‘Trust me, I’ve tried it all. You have to eat. Nibble on a cracker. Gluten-free if you must, otherwise it’s just hormones swimming around in your stomach.’
‘Where did you read that?’ she asks, like she might not trust my sources.
‘From one of my “shitload” of sisters; Meg and Emma have five between them.’
She arches her eyebrows at the sheer number of babies in that sentence.
‘What about these ginger chewy sweets?’ she says, holding up a box from her handbag.
I wince, remembering how I tried those too and spat them out, thinking Will was trying to poison me. Will. At least when I found out I was pregnant, I had a Will. My satchel by my hip, I open it up and pull out a bag of Tangfastics.
‘These. Any sour fizzy sweets you can get your hands on. These got me through my first trimester. I used to keep mini bags in my desk at school. I could have been sponsored by Haribo.’ I place them on the counter next to the sink with the Voss water.
‘And you just carry them around with you now?’ she asks.
‘I took the train here. I like a travel sweet.’ Haribo makes me happy. I like keeping it around me.
‘Are they organic?’
‘They’re gluten-free?’
She stares out my snarky reply. I can’t quite read her. Is she sad? Behind all those tears, what is the emotion there?
‘Look, do you need anything else?’ I don’t know why I ask this. Fifteen years ago is when you should have got to know me and realised, despite my duff haircut and my hand-me-down rucksack, I had good taste in music and I would have probably still looked after you in a toilet if you’d needed me. She grabs onto my hand and looks me in the eye. The girl’s got grip. What are you asking from me?
‘I’m sorry I stole your essay at school. That was shitty.’
I don’t know how to respond to that. You’re welcome? Feel better?
‘I am sorry I told everyone you shagged Diego Paz in a stairwell.’
‘We didn’t shag. He couldn’t get it up. He spent half an hour rubbing himself against my inner thigh, ripped my four-hundred-pound dress and told everyone in great detail about a vagina that certainly wasn’t mine. He had a cock like a hairless mole.’
‘Oh.’ I pause. ‘You should have told Diego. He might still be having sex like that. He might technically still be a virgin.’
I think she might laugh in return. ‘I’m sorry I thought you had blabbed anything to Giles. And for what it’s worth, half of what you heard about me at school wasn’t true. I’m not the same girl I was back then,’ she tells me.
‘Is anyone? There’s a chunk of something in your hair,’ I say. ‘You might want to wash that out before it gets stuck in Natalie’s curling tongs.’
She rakes her fingers through the strands. ‘You weren’t Bethany at school, were you?’
‘No, that was someone else. She was the religious one with the thick tights who was good at the cello. God, you are really bad with names, aren’t you?’
‘I know some names. Your baby, he’s called Bo, right?’
‘Joe.’
‘I was trying to make a joke.’
I do a very fake, uncertain laugh.
She stands there and doesn’t reply, just clutches the bag of Haribo to her chest.
Track Sixteen
‘Sparks’ – Coldplay (2000)
‘And that’s a wrap.’
People start clapping and cheering and I don’t really know why. I clap along and see Joe’s eyes scan the room for me. Still here, mate. Don’t worry. The official baby wrangler picks him up and hands him to me and he snuggles into my chest. You are awesome, little Joe. I hold him tightly to let him know. It’s been a strange day. Yasmin is the consummate professional. She strode back onto set like she’d never been ill; they used the really good concealer; and she smiled and posed, all while entertaining my banana baby. The clients showed up and she charmed them too. I don’t want to blow my own trumpet here, but one can never underestimate the power of a packet of Tangfastics. Zahra comes over with Joe, now stripped of his suit, and places him in my arms. Hey, kiddo. I hope this isn’t confusing, little one. Remember: I’m Mum. She’s Fake Mum. I have the good cushioning to rest your little head on. Let’s get you home.
At least today we had a distraction. We didn’t look at the same four walls and we didn’t think about Will. Joe looks tired. Mate, tell me about it. Nando’s is calling. A whole chicken for one. That feels obscene but it’s all protein, no?
