by Freya North
‘About having a baby,’ June said.
‘Zac loves having just Tom,’ Pip said.
‘But That’s not what I meant,’ June persisted.
Pip wasn’t sure if she wanted to answer fully or not. ‘Sometimes,’ she said. June said nothing. ‘Recently?’
June clapped her hands and grinned. ‘And?’
‘Zac loves having just Tom,’ Pip reiterated.
‘Have you asked Zac?’ June asked.
Pip shrugged. ‘Sort of,’ she said. June looked confused. ‘I think he thought I was joking. And then I think he thought I was drunk. And ultimately I think he thinks I’m barking.’
‘Well, he sounds complacent,’ said June. ‘You should keep the pressure on – you’ll make a great mum.’
‘I hate confrontation,’ Pip said, ‘and anyway, It’s probably just a hormonal thing.’
‘You know what,’ said June, ‘You’re right It’s probably hormonal but I for one think it’ll be a shame if you let it pass.’
Pip wanted to cry. This was the first She’d said out in the open and it was being met with such tender but unswerving support it was rather overwhelming. ‘The thing is,’ she said tentatively, ‘since the woman who is my mother barged back in, I’ve had something of a confidence crisis. Am I fit to be a mother? Say there’s some rogue part of our DNA that dictates otherwise.’
‘Rubbish, Pip,’ June said, not intending to sound so sharp but she was beginning to feel a little tired. ‘Look at Fen – She’s a fabulous mum. Your mother – literally – has nothing to do with you. I think you should go for it. And I think when that stuffy old accountant comes home all hassled from work tonight, you meet him in an outrageous negligee and you demand that he impregnate you with his finest.’
Pip looked utterly disconcerted.
‘Believe me,’ June continued, ‘and It’s not because I’m an over-heating, hyper-hormoned pregnant woman. Well, perhaps it is – but That’s no bad thing. But what I want to say is this – that urge to breed is one you must heed. Breeding is your raison d’être, Pip, It’s your right.’
Pip pushed Cosima’s buggy along Hampstead High Street. It was a glorious day and She’d toyed with the notion of taking the picnic blanket and lolling about on the Heath. But what swung it for the High Street were the shops. The shops provided one thing that the Heath didn’t. Windows. And reflections. And every shop she passed boasted back an image of Pip pushing a buggy. It was visible proof, as if it was needed, that it suited her. She proudly told the first admirer that Cosima was her niece. But when the sales assistant in BabyGap cooed over Cosima and asked Pip how old her daughter was, Pip told her ten months and agreed with the assistant that she was quite the most beautiful baby girl in the world.
And Cosima ate everything Pip offered her, even if it wasn’t orange.
And Pip could soothe the baby’s tears quickly.
And Cosima needed minimal lulling to drift off to a lovely afternoon nap. She didn’t need her Elvis for Babies CD which Fen had packed, nor flopsy bunny. A personalized rendition of ‘I Had a Little Nut Tree’ from Pip was all it took.
Pip let the answering machine take the call because she and Cosima were engrossed in Teletubbies and something extraordinary with the Tubby Custard machine was about to befall Po.
‘Shall I pick it up?’ Tom asked, looking up from his maths homework.
‘That’s OK,’ said Pip. ‘You crack on with your work, young man.’
It was Fen leaving a message to say she was running late and how sorry she was but She’d had a lovely day and would be there soon.
‘Never mind,’ said Pip to Cosima, ‘you can have tea with Tom.’
‘Am I her big cousin?’ Tom asked because he was stuck with his maths but knew that Pip was no use to him whatsoever. ‘Am I her big cousin officially? Or am I a step-cousin twice removed or something?’
Pip paused. ‘Well, let’s work this out. I think You’re her step first cousin.’
‘Will my new brother or sister be her step second cousin, then?’ Tom asked.
‘No, I Don’t think They’ll be cousins at all.’
Tom looked perplexed. This was becoming more complicated than the maths homework. ‘Of course they will!’ he declared. ‘It’s all about family.’
‘If I had a baby, then the baby and Cosima would be full cousins. I have you which makes you half a full first cousin. Step.’ Pip and Tom looked at each other, brows furrowed. ‘Or something!’ Pip said and they laughed.
‘Why do babies like eating such weird things?’ Tom asked.
