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

by Kristen Bailey

  ‘Yes, sorry. We just needed a quiet corner to feed the baby. We’ll be there in a minute.’

  ‘I think you owe my girlfriend an apology,’ Will blurts out. I look at him curiously and shake my head.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I reply.

  ‘It wasn’t. That was rude. She’s a person, with feelings.’

  The assistant who was sent to find me can hardly look at me and mumbles some half-audible apology before scuttling through the door. I bow my head, mortified. Yasmin and Harry continue to glare at us.

  ‘Who are you?’ Yasmin asks Will, casually.

  ‘This is Will Cooper, he’s my boyfriend. Joe’s dad,’ I reply.

  ‘Oh…’ she says, almost disappointed for one of us. There’s a pregnant silence, like some sort of stand-off where she obviously thought we were spying, and we know that both of them have got up to no good.

  ‘Will, I went to school with Yasmin. We were in the same year.’

  ‘I thought I was in the same year as the other one? Emily?’

  ‘Emma?’

  ‘Yeah, that one.’

  ‘No, still me. We sat together in English?’

  ‘Oh, you.’ Again, this disappoints her. Will can’t quite work her out and Harry looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. He gestures to Yasmin that they should go, leaving Will and I alone. She eyeballs me as she escapes back into the studio.

  ‘Wow, she’s got the charisma of a boiled potato.’

  I, however, don’t respond. I cling to Joe, who looks at me strangely. Can we finish feeding now? I wasn’t quite done.

  ‘You didn’t have to do that…’ I mutter.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘When that girl said I was chubby. You should have just left it.’

  Will looks at me sadly, like I am telling him off for defending my honour.

  ‘She shouldn’t talk like that. Now she knows to think before she opens her mouth.’

  ‘Or I can just ignore crap like that. Be me. Not kowtow to people’s idiocy? You drew attention to it. You made it a thing. I already know I look different.’

  ‘Beth, you look fine…’

  It’s a compliment but it’s not. I know my body has and is still doing amazing things but it has changed, as has my perception of it. It’s a reality that’s slowly dawning on me, that I’m learning to accept. But for every day I look at a stretch mark and see it as a mark of growth and womanhood, when I spend a day in a room with a group of dancers in unitards, staring at some gazelle-like creature I used to go to school with, I just feel like the dumpy bloater in the corner. Sometimes, I’ll strut around my kitchen and shake what my mother gave me to something on the radio. But sometimes, someone says something, or looks right through you, and it’s like a barb to the side. It’s a dichotomy of emotions Will doesn’t seem to quite understand.

  ‘You’re such a lemon,’ he tells me.

  ‘Is that your way of telling me you love me?’

  ‘I’d rather shag you than her. Just thought I’d add that in. No one snogs that loud unless they’re a dolphin.’

  ‘You’ve seen dolphins have sex?’

  ‘No, but she was slurping away at him like a bowl of ramen. I bet that’s how dolphins snog.’

  I smile broadly. He looks me in the eye and kisses me on the forehead again, like it may take away any bad feelings that are whirring around in there.

  ‘You’ve got me thinking of ramen now,’ I say, dreaming of tea-stained eggs and char siu.

  ‘I know a place. We could get gyoza.’

  ‘I swear you just said gyoza and I felt something deep inside of me.’

  He raises an eyebrow.

  ‘You said you needed to say something to me before?’

  His expression suddenly drops, and he looks at me almost blankly.

  ‘It was nothing.’ His phone starts to ring in his pocket and he goes to answer it, turning his back to me for a moment. ‘I’m halfway home, why? What do you mean those documents didn’t go through? Well, I can’t send them from here. They’re on my hard drive. OK… OK… I’ll head back. I’m so sorry, I really am.’

  Sensing trouble, I step back, dreams of crispy pan-fried dumplings diminishing. Will hangs up and looks back at me, a pained expression on his face. He slaps his hand against a wall in rage and I step back from him.

