The Shape of Us: A hilarious and emotional page turner about love, life and laughter

by Drew Davies

‘No – fat women singing, Viking helmets, everyone dies.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Celeste, she’s nice. She’s, you know, she seems a lovely girl.’

  ‘I thought you liked Daisy?’

  ‘I did,’ Chris says, rubbing his eye, ‘but sometimes that’s not enough.’

  Dylan doesn’t know what to say. He’s never seen Chris like this – sadder, less brash – it makes him a lot easier to like. What had Janelle told him once? ‘We are rarely moved by people’s success, we only relate through each other’s failure.’

  There was another mystery Dylan often pondered: why had Chris become a Befriender in the first place? Travelling all the way to Croydon, even with Otis as a reward, was a big commitment – especially when Chris grew noticeably restless an hour into their sessions. When Dylan quizzed him on it once, Chris explained that without a younger brother of his own, he needed some way to pass on his badass ninja skills (Chris’s words), but Dylan never bought this explanation, or not completely. To him it felt as if Chris was doing penance for something. Or perhaps he was just lonely after all?

  ‘I think you should see Daisy again.’

  Chris squints at Dylan. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Daisy, I think you should give her another chance.’

  ‘It’s not as easy as that.’

  ‘Why not? Just call her.’

  ‘One day you’ll understand about these sorts of things, Moon.’

  ‘I know about people. And all people are stupid sometimes.’

  ‘It’s more complicated.’

  ‘I think you’re making it complicated.’

  ‘You don’t know the full story. Things don’t work out – it’s part of the game.’

  ‘Not if you like someone.’ Dylan was going to add, ‘like Ron and Hermione,’ but thought better of it.

  ‘Mate, it’s kind of you – but I’m not going to take advice from someone who hasn’t even hit puberty yet.’

  Dylan scowls.

  ‘Sorry,’ says Chris, ‘I didn’t mean to…’

  Dylan clenches his jaw. ‘I know some stuff about women.’

  ‘Of course you do, I was being a…’

  ‘I’m not a stupid kid.’

  ‘I know you’re not…’

  ‘In fact, I know more than you think.’

  ‘Moon, I was only…’

  ‘Because I’m sort of seeing someone right now actually.’ The caffeine was really rushing around Dylan’s circulatory system. ‘And she’s not a girl, she’s a woman. A twenty-one-year-old woman.’

  JoJo is furious. Of all the idiotic things to do! She dabs at the white stain with a tissue, but it’s no use – the toothpaste has set. After all the time she’d spent getting dressed this morning too! – standing in front of the mirror like some teenage girl before a date, holding the hangers to her chest, one by one, and despairing. Everything seemed either too dour or frou-frou. Ditzy florals at her age – what had she been thinking? Her usual choice of black shift dress made her arms look saggy, and when she’d tried it with a long-sleeved cream top, it made her appear less like Catherine Deneuve and more like Edina Monsoon from Ab Fab. No, worse – the doddery grandmother playing dress up in her daughter’s wardrobe. And now, toothpaste on her blouse. She tries to arrange her scarf so it’s not so noticeable – people on the bus must have thought a bird shat on her breast!

  ‘Something wrong?’ asks a voice.

  JoJo looks up to find Belinda dressed in a knee-length grey fur coat (fake, although a very good fake), which makes her appear tall and slim and not in the least bit pregnant.

  ‘Just the dementia setting in,’ replies JoJo, quickly finishing her arrangements.

  ‘I like your scarf.’

  ‘When you’re my age, you’ll have a whole retinue of props to hide the drooping flesh,’ gripes JoJo, but she’s pleased at the compliment, and then annoyed at herself for being so pleased.

  ‘It suits you.’

  ‘Kill me with kindness,’ mutters JoJo under her breath. ‘I’m on to you, lady.’

  ‘After you,’ says Belinda.

  JoJo pushes open the door to Hogarth, the fancy steakhouse near London Bridge – Belinda’s choice. The restaurant is dim inside and seems to be dressed up like a traditional gentlemen’s club – coats of armour, upholstered leather furniture and polished oak balustrades on the stairs – although from JoJo’s limited experience, it doesn’t smell quite enough of cigars and piss to be truly authentic.