Pip looked over to Cosima who was sucking the remote control. ‘Shit – That’s Bang & Olufsen.’
‘You said “Shit”!’ Tom whispered, impressed.
‘Don’t tell your father,’ Pip warned him.
‘If you had a baby, I’d have two half brothers or sisters, wouldn’t I?’ Tom mused. ‘I’d have brothers and sisters from all directions. That would be funny.’
Pip couldn’t think how to respond. ‘Why Don’t you have one, then? With my dad,’ asked Tom. Pip couldn’t think how to respond, but Tom seemed happy to wait. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘because he hasn’t asked me.’
‘Why Don’t you ask him?’ asked Tom.
‘I half have,’ Pip admitted and wondered if she should now backtrack.
‘I’m getting confused with all these halfs,’ Tom laughed. ‘Me too,’ agreed Pip.
Fen appeared slightly flustered when she arrived to collect Cosima, mumbling something about wanting to die in Whistles.
‘But how were the flowers?’ Pip asked. ‘Can you now tell your larkspur from your delphinium?’
‘What? Oh. The show. Was – great,’ said Fen, ‘huge. Amazing.’
‘Are you OK?’ Pip asked. ‘Want a cuppa?’
‘I’m just a bit – stressed,’ said Fen, looking very discomfited. ‘You know – Tubes and rush hour and escalators that aren’t working.’
‘Welcome back to the real world,’ Pip laughed.
‘To think I did the rush-hour thing every day,’ Fen remembered. ‘Madness.’
‘Would you like that cuppa?’
‘we’d better go – Cosima needs her supper.’
‘We fed her!’ Tom announced, triumphant. ‘She had scrambled eggs just like me!’
‘Scrambled eggs?’ Fen looked at Pip.
‘Was that OK? The eggs are free range.’
‘Well – yes. But did she eat?’
‘The lot!’ Pip said.
Momentarily, Fen felt put out, having had limited success with scrambled eggs. ‘Organic milk?’ she asked shyly.
‘Of course,’ said Pip.
‘You’re a star,’ said Fen looking at her sister with affection and at her baby with pride.
‘Any time,’ said Pip.
‘You’re a super star,’ Fen said, wondering if Pip really meant it when She’d said, ‘Any time.’
Zac returned to find his wife and son embroiled in a backgammon tournament; a pile of pennies at Tom’s side and a fraught expression etched on Pip’s face.
‘Hullo,’ he said, scanning his son’s impressive defence and two of Pip’s counters desperate for access.
‘Six, two,’ Pip muttered at the roll of the dice. ‘Blast and double blast, I can’t bloody move!’
‘That’s her fourth “bloody”, Dad!’ Tom informed Zac, Pip’s language obviously giving him far more pleasure than his victories or winnings.
‘I’d say a “bloody” is worth 10p, Tom,’ Zac said, taking off his jacket, loosening his tie, opening his post. ‘How’s your mum?’
‘She’s like a great big beached whale,’ said Tom, rather proudly.
‘Tom!’ Pip and Zac remonstrated.
‘But she says so,’ Tom protested, as if it were a standard description of her particular stage of gestation.
‘June looks wonderful,’ Pip told Zac. ‘I babysat Cosima today and we met up. She’s absolutely blooming.’
Zac regarded Pip. �
��Oh Christ,’ he said, with mock consternation, ‘You’re not going to go all broody on me, are you?’ He winked at Tom, planted an affectionate kiss on Pip’s forehead, bypassing her mortified expression, before heading to the kitchen to make coffee.
‘What does “broody” mean, exactly?’ Tom asked and Pip wished he hadn’t because she didn’t want to hear Zac’s reply.
‘Broody?’ mused Zac. ‘Broody is when hormones and BabyGap turn women into mad things.’
‘What exactly are hormones?’ Tom asked, knowing precisely where BabyGap was but not hormones.
‘you’ll learn about them in science, soon enough,’ Zac assured him.
‘Have you gone broody on my dad, then?’ Tom asked Pip though he was still unsure to what it precisely alluded.
Pip wanted to cry out, Yes! yes I have – I am seriously broody. But she did not. She assessed that the circumstances were inappropriate. And though part of her resented Tom’s presence, felt that it prevented her confronting Zac, she put the child’s best interests first.
