‘I miss you, too. Can we just hang out tonight? Until my reception decides it’s going to give up? I could keep you company?’
And for a brief moment, my heart glows. That could be the acid from having eaten three pieces of pizza in quick succession, but I prop the phone up next to me to let her watch the telly. This is birthday goals. She holds up a bottle of beer to the screen to toast me and sits back in a striped folding chair, faded and worn.
‘Is this show basically a modern-day Gladiators?’ she asks. ‘At least back then there were fit blokes to look at in leotards…’
‘Exactly.’ We watch someone fall in after slipping off a Tarzan rope. ‘Amateur. I would have made that,’ I say.
Grace giggles. That sound is everything. And we sit here not saying a word to each other, me with my pineapple pizza, watching the glow and excitement on the TV, listening to the waves lap onto some foreign distant shore.
Track Fifteen
‘Figure It Out’ – Royal Blood (2014)
Joe is sitting on a changing table before me, dressed like a banana. He’s a sodding cute banana but even my amicable and lovely baby can sense that he looks like a fool and this is being done for the amusement of others and to the detriment of his baby street cred. I usually only do high-end music video work now, Mum. I’m on iTunes. He was even sewn into the outfit to make it fit. There’s a tailor here who seems to deal in bulldog clips and safety pins. Breathe in, I told Joe. The tailor didn’t smile. I put a hand to Joe’s cheek, apologising to this son of mine. But we like bananas. They’re great, they have their own packaging. And yellow is a brilliant colour on him too. If he did one of his giant poos in this, I don’t think we’d be able to tell so it’s basically like camo.
Today, we’re in a South London studio for our first yoghurt ad with Yasmin. And because according to Grace’s advice, I needed to get out and do something that isn’t worrying about Will. Have I seen Will in the last fortnight? No. A couple of days at his brother’s turned into ten days. Not that I feel days anymore. We’ve spoken by text. He’s not so callous as to not want to know about his son, so I send him pictures but when I ask him how he is, he shuts off and the conversation ends and I sit there wondering what I’ve done wrong. Then I get angry, sad, and stalk everyone he knows on social media, unable to stop thinking about that bloody kiss. I’ve had daily teas with Paddy to keep me sane, and Lucy came round one evening with a bucket of fried chicken. In fact, all the sisters have checked in regularly. Mum as well, but we agreed not to tell Dad. Dad wouldn’t have got angry, but he’d have worried. At the heart of it, I don’t want to worry people. So instead of staring at the same four walls, contemplating my life, I’m here with yoghurts. These yoghurts are all fruit apparently, organic and yummy because kids are what they eat, hence the banana costume which is a nice idea but if I was three years old and I saw this ad of all these kids morphing into giant pieces of fruit, I’d probably give them a miss. We got here early today because Joe has been up since 5 a.m. I woke up and turned to the empty space in the bed next to me, muttering, You should get up, jump in the shower. Then I realised I was speaking to nothing.
The studio is heavy industrial chic: lots of exposed brick, steel girders and massive glazed walls. We’re a chiffon curtain away from an eighties music video. As soon as Giles see us, he scuttles over and hugs me. It’s a good hug. Good grasp, little pat on the back. He bends down to grab Joe’s finger and perform some type of celebratory jig for him. Joe giggles, his eyes growing and sparkling.
‘Good morning! How are we today? So the yoghurt people love you. And when I say love…’
He shows me photos of Joe but the images seem to be scattered with other pictures of babies whose faces are crossed out. Slightly cruel but I do smile to see Joe’s face. He seems very excited about life.
‘So the costume looks bloody fab, we’ll do some initial shots. We’re waiting on Yasmin but help yourself to coffee and snacks, whatever you like. And yoghurts, geez…you’re in luck if you like bloody yoghurt. Joe’s isn’t intolerant in any way, is he?’
‘He actually doesn’t do many solids yet…’
‘They won’t care. It’s just for the visual. No one wants an ad of a kid with a full gob of food.’
