were too busy commuting into the city and concentrating on their careers to focus fully on charitable concerns; but the powers that be are grateful that now, in 2005, life has come full circle, as it always does, and it is once again fashionable for women to stay at home and join the League.
And join the League they do. Ask most of the committee members the reason why they are involved, and they will tell you it feels wonderful to give something back. They will say that once upon a time they had busy, important careers, and they gave them up to raise their children, but now that their children are in school, raising money for the homeless and impoverished is quite as fulfilling as their careers once were.
Where are the homeless in Highfield, Amber had wondered, at an introductory meeting when they firstmoved to Highfield, because Highfield seemed to have changed enormously from the small artists’ community it had been famous for in the twenties and thirties.
Thanks to the arrival of a couple of celebrities – who live discreetly and quietly and don’t seem to involve themselves much in what there is of a Highfield scene – Highfield has become a place to live, particularly for the aspirational widow of Wall Street, the woman whose husband is constantly working, who knows that all she needs in order to be happy is a mansion, a nanny, and a Hermès bag.
Young, successful, she is this millennium’s soccer mom, except she doesn’t sit around at soccer matches waiting for her children – she’s far too busy for that and what, after all, does she pay the nanny for? (Not to mention the nanny has her own Land Rover, cell phone, ensuite bedroom, and various perks including inheriting gorgeous, barely worn designer clothes from her walk-in luxury closet wardrobe that she never gets around to wearing.)
And nor is she, like the eponymous popular television series, a desperate housewife. There’s nothing desperate about this girl, and if she relates to anyone on Desperate Housewives it’s less the frazzled mother of four (Good Lord, why didn’t she hang on to that nanny all those episodes ago?), and more the sexy single Teri Hatcher mom, and only because she’d kill to look as good in her Seven bootleg jeans.
If she’s anything at all she’s a Charity Chick, or a Manolo Mom. A woman who refuses to be defined byher children alone, who keeps herself busy with various philanthropic and charitable concerns, who ensures she always looks her best at all times. Her mornings are filled working on herself: hairdresser, nail salon and, most importantly, gym, because although she has a fully stocked mirror-clad gym in the finished walk-out basement of her giant and brand new house, exercise just isn’t the same when it doesn’t involve chatting with your friend on the Elliptical next to you, and it’s definitely not the same when you don’t meet the girls afterwards
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