We navigate the corridors out and get outside to late autumn rain and a chill in the air. The weather has turned and I’m not wearing my big coat. I work out how to put the plastic rain cover on Joe’s pram and think about how I’m going to do this. I’ll have to light jog, stop by trees for cover and not give two hoots about my hair. I have a small, weak umbrella but I can’t hold that and push a pram; my co-ordination is not that well developed.
‘Are you guys walking?’ A voice suddenly calls out from behind me. Giles.
‘Yeah, we took the train, it’s fine.’
‘Love, you’ll get soaked through. Where do you live?’
‘Surbiton?’
He studies my pram and its attachments. ‘I know Surbiton. Jump in, let me give you a lift.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Very. I don’t want you both getting drenched and ill on my conscience.’ He points over to a very normal-looking Ford Mondeo parked right outside the doors. He clicks Joe’s seat into place while I fumble at the buggy, trying to fold it up, shove all the accompanying bells and whistles away and put them in his boot. I watch as he straps Joe in with ease. How does he make it look so simple? I’m usually left huffing and puffing like when I have to change a duvet cover. When I get in the car, I see a few juice boxes scattered on the floor, a toy car, along with the normal crumb trails you see in a parental vehicle.
‘You have a kid?’
‘I do. Is it obvious? Sorry, the car is his dumping ground. He’s the ultimate mess monster.’
‘No, it’s fine. Ours looks similar.’
He starts the engine and the rain starts to get torrential.
‘Joe did so well today by the way. I usually have a hunch about these things but I’m so glad we found you.’
‘No, it was nice to be involved. Thank you. The whole music video thing too with Special K, it’s been quite an adventure.’
He reaches over, sincerely patting me on the arm. ‘How was Yasmin in the loos? I am glad she turned that around. My team say a lot of stuff about her but she’s a true professional. Never let me down.’
I know to keep my lips sealed but I am not sure how to reply. ‘I think she was genuinely quite ill today. She told me she had some oysters last night. I’m terrible with oysters, they go right through me,’ I fumble. Perhaps a bit too much information there, Beth?
‘You also came in the nick of time. We were close to giving this gig to another baby but I really am not fond of the family,’ Giles says, changing the subject.
‘How so?’
‘Have you ever met Harry? He was at the video shoot with his little girl.’
I nod, hoping my face doesn’t give too much away.
‘He’s a horrific pushy parent. Him and his wife love having their girl in the spotlight. They’re competitive and obnoxious, they weasel their way into jobs. He’s a washed-up has-been, trying to relive his youth. He was shagging Yasmin at one point, too.’
‘You know about that?’ I say, trying to act surprised.
‘You did?’
‘I saw them having a bit of a moment in a corridor at the video shoot.’
‘It’s what he does. I thought Yasmin had better sense than that.’
His phone suddenly rings. ‘Excuse me, while I take this…’
‘G? You on your way back? We need milk,’ a male voice pipes up.
‘Sure, about half an hour? How was Kai’s assembly? What was the certificate for?’
‘For flawless commitme
nt to his maths and always setting himself challenges.’
‘That’s all me.’
The voice on the other end laughs and I hear a child shouting in the background.
‘See you in a bit.’
‘Sorry, that was Oliver, my husband. Kai’s other dad.’
I smile but feel strangely sad. Those were the phone calls I used to make to Will – those little fragments of conversation that used to piece the day together.
‘How old is Kai?’ I ask.
‘Six, he’s this little ball of dynamite. You thought babies were hard? You wait until they can answer back. My phone is just there, look at the screensaver. That’s us last year on holiday.’
A little boy with a mop of sandy hair looks up at me, with two grinning faces either side. It’s sun-drenched and perfect. His husband has a smattering of stubble and warm grey eyes.
‘And while you have my phone. Open my last WhatsApp message and follow that link. I think you’ll like it…’
I do as I’m told and open a Vevo link to Special K’s new video. The thumbnail image is her holding Joe, along with that lioness who is now real down to some CGI. The video is very slick and choreographed and Joe sits there in the middle of it all and just takes it all in. I smile. Hang on. One million views. My face gives it away.
‘It’s blown up, right? That was released like an hour ago. And look at Joe, he’s a little superstar. He’s a credit to you.’
I take in the compliment but I’m not sure how much I’ve taught him in the way of sitting still and not getting too disturbed by bright lights.
‘I mean, if you want to stick with this then I can introduce you to plenty of people. You’re very easy to work with.’
I hear Joe from the back almost gurgling in agreement.
‘Would we be working with Yasmin?’ I ask.
‘I’m now working out that even though you two went to school together, you weren’t friends, were you?’
‘Were you friends with everyone you went to school with?’
‘No, I was gay. I got beaten up most days.’
I furrow my brow. Secondary education was like that, anywhere. It was ‘eat or be eaten’, or do what I did, which was hide behind sisters so no one could touch me. Power in numbers.
‘What can I say? We moved in different circles. She’s always been pretty and willowy. Even now, we are polar opposites.’
I try to laugh that last comment off but Giles studies my face.
‘Her looks, it’s all smoke and mirrors, you know that, right?’
‘I do. I guess I’ll always use someone like Yasmin as some sort of benchmark of what my body should look like though.’
This feels like quite an open thing to say to someone I don’t know particularly well but he smiles.
‘It’s just one side of beauty we’re selling. It’s very superficial.’
‘Yeah, but those ads always show me people who look like Yasmin. I don’t exactly feel well-represented anywhere.’
He nods, almost grateful to open up that line of conversation.
‘It’s changing. It is. I am always pushing for more representation, diversity, not to sell people lies but it’s a slow-moving machine. I don’t see many gay couples represented, for example…’ he says, resentfully. ‘I am trying though.’
I smile, thankful that he at least understands that much.
‘Why do you not think you’re beautiful?’ he asks me, quite directly.
‘I’m OK…?’ I reply, my eyes shifting awkwardly.
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘A woman’s sense of their own beauty is always a little warped. Let’s say I fall in and out of love with my looks, my body.’
He pauses to reflect on my words.
‘But you have kindness. I see it in how you helped Yasmin, how you are with your baby, that man Paddy at the pub. I see something that exudes from your eyes that pictures don’t capture.’
I blush. He doesn’t know me that well but to pick up on those small things makes me realise he’s been looking at much more than my penchant for maxi dresses. ‘That’s really nice of you to say.’
‘I mean it. I like you, Beth. I like your boy. Don’t take this world to heart. It’s all veneer. All models who survive on water and celery, and competitive parents trying to milk their kids for money. There’s not much beyond the pictures.’
‘Just celery? But all that chewing?’
‘Right?’ he says, laughing.
I’m grateful in more ways than one that I got that lift. Giles’ normality and conversation were a tonic, a relief, and I liked the way he hummed along to the radio and sang along to jingles. However, as we pull into my block of flats’ communal car park, my heart quickens to see our rusty Suzuki Swift in its usual spot. I remember when we first bought it second-hand and we thought we’d taken huge steps in our relationship. It was as big a moment as when we started finishing each other’s sentences or when I first allowed him to kiss me with a mouth full of morning breath. Giles pulls up to a spot and senses my pensive look.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes. I think.’ Will emerges from the front doors. Crap. I hunch down in the seat but he clocks me immediately and walks over to the car. I undo my seatbelt and take a huge breath. Giles watches curiously. As I exit the car, I see Will’s wearing his khaki parka and a sweatshirt that I bought him for Christmas. His facial hair has grown out slightly but he carries a hoodie in his hands that I know was in the airing cupboard. I know because I used to smell it on occasion. Like some sad case.
‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
Giles emerges from the other side of the car to make his introductions. ‘I’m Giles. You must be Will?’