Giles starts walking which I take as a lead to follow. His enthusiasm for the day seems infectious to Joe, who waves his arms to Giles’ ramblings. I’m slightly bewildered by the quantity of information coming thick and fast, yet am glad to be in the company of someone who distracts. It’s the reason we’re here. Let’s have fun today. This had better be fun. As we arrive at a line of make-up chairs, Giles hands over a gift bag.
‘Also, happy birthday.’
I look at Giles, silently.
‘Let me guess, you were invited to the party too?’
‘I did get a text.’
‘It was my interfering sister. I am glad you didn’t come actually. It was a car crash.’
‘Those are the best parties.’
I smile knowing the real truth, and make a mental note to give Lucy a good sisterly kicking next time I see her. ‘You shouldn’t have got me a present.’
‘Rubbish. Anyway, the good thing about me is that I get a lot of free clothes. That maxi wrap you wear so well, it also comes in other prints. I think these two would suit you really well.’
I look down at two dresses, wrapped in ribbon. I am stunned into silence, almost tearful at how sweet this is. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s the only reason we work for him really. He gets me free jeans,’ a girl pipes in with make-up brushes attached to her waist in a holster. ‘I’m Natalie.’
She bends down to smile at Joe.
‘I’m Beth and this is Joe, who likes a light foundation, a bit of contouring,’ I joke.
Giles bursts into laughter. ‘Oh, this little button doesn’t need it…’ he says, bopping him on the nose. ‘But Nat may fly on and off the set so we’ll let Joe get used to her. This is Zahra. You know her already…’
The baby wrangler. She stands there with a box of toys on sticks.
‘Nat is one of my best.’
She smiles but something suddenly makes her expression drop. Is it my hair? I know I don’t always have the time to condition. I realise she isn’t looking at me though. Her eyes point towards someone behind me. The expression on Zahra’s face falls too. Do I turn? I won’t turn, that’ll speak volumes.
‘Crikey, she looks rough as toast,’ Zahra says, tutting loudly.
‘Urgh, it’s an industrial concealer kinda day then,’ Natalie adds, digging through her make-up toolbox.
Giles turns, grimacing slightly but also showing concern. I turn slowly and notice they’re talking about someone who’s just walked in the room. Yasmin? At first, I don’t even recognise her. She looks peaky and pale, with heavy eyebags, which seems to be my main styling forte these days, but she doesn’t look like herself at all. I’m wondering to what extent I’m rubbing off on her. She strolls over, oversized glasses in hand and proceeds to air-kiss Giles. She sees me and smiles, faintly.
‘Yasmin, morning,’ greets Giles.
‘Is it? I am hanging, Giles.’
Natalie rolls her eyes behind her.
‘Well, let Nat work her magic. What can I get you? Tea?’
‘Green if you have it. Make sure the water is filtered too.’
‘Beth, what about you?’
‘Coffee, milk, two sugars?’
Yasmin eyeballs me. It’s early and I’m not in this photo shoot but I have every intention of trying every wrap and finger sandwich on the catering table and topping up on caffeine and highly processed sugar. One of Giles’ assistants trots off to make the drinks while I am sitting here with Yasmin beside me. She spies Joe through the mirror and waves at him, her gaze studying him intently. I guess it’s time for one of our legendary conversations again.
‘Morning. I’m sorry I missed you at my party…’ I start. ‘There were so many people there, it got a bit out of hand.�
�
‘You have a shitload of sisters, don’t you? Lucy’s a riot. I like her.’
Lucy will be glad that she has notoriety and that Yasmin got her name right.
‘Four sisters. What did you dress as?’ I ask.
‘Fancy dress is for children. I got bullied into wearing a butterfly mask though.’
‘Probably why I didn’t recognise you?’ I say.
‘Your costume was hilarious. Did you lose a bet?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’
Natalie is starting to make work of Yasmin’s face with a foundation brush but looks between us wondering why she’d have been at any social gathering of mine when we obviously have such a tight bond. I am not sure what else there is to talk to her about. Weather’s turned, eh? Did you buy the school bi-centennial aqua polo shirt a few years back? My mum bought five and made us pose for a picture in her garden. Did you really sleep with Mr Baker, the design tech teacher, so he’d give you better grades in graphics? That rumour went around for months.
