Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?: An absolutely laugh-out-loud and feel-good page-turner

by Kristen Bailey

  ‘This is great coffee,’ I say, trying to change the subject, reaching for my toast. ‘Thank you for letting me stay.’

  ‘To be fair I liked Joe’s company. Saved me from sitting here on my own like a loser.’

  ‘You could have gone out with Lucy.’

  ‘To a trance night in Hoxton? I don’t think so.’

  She looks over at my face and studies my fatigue in the same way that Meg did the other day.

  ‘But seriously, are you really OK, B? After you were here the other day, it got me thinking. I know what motherhood is like. It’s totally displacing. You know I’m here if you need me, yes?’

  I smile and nod. Displacing isn’t even the word. Beth Callaghan is gone. She’s a mother now. I used to have a name, be an actual person but I don’t even know who she is anymore. I keep my thoughts to myself. Emma never appeared like this as a mother to me. She was completely zen and it felt like motherhood fit. It was a crown that never slipped, that never sat too tight. My crown is bloody huge, and heavy. And I can’t see anything as it covers my eyes.

  ‘You know what would make me happy?’ I say.

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Can I have a shower? A long one. And wash my hair and dry it properly. And maybe have another micro nap on your stupidly comfortable sofa.’

  I’m skirting around the issue. It’s very me but I don’t want to conduct a comparative life exercise here with my sister. I love her completely but I am under no doubt she is a much better mother than me and that doesn’t make me feel too great. She wants me to pour this all out to her but now’s not the time. I need much more white toast and sugar in my system for that to happen.

  ‘Deal. I washed your dress. I’ll make sure it’s dry and bring it up to you,’ she replied.

  ‘Of course you did.’

  My phone ringing breaks up the conversation and I lean over to answer it. It’s Peter, Will’s brother.

  ‘Peter? Hey.’

  ‘Thank God. Are you OK, Beth?’

  ‘Yes? Why do you ask?’ I’m a bit alarmed by the tension in his voice.

  ‘Because I literally opened my front door this morning and found Will sleeping on my porch?’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Drunk as a fricking skunk too. It’s a wonder Kat let me bring him into the house. She thought it was a homeless man. Have you two had a fight?’

  ‘No, we went out and I left early because of Joe. Is he OK?’

  He comes off the line to speak to someone in the background.

  ‘He’s safe. I think you had the house keys and then he realised you weren’t there and— When are you going to grow up?’ I can hear Peter and Will having a brief exchange of the sorts of insults you can only share with siblings. ‘I am going to drive him back to yours now. Can he meet you there?’

  ‘Sure, give me half an hour?’

  I hang up and Emma eyeballs me from her armchair.

  ‘He could have brought him here?’ she says.

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘I’m just saying, at least let your son finish his meal. And I am going to put on some more toast.’

  ‘But I said half—’

  ‘There will be traffic. They can wait.’

  We hear a sudden clatter of running down the stairs like a wounded wildebeest. Lucy appears in just her knickers and a vest, blonde hair bundled into a bun.

  ‘I thought you might still be here,’ she says, clutching her phone.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I ask.

  ‘The rapper. You said Joe did some album cover thing for a rapper. Is this her? Because that’s Joe. That’s definitely Joe.’

  She turns her phone towards me and sure enough, it’s the album cover Joe posed for.

  ‘“Best debut British rap album I’ve heard in years” says Jay Z,’ Lucy quotes.

  ‘Who?’ Emma asks. We ignore her as Lucy comes to sit next to me and we read the article together. Special K is duetting with Stormzy, has festivals lined up and she’s the new face of Missoni. And in all her pictures, there’s Joe just sitting there keeping it casual. Lucy and I stare down at him happily suckling away on my breast. He looks up at us. I’m just having my breakfast, ladies. Nothing to see here.

  By the time we get back to our flat, it’s been almost an hour and I find Will sitting in the communal corridor having a cup of tea with Paddy. He looks relieved to see me but the fatigue and hangover sit heavy in his face. Hardly surprising given he slept like a stray dog outside his brother’s house. He takes Joe and pulls faces at him while I dig around for my keys.

  ‘Look at you in a dress,’ says Paddy.

  I twirl for him. ‘I let the legs out once a year, it’s a blink and you’ll miss it kind of event,’ I say jokingly. He takes Will’s mug and winks at me.

  ‘Did you lock him out again?’ he says.

  ‘I think we’re just ill-rehearsed at this going out lark,’ Will replies.

  ‘Well, a relaxed Sunday is what you both need. Give us a shout if you need anything.’

  I nod and we both struggle getting the car seat through the front door. Inside, the air is flat and stagnant. There’s none of Emma’s fresh linen smell. The sofa is lined with a pile of dry but unpressed baby clothes and remnants of me getting ready for a night out: hairbrush, make-up and random coins and crap that didn’t make it into my handbag. I put Joe down on the floor as Will embraces me from behind.

  ‘God, I am so sorry. I’m such an idiot.’

  I pat his hand. Joe looks up at us curiously. Who are you two people? What happened to you? You look like a scarecrow. I pick at some bits of grass from Will’s hair.

  ‘I should have waited,’ I say.

  ‘I should have left,’ he replies.

  He parts our embrace to smile at me and then sorts through a plastic bag in his hands. ‘I asked Pete to drop me on the high street. I wandered around the supermarket like a tramp just putting random things you like in a basket to say sorry.’

  He pulls out an assortment of things: an actual lemon, a Kinder Egg, a Twix, a family-sized trifle, a trashy magazine, a bottle of fizzy water and half a baguette that he’s already had a munch on. I smile at his desperate attempts to make peace when in truth, I’m not angry. I just think it was an ill-planned evening that neither of us were feeling. Will escapes into the kitchen to switch on the kettle.

  ‘Kat hates me because I threw up on the pavement near their house. She made me clean it with a bucket,’ he tells me.

  ‘Yikes. What time did you get there?’

  ‘Four? I just remembered you had the keys and I didn’t want to go to Emma’s, and Pete’s house was closer but then I didn’t want to wake him.’

  ‘A drunk’s logic then. How was it after I left? How was Sam?’

  Will’s voice weaves in from the kitchen.

  ‘A nightmare. We got through so much drink. Philip was trying to get in her pants but I think she left with that other bloke, Jacques. And it turns out Terry and Giselle are stuck-up twats.’

  I want to say I could have told him that. But I hope he did what he needed to help with his work situation and blow off the cobwebs.

  ‘What about Kiki and Shu, they seemed nice?’

  He doesn’t reply as I collapse on to the sofa.

  ‘Also, Philip lost a whole load of pills in the bar,’ he says. ‘He went mental which confirmed to me that he didn’t give me a paracetamol in the pub.’

  ‘I may have had something to do with that…’ I shout out towards the kitchen.

  Will’s head appears at the doorway and he eyes me suspiciously. ‘You dark horse.’

  ‘I’m an expert drug smuggler it would seem. The pills are in a bin in Islington. I also gave that weed to Lucy as an early Christmas present.’

  There is the familiar clink of teaspoons against mugs and the clatter of them landing in the bottom of the sink as he returns to sit next to me. I halve the Twix and give him one of the fingers. I bite into one and crumbs line my cleavage and dress. I am a messy eater; it m
eans when we give Joe solids, he’ll have an ally. Will wipes a slug-like trail of caramel from the side of my mouth, and looks me in the eye, almost like he wants to tell me something.

  ‘This… The whole night, all I thought was, I just want to be on our sofa with you,’ he says.

  It’s a romantic declaration. I’d rather it was Emma’s sofa but it does feel nice to be back in our nest, somewhere that’s familiar and not vibrating with noise and energy. We were out in the world like two scared kittens; it was possibly too much, too soon. I go to unstrap Joe from his car seat and bring him into the huddle. My head finds Will’s chest and we lie there for a moment, taking it all in. Joe still looks very confused, like he’s waiting for a party to start. Will circles a finger in his palm and he grasps it tightly.

  ‘Funny story. Do you remember those photos Joe took outside the pub with that rapper girl? I think they’ve become a thing?’

  I get out my phone to show him. He laughs and studies the pictures in detail. I also notice Lucy has copied them and tagged them into her Instagram stories and my inbox seems to be pinging. Will cups Joe’s face.

  ‘Well, something fun to tell him when he’s older I guess.’

  I scroll through the messages on my phone, one of them from Giles, the creative director.

  ‘Wow. Giles has asked if we want to be in a music video too.’

  ‘You want to be in a music video, Joe?’ Will jokes.

  Is he asking Joe? I don’t think our son would mind as long as the milk kept coming.

  ‘We could be on MTV. Is that still a thing?’ I mutter. My attention is drawn to the details in the message. ‘It’s next week and not too far from here. We could take the train.’ But when I turn back, Will is looking down at his own phone, worried.

  ‘Problems?’ I ask.

  ‘Work. Sam loves this. She got us all drunk last night and now she’s sending us stuff to do on Sunday, making us feel guilty if we don’t pitch in. I’ll need to fire up the laptop.’

  He cradles his head in his hands.

  ‘Maybe have a power nap, a coffee?’

  ‘I’m sorry about this, B.’

  I glance over at her emails. She likes her FULL CAPS and the tone is slightly blunt and unappreciative. I don’t say a word, but in my mind, that’s the workings of a pretty shitty boss. Will mutters under his breath about deadlines and drawings. He paces the room going through his satchel, Joe’s eyes following him as the stress radiates from his face. He disappears into our bedroom to take a call.

  I look down at Joe. ‘Is it time for a nap yet?’ I ask him.

  Joe giggles back at me. Errr, it’s mid-morning, lady. I got baby things to do. We’ve got videos to be in and I have nappies to get through.

  It’s going to be one of those lost days, isn’t it? Tired and sleepy and running chores like laundry and washing any traces of weed off my tits. It may involve hamburgers later. It will certainly involve being Will’s tea bitch. I hear him discussing architecty things through the door. My eyelids feel heavy and my head drops but then a gurgling noise wakes me up, bright bear eyes gazing at my sorry face.

  Just you and me then, milk lady.

  I guess it is.

  Track Eight

  ‘You Got the Style’ – Athlete (2002)

  Are you there? Is it posh? texts Lucy.

  Uber posh. There was a receptionist with eighties shoulder pads and there’s a lot of glass. I keep walking into it.

  LOL. You idiot. How’s Joe? Is he nervous? Did you put him in red? He looks good in red.

  I put him in head-to-toe black as I was told that’s slimming.

  You did?

  I didn’t.

  I want pictures later. I’m telling everyone.

  I smile and put my phone away. I’m in a warehouse studio after replying to the messages from Giles about the music video. Am I little worried about entering into something superficial and self-important? Yes. But am I desperate for company and entertainment beyond the confines of my flat? Also, yes. There’s also payment involved and I thought it might be a way to earn some pocket money.

  I wish Will was here. He’d love the stylings of this place, the white and exposed concrete floor. He’d raid the table of free refreshments and take extra condiments to put in his pockets because he thinks they are useful but they always end up in the door of the fridge or the glove compartment to be forgotten.

  Joe’s not the only baby here today. Special K will be surrounded by babies and children for a few shots of the video so we wait to be called in. I look across at the rows of parents and children. They are all different, all beautiful in their own way, but I am transfixed by a few whom I’m not too convinced by. There’s a baby opposite that might be wearing make-up. There’s a bit of blusher and I think they’ve done something to her lashes. Lordy. Who puts make-up on a baby? There’s another one in a hair band, in a desperate move by the mother to prove it’s a girl, I guess. There’s also a baby in braces, trousers and the tiniest of flat caps. Hipster baby. I have no idea what they’re asking for here. Was I supposed to tart Joe up? He looks up at me. I’ve put him in dungarees that were a gift and ran a comb through his hair. Do you moisturise babies? I haven’t really felt the need; he has really good skin, the sort of soft child skin I envy as it’s the very opposite to my greasy, hormonal breakout face. Joe looks up at me and grabs onto my thumb. This is new, eh? I am also wearing more than just leggings and trainers. I’m in that maxi wrap dress again to get as many wears out of it as possible and I like that I haven’t had to shave my legs. I may just wear this forever.