What I want to say is, For fuck’s sake, Zac. I’m thirty-five years old and maybe my sodding hormones are hounding me. Most of the people I know have children. I would like to increase our family – a brother or sister for Tom, a baby for us. What the fuck is wrong with that? Why won’t you take me seriously? All you say is ‘Oh Christ You’re not going all broody on me?’
So why Don’t you talk to him, Pip? You who are so adept at being a shoulder, an ear, an embrace for the needs of others; you who can listen so well, mediate so constructively when it comes to the strife in other people’s lives. You’ve spent your life arbitrating other people’s discord, sorting out the ways forward from their crises, dispensing wisdom, advice, support and affection. You can gently coax others down off their high horse, you can enable them to see clearly without their rose-tinted glasses. But you have no faith in your ability to stand your own corner and proclaim what you feel. You have self-awareness in that you know what you want; but you lack the self-confidence to express it.
She can’t concentrate on her game. She thinks the right thing to do is to hide her hurt from Tom. It’s much easier to put Tom at the centre of her equation than herself.
‘I won!’ Tom proclaims. ‘Pip is such a complete walkover,’ he says to his dad and the two of them disappear to play PlayStation, leaving Pip on her own.
SEEDS IN A PACKET
‘You’re hot and you smell of – toast?’ Ben remarked with pleasure, in bed, spooning up against Cat, nuzzling her neck.
‘But I haven’t eaten toast,’ she said.
Ben took her hand to his nose. ‘Toast,’ he declared. He kissed the palm of her hand and flicked his tongue tip at the centre. Then he kissed her fingertips and sucked softly on her middle finger.
‘I’ve got a sackful of seed,’ he murmured, pressing up against her. ‘I’ve been saving it up for the last – Christ – week.’ Cat giggled. She travelled her hand down to Ben’s hard cock, experiencing a buzz of excitement between her legs which caused her to turn towards him and find his mouth immediately. His hands caressed her breasts and she began to moan softly as his finger nudged at her clitoris, dabbing her with her own expectant moistness.
‘What do you say, babe,’ he whispered, ‘want to mate?’ He grazed at the side of her neck, dipped his head down to tease her nipple with his tongue tip. ‘Want to mate?’
But Cat didn’t writhe in reply. She didn’t gasp the affirmative. His words had stilled her and his actions ceased to elicit a response.
And then she sighed. ‘I do feel horny,’ she whispered back, ‘but I Don’t want to mate. I’d rather fornicate.’
‘What You’re saying is that you want me to give you a good seeing to? You Don’t want to make love – you want me to shag you senseless?’ Ben gave a dirty laugh, his hands resuming a dexterous exploration of her erogenous zones. He rolled on top of her, his pelvis rocking as his cock probed its way between the lips of her sex. ‘You want me to fuck you, then?’
Yes, that was precisely what Cat wanted and when Ben talked crudely to her, she wanted it all the more. And harder.
‘Shall I fuck you?’ Ben asked, desirous and gruff, doing precisely that with eager, ravenous thrusts.
‘With strings attached,’ she whispered, gasping as he powered into her. She bucked against him instinctively.
‘Strings, hey?’ Ben said. ‘Tie you up? A little light S & M on a warm June evening?’
That’s not what she meant at all.
I meant, yes fuck me – but with conditions. But I’m so close. I’m so fucking close and my body is tingling with the anticipation of orgasm. It’s welling. Fuck. God. Ben. Oh Christ.
Ben felt Cat’s sex close around his cock, every pulsation pulling him deeper inside her, luring his sperm, starting to suck it from his balls up his shaft; nearing the point of no return.
‘Christ Cat,’ he panted as his thrusts automatically increased in pace, ‘Christ.’
But then Cat did something with her hips. And her knees. She’d never done it before and it took Ben by surprise, weakened as he was by being in thrall to his imminent orgasm. She levered him away and all of a sudden he was coming in the open, nowhere near her dark, damp gorgeous pussy. Instead he was spurting his load God knows where. In between her and him. Instantly, the orgasm became purely perfunctory. Not even as good as a wank. Simply as physical as a wet dream. A waste. He switched the light on, blinking, pissed off. He pulled the duvet off and regarded the sticky mess in Cat’s pubic hair, caught too in the fuzz of his stomach.