  ‘I hate this. She’s angry like it’s my fault but I told her to check the files before sending it.’ His voice is raised and pained.

  ‘Sam? Then why doesn’t she do it?’ I say.

  ‘Because I’m new. I’ve got to make a good impression and get that promotion. I’ve been in that office since eight this morning. I can’t believe she’s doing this.’ He carries the frustration, the anger in his tired eyes.

  ‘You should tell her that, you should communicate this to her.’

  ‘Or not. It’d be like poking the beehive. Look, I’m sorry.’

  We’re both silent as we process what this means. At best, a supermarket sandwich for me. Maybe Joe and I could go with him to keep him company? We have time, we could see where he works? I want to help and take away that stress. But I see his fingers scan for an Uber.

  ‘I guess I’ll see you at home,’ he says.

  And something strikes through my chest. I don’t know what that feeling is. It might be my heart, a sharp feeling of sadness, or most likely my never-ending hunger. Will strolls ahead in front of me and I look down at Joe, gazing back up at my confused face. I know, mate. Ramen-flavoured milk would have been frigging awesome.

  Track Ten

  ‘Slight Return’ – The Bluetones (1995)

  ‘OhMyGodMissCallaghanYouHadABABY!’

  It’s a Friday down at Griffin Road Comprehensive and I’m surrounded by a group of my Year Nine form girls who crowd around Joe. He looks up wondering how and why it’s possible to have that much eyeliner and stretchy skirt fabric in one place. I was worried this was the wrong decision. Sometimes you like your students to think you’re untouchable, that you live in this very school and you are simply here to teach, guide and be a provider of information. Even though I’m not that cool teacher who’s going to teach them poetry through the power of rap, I always like them to think of me as human, as one of them, so they won’t turn me into a meme (this happens a lot to Mr Willett in physics).

  Griffin Road only allow teacher parents to come back in with their babies on a Friday so it doesn’t make the children too excitable. Room C2 was my old form room. It also homes modern languages, so it’s always felt like a very small version of the UN with all the flags, photos and declarations of OÙ EST LA BIBLIOTHEQUE? plastered across the walls.

  ‘He’s very cute, Miss C,’ a student called Kelly informs me. I’m fond of Kelly in that I know she has a plan – you can tell from the way her pencil case is labelled with her name. She’s a teacher’s dream, even though sometimes you want her to go up to the line, have a look over it. Experiment with your hair, Kel. Read a book that makes you question the system. That makes me think of Special K for some reason and I realise I may have an ace card in my pack here.

  ‘Actually, he’s a little bit famous, old Joe.’

  They all look at me curiously while I get my phone out and show them the album cover.

  ‘No way, Miss – that’s your baby? That’s unreal! That’s totally lit.’

  I think lit is good. All the boys who had been congregating at the back of the classroom come and have a peek, except the ones who really are too cool for school.

  ‘And do you know her? Have you met her?’

  ‘Yes, at shoots at stuff. Joe’s in her new video too. She’s really nice.’

  It feels strange to brag but with kids of this age, I need all the help I can get in persuading them that teachers aren’t the enemy. They all crowd around and congratulate Joe for being so much cooler than his own mother.

  ‘Is Joe short for anything?’ asks Becca with the braces (excellent at long jump; slightly obsessed with Bieber).

  ‘Jus
t Joe.’

  ‘Like Jonas?’

  Not what Will and I had in mind but yes. Joe smiles and the students coo and entertain him further. I feel I need to have a proper conversation with these girls about motherhood though. Yes, babies are cute but please wait until you’re old and mature enough to consider this life choice. This, however, does make me sound a tad hypocritical. I leave them be and I make my way over to the lads at the back of the classroom; both are in white socks, black trousers that are way too short, and non-regulation shoes.

  ‘Harvey, Aaron – how are things?’

  Aaron leans back on his chair and shrugs, which is standard.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Miss,’ Harvey replies. Harvey’s a more interesting kid to me. Beneath the hard man exterior he exudes with Aaron, there’s a sensitivity there, a desire to work hard and do more with his life. These are the pupils that become a mission because you just want to steer them in the right direction.

