Wilde About the Girl

by Louise Pentland

  ‘Robin, hey, I … er … I just wanted to say I’m sorry about last week. I should have said something but I froze,’ she fumbles, looking even more fragile than she did a second ago, still hovering by the door.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down,’ I offer.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t have left those … bits … in there. I should have deleted them before I sent Natalie the proposal, I just forgot. They were just there to remind me to slot in the shots, you know? And I know I should have just said something but I didn’t want Natalie to fire me. I need this job, I love it, it’s the only thing I’m good at, really. I was going to talk to you sooner but you’ve had that bug and I thought you’d be really angry so, yeah, sorry. And thanks, I guess.’ Skye looks at me. Even though she’s just been so open and she doesn’t have on her usual armour of tight clothes and fierce brows, she still has an unreadable face. She’d make a good spy.

  For a second, I think of all the things I could say to her. I settle on, ‘Thank you for coming and saying that, Skye.’ I want to go into this some more because she hasn’t actually apologised for what she wrote, just for not deleting them before Natalie saw, but I’m feeling delicate and right now – not least because my job hangs in the balance because of this – I’ll take what I’m given, half-arsed apology or not.

  ‘Yeah. Well … I owe you,’ she adds, confidence returning a little to her voice now she knows I’m not going to go absolutely crazy at her or demand she tells Natalie the truth.

  ‘OK, that’s good to know,’ I say, finishing the conversation. Thankfully, Skye senses the tone and leaves. We’re never going to be friends, but at least we’re on decent terms now. I wish I could feel that way about Natalie, too. I’ve not heard from her, and there’s nothing in my inbox from her either.

  I take a deep breath. Only a few days ago I couldn’t imagine a bigger mess than my work woes. But the pregnancy makes it pale in comparison. It’s time to face it head-on.

  Like lovely Derek used to say, ‘half the job is in starting’, so I open up my email and type in Edward’s name. What have I got to lose? We were never an item, we were never a thing. Yes, deep down in my core perhaps I occasionally let myself daydream about more, but I’ve got to accept it’s not going to happen. Right now, I just need to make him aware of the situation. We’re not emotionally connected. I just need to be clear and to the point. I can absolutely do this. Kath reminded me of my inner strength last night, so I’m channelling that as I begin to type.

  ‘Dear Edward’. No, that’s too weird and formal. ‘Hey Edward’. No, you can’t tell a man you’re growing his baby inside you with a ‘hey’. Bloody hell, this is even harder than I thought it would be.

  I take a swig of full-fat cherry Coke. Oh dear, is that bad for the baby? I ought to do some research on what you can and can’t have – it seems I’ve forgotten everything I knew with Lyla.

  After agonising for a while, I realise I just need to be myself. Despite the two of us getting pretty damn intimate, this will be the most open, the most personal moment I’ve ever actually had to have with this man, and so I think the best thing to do is just say it how it is. Yes. Here we go.

  Edward,

  It feels weird to be emailing you rather than just dropping you a text but when you read the rest of what I’m about to say, you’ll see why this was best.

  I wish you lived nearby so we could nip out for lunch and I could tell you face to face, but as much as I’d love a Sarabeth’s New York brunch right now, I don’t think it’s going to happen.

  I have really enjoyed spending time with you this last few months. You’re fun and easy-going and that’s exactly what I was looking for, even though I wasn’t really looking at all.

  The thing is, I think all of that’s going to come to an end when I tell you this next thing.

  I’m pregnant.

  I found out three days ago and have been in shock until now. I think it was the Balthazar night. I hadn’t planned any more children in my future and for a couple of days wondered if I would even go through with this, but I have decided that I will.

  I don’t know what your thoughts are on all this but I will say, nothing is expected of you. I’ve thought really hard and I’m prepared to do this alone. I know I can do it, I’ve already done it with Lyla for all these years. I know you have your busy life and we are not in a relationship, so all I ask is that you take a bit of time to let this email sink in.

  I’m sorry to spring this on you, I thought a ‘letter’ would be best so you didn’t feel put on the spot by a phone call.

  I don’t really know how to finish an email like this, so I’ll just leave it here and hope you are OK.

  Robin x

  I decide to limit it to one kiss after initially typing quite a few.

  After reading and rereading it for about twenty minutes, I shut my eyes to gather myself, inhale sharply and press send. There we are then. He knows.

  FOURTEEN

  WALKING INTO MADE IT a few days later, I feel almost peppy. Only one bout of sickness this morning, after nibbling on ginger biscuits, and I’ve donned another confidence-boosting stretchy-jeans-and-loose-T-shirt combo. Hair in a messy bun with about 3lbs of kirby grips and 3lbs more of dry shampoo, but nobody needs to know about that.

  After Kath’s promise of standing by me, I feel like I can do this. I know it’ll be hard, there’ll be sleepless nights and I might never really get my shit fully together again. But although Lyla was (and sometimes still is) hard, she’s the most perfect thing in my life, so a little more of that kind of tiny human perfection will actually be a blessing. Kath was right.

  I decide to ring my GP this morning and arrange a midwife booking-in appointment, and also have a trawl of some of the pregnancy bumph online. You know, how big the baby is right now, what I should and shouldn’t eat, best maternity jeans on the market, and so on. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it right. And as well as me seeming to have forgotten so much of this stuff from when I had Lyla, I guess times change. There’ll be new guidelines, no doubt, and – I cheer myself by thinking – new gadgets, new baby must-haves and, hooray, new maternity ranges. So, in between liaising with clients, putting together job ideas and assigning staff to various jobs, I sneakily google things like ‘pregnancy massage’ (a girl’s gotta make the most of things), ‘best newborn cribs’ and ‘will this sickness ever stop’.

  By lunchtime I’m feeling surprisingly good, given how the week started, and then I hear a familiar ‘ding’ from my phone. A notification from my personal emails.

  Edward.

  He’s replied.

  Suddenly the room feels like it’s closing in on me and all the oxygen has been sucked out of it. I was ‘fine’ and ‘breezy’ in my email but whatever he has to say now feels frightening. I want to stay in my happy bubble trawling through ASOS maternity, not confronting whatever the father of my unborn child has to say.

  I stand up, walk over to the open window, stick my head out, take in a deep breath of delicious fumes from the street below, come back in, log on to my personal emails on my work laptop (I’d rather be sitting up and looking forward as I read this, not hunched over a phone) and click ‘open’. I can do this, I’m a badass single mum either way and I can definitely, absolutely do this.

  ‘Dear Robin …’ OK, he’s gone for the formal approach. I wonder if he toyed with a ‘hey’ or not as well.

  Dear Robin,

  Thank you for emailing me and for being so honest, that must have been very hard to write.

  I am so sorry to not be living nearer to you too. If I were, I’d want to be there to take care of you, whatever that might mean at this point for us.

  Like you, I didn’t have children, babies or pregnancy on my agenda right now but I have often found that the best things you ever have are not found on a map or in a plan but in the unexpected surprises life offers you.

  I want to be a part of this, Robin. For you and for me and for the baby.

  I do
n’t know how that will work at the moment but I want you to know I’m here, I’m present and we will walk through this together. Call me when you feel ready. It’ll be OK, I promise.

  Love,

  Edward xxx

  Fuck. Me.

  I sit stunned and read through the email at least five times before I realise I’m crying. Not big, heaving sobs like at Kath’s and not hot, frustrated tears like with Lacey in my kitchen but slow, relieved tears of joy. I’m not alone. He’s here, he’s on board, the baby will have a daddy.

  Reading it over and over, I can see there are no hard and fast plans for what we’re going to do but there isn’t a single jot of apprehension in his tone. It’s mature and tender and kind. Also, he’s signed it with ‘love’ and three kisses. I know I was trying so hard not to fall for anyone, but when you’re carrying a man’s child, he tells you ‘we will walk through this together’ and you’re a mess of hormones, it’s hard not to.

  I think Kath was right: this baby is going to be the biggest blessing.

  FOR THE REST OF the day I feel like I’m floating. Something that had seemed so dark and despairing at the start of the week has turned out to be the opposite.

  I know there’s still a long way to go. Work don’t know (if, after this pitch disaster, I still even have a job by the time I’ll need to tell them), Lacey’s heartbroken, Mum and Dad will have to be told at some point (God, Mum will be horrified – I’ve been impregnated with no sign of wedlock on the horizon. What will she tell the ladies of the Rotary?), the PSMs will be surprised and, of course, Lyla is going to have to wrap her head around the idea of having a baby brother or sister, but I know we can do it. I’ve got Kath and Edward on my side.

  Later in the day I mooch through to the main office to see if Stuart or Alice want anything from Starbucks. I’ve got that 3 p.m. lull, I haven’t been sick since before I arrived and could do with some fresh air and a little walk. Also, Skye’s not here to berate me for succumbing to corporate temptation so we can get away with our dirty coffee sins.

  ‘Ooohhh, I’d love a skinny latte. I’m exhausted,’ says Alice, stretching her arms up in the air and groaning elaborately.

  ‘You all right? You sound … achy,’ I ask awkwardly, not really knowing how to say, ‘That was the most dramatic thing I’ve seen all day and I’ve had an email from my fuck-buddy in New York to say he’s going to stand by me and my unborn baby.’

  ‘I’ve just been helping Natalie so much with the pitch. They loved her idea of natural beauty, and the first round of presentations starts Monday,’ Alice replies. She suddenly looks awkward, realising her faux pas.

  ‘Um … I think it’s really awesome what you did for Skye,’ she says quickly.

  ‘Oh.’ I’m struggling to think of where to go with this. Is it a trick? I know Alice thinks Skye is amazing.

  ‘Natalie would have taken Skye off the team if you hadn’t stuck up for her,’ Alice continues. ‘Skye told me everything. You’re really cool, Robin.’

  I’m completely shocked. I mean, not as shocked as the oh-you’re-pregnant situation but still, this is a big moment. I do the very British thing and gloss over it.

  ‘Thank you, Alice, that’s kind of you to say so. Just a skinny latte then?’ I ask as breezily as I can manage.

  Stuart says nothing and doesn’t look up from his laptop, though I can tell he’s agog at what’s just happened. I’m a hundred per cent sure they’ll talk about it when I leave.

  Walking into town to get the coffees, I feel odd. I didn’t know that they loved the idea (my idea, thank you) and that Natalie was going to London next week. Ordinarily I’d feel massively hurt and left out (it’s been really stinging since I was taken off it, I’ve never been canned like that at work before), but today it doesn’t seem like anything can penetrate this positive, happy mood. After being so, so low at the start of the week, nothing can feel as bad as that.

  Graciously, I contemplate how happy I am that my idea was well received. It doesn’t matter who takes the credit for it, I tell myself. I know it was mine and that’s all that matters. I may not be on the pitch team, but whenever that nagging voice of doom and doubt pipes up in my mind, I’ll still be able to tell myself that this is proof I can come up with great ideas. Best of luck to Natalie, I think, as I step through the doors to Starbucks, breathe in the smell and have to dash to the loos for a sneaky sick-up.

  So much for my zen moment.

  FIFTEEN

  I’M FEELING ON AN even keel again. The crashing, panicky low of facing pregnancy alone, and the elated high of realising that Kath and Edward have got my back have balanced each other out and I’m left doing a pretty decent impression of a normal person. I responded to Edward’s email, suggesting we talk soon, and he’s good with that. It’s Sunday afternoon, and Lyla is with Simon and Storie (who are under strict instructions to feed her only food they’ve bought and paid for, and not foraged mushrooms, wild flowers or anything else that ‘blends us with Mother Earth’). I’ve taken the weekend to myself for self-care and to let everything settle in.

  I’ve lit all the good candles, the ones I usually save for ‘special occasions’ that never happen. There’s something decadent about having your best candles lit during the day – and even better, the smell isn’t triggering my nausea. I’ve had two bubble baths, treated myself to some luxury M&S ready meals with pre-prepped veg (this seems like a fair compromise – baby needs nutrients but I need rest), and caught up on all my ‘continue watching’ programmes on Netflix. More importantly, I have allowed myself to imagine things like taking the baby out in a pram for the first time, or choosing tiny Babygros for him or her to wear. I’ve thought about some of the things I loved most about Lyla when she was little. Holding her warm little body on my chest and lightly stroking the peach-fuzz hair on her head. I’m going to do it all again. I’m going to have a brand-new warm peach-fuzz bundle to love and nurture and raise.

  Kath’s coming with me to my first midwife appointment on Friday. On the phone I could hear her voice thicken with tears at being needed like that. God bless Kath. Even though she never had children of her own, I know she sees me as a surrogate daughter, and with my mum not winning any Mother of the Year awards any time soon, I’m grateful. By my rough calculations I should be having my twelve-week scan in late May, so I’m going to ask her to come to that too and see the baby waving about.

  Just as I’m starting to think about what I should do with my evening, the doorbell rings.

  Heaving myself off the sofa, I pad out into the hallway in my fluffy reindeer slippers (’tis not the season but ‘self-care’ calls for such things) and look through the peephole, expecting it to be Kath, excitedly bringing round more of her lavender creations.

  It’s Lacey.

  I can’t handle this right now but I know she’s seen me through the glass, so I open the door and stand awkwardly in the longest pause two women have ever endured together. My God, she’s as stubborn as me.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she asks tentatively.

  I move back out of the way and gesture for her to enter, still not saying much. I don’t know what to say to my closest friend. I still don’t know what’s best to say, what’s best to leave unsaid. Quite frankly, I’m terrified of making things worse if I open my mouth.

  We walk through to the lounge and she assesses my multitude of candles and dirty plates.

  ‘Good weekend, then?’ she asks, settling herself in the armchair.

  ‘It’s been a bit of a week,’ I say quietly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lacey says, bluntly and quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that. Things just … I don’t know, it was like the final straw. I was so sure I was pregnant, I was two weeks late, but I’ve been down that road before and I know where it leads,’ she says, turning her face away from me and towards the window.

  ‘Oh God, Lacey, I’m so sorry. Another false alarm, but it will happen. I know I say this all the time but I just know it will.’ />
  ‘I know it will, too,’ Lacey says, still looking out the window.

  What? She’s never this positive. She’s really taking this well. Maybe Karl’s had a calming chat with her, or something. ‘It’s good you’re being positive. And, just so you know, I’m not going to make a big deal out of my situation. I’ll just get on with it myself and nothing will change, OK?’

  ‘So we can’t go Babygro-shopping together?’ she says, turning to me with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen in my life.

  Maybe she actually has lost her mind.

  ‘Um, well, yes, we can, if that’s what you’d like,’ I stutter, completely shocked at this transformation.

  ‘It’s just that I’m probably due about six weeks after you and it’d be fun to buy our babies’ things at the same time,’ she says, almost squealing at the last bit of the sentence.

  ‘What?’ I scream, jumping up from the sofa.

  Lacey jumps up too. ‘I’m pregnant! I’m actually pregnant! I was late and thought it was the same-old, same-old, and didn’t do a test because I couldn’t bear the idea of a negative, but oh my God, Robin, I’m pregnant too!’

  ‘I can’t believe it. This is the best news ever!’ I say, jumping slightly, like a giddy child after jelly and ice cream.

  ‘I know. We found out yesterday. I know they say not to tell people before twelve weeks but I couldn’t not tell you. It’s a miracle. My miracle baby. I’m having a baby!’

  ‘And we get to do it all together. We’ll have best friend babies!’ I scream, feeling so full of joy I could throw up. Again.

  ‘I know! Robin, I’m truly sorry for how I was last week. It’s not an excuse, I know, but I felt like I was going crazy. I’ve felt horrible for ages. But you know, I can’t think of anyone I’d want to share this pregnancy with more than you. We’ll have matching bumps and matching babies. This is amazing!’

  After five more minutes of shrill exclamations about how incredible this is, we sit down to work out unofficial due dates. Lacey seems to know more about this than I do, even though this isn’t my first. She’s mapped her ovulation and when that means she’s due, and she’s already calculated that if you get pregnant when I did, you’re due at Christmas.