‘You’re wearing the trainers I gave you,’ she mentions.
‘I did. They’re a good fit,’ I mutter, glancing down at my feet. They are without doubt the most stylish and comfortable shoes I’ve ever worn though there’s no chance I’d say as much out loud. ‘And how is Dicky? Still peeing on the house guests?’
For some reason, she seems highly offended by this. ‘He’s an old dog, he’s ten.’
I don’t quite know how to reply. My sister has an old dog and he just sleeps and they have to carry him into the car. He doesn’t pee all over people.
‘He’s usually a really good dog.’
Is she inferring that he peed on me because it was my fault? Do my legs look like fire hydrants?
That assistant suddenly appears from behind us with trays of drinks and I grab at my coffee, inhaling it for the escape and the extra hit. She also has a tray of pastries and fruit, placing it on the table in front of both of us. Yasmin turns to the assistant.
‘I’m gluten-free?’
I’m not, so I take a pain au chocolat and stick it in my gob. The assistant stands there not knowing what to do. Does this mean she can’t even look at the pastries in case she absorbs the gluten through her eyes? Natalie purses her lips and I can see she’s trying hard to bite her tongue.
‘Are you allergic?’ I ask. I once had a housemate called Rich who couldn’t even sit next to bread or we’d have to get the epi pen out.
‘No. I just find my digestion is better without it.’
I continue to eat. This hazelnut chocolate is the fancy good shit, sandwiched in butter-laminated pastry. This is a reason to be alive.
‘Then leave them there, I’ll find a way to make them disappear,’ I say, trying to make the assistant feel marginally better. Yasmin watches, in disgust, as I lick chocolate from my fingers.
Meanwhile, Natalie is doing some concealer work on her eyes but Yasmin suddenly bats her hand away.
‘Don’t touch me! Tell me if I’m doing something wrong,’ Natalie replies in harsh tones. Giles, who was chatting to the photographers, wanders over to see what the fuss is about.
‘Are we OK here, ladies?’
I can’t read the expression on Yasmin’s face. Why is she so pale? She gets up from her chair, grabs her handbag and puts a hand to her mouth.
‘I just need the bathroom. I can’t deal with the smell.’
Of Joe? Of me? The gluten? She trots off and Giles emits a long deep exhalation. Was the way I was eating that pastry making her nauseated? I did wolf that baby down to be fair.
‘Party girl Yazz is back then, G,’ Natalie says.
‘I know. I thought she was over all of that though.’
My ears prickle with curiosity. Giles fills me in. ‘She was a big party girl in the day. All the drugs and the drink. I thought all this clean-eating nonsense meant she turned a corner but maybe not. Crap, the client gets here in an hour. Nat, go check on her.’
‘I don’t do vomit,’ she says, wandering off. Giles looks around frantically for his assistant, the stress and panic making him twitchy. Joe looks up at me. You mean I’ll be wearing this banana for another sodding hour?
‘Shall I go and check on her?’ I ask. ‘If you take Joe perhaps?’
I don’t know exactly why I say this. What if she’s in the bathroom smoking a crack pipe?
‘I can take Joe,’ Giles says. ‘If you don’t mind. You can report back if it’s really bad. There’s Voss water on the table; it’s all she drinks.’
Joe goes over to Giles while I grab some bottles and my satchel and drape it over my shoulders. Inside the ladies’ loo, one of the cubicles is shut and I hear a glorious retching sound. At least it looks like a sanitary place to be on all fours hurling into a loo.
‘Yasmin, are you alright?’ I ask in sing-song tones.
‘Hmmm…’ she moans in reply.
What would I normally do in these circumstances? I’d be in that cubicle patting a back or holding back hair. Is she crying? Is she that sort of hungover person? Meg used to cry through a bad hangover, disowning me for not having controlled her alcohol intake. The door slowly opens and she stands there, all that good foundation work possibly ruined. I rummage about in my handbag to offer her a muslin but she refuses and heads straight to the sink to wash her hands.
‘Are you alright?’ I ask.
She breaks into tears. ‘Yeah, perfect,’ she replies sarcastically.