  ‘You coming back?’ he asks.

  ‘After Christmas.’

  ‘Nice one.’

  ‘Did you go for art in the end with your options?’

  ‘I did, Miss. That and graphics.’

  I nod. It was the one time he’d ever spoken to me in this classroom bar from telling me he was present each morning. He thought it’d be all ‘painting and stuff’ and I explained differently. He may have even smiled at me. Those were the tiny moments that kept me in teaching, the ones where I thought I was being useful. Do I miss it? I think I do. I miss a job where I feel proactive and the kids actually speak back to me.

  I try to imagine Joe in this scenario and it feels so far away, part of some distant future where I’m middle aged and have taken to gardening and sensible loafers. Is he going to be a chair loller at the back? The gobby one who we suspect deals drugs out of his rucksack? The sports star all the girls fawn over? The organised school council member? Who’s the Yasmin King here? None of these lot, I hope. She’ll make an appearance no doubt and I hope they all are wiser to her game.

  I always laugh as these characters never change, not even from when I was at school. I was Tamara, who stands away from Joe but observes from the back of the group. She has in-between hair that she’s not sure whether she wants to grow out or keep short and a fringe which she may trim herself with kitchen scissors. She excels in some but not all subjects, her tights are bobbly but she always has gum. That was me. She sees me looking at her and smiles. I like seeing myself in all these kids. I also like how every day in this job is different. How you’d walk into the form room one day and there’d be two girls scrapping in the corner over Leon with the good hair; or the next day, they’d all be gathered over someone’s phone watching something ridiculously unfunny involving a famous TikTok star whose name is a series of initials.

  ‘Did it hurt, Miss? When the baby comes out? My cousin had a baby and she said she like had two epidurals and the second one meant she couldn’t feel her bits for days and she like wet herself like all the time.’

  And just like that, when I was going to launch into a speech about the beauty of childbirth and my experiences, Leena does that for me. We applaud how Leena wears a sensible coat to school but she needs to take breaths in between sentences.

  ‘Well, it hurt. That bit is true.’

  ‘Like a really bad toothache?’

  Yes, but in your vagina? It’s not a pain I dare to bring to mind and not one I need to share. I want them to see me as human but not to have intimate knowledge of my undercarriage.

  ‘Is it true you can grow teeth down there?’ she continues.

  ‘I think that was just a horror film, no?’ I reply.

  ‘Nope, it can happen.’

  ‘Something to ask Mr Fields in the science department, maybe?’

  She nods enthusiastically. How can I ask her to film that conversation?

  Joe grabs on to one of the onlookers’ fingers and there’s a collective coo.

  ‘We always thought you weren’t married?’ asks Imogen. Imogen is a sweet girl but we have to tell her off far too much about the length of her skirt. It’s a glorified belt. A handbag is also not a school bag.

  ‘I have a boyfriend. His name is Will.’

  ‘Really?’ she replies. I’m not sure whether to act offended that she thinks it’s not possible.

  ‘But the Year Elevens said they always see you down the pub with Mr McGill from geography.’

  I laugh. ‘Sean? I mean, Mr McGill?’ They all laugh. I think they like finding out that we have actual first names too.

  ‘We have juice on our lunch breaks, I’ll just clear that up.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever, Miss,’ Imogen replies, cackling.

  ‘Sean is just a mate.’

  A voice pipes up from behind us.

  ‘I didn’t realise you knew him?’ asks Connie Wharton, the PE teacher covering my class.

  ‘We did teacher training together.’ His mum still irons his underwear.

  Connie nods and looks over at the baby. As with the majority of PE teachers, she is lithe and eighty per cent Lycra. You’d imagine she’d be the sort with a very neat baby bump and who snaps back into shape when the baby leaves her body. I don’t know her all too well but I know she is big on hydration and reusable cups.