Will’s eyes shift between us.
‘Giles was just giving us a lift home. We went on our first commercial shoot today,’ I tell him. Giles looks confused. Shouldn’t he have known that already as he’s Joe’s dad? Will hovers and Giles helps me get my stuff out of the car. Before he closes the boot, he whispers, ‘Do I need to stay?’
I shake my head and he hugs me. It’s welcome and I have a moment where I don’t want to let go.
‘Thank you for the lift, for everything today. Seriously, I’m fine.’
I lift Joe – who is sleeping soundly – out of the car, and then Giles gives me one last look. Will hovers beside us. This is the first time I’ve seen him in the flesh since he confessed about the kiss. I was unsure how I’d react, but at least I now know I’m not capable of launching myself at him and banging his head against the tarmac.
‘You want to come in for a cup of tea?’ I ask him.
‘I guess.’
He guesses? ‘Why are you here? You came for a hoodie?’
‘I came to see you guys but you weren’t in.’
‘You should have called.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Well, come in?’
I don’t know what he expects here. Does he want me to be angry and give him reason to not be here? I don’t want to fight you. I want to know why you’re not here. I miss you but I don’t want to say those words out loud. He helps gather all our belongings and we do that strange dance of getting ourselves through the front door. There are no words, no eye contact. I can’t tell if he feels happy to see us or guilty. As we get through to the flat, he looks around as if to check if anything’s changed. Putting Joe down on the floor, I turn around. Will stands there and throws his arms around me.
‘I’m so sorry, B.’
I want to tense up and push him away but it’s impossible. It’s Will. I hug him back, wrapping my arms around him tight. We break free to look at each other. When did we start to look so tired? So old? So far away from our former selves? It feels like we’re living in some different dimension where it’s just about getting by, surviving, day by day.
‘How’s Peter? The family?’
‘Kat’s driving me up the wall but it’s nice to spend time with the girls.’
Pete
r has two daughters. I love that Will is spending time with his nieces, but surely it’s his own son he should be with? I still don’t have the bile to find those words.
‘I miss you guys though.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why aren’t you here?’
He goes quiet for a moment and sits down on our sofa. ‘It’s kind of hard to explain…’
‘Have you been sleeping with Shu?’ I ask. My tone is direct. ‘If that’s the big secret then I’d rather know so I can work out what to do next.’
‘No, it was definitely a one-time thing. I was so wasted I could have snogged Philip that night.’
I don’t quite get the joke. ‘But you see her every day at work. That must be awkward.’
‘It is, but I deal with it and I’ve drawn that line in the sand.’
I have to believe him, don’t I? For as much as I am haunted by the image, as much as what happened and could have happened that evening makes me physically sick, I have to try and find a way to wipe it from memory. ‘So the space, this confusion you feel… Tell me about that.’
‘I didn’t get that promotion at work. I worked my arse off – you saw the hours I was doing, but she gave it to Philip.’
‘I’m sorry, Will.’ I sit down next to him and put my hand on his knee.
‘And I felt stupid, humiliated. All that time I’d spent away from you guys, the kiss, everything was muddy. I just… I can’t remember how and when we ended up… like this?’
‘Like what?’
‘This flat, this life. I sit on the Tube sometimes just frantic thinking about our finances, counting the hours Joe was up, trying to work out how to get out of here…’
We examine the peeling paint of this place, this godawful carpet, all our furniture which we either inherited or are random, cheap pieces from Ikea.
‘Out of here? What, like away from us?’
‘Like trying to work out where this goes? Affording somewhere bigger? I don’t want to live in this flat forever.’
I am silent. We’ve only technically been here for a matter of months. Moving when I was heavily pregnant was difficult enough but we’ve always known it’s a temporary measure. However, deep down I worry his words mean more than that. Is this what he’s doing then? Has he gone away to sketch up a new plan?
Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?: An absolutely laugh-out-loud and feel-good page-turner Page 19