‘Look, I’m just trying to be nice.’
She scans my face. ‘Where’s Joe?’
‘With Giles.’
She can’t seem to keep the emotion in. The tears well up as quickly as they roll down her cheeks. Hugging her would be weird right now, especially as I am so much shorter than her that I’ll come up to her breasts. She puts two hands on the sink, hangs her head down and makes a low humming noise.
‘Seriously, are you—’
And then like some mountain geyser comes more puke. From a place deep within her soul. There is splashback but Joe has given me enough experience to know when to jump backwards really really quickly. She takes the muslin this time and I hope she knows she can keep that.
‘Big night?’
She gives me a look that seems vaguely annoyed. Is this drug or alcohol related? Or is this a lurgy thing? Eating disorder? She tries to stand up but struggles and sways.
‘I’ve got a dodgy tummy.’
‘Then we should cancel today, right? Prevent people catching stuff?’
‘I don’t cancel,’ she says firmly, holding the muslin to her mouth. ‘Did you have this when—’ She stops before she finishes her sentence.
‘When, what?’ I ask.
‘With Joe?’
It’s early and I’m trying to piece these thoughts together. Do I get sick like that? We’ve all puked like that at some point in our lives. I went Euro-railing at sixteen and once yacked in a wellington boot after ten shots of Jägermeister. How does this involve Joe? Have I ever thrown up when I was with Joe? Yes, when I was—
‘Oh, holy shit. You’re pregnant?’ I exclaim.
She looks sheepish that I’ve just said those words into the air, like she’s worried they may escape elsewhere. She awaits my reaction but I appear to react quite flatly. There are many questions and statements that encircle me. Which to ask? How far along are you? Have you eaten today? Your baby will be really tall. What about that dad you were snogging at the video shoot? I opt for the congratulatory route.
‘Wow, that’s good news though? A baby?’
‘Is it?’
‘Usually. You should tell everyone out there too because they think you’ve been on a bender.’
‘You can’t!’ she snaps, horrified.
I hold my hands up as she does. It’s not like I was going to broadcast it with a megaphone.
‘I… I need to get used to this myself. Decide what to do…’
Those words make me pause for a moment. I remembered when I first found
out I was pregnant. It was a decision. Do I take this moment to turn my life down a different path? But I think about if Joe wasn’t here. For all the change he’s brought to my life, he has added colour, adventure. I can’t imagine being without him now. This could be a good thing, Yasmin. At least allow yourself to extract some joy from the situation.
‘They can think what they want out there, I don’t care. Please keep this to yourself for now. I should never have told you. You’re not good at keeping your mouth shut.’
‘Excuse me?’ I reply.
‘You’ve obviously told Giles about Harry?’
‘I haven’t actually.’
‘Well, you told all those people at school that I shagged Diego Paz in a stairwell at the sixth-form ball.’
Crap, she remembers that?
‘I was drunk and that was over ten years ago.’
‘Well, that was all people did at that school, spread news that I was a slapper. Little’s changed. People like you just keep that rumour mill turning, don’t you?’
I step back on hearing her affront. ‘Hold up. People like me? You don’t even know me! You trampled all over people like me at school. You didn’t do anything to stop us thinking any different. You stole essays, you belittled people and you took advantage of them.’
She is silent as she takes in those words, wondering whether to be insulted or ashamed. She created a lot of that drama and reputation for herself. Plus, school was a very long time ago. I’d like to think we’ve all progressed since then in terms of our maturity. I’m not sure she’s allowed to make face judgements about me. Not anymore.
‘Look, think what you like of me. Get yourself together because everyone’s waiting outside,’ I say abruptly.
As I turn to leave, she attempts to compose herself and rifles through her handbag, swearing under her breath. From the corner of my eye I see her take out a small bottle of which she takes some long inhalations. I don’t know why I’m still here.
‘Let me guess, peppermint?’ I ask.
She seems surprised that I would know what that is.
‘About as useful as a bag of dicks,’ I mutter.
For some reason, she laughs at this reference.
Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?: An absolutely laugh-out-loud and feel-good page-turner Page 18
