Not What They Were Expecting

by Neal Doran

  ‘And I was telling him I’m pregnant too.’

  ‘Oh, congratulations! They were right!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Just, people. Everybody had been wondering.’

  Well, there you go, she thought. So much for the element of surprise. Does nothing faze young people these days? He took a step towards her with one open hand slightly outstretched.

  ‘Do you mind if I?’

  She recoiled at the prospect of this upstart pretty boy putting his hand on her belly. She wasn’t even showing yet! She stepped back and tried to simultaneously hunch over to protect her midriff and pull herself up to her full height. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t appropriate behaviour in an office, or with a woman you didn’t know, or with someone who was near enough your boss. But all she managed was to say it was still too early to feel any movements. He said he used to like to do it when his mum was pregnant with his little sis, which also managed to make her feel old somehow.

  Great work on rattling the cocky trainee, Becs, she thought to herself.

  ‘So they’ll be needing someone to take on your work for a while. Are you planning on coming back?’ he asked.

  ‘Certainly! I’m having a baby, it’s not terminal.’

  Rebecca had, rather depressingly, worked out that the chances were that this time next year she’d be back at work, unless she and James could work out a way for her to take a bit more maternity and live on no money.

  ‘That’s what they all say, but you never know, might be glad to get out of this place! So you’ve got one of the newer PCs haven’t you?’

  He’s trying to put dibs on my computer? He’s basically a teenager who might not even have a contract here by the time I go off and he’s trying to bagsy my desk? Rebecca told him it was one of the new ones, and that partners and senior associates all had them, hoping he’d pick up on the subtle reminder of his position in the pecking order.

  She wanted to leave with a line that would really put him in his place but ‘Well, must be getting on,’ is all that she managed. At least she didn’t say it with a smile. She headed back to her office, trying to look dignified, even though at times like this, whenever she concentrated on her walking, her shoes always became one size too big for her, and she’d stub a toe and trip over nothing.

  Sitting at her desk, she flicked through a file and tried to stop trying to think of what she should have said to put Josh in his place. It was five hours till she could go home and get her slippers on. She tried phoning James, but he wasn’t answering his phone again.

  She called Sophie, who was always good at thinking of the zingers that would help destroy anyone making Rebecca feel bad. She was just on her way to fire someone or something, though, so didn’t have time to talk. But she did command Rebecca that she’d have to come out on Saturday night, while Rebecca ‘would still be allowed in nice places’ to celebrate (while pretending to ignore) Sophie’s birthday.

  She flicked through the web browser tabs for all her procrastination websites, and refreshed them all thirty seconds later to check if there was any just-breaking non-news. She thought about doing some work on the files on her desk, and tidied them into a neat pile on the left of her worktop, and cleared space on the right for completed ones.

  Then she checked the websites again, in case Cheryl Cole had done something.

  She was looking forward to being home and seeing James tonight. He was the one person she knew she could talk to for hours on end about a blurry picture of a blob without worrying that she was getting too boring. She’d been on such a high after the appointment. She’d been feeling so in control of things she’d even been able to say to James that she might be called as a witness in her dad’s trial without getting into a panic. She’d mentioned it casually, said it was something to do with a chat they’d had ages ago and moved on. She half-believed it herself, and James hadn’t seemed that interested. She figured it was because he was anxious about not being in the office when he ought to be, the goody-goody.

  She, on the other hand, could have sat in the coffee shop all day, watching it fill up with its main working hours customers, women with bulky buggies. The women all looked pretty cool and normal, she thought, and didn’t seem to be that alpha mummy type she’d read about in the lifestyle sections of the paper. These ones didn’t seem too expensively dressed, and were having an actual laugh. She could imagine being friends with them, if they weren’t too sniffy – she could do with a few more girl friends. But sitting in her office now, the idea of having to meet new people seemed more intimidating than anything else.