  ‘And the bell will be going soon so let’s say our goodbyes to Miss Callaghan and, boys, I need this room back how we found it. Chairs and tables, please.’

  She claps her hands which is something I would never do and I collect our belongings. I feel I need to say something but I won’t. I’ll be back. I’ll teach some of you. I’ll see some of you in the corridors. Stay awesome and make good choices. Don’t do drugs. But I don’t. I wait for the bell to ring and see them all file out of the classroom with smiles and waves. I follow them as far as the stairwell to the staff room.

  ‘CALLAGHAN!’

  I hear the voice boom from behind me. Sean, you idiot. He comes up to hug me from behind which is probably what fuelled the rumour that this baby is his. I remember these hugs. This is what got us through our degrees, break-ups and awful teaching placements. This and alcohol. He still smells of Lynx Africa and whatever floral fabric softener his mum uses.

  ‘What are you like?’ I say. I turn and he looks exactly how I left him, without a tie and the same dodgy haircut he’s had since he was eighteen.

  ‘You’ve brought the rugrat in?’ He gives him a glance and waves.

  ‘Yup, the grand showing and then a chat with Alicia about after Christmas.’

  He studies my face and looks over at what I’m wearing. I went very neutral with leggings and a shift dress but I can tell he’s scanning the extra baggage I’m also carrying.

  ‘They gave me a Year Seven group for form,’ he says. ‘Two months in, still looking completely petrified. I have one with a camping rucksack.’

  ‘Like with a tent?’

  ‘I should check.’

  I laugh. He leads me through to the staff room where people buzz around trying to get to their first lessons. The place hasn’t changed much. A mural of a Michelle Obama quote still sits centre stage across the back wall. Jack Lindsay still has a pile of paperwork that blocks out the light in one corner of the room and no one is washing the mugs and wiping down the sink despite the best laminated signs printed out by Betty in the office that come with giant smiley faces.

  ‘I have a free period. Wanna cup of Maxwell House’s finest?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  He heads over to the kitchenette while I set up base for us. Tony Kirby gives me a wave. He’s the sort who’s been a teacher since the dawn of creation. There is tweed in his wardrobe, pain in his eyes and possibly brandy in his flask. Jane Kelsted, now also with child and carrying her pregnancy far better than I ever did, comes over to coo.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re a mum!’ Ditto, Jane. ‘I have to run; come back because I want cuddles.’ I put a thumbs up at her. Joe looks less amused. Is it one of those days where I’m going to be passed a
round like a doobie? They get their baby hit and pass me on to the next person?

  Pretty much, kid.

  ‘Someone has brought in shortbread,’ Sean says animatedly, appearing behind us. The joys of staff-room living.

  ‘Result,’ I say, grabbing a few biscuits. ‘So? I haven’t seen you in a bloody age. How are you?’ I tell him.

  ‘Surviving. This place is shit without you,’ he mutters in hushed tones.

  ‘Stating the bleeding obvious really.’

  He takes a big sip of his coffee and watches as I get Joe out of his car seat and sit him on my lap. Joe takes a moment to look around. We really go to the least interesting places in the world, Mum, eh? Who is this now? He’s not my father. But that’s a nice crew neck jumper that looks like it may have merino wool in it. I might throw up on that later. Sean studies Joe’s face like he’s thinking about an answer to a really hard question.

  ‘Did you want to…’ I say, handing him over.

  Sean acts like his mug is weighing him down. ‘Oh no, I’ll just look at him. Hello, mate.’

  I examine Sean closely. ‘Have you been around many babies?’

  ‘That would be a no. He’s alright, eh?’

  ‘He’s OK.’

  Joe looks unimpressed that we’re not speaking about him in superlatives.

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve got a baby.’ He studies me, almost with disbelief. ‘That’s so bloody grown up.’

  ‘We were always grown up, no? We commandeer all these children on the basis of our maturity?’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ he says, laughing.

  ‘Is that why I haven’t heard from you in a bit?’

  He smiles but looks slightly ashamed which wasn’t my intention.