‘What was that all about?’ he asked, flushed and frustrated.
‘It’s not safe to come inside me,’ Cat said, disconcerted that Ben looked so displeased. She felt a nag of guilt over the greed for the quality of her own orgasm at the expense of his and it was spoiling the post-coital moment.
‘What the fuck do you mean, Cat?’ Ben objected. ‘What are you on about? Our sex life has been ruled by your charts and temperature.’
‘I’m not ready,’ Cat said gruffly, ‘not any more. Not without a condom.’
‘Cat,’ said Ben, sitting up, reaching for tissues, mopping at his belly, ‘I thought we wanted to start a family. Our game plan. We make decisions together.’
‘Bloody hell, Ben,’ she protested, ‘are you thick? In the light of recent events, why would I want to be pregnant?’ He stared at her, shocked by her aggression. ‘Parenting is a dangerous thing. Can’t you see that?’ she shouted. ‘Believe me. It’s not worth it. I should know.’
Ben waited a moment and spoke calmly. ‘Cat, That’s not an informed view – You’re very tired and too emotional.’
‘You cold bastard!’ Cat hissed. ‘can’t you see what I’m going through?’
‘Of course I bloody can,’ Ben said calmly, ‘but now You’re being a drama queen. Christ if ever there was a time to take the “sins of the fathers” and make something good from them, then this is it.’
‘Fuck off.’ She turned away from him abruptly. ‘You Don’t understand.’
That last comment hurt Ben the most. He had no desire to spoon against her or nuzzle up to see if she still smelt of toast. If only this sodding rented flat had a spare room. He switched off the light, plumped his pillow and made an irritated grab at the duvet. And when all was still, he sighed emphatically.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he said, as if to himself, but loudly enough for Cat to hear. He sensed she was only pretending to be asleep.
They didn’t speak when they woke up. Ben didn’t wake Cat with his customary ‘Rise and shine, sleepy head’. He went to have a shower and didn’t pour her a cup of coffee, leaving the cafetière and its tepid contents on the table instead. Get your own mug.
‘See you,’ he said, already on his way out. Cat didn’t look up from the newspaper. She continued to read, continued to sip her lukewarm coffee long after Ben had gone. The newsprint was illegible because the bruise of tears impeded her sight and the coffee caught harshly
on the lump in her throat. She struggled with her tears as she walked to work, biting hard on the inside of her lip during the managers’ meeting. She didn’t want to be on the information desk. Couldn’t she unpack deliveries instead? It wasn’t beneath an assistant manageress to unpack deliveries in the back, you know. But Jeremy wanted her up front and the customers did too. Cat muddled through the morning, hauling a weak smile to her face and disappearing to the toilet on her break for a private cry.
Pip would know what to do. She’d know what I should say. She’ll be able to tell me if I’m in the wrong, or a little right. She’s my big sister. I’ll listen to her. She’s the wisest person I know. She can tell me what to do.
In her lunch break, Cat phoned Pip. Privately, it rankled Pip to hear about loving husbands actively wanting to make babies. But she had to listen because it was her job and her youngest sister was sobbing at the end of the phone, pleading with her to tell her what to do. Over the years, She’d conditioned herself to stop what she was doing, put thoughts of herself to one side, whenever she received those calls from her sisters that said, Pip? Pip? I need you. Can you help?
‘I thought I was ready,’ Cat cried, ‘but I’m not. I Don’t even feel broody any more. I can’t figure out this whole mother–father business. I’m scared, Pip, and confused.’
Quietly, Pip considered her sister’s predicament. ‘I understand, I do,’ she soothed, because on an academic level, she did, ‘but how I see it is that you’ve been gravely let down by a total lack of communication within our family – and the only history about to repeat itself is precisely this.’ She paused. Why couldn’t she herself boldly practise what she so gamely preached?
This Isn’t about me. It’s about Cat.
‘Don’t let that happen, Cat. No secrets. We were kept in the dark – we weren’t even lied to. We were ill-informed and misled. But Cat, Don’t take that with you into your life. Don’t let that same lack of communication decimate what you have with Ben. It sounds clichéd, but talk to him.’ She paused again.
That’s what June told me.
‘Tell him how you feel. He’s your man, Cat. He’s your future. You can turn to him. You must.’