  A smartly dressed woman, more like a patron than a member of staff, takes their coats and leads them down the stairs into a subterranean dining area. Only a few people are eating – JoJo wonders if Belinda chose the restaurant knowing it would be this quiet on a Saturday afternoon.

  They’ve barely sat down when a waitress, brandishing a silver tray covered in raw pieces of meat, starts to give them a very detailed account of the different cuts, their country of origin and what the animal fed on.

  Pretending to pay attention, JoJo sizes up Belinda instead. There is definitely something sphinx-like about the girl. Poised, one might say – calculated, if you were less charitable. Belinda’s pixie fringe is so straight it looks as if it’s been cut this morning using a precision ruler, and although she’s wearing pearls (which say demure), she’s countered them with cleavage (which shouts sexpot). Yes, well put together, JoJo concedes. Pretty, fine features, good teeth. A bit pale perhaps. And remarkably strong for such a slender frame…

  The grip, with which Belinda pulled JoJo through the foyer post-slap, was so tight, it had left a bruise on her wrist and three crescent shaped cuts where her nails had broken the skin. Once outside, and still without saying a word, Belinda had whisked them around the back of The Economist building and into a café on the street behind – JoJo struggling to keep up. The café was closing for the day, but the owner had taken down the chairs from a table, making them each a strong black coffee before he continued with mopping the floors.

  Sipping from her cup, JoJo had begun to feel a sliver of clarity again – the adrenaline seemed to be pumping away the cobwebs, her wits returning.

  Belinda sat silently, watching JoJo – her cheek a mottled pink.

  ‘Joan,’ she said at last, ‘I have to go next door and explain what happened. But I don’t think we should mention this to Frank. Not yet. We should talk first.’ Belinda gave JoJo her card, before carefully stepping over the wet linoleum towards the door.

  * * *

  The waitress comes to the end of her beef monologue and finally leaves for another table, the silver tray balanced on her shoulder.

  ‘The ceviche is lovely,’ Belinda says, as she opens her menu. ‘They marinate the raw tuna in lime juice instead of cooking it.’

  ‘Does the salmonella come on the side?’ scoffs JoJo. She tries not to squint, but her reading glasses are in her handbag, and without them she can barely make out a word. ‘Fine,’ she says, closing the menu. ‘We’ll play Russian roulette – I’ll have whatever you’re having. Although I expect it will be much harder to get a verdict of accidental death if you order for both of us.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ says Belinda without taking her eyes from her menu. ‘With friends in high places, you can make almost anything stick.’

  So, she does have a sense of humour, thinks JoJo.

  ‘Two fillet steaks, please,’ Belinda says to a hovering waiter. ‘Well done for me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘The bloodier mine is, the better.’

  After the waiter takes their orders for sides and clears the menus, Belinda settles back in her chair.

  ‘Yes, I can definitely hear an accent now,’ she says. ‘It’s subtle though.’

  ‘It’s been a long time since I left South Africa.’

  ‘What made you come to England?’

  ‘The Beatles splitting up.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘The year 1970 was the end of my innocence. I hated farm life and being down at the arse end of the world, but the B
eatles made it bearable. When they broke up, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. Two years later, when I was seventeen, I bought a one-way ticket. And here we are.’

  ‘Here we are indeed.’ Belinda smiles, taking JoJo in. ‘You seem… better today.’

  ‘Full of beans,’ replies JoJo. She takes a bread roll out of the basket and saws it down the middle with her knife. ‘How did you explain our little scene to your colleagues the other day?’

  Belinda bats the question away with her hand.

  ‘I told them it was all a hilarious misunderstanding.’

  ‘And did they believe you?’

  A smile flickers across her face.

  ‘I don’t think so. But I was able to play the pregnancy card.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ says JoJo, cutting the cube of butter, ‘the pregnancy card. You’ve got quite a lot of mileage with that one already.’

  The smile flashes across Belinda’s face again.

  ‘Joan, I’m really pleased we managed to meet today. If I’m honest, I wasn’t sure you’d come.’

  ‘I never turn down a free meal. And enough of this Joan nonsense – it’s JoJo. The only person who calls me Joan is my accountant.’