  Hearing a bassline pound through the walls, one baby looks at it strangely like Godzilla might be gatecrashing this event. I look down at Joe. I hope you’re OK in all of this. Have fun. Smile plenty. I’m not sure to what extent he takes instructions.

  ‘Is this seat taken? May I?’ The voice comes from a gentleman next to me carrying a little baby girl.

  I clear my bags and coat to the floor. ‘Sure thing. Hi.’

  He’s classically handsome like Jude Law in his prime, and his hair is extraordinary. It makes me smile awkwardly; I may also blush. I’m too used to only seeing my sisters, Paddy and characters on the television to know how to interact with new people. His daughter is in a car seat and has bundles of blonde corkscrew curls. She scrunches up her face sweetly, smiling at me. I smile back.

  ‘I’m Harry. This is Delilah.’

  Crap, he’s speaking to me. I need to reply.

  ‘Beth and Joe.’ I bend down and shake Delilah’s hand. ‘That’s awesome hair, young lady.’

  She giggles.

  ‘Nothing to do with me, all my wife. He’s also a handsome little sod, eh?’

  I want to reply, So are you. I don’t.

  ‘He has his moments. He has good light today.’

  He smiles and studies my face. Don’t look at the light on my face, it’s not so great.

  ‘You’re the baby. The album cover one?’ He talks to Joe, though I’m pretty sure he won’t answer.

  ‘I guess?’ People in the room turn to listen.

  ‘That was a huge gig. Who’s your agent?’

  ‘We don’t have one.’

  ‘So a street cast, interesting. He has awesome eyebrows.’

  Joe smiles. I know, mate, I grew them myself.

  Harry studies both of us for a moment, his gaze quite intense. He’s doing that thing where he’s checking if we match. But before he has time to scrutinise us further, a door opens and Giles stands there with a clipboard.

  ‘It’s the pub baby. Yay! I’m glad you’re here. I need you all to sit tight. We just need Joe for this first bit.’

  A woman opposite me rolls her eyes. I can’t tell if it’s because she has to wait or whether it’s because I took Joe to the pub. I bet you drank through these early months so don’t judge me.

  ‘Come through when you’re ready.’

  I scurry about trying to stuff jackets and muslins into bags.

  As I he
ad through the door, Giles’ enthusiasm shines through. ‘Hello. I’m so glad you agreed to do more of this. That is a really good dress on you by the way. I like the colours.’

  The compliment is sincere and lifting and I smile back. It’s super comfy too and has pockets, but he doesn’t need to know that. I turn the corner to a huge empty set lined with lights, white walls and lines of dancers in unitards and heels rehearsing some pretty complex balletic moves.

  ‘We didn’t warm up,’ I whisper to Giles, who luckily finds that especially funny. My senses are overwhelmed by all the activity, but Joe seems to take it all in his stride. I’ll credit that to manic days sitting around Emma’s kitchen.

  Special K sees us and runs over, excited. I still have a soft spot for this girl’s energy and excitement. I’ve also heard some of her lyrics and they seem to be more focused on her experience as a youth, her struggles, as opposed to being about sex and sex and more sex. Today, the theme still focuses on shredded denim – but I will admit to coveting her yellow Nike Blazers and voluminous hair. As soon as she sees Joe, she puts her arms out to carry him.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re here. Hello, Mummy. Hello, little man.’

  I hand him over and watch as she engages with him. I like the lack of divaness, the grace of her manners, which I’m under no illusion makes me sound ancient.

  ‘He is so beautiful. I am glad we tracked you down again.’ I follow as she walks over to hair and make-up and sits down, balancing Joe in her lap.

  ‘It’s our pleasure. And congratulations, things have gone a bit mad for you, eh?’

  She widens her eyes like that might be a complete understatement but smiles broadly too. A wardrobe person comes over and presents her with a different top; it’s shiny and revealing and she looks at it briefly and shakes her head.

  ‘Talk to Giles. I don’t want my breasts spilling out as part of this video. He knows this.’