Here, it isn’t a battle of who has the Rolls-Royce of strollers … these children actually roll in Rolls-Royces!
When Sophie Bennett moves from a quiet, sleepy suburb of Toronto to glitzy west London, she doesn’t know where she has landed: Venus or Mars. Her three-year-old daughter Kaya attends Cherry Blossoms, the most exclusive nursery in London, where Sophie finds herself adrift in a sea of Alpha mums. These mothers are glamorous, gorgeous, competitive and super rich, especially Kelly, the blonde, beautiful and bitchy class rep.
Struggling to fit in and feeling increasingly isolated, Sophie starts The Beta Mum, an anonymous blog describing her struggles with the Alpha mums. But when her blog goes viral, she risks ruining everything for herself and her daughter. How long will it be until they discover her true identity? Is her marriage strong enough to survive one of her follower’s advances? And will she ever fit in with the Alpha mums?
The Beta Mum, Adventures In Alpha Land ~ Excerpt
A huge life-sized, plush, golden giraffe with scattered spots stared at me giving me the eye, as if to say ‘I know who you are, Sophie Bennett, you’re not one of them. You’re one of us. You’re an onlooker.’ The winding staircase of Serafina’s member’s club had led me down into Serafina’s nightclub where I had found myself face to face with the giant giraffe.
I had read up on (googled) Serafina’s before coming; it was an exclusive member’s club costing £3,000 a year for a membership and had welcomed everyone from Tom Cruise to Prince William through its doors with three bar areas, two restaurants, one nightclub and 16 hotel rooms. The restaurant had poached a chef from Nobu and served fusion- food classics including tuna tartare, lobster tempura and black miso cod. The bar areas channelled the Dolce Vita vibe, with white- uniformed barmen, serving Martinis to show off their mixology skills and drinks made with ‘absinthe.’
The nightclub had an upscale, louche, bordello-like feel to it, in keeping with its location, the old respectable (or rather unrespectable) red light district in Mayfair. It was dark and windowless, with its burgundy walls draped with red velvet curtains. On my left stood a glittering bar where late twenty-somethings with youthful aspirations were dressed to impress and stood drinking champagne and colourful cocktails adorned with edible flowers. On my right, I saw some familiar faces from the nursery pick-ups and drop- offs heading towards the direction of a private room.
I squeezed Michael’s hand as we walked in their direction. My heart pounded just a bit faster than I wanted it to and my social anxiety increased with every step I made towards the private room. I wanted to be anywhere but here, ideally sitting in front of our TV with my Roots sweatshirt/sweatpants combo or in front of my laptop, hiding behind a screen rather than exposing my vulnerabilities to the Alphas. This was not the usual parents evening in the school gym with soft-drinks-and-pizza-slices.
‘Champagne?’ said a waitress in a black and white, fitted, cleavage- – enhancing dress as we entered the room and found a spot near the door. Another woman similarly dressed waved a tray across us. ‘Fig and goat’s cheese tartlet with manuka honey or foie gras with grape and mango chutney on sourdough bread?’ she offered.
We both grabbed a flute of champagne each and I sipped the golden liquid, calming my nerves as I scanned the room. The women looked ready for a ‘Hot-Or-Not’ Oscars fashion-off; there were feathers, leather, lace and petticoats. The men stood dominantly in their suits, clearly not from Topman. Finding my perfect dress -– the A-line black dress that hid my extras – muffin tops, bingo wings and post-baby-belly -– had been exhausting but worthwhile. I still felt out of place, but the champagne and the dress were enough to give me a confidence boost to face the party.
Thank you to Isabella Davidson for being on the blog today and HAPPY publication day!
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