  ‘JoJo then. I wanted us to have an opportunity to talk. Get to know each other.’

  ‘Do each other’s nails?’

  ‘In a perfect world, we might become friends.’

  ‘I’d be friendlier if you stopped fucking my husband.’

  Belinda laughs. ‘Frank said you were funny.’

  ‘I’m hysterical, just you wait.’

  ‘Fine, becoming friends might not be realistic. But we’re two intelligent women, we should be able to…’

  ‘Work something out?’ JoJo scoffs. ‘If you’re planning on wasting my time, I’ll ask the kitchen to wrap up my steak to go.’

  She takes a large bite of her buttered roll, and Belinda seizes the opportunity while JoJo has her mouth full.

  ‘Nobody wants to be the other woman, believe me, JoJo. It takes far too much energy to live in someone else’s shadow. Frank thinks of you so highly, it’s as if I can never do anything right.’

  ‘I’m sure you can do some things right,’ says JoJo, spitting crumbs.

  ‘Some things, perhaps.’ Belinda sits back in her chair, placing both hands on her stomach. ‘I’m an economist by trade, so I hope you’ll excuse this lazy attempt at metaphor… But what I’m experiencing,’ she pats her belly, ‘is a redistribution of resources. Not only has it taken over my body, but with all the progesterone and oestrogen flooding my brain, it’s changing how I think. Last week, I asked the Governor at the Bank of England if he was losing much sleep over the next erection. I’m lucky if I can leave the house with matching shoes. And I don’t seem to care about things in the same way.’ She leans forward. ‘Even before our little “introduction” at my office the other day, your feelings were clear. The guilt weighed heavily on Frank – he tried not to let it show, so of course it did. But since this happened,’ Belinda nods at her stomach, ‘I don’t have the energy to worry about culpability, or Frank’s remorse, or your animosity – any of it really. This Cronenbergian body horror show is making its own demands. I don’t want to sound blasé, I take full responsibility for my actions, but it all feels so unproductive to worry anymore.’

  ‘Our food will here in a minute, why don’t you just tell me what you’ve come to peddle?’

  ‘I understand why you’re upset,’ Belinda says, after a breath, ‘I do, but it’s not the best use of our resources. I know it sounds hokey, but I felt if we could meet, we might be able to give up the roles of jilted wife and wicked mistress and find some common ground.’

  ‘Wicked mistress?’ mutters JoJo. ‘Try evil husband-stealing succubus.’

  Belinda leans back in her chair again.

  ‘An amnesty, perhaps? No,’ she grimaces, ‘it sounded better in my head. I don’t know. At the very least, I’d like to be sure you’re not plotting to knock my block off again next week.’

  JoJo, her mouth full of bread again, tries to laugh, but breaks into a coughing fit instead, spraying more crumbs across the tablecloth.

  ‘You have moxie, I’ll give you that,’ she says when she’s recovered slightly, her voice still hoarse from coughing, ‘holding up the olive branch and making yourself out to be so damn reasonable. And what if I say no? You run back to Frank and tell him how unfair I’ve been – even after you bought us both a nice steak dinner – how you pleaded for me to be civil, for the sake of an unborn child, no less!’ JoJo thrusts a finger at Belinda. ‘I’m not going to give up my marriage just because you bat your eyelids. I have a hard time believing a baby wasn’t a convenient pawn in your scheme all along.’

  ‘I think we might have different ideas about what’s convenient,’ Belinda replies archly.

  ‘Poppycock! Frank is a frustratingly honourable man, you must have known he’d do the right thing. Feed me some bullshit story about restructuring your resources or whatever, and you get to skip off to play happy parents with my husband!

  ‘And here’s some economics lingo for you,’ JoJo says, gaining steam, ‘Try competitive advantage. You’re not married to someone for almost half a century without learning a few things. Frank likes to think he enjoys a puzzle, but he’s never once finished a crossword or even a Sudoku. You must have presented him with a very captivating challenge, a real brainteaser, I’m sure, but he’ll tire of you, he always does, and then all the bonnie wee babies in Purgatory won’t help you!’

  Belinda gives a wan smile. ‘I think I preferred it when we were coming to blows,’ she says.

  The waiter returns with two large white plates. JoJo’s steak is massive and so pink, it’s almost iridescent.

  ‘How lovely,’ says Belinda, although she seems even paler.

  JoJo stabs at the steak with her fork, roughly hewing a chunk of the meat and chomping at it angrily.

  ‘What I’ve never understood,’ JoJo says, chewing, ‘is why a girl like you would want to slum it with a geriatric old fool like Frank. Sure, he’s made a bit of money for himself, but couldn’t you have set your sights higher?’

  ‘That almost sounds like a compliment.’

  ‘My apologies,’ says JoJo. ‘I must be losing my touch.’

  Belinda considers the question as she seasons her steak – JoJo notices her hand is trembling as she picks up the salt.

  ‘I don’t know how much you’ve dated recently,’ she says, cutting a piece of her meat and dabbing it in the gravy, ‘but men like Frank don’t come around every day.’

  ‘Humph!’ says JoJo, her mouth full.

  Belinda puts down her knife and fork.

  ‘I know, by the way,’ she says calmly, ‘about you and Frank seeing each other again.’

  JoJo is speechless – she’s forgotten about her own clandestine arrangements.

  ‘He’s still my husband,’ she manages to say at last. This woman couldn’t expect to take the high road after everything she’d done, could she? The initial betrayal had almost broken JoJo – she’d found a message from Belinda in Frank’s wallet while filing away his ever-burgeoning wad of receipts. ‘Thank you for tonight x B’ it read, written on the back of a taxi receipt. Then there were the unscheduled business trips, the smell of perfume on his clothes, the abrupt end to phone calls – all so clichéd. The searing sting of betrayal is never clichéd though – it’s always white hot from the furnace.

  JoJo recalls something she’d been storing in the recess of her mind.

  ‘And I know all about you and this Duke business!’ she says, still reeling.

  ‘What?’ Belinda says, with a giggle. ‘No, Teddy’s gay. I did an interview with him, we hit it off, and he invited me to a couple of premieres. Apparently, Teddy does this every six months to some young woman, it’s all publicity for his DJing. He’s actually dating one of the Sheik’s sons. They just bought an island together in the Caribbean.’

  JoJo feels as if she’s been knocked off
balance.

  ‘An observation about Frank,’ continues Belinda, picking up her knife and fork again. ‘Deep down, he really wants to please everyone. He’ll deny it until he’s blue in the face – it doesn’t quite fit his image as a business behemoth – but it’s true. A child though, that has to come first. It’s how we’re designed. Believe me, it’s running the show already. Things will change, JoJo, and when they do, it will be better if we’re on the same side. Because soon, there’s only going to be one side.’

  JoJo shakes her head.

  ‘Frank is nearly sixty-six years old. He wants to retire and buy a stupidly big boat. You’ve forced fatherhood on him and when he…’

  ‘No, you have it all wrong,’ interrupts Belinda. ‘I didn’t force anything – he wouldn’t even consider the other options. It was Frank who wanted to keep the baby.’

  JoJo feels the air knocked out of her. Frank, she thinks. You idiot. She can see it all now: Frank cradling a swathed bundle, his progeny wriggling in his arms – a final triumph of his aging loins, the unexpected heir apparent. Her chest feels as if it’s being crushed by an invisible force.

  Belinda excuses herself to use the bathroom and JoJo fights the impulse to run up the stairs, collect her coat and leave the restaurant – the only thing stopping her is giving Belinda the satisfaction of seeing her flee.

  How can she have been so stupid? Trusting Frank, agreeing to this lunch – was she really so naive?

  There’s nothing else for it. JoJo flags down a waiter.

  ‘Bring me the drinks list again,’ she barks, when he nears the table. ‘And quick!’

  ‘How old?’ asks Chris incredulously.

  Dylan squirms in his seat.

  ‘Twenty-one.’

  Chris stares open-mouthed.

  ‘What? How is that possible? You never leave the house! Where do you know her from?’

  ‘She reads my blog,’ Dylan says, truthfully.

  ‘Oh, Moon, if you met her online, that could be a whole mess of trouble…’

  ‘It’s not what you think…’

  ‘She could weigh three hundred pounds – or be a hundred years old.’ Chris leans in, lowering his voice: ‘She could be a dude.’