Cupcakes and Heels: I Don't Know How She Does It Abroad

By Marianne Makdisi

Workaholic mum Julie Wainscote becomes an overnight Twitter sensation when her live TV gaffe goes viral. Fired from her job, she takes up the challenge of becoming a stay-at-home mum to her son, Jacob.

But when she realises the school run is a catwalk, the coffee mornings involve competitive catering and the class bear has been to Lapland, she has to admit the adjustment required may be beyond her. Does she have what it takes to join Dubai’s ranks of immaculately groomed school mothers?

Cupcakes & Heels is a delightfully funny short story about the dilemmas facing mothers the world over.

PRAISE FOR CUPCAKES & HEELS:
“An uplifting and candid story about one of the most difficult decisions any mother has to make. A truly funny, insightful and beautifully written slice of parenting life.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marianne Makdisi
• Release date: Aug 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463354704

Marianne Makdisi

Marianne Makdisi is the author of several much-loved books set in Dubai and also writes the popular expat blog Circles in the Sand. Prior to moving to the Middle East in 2008, Marianne lived in Minneapolis and before that, London, where she was a magazine journalist working across a range of women’s titles. Marianne and her husband are now raising two boys in the United Arab Emirates while she also attempts to hold down a job at Dubai’s Media City.

Book preview

I don’t know how she does it abroad

As excuses go, it’s a good one. Watertight. I could make a U-turn now, go straight to the office. Would anyone really notice if I didn’t turn up? I push my sunglasses higher on my nose, my gaze glued to the seven lanes of traffic travelling along at dramatically different speeds. And, anyway, who in the world meets before eight am? Other than CEOs and directors?

Mothers, of course.

As it happens, I fall into both camps.

I’ve just waved Jacob off to school on the bus and really ought to be on my way to work. Instead, I’m driving to the class coffee morning, wondering what I’m letting myself in for. Competitive catering at best, a nest of vipers at worst. It’s the first meet-up of the new school year, and I’m going because I’ve vowed I’ll be a more active parent this term (without becoming class mum – as mentioned, I have an excuse. Honestly).

Realising I’m lost and the Arabian-design, turreted villas lining the leafy street have two different numbers on them, I call Host Mum for directions. Her beautiful, enormous, zillion-dirham home is the venue for our get-together and she guides me through the rabbit warren that is the Green Community. So nice of you to grace us with your presence, she trills down the phone, straight into my inner ear, and it hits me that I’m now committed.

Once inside, she leads me to a table laden with pastries, croissants and macarons in every colour – prepared, I suspect, at the same time as jiggling her toddler, child number three, on her hip and flawlessly applying mascara. She smells like the perfume department of Harvey Nichols, a heady mix that wafts around her like a cloud.

Help yourself, she says, handing me a plate with a fancy napkin on top. From the sofa, a peel of laughter rises from the women already seated, a tinkling noise that floats over like a stream of bubbles.

The interior of her villa is astonishing. All clean lines, gleaming floor tiles and rich Persian carpets, illuminated by floor-to-ceiling windows, through which the blue of a sparkling pool is visible. Every surface that could be French-polished or topped with marble has been so, and the light-filled room we’re comfortably gathered in is crowned by an elegant, eye-watering chandelier. It’s hard not to gawp with envy. I catch sight of a gardener outside, then the family’s housemaid watering the plants, and my social conscience kicks in like a slap on the face.

As I reach for a tartlet crowned with jewel-like fruit, Host Mum whips off a silver, dome-shaped food cover to reveal a perfect Victoria Sponge cake.

The meet-the-mums coffee morning is never as easy as just nattering with all the mum friends you already know, because the classes are mixed up each year. Plus September sees numerous new arrivals to Dubai.

Scanning the room, I spot someone I recognise. Swiss Mum, who always looks effortlessly chic in designer clothes. She raises her hand and waggles her fingers, her bobbed hair softly framing her sun-kissed face.

I wave hello back, but it’s too late to make chit-chat.