  Thinking about her folks, she finally called her mum on her mobile. She’d be at work near Heathrow, hanging in with her job at BA even though she professed to hate it. Rebecca often thought her mum was crazy to still be doing a job she didn’t like, apparently just to get out of the house – especially considering they were loaded. She liked to think that when she and James were loaded – it had to happen someday right? –she certainly wouldn’t be faffing about with timesheets and being nice to everybody just for the sake of it. Today was a day when the prospect of lengthy maternity leave did sound appealing. Ideally, with a live-in nanny so she could go out to lunch when she wanted. Perhaps a few other servants while they were at it…

  Rebecca guiltily winced as the number rang. She’d been slightly hoping it would have gone straight to voicemail, not wanting to have another conversation about her dad’s media campaign on her big scan day. The line finally stopped ringing, and Rebecca expected the automated ‘Sorry, but the person…’ message to kick in, but after a pause there was a hesitant ‘hello?’

  ‘Hi Mum, it’s me.’

  ‘Oh hello dear, it’s you. I couldn’t see the number without my glasses. What’s the matter, is everything all right?’

  ‘It’s fine! It was the scan today.’

  ‘I know, I’d been waiting to hear all morning and was worried that there might have been…that…’

  ‘Everything’s fine. All going as would be expected at this stage.’

  ‘Well that’s great news, touch wood. Do you have a picture? You could pop in with it on the way home?’

  ‘I have. It’s really cute! But I don’t think I’ll be able to make it over at home time. Loads to do here then I need to get back. I’ll send it in an email though.’

  ‘Well don’t work too hard, you’ve got to be careful you know.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I know that, Mum.’ Rebecca’s usual snappiness when being told what she should be doing by her mum was exacerbated by the fact she was making up how busy she was. She thought maybe she should be giving her a break at a time like this.

  ‘We heard the heartbeat too,’ she continued, ‘it was amazing. Bompalomp’s really in there! It goes so fast, hundreds of beats per minute it felt like.’

  ‘We’ll have to get one of those home headphone kits, so we can hear it too next time we come around. I meant to say to you at lunch, you’re still not showing much.’

  ‘Nope, just looking fat. Although apparently everybody here knew what was going on before I said anything, so it must be a bit obvious.’

  ‘That’s because you’re looking radiant, darling.’

  ‘Right. I had some swine try and touch my belly today. I couldn’t believe it, I barely know him.’

  ‘Your body’s not your own now you’re expecting… Get used to the prodding and poking. It was the strangers on the bus that would get to me.’

  ‘The world can keep its hands to itself. I’m not letting anyone near me unless I can see their medical qualifications first.’

  ‘Your father will be so excited to see the picture – that’s two important photos today, after we were snapped for the Focus.’

  Rebecca had forgotten about the planned photo shoot for the ridiculous scheme of her dad’s.

  ‘Great. Well, I hope the fame and celebrity makes him happy.’

  ‘There’s no need for sarcasm, dear. We’re taking this seriously. Margaret even cal
led last night with some clever idea about a public mural, and when the piece appears in the paper your father is getting in touch with the local TV people. There’s apparently even the possibility of LBC doing a phone-in.’

  ‘What the fuck? Jesus, so much for a stress-free pregnancy.’

  The other end of the line went quiet.

  ‘That’s not fair, Becky. You know we wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or the baby. If anything happened…’

  Rebecca didn’t want to say sorry. But she was pretty sure she was going to have to say sorry.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

  ‘Me too, darling. We’re doing this for you too you know, and for the baby…’

  Right, thought Rebecca. Of course you are.

  ‘Well…I’ll drop the photo in later.’

  Somehow, as usual, her mother had guilted her into changing her plans. But Rebecca did feel bad she was taking out her anger with her dad on her mum.

  ‘Your father sends his love…’

  ‘I’d better go. Bye, Mum.’

  She sat there, thinking she could just lay her head down on the table and have a nap right there and then. The only thing keeping her awake was that she was absolutely starving. But she couldn’t see herself even leaving the office to get a sandwich now, everybody would be watching her, wanting to talk about something, and she’d now definitely got herself in a state where any attempt to open her mouth would not end well. She slid open her bottom drawer and nibbled on a ginger nut, and tried to get hold of James again. Still no answer.

  She looked again at the grey and black blob on her desk, tracing the length of Bompalomp’s spine where the midwife had pointed it out – gently for fear that she could damage the image. She was looking forward to getting it uploaded and out to some people who’d wanted to see it. Her bruv for a start. You go away to Australia for a gap year with the idea you’ll come back as a different person. Well, he might need to change quite a bit to keep up with his family – a pregnant sister who was doing her best to be exiled from the family, and a dad becoming a slightly homophobic gay rights campaigner who might end up in prison. Oh and a mum who seemed to want to be a reality TV star. He was going to need to try a bit harder than a bartered-for shell necklace and a shoulder tattoo to top that. She went to check if he’d loaded up any more photos to Facebook, then she was definitely going to get on with some work before home time.

  ***

  In the Hope & Anchor ahead of the lunchtime rush, James was on his second pint. Around him, shell-shocked colleagues were beginning to shift from sullen despair into booze-fuelled joviality. It wouldn’t be long before it switched to bitter rage at the decision of the bosses to shut down their department in favour of a team at another site as the last big aftershock of the merger.

  James could see that Kam was right with his theory of the stages of pub-based acceptance of redundancy. After the collective shock and anger wear off, he always said that it was then that people’s individual personalities really came to the fore. He reckoned you could tell by five pints who was going to be all right and in better jobs by the end of next week, and who was going to sit at home in their underpants for the next ten months, growing bad facial hair and searching for a porn fantasy too depraved to have made it onto Google. And that’s just the women, James thought to himself, remembering Kam’s old line.

  He took out his copy of the scan picture and looked at the outline of the baby that would arrive at about the same time as his redundancy pay would run out. Then he turned it around because he thought he was looking at it upside down. And again, because he thought it might look clearer if it was on its side. He still couldn’t really make out what he was looking at but it still got to him, in his gut and his heart. At some point he was going to have to tell Becs what had happened, but he wasn’t quite ready for it yet.

  He decided to leave it for a couple pints – figure out what the beer predicted about how he was going to fare over the next while.

  Part 2

  Chapter 16

  ‘So have you got your lunch?’

  ‘I’ve got my lunch.’

  ‘And you’ve remembered your files?’

  ‘I’ve remembered my files.’

  ‘You’ve got enough healthy snacks?’

  ‘Banana – yep.’

  ‘And the unhealthy ones?’

  ‘Biscuits check. Marshmallows check. Pack of Wispas check.’

  James was bustling around the kitchen, fully dressed and smelling a bit of shampoo, cleaning surfaces and putting the last of the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. Rebecca was a step or two behind him, struggling with a skirt button, and grabbing food from the larder, while trying to remember where it was that she’d left those work files so she’d be able to find them easily this morning.

  ‘Is there anything you need taking to the dry cleaners?’ James asked.

  ‘Not since yesterday, no.’

  ‘I’ve got my appointment at lunchtime so it would be no bother.’

  ‘Honestly, everything I own is wrapped in flimsy plastic now, darling.’

  ‘And any requests for dinner?’

  ‘Ooh, a bit of chicken liver paté, followed by a prawn cocktail and a giant and bloody rare steak.’

  ‘Any requests you’re allowed to have in your parlous condition?’

  ‘Pff. A Loyd Grossman?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do…’

  Rebecca leaned back unsteadily as she tried to get her work shoes on at the cramped kitchen table. Using the back wall as support she raised up her knee to get a better angle on the low heel with its stiff leather, and she quietly cursed the warmer spring weather that made wearing boots out of the question. They’d become tight, but at least the bending required in pulling them on had been minimal. Now, though, her legs seemed endless – and not in a good way. She just couldn’t reach the end of them, but couldn’t let James see her struggling as he’d want to help. She was not losing the independence of putting on her own footwear, at least not yet. And certainly not after the last time she’d had a real backache and reluctantly asked for help. He’d nearly made her knee herself in the face while pushing her foot into a trainer. That explanation for a broken nose would have raised a few eyebrows at the office, and would only have had the midwives bothering her more. She managed to stamp her left foot down into the heel of her shoe before James could offer her his assistance while he was distracted ferreting around for damp tea towels to fill out the half load of washing he was putting on.

  ‘Got your phone?’

  ‘Check.’

  ‘Got your keys?’

  ‘Check.’

  ‘Got your purse?’

  ‘Check.’

  ‘Got your Bompalomp?’

  ‘All present and kicking and correct.’

  Scouring the kitchen bench for the house keys and money she’d confidently claimed to already have, Rebecca couldn’t imagine a time it would be possible to misplace Bompalomp. By twenty weeks her belly had caught up and overtaken her breasts as the first thing people noticed about her. The level of uncertainty and doubt in people’s eyes as they considered whether to offer congratulations on her news, for fear of misinterpreting the extra weight, was waning as the bump became more pronounced. And the movement in her belly was feeling like something really moving about in there. It had been a few weeks since The Quickening, when she’d realised that the nervous butterflies she’d been feeling hadn’t been her, but had been her short-term tenant.

  She’d been feeling Bompalomp move for weeks before she realised what it was. As James had said at the time, it rather takes the edge off the wonder of the moment you physically feel new life inside you when you realise that for ages you’d been mistaking it for a fart brewing. But now the movement was a lot clearer, and comfortingly there at times across the day. It felt like a conversation between the two of them now; little feathery nudges to say thanks for the sugar rush, or turn the stereo up I like this one. It was definitely much better now it di
dn’t feel like intestinal burbling, and was much less confusing. She reddened thinking of the time in a presentation to the partners when she thought she felt Bompalomp, but it actually was a fart brewing, which she didn’t do enough to get under control until too late.

  ‘Well, shake that ass and get a wriggle on, you’ll be late,’ James nudged.

  ‘I’ve plenty of time, stop nagging.’

  ‘You’ve missed the 8.17, you know after the 8.20 the hungover sweaty men mean it’s standing room only.’

  ‘Are you going to be OK?’

  James paused briefly from his hustling around the kitchen.

  ‘Absolutely fine. A quick in and then out. Plenty to tell them about and I’m sure this is going to be my last time, so it’ll be nice to say goodbye to the gang. Al the Alkie, Methadone Mick, Decades-on-the Dole Dec Dolan…’

  ‘OK, well. Let me know how it goes and if there’s any news.’

  ‘If there’s any word on that vacancy as a doorman at the lap-dancing club you’ll be the first to know, I promise. Well, after I’ve introduced myself to the girls in the dressing room to check they’re feeling safe under my protection, obviously.’

  ‘I better go. Good luck!’ Rebecca kissed James on the cheek, grabbed her homework and headed for the door as he put the kettle on. He was fishing the teabag out of his mug as the front door opened again, Rebecca whirled through to the kitchen, grabbed her phone, lunch, snacks and purse, and spun back out again.

  ‘Have a good day you two,’ he shouted after her as the front door slammed shut.

  Quarter past eight, he was dressed and ready to take on the day. He sloped into the through lounge and fired up the laptop on the dining table. When he was actually working he never got down to it as early as this. They do say you have to work harder to get a job than you do when you have one. Still, he was glad to not be in the office, away from the politics, and the sheer mindlessness of the job half the time. They’d be due the Tuesday pep-talk, free doughnuts and a lecture from Hopkins on how great it was to be a member of the FPD family. He was delighted to be away from the bullshit. He texted Kam to ask how he was doing in the office jargon bingo game he usually ran. Kam texted back to ask him if he was still collecting tattoos and watching Jeremy Kyle. He fired a